I recently downloaded Sinclair Lewis’ novel It Can’t Happen Here (1935, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_Can’t_Happen_Here) by mistake, believing it was the source for the delicious Frank Capra comedy film You Can’t Take it with You (1938, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/You_Can’t_Take_It_with_You_(film)). Any fool can see that the titles are very different but, well, mistakes do happen… I had read another novel by Lewis, Babbitt (1922), which I enjoyed (apparently it earned him the Nobel Prize in 1930) and, so, I decided to make the best of my blunder and read It Can’t Happen Here.

Sinclair Lewis (1885-1951) is often confused with Upton Sinclair (1878-1958), who was actually Lewis’s mentor in his youth, during the years when he worked at Helicon Home Colony (1906-7), Upton Sinclair’s utopian project in Englewood (New Jersey). Later, the two authors became estranged and, funnily, Upton Sinclair appears mentioned several times as a crank in It Can’t Happen Here (Lewis names many other real-life persons). Incidentally, Upton Sinclair became famous thanks to his muck-raking novel The Jungle (1906), an exposé of the US meatpacking industry, which led to the passage of new legislation shortly thereafter. This book is the oldest predecessor of Eric Schlosser’s no less controversial Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal (2001), a highly recommended read.

It turns out that Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here has been in the news recently because it has been an object of a second stage adaptation by Tony Taccone and Bennett S. Cohen (2016), intended to replace the one written by Lewis himself with John C. Moffitt (1936) for Roosevelt’s Federal Theatre Project. Also, sales of this not too well-known novel have been booming because Lewis narrates the access to power of a barely literate populist whose unexpected electoral victory and chaotic presidential mandate soon degenerate into a fierce fascist regime. In case you still need me to spell this out, many have seen worrying affinities between Lewis’ Berzelius ‘Buzz’ Windrip and Donald Trump.

Now be amazed… There were several attempts to turn It Can’t Happen Here into a movie between 1936 and 1938, finally abandoned by MGM in part because of the success of Charles Chaplin’s anti-Nazi satire The Great Dictator (1940). An ABC TV movie broadcast in 1968, Shadow on the Land (a.k.a. United States: It Can’t Happen Here), intended to be the pilot for a new series, failed, however, to stir sufficient interest. Later, in 1982, NBC rejected producer Kenneth Johnson’s adaptation of Lewis’ novel, titled Storm Warnings. The unyielding Johnson recycled then his project as the arch-popular alien invasion mini-series, V, premiered in 1983 (there was a second longer series in 1984, and a far less successful version in 2009). Johnson is now working on a new film: a sequel of his cautionary fable to be released in 2019. In case you’ve never heard of V, in that series the invaders are a disgusting lizard-like species, fond of eating rodents, that masquerade as humans. Initially, everyone assumes they are benevolent humanoids but soon enough their true reptilian nature, fascist politics and genocidal plans are discovered by the newly formed resistance. I believe that part of V’s immense success in Spain is that the alien leader, Diana (played by beautiful Jane Badler) literally embodied the word ‘lagarta’, or she-lizard–the Spanish equivalent of ‘bitch’.

Apparently, Lewis wrote It Can’t Happen Here in just four months in 1935 because he was very much concerned that corrupt politician Huey Long, Louisiana Governor and a US Senator, might win the American Presidency in 1936 and start a fascist regime in the style of those rampant in Europe (Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin, Franco was yet to become Spain’s dictator). Long was murdered but, tragic as his assassination was, Lewis still published his novel just a few weeks later, possibly realising that Long might be dead but fascism was still very much alive. As I read It Can’t Happen Here I wondered why this novel is not as famous as 1984, for it should be, and I came to the conclusion that it is beset by three main problems: a) it’s not as well written as Orwell’s masterpiece, b) it ends in hope, a mood cancelled out by the horrific course of WWII from which 1984 springs, and c) the events that Lewis narrates are so grotesque that It Can’t Happen Here has been misread as political satire whereas, as Trump’s madcap Presidency shows, it is 100% realistic. It is, believe me, a very, very scary story.

Another circumstance that has played against Lewis is that he could not know in 1935 how far the Nazi regime would go. Many of its key elements are present in ‘Buzz’ Windrip’s tyranny: the undeniable demagogic brilliancy of the new leader, his rise to power thanks to a legitimate election, the clever use of new media (such as radio and even television) for rabble-rousing purposes, the quick formation of a nation-wide paramilitary corps (the Minute Men), the brutal repression at all levels, the rampant anti-Semitism, the murderous hatred of Marxism, the misogyny, the widespread censorship, the summary executions–even the concentration camps. That Adolf Hitler was applying all of this to his German subjects was well-known in Lewis’ America but few could have imagined in 1935 how far the Nazis would go in their attempt to exterminate the whole European Jewish population.

