Gray is Beautiful is an invaluable guide for thinking about the retreat of democracy and polarization of politics in our time. Resisting political platforms fueled by algorithms, echo chambers, and conspiracy theories, Jeff Goldfarb calls for the revitalization of free public spaces that encourage shades of gray over the Manichean opposition of black and white.
Written against a pervasive background of cynicism and the post-truth denial of facts, Gray is Beautiful reflects on the rapid dismantling of democratic institutions, upending of the rule of law, and erosion of civility among far-right parties in Europe and the United States. Unlike Samuel Huntington, the current wave of democracy is not simply receding. Instead, Jeff argues that “our present circumstance is characterized by a distinctive form of cynical rule, with a family resemblance to the totalitarianism of the twentieth century” (10). While not identical, he detects chilling similarities in Donald Trump’s second term with patterns of collaboration in Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. The cynical retreat of American politicians, lawyers, university administrators, civil servants, and judges to uphold the rule of law mirrors the Ketman mindset of conformism that Czesław Miłosz portrayed in The Captive Mind.
It is not only that liberal democracy is retreating, but “we are experiencing,” he suggests, “the rise of a distinctive form of totalitarian culture, neo-totalitarianism” (ix). The symptoms of neo-totalitarianism include the denial of election results, January 6th insurrection, and Trump’s pardoning of those who attacked the Capitol. In stating that the insurrection was a day of love, he invoked a kind of Orwellian double-speak that denied the violent reality of what viewers saw and heard on live television. Likewise, as Amy Sodaro recently argued, MAGA’s historical revisionism of museum exhibits and monuments that are critical of slavery, demonstrate an official whitewashing of the past.
Since 2025, Trump’s administration has literally flooded the zone with Executive Orders against free speech, control of the media, closing of USAID, downsizing of independent federal institutions, and rebranding of the US Institute for Peace. Masked ICE raids and deportation of migrants without due process violate fundamental rights enshrined in the US Constitution. His demand that universities curtail protests of Israeli military policy in Gaza is a striking act of censorship. Indeed, the weaponization of anti-Semitism to silence American universities represents, as Jeff writes, a “new kind of McCarthyism” (49). Restricting medical and scientific centers with research related to diversity, equality, and inclusion impedes critical thinking and innovation. Appealing to grievance, resentment, anger at elites, and the deep state, Trump’s second term marks the dramatic coordination of his family’s enrichment with Big Tech and special interest groups. Escalating ICE violence, military campaigns in Venezuela and Iran, callous dismissal of international law, and disdain for long-standing NATO allies have become daily spectacles of cruelty.
And yet, neo-totalitarianism goes beyond opportunistic patterns of coordination, corruption, and collaboration. Like totalitarian regimes of the twentieth century, it is accompanied by the normalization of genocide and banality of evil. Written during the Israeli siege of Gaza and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, genocidal policies have not vanished. On the contrary: “neo-totalitarianism and genocide reveal the darkness of our times” (x). What links neo-totalitarianism with twentieth-century total domination is the pervasive role of collaboration. It is here that Jeff reflects on the uneasy connection between compromise and collaboration. If compromise requires the ability to listen and the desire to find common ground, collaboration indicates a retreat from political engagement. And yet, the line between compromise and opportunistic collaboration is not always clear. As he asks: “When is collaboration sincere and principled, a basis for some hope? And when is it a cynical act in pursuit of self-interest?” (130). If Vaclav Havel’s greengrocer demonstrated “a small act of collaboration” with the communist regime (138), what does collaboration mean for universities dependent on federal funding, for Democratic and Republican officials dependent on re-election, or for the judiciary in Trump’s America? Have they “put the MAGA sign in their window?” (148). What does collaboration mean when the US government is betraying Ukraine and NATO by appeasing Russia, or by threatening to invade Greenland?
Drawing on Hannah Arendt, Adam Michnik, Vaclav Havel, Erving Goffman, and Alexis de Tocqueville, Jeff seeks alternatives to the transactional cynicism and incremental politics of accommodation of neo-totalitarian governments. He responds to the retreat of democracy with a renewed commitment to dialogue, free and open public spaces, artistic expression, and the power of what he calls the “radical center” (169). Resisting the siren calls of cynicism and dogmatism, he argues for spirited debate and public spaces that foster political engagement. However, debate differs from conspiracy theories and dogmatism. Public engagement, he cautions, is based on agreement about historical and scientific facts. Like Arendt, he distinguishes philosophical from factual truths. Although social media and AI provide greater possibilities for lying on an unprecedented scale, “factual truth is the bedrock of a free politics” (64).
The way forward, Jeff Goldfarb suggests, is to accept the uncertainties of our social condition, while simultaneously seeking alternatives. Hope for the future of democratic inclusion and civility is rooted in the politics of small things, the transformative power of artistic expression, the willingness to listen, and the openness to compromise. The ideological dogmatism of left and right might dissipate within a radical center that is open and inclusive. While the term “radical center” may sound like a contradiction in terms, Jeff’s center is rooted in an attitude of openness to opposing viewpoints. The center that he envisions is radical because its roots can withstand the abyss of raging anger promoted by strongmen and clever algorithms. A free press is necessary for counteracting the centrifugal whirlpool of extremes and online spirals of vitriol. His vision of a radical center is more than a reconstructed public space for democratic engagement. It is also an ethical space that grounds how we orient ourselves to one another and to the world. Unlike a GPS location on a virtual map, his radical center is similar to Krzysztof Czyzewski’s understanding of Sejny, as a small center of the world.
Unlike the state of exception that suspends the rule of law for certain cases, Jeff’s radical center has universal aspirations. In many ways, it evokes the kind of harmony represented in Aristotle’s golden mean and in the scales of justice. Like Martin Luther King’s belief that the moral arc of the universe bends towards justice, Jeff seeks a fair resolution to difficult and complex problems. If anything, he taps into ancient ideas of amor mundi, tikkun olam, and kintsugi. The radical center he envisions is a place of openness, critical debate, responsibility, repair, and accountability. To be radically centered is to resist the alienating estrangement of modern life with its numbing dopamine in our strange days of online disconnection.
Combining personal reflection on protests in the United States during the 1960s, research on small theater troupes in communist Poland during the 1970s, democracy seminars in New York, Poland, and Afghanistan, with the importance of literature and film for imagining alternatives, Jeff inspires readers to rethink public spaces and democratic participation in the twenty-first century. Extending Adam Michnik’s ideas of “gray is beautiful” and acting “as if” one were free, he celebrates the politics of small things, public debate, compromise, and the collective search for alternatives. The beauty of the gray helps individuals to resist the feverish allure of neo-totalitarianism. Unlike the intoxicating extremes of black and white, democratic life resides in the unpredictable spaces between people and their political ideals. Art, literature, poetry, film, photography and film express alternatives and new possibilities for imagining what Jeff Goldfarb calls, “a principled center” (97). While such a center might be ephemeral, it nonetheless offers the promise of new beginnings, political judgment, and flickering moments of hope for better futures.
