Does Giorgia Meloni Admire Mussolini? — That Premise Itself Shows a Complete Misreading of Italian Politics

In Japanese-language discourse, you often see claims like these:

• “Meloni admires Mussolini.”
• “She’s far-right, an authoritarian-minded leader.”
• “This is a revival of Mussolini-style politics.”
• “In Japan’s context, she’s basically the same as Sanae Takaichi.”

But this framing is dangerous in two ways.

First, it is not factually accurate. Meloni has not praised or celebrated Mussolini in her capacity as a member of parliament, a party leader, or prime minister. What gets recycled instead are remarks attributed to her teenage years—statements made before she held public office or any governing authority.

Second—and more seriously—this mistaken premise becomes the basis for a lazy “same-category” comparison that treats Meloni and Sanae Takaichi as equivalent: “same right wing,” “same threat.” That comparison collapses the most important distinction in politics: the stage of responsibility.

Treating a minor’s pre-office remarks as equal in weight to actions taken by an adult politician while holding power is not “strictness.” It is intellectual shortcuts. When you erase the difference in responsibility, you weaken your ability to detect real political danger.

And there is a deeper structural gap: Italy and Japan do not carry the same public memory of “prewar” nationalism and dictatorship. In Italy, Mussolini is not a figure open to “re-evaluation”; politics is expected—socially and institutionally—to keep distance from him. In Japan, the rupture with prewar politics can remain ambiguous, which allows prewar-style state-centered thinking to slip into contemporary rhetoric more easily.

Ignoring these conditions and insisting “they’re the same” is not comparison—it is confusion. It is labeling, not analysis.

This article first clarifies what Mussolini represents in Italy today, then explains why “Meloni = Mussolini” and “Meloni = Takaichi” frames do not hold—and why the ease with which Japan’s right embraces such equivalences is itself politically risky.

In Italy, Mussolini Is Not an Object of “Re-evaluation”

Mussolini is not treated in Italy as a historical figure whose legacy is “mixed” or “debatable.”

• a leader who “made the nation strong”
• a politician who “restored order”
• a figure whose reputation is “divided”

Even this style of framing tends to trigger strong suspicion in Italian society. Why? Because Mussolini is not remembered merely as “an authoritarian leader,” but as a concrete case of national catastrophe.

The failure of wartime judgment was not a “policy mistake.” Italy was dragged into occupation and civil conflict; society fractured; the country’s cohesion itself was damaged. As long as that historical experience remains central, Mussolini is recalled not as a candidate for “rehabilitation,” but as a warning.

Yes, nostalgia exists at the margins. But it is not the mainstream historical view, and it does not carry public legitimacy. In official politics, open praise for Mussolini comes with steep political costs.

In short, Mussolini in Italy is not a figure to “argue over.” He is fixed in public memory as the person who helped destroy democracy and led the country into disaster—anchored by both institutions and collective remembrance.

What “The Dictator Hung Upside Down” Represents

The political point here is not voyeurism or “revenge.” The key is that dictators can survive death as symbols. If the symbol is mythologized, the project returns.

That is why the end of dictatorship was made unmistakably un-romantic. This is not a moral endorsement of violence; it is an argument about memory. Italy fixed the meaning of the regime as a collapse—not as a nostalgia object.

As a result, Mussolini is:

• not a figure of sentimental longing
• not easily romanticized
• not a usable emblem of “a strong era”

He is positioned as a symbol of a road society must not return to. As long as that memory holds, a sitting prime minister cannot openly praise Mussolini and remain politically viable.

Why the “Meloni = Mussolini” Narrative Still Spreads

It is not accidental that Meloni is repeatedly linked to Mussolini. There are two structural reasons: her political origins and the outside world’s appetite for “simple stories.”

Meloni began her career in a political lineage that traces back to the postwar right, including the Italian Social Movement (MSI). That lineage has often been described as “post-fascist,” which makes it easy for outsiders to view it with suspicion.

But “post-fascist” does not automatically mean “fascism continued.” It describes a political space formed after fascism was institutionally rejected—one that cannot freely praise or rehabilitate the past without crossing lines enforced by society and constitutional order.