Windrip’s personal rule starts decaying before he can embark on an international war of conquest, as Hitler did, but, nevertheless, Lewis excels at identifying what his protagonist–provincial journalist Doremus Jessup–calls the ‘biology of dictatorships’. Let me cite from the novel: “The universal apprehension, the timorous denials of faith, the same methods of arrest—sudden pounding on the door late at night, the squad of police pushing in, the blows, the search, the obscene oaths at the frightened women, the third degree by young snipe of officials, the accompanying blows and then the formal beatings, when the prisoner is forced to count the strokes until he faints, the leprous beds and the sour stew, guards jokingly shooting round and round a prisoner who believes he is being executed, the waiting in solitude to know what will happen, till men go mad and hang themselves—Thus had things gone in Germany, exactly thus in Soviet Russia, in Italy and Hungary and Poland, Spain and Cuba and Japan and China. Not very different had it been under the blessings of liberty and fraternity in the French Revolution. All dictators followed the same routine of torture, as if they had all read the same manual of sadistic etiquette. And now, in the humorous, friendly, happy-go-lucky land of Mark Twain, Doremus saw the homicidal maniacs having just as good a time as they had had in central Europe”.

Many believe that fascism died in 1945, by the end of WWII, but it is evident that this is not at all the case. It may not be right-wing but tyranny persists in many territories of the world as the worst incarnation of patriarchal dominance. In the United Stated many have objected that it would not be possible for Donald Trump to go to the same lengths as Lewis’ Windrip because the structures of democratic power cannot be demolished in 2018 as easily as they were in the 1930s. That they are being demolished in other nations of South America and the Middle East is regarded as a sign of how backward these areas of the world are, and not as a warning that democracy is extremely frail everywhere–including Russia. The ‘manual of sadistic etiquette’ is being implemented today, right now, in many so-called democratic nations. And if we have learned one thing from the Holocaust, this is that genocide can be happening under our very noses and we will do nothing to stop it. Think of Syria. Or the Kurds. Or the Rohingya.

As I read It Can’t Happen Here I did not think primarily of Donald Trump or of Adolf Hitler (though it was eerie to see that before 1939 he was not an arch-villain but just the German dictator, a wacky ruler among many), but of Spain in 1936–the year when Lewis published his novel. Hitler ruled with absolute malice for 12 vicious years, half of which were taken by WWII, until he saw no option but commit suicide. Here in Spain, however, Franco’s dictatorship lasted for 39 years, and the tyrant died of old age as his family thrived on the profits accrued. Seeing how Jessup describes the birth of the resistance movement that might perhaps, one day, return democracy to his nation, I thought of the many Spaniards who tried to oppose Franco and who were defeated: imprisoned, tortured, sentenced to die, or just disappeared into ditches, where they still are.

Also, I thought of the many that didn’t even try because they were crushed before they started to resist and very much afraid of the fanatics surrounding them. I’m sure that many in 1931, when the Spanish Republic was proclaimed, thought that fascism could be kept at bay and that, once Primo de Rivera’s farcical monarchic military dictatorship was out together with King Alfonso XIII, Spain was safe–that ‘it could not happen here’. Yet, it did happen indeed. As he waits for the terrible circumstances to change, Jessup notes that “So much of a revolution for so many people is nothing but waiting. That is one reason why tourists rarely see anything but contentment in a crushed population”. I thought of 1960s Spain, flooded by tourists that didn’t care, and I marvelled that visitors could think of enjoying themselves in a dictatorship. As happens today with so many callous instagramming tourists visiting the many tyrannies around the world.

Everyone recalls the brutal torture that Winston Smith suffers in 1984 and how this causes him to betray everything he believes in, including love. Sinclair Lewis’ torture scenes are equally shocking (even more, perhaps, because there is no suave O’Brien behind them, but just blood-thirsty thugs), yet he decides to have his protagonist retain his faith in the future of democracy. Perhaps we find even the mild open end of It Can’t Happen Here too optimistic for our times and this is why Orwell and, generally speaking, dystopia are so popular. Yet, Lewis is not naïve and understands very well, as his vivid rendition of physical pain shows, that our fragile bodies often undermine our (theoretical) heroism. He still leaves, however, a door open for fascism to eventually end. I’m not sure that we have reached this point but perhaps one day we can learn not to be blinded by populist demagogues who present themselves as national saviours when they’re actually crazy, ignorant villains willing to ruin our lives for their personal glory. Or even worse, ambition.

Do read Sinclair Lewis’ novel and think not only that ‘yes, indeed, it can happen here’ but also that ‘yes, certainly, it can happen to us’. Call yourself very, very lucky if you don’t live in fear of what happens to Doremus Jessup and the rest of his nation. And consider carefully who you vote for–if you can vote at all.

I publish a new post every Tuesday (for updates follow @SaraMartinUAB). Comments are very welcome! Download the yearly volumes from: http://ddd.uab.cat/record/116328. My web: http://gent.uab.cat/saramartinalegre/