Because of those constraints, Meloni cannot use Mussolini as a political reference point. Yet from abroad, the “lineage” alone is cut out and turned into a simplified story.

Add to that the fact that remarks from her teenage years (often summarized as “Mussolini was complex” or “some social policies were effective”) are repeatedly recycled. But what is happening here is not verification; it is narrative-building—using a fragment from the past to “prove” a present-day identity.

Policies and governing behavior after entering office are complex and contested. Teenage remarks are easy to quote and easy to label. That is why the fragment survives, detached from context.

Meloni Has Spoken at CPAC — But That Does Not Constitute an Endorsement of Fascism

Giorgia Meloni has delivered remarks at CPAC (the Conservative Political Action Conference), a major political gathering within the American conservative ecosystem. In Japan, this fact is often treated as shorthand for claims such as “she is part of a far-right network” or even “this proves admiration for Mussolini.” Such conclusions, however, rest on a fundamental confusion of political context.

Appearing at CPAC primarily signals two things. First, participation in transnational conservative networks, particularly within the United States. Second, an outward assertion that one intends to govern within existing institutional frameworks, rather than from outside them. At no point has CPAC served as a platform on which Meloni praised Mussolini or endorsed fascism as a governing model.

What Meloni has consistently emphasized instead is her alignment with the “West,” with democratic legitimacy, and with alliance-based politics. The crucial distinction here is that international conservative coordination is not equivalent to the rehabilitation of historical fascism. Conflating the two replaces analysis with symbolic labeling.

Therefore, the claim “she spoke at CPAC, therefore she endorses Mussolini” ignores the institutional context of Italian politics. The relevant question is not which stage a politician appeared on, but what positions are justified, normalized, and implemented once power is held.

This point marks a decisive difference from the current political situation in Japan.

In Japan, events branded as “CPAC” or CPAC-related have often involved organizations such as the Unification Church or Happy Science, religious cult groups that have played an active role in political mobilization. In these cases, political messaging, religious authority, and organizational mobilization have been intertwined in opaque and problematic ways.

By contrast, CPAC in the United States—regardless of ideological evaluation—operates within a conventional framework of party politics, interest groups, and institutional conservatism. It is not structured as a vehicle for cult-based political mobilization.

Ignoring this structural difference and equating CPAC appearances across national contexts turns comparison into misclassification. It obscures both the realities of Italian politics and the specific vulnerabilities present within Japan’s own political environment.

Meloni’s Statements on the MSI Are Not “Endorsement,” but an Explanation of Institutional History

Giorgia Meloni has stated that the Italian Social Movement (MSI), in postwar republican Italy, played a role in channeling large segments of the population back into democratic participation. When taken out of context, this remark is sometimes presented as evidence that she endorses fascism or Mussolini. That interpretation is inaccurate.

What Meloni is describing is not ideological approval, but a historical account of how postwar Italy dealt with political forces that could not simply be excluded from the system. The MSI was not a revolutionary movement. It participated in elections, operated within parliamentary rules, and functioned—however imperfectly—as part of the republican framework.

Crucially, in the same context, Meloni explicitly condemned fascism itself, describing it as a regime that suppressed democracy, enacted racial laws, and bore responsibility for war and repression. Explanation and endorsement are not the same.

This interpretation is supported by a primary source published in 2008 by the Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera, which records Meloni’s own words at the time.

Amid intense internal debates over “fascism” and “anti-fascism,” Meloni rejected any glorification of the past regime and warned against the instrumentalization of historical labels. Instead, she framed her position around constitutional values such as freedom, democracy, equality, and justice.

What emerges from this record is not an attempt to rehabilitate fascism, but an effort to situate Italian political history within a democratic and institutional framework. The frequent equation of “Meloni equals Mussolini” is therefore not grounded in contemporary evidence, but in later acts of selective quotation and symbolic misrepresentation.

The Decisive Question Is: When Was It Said?

In political analysis, timing is decisive. The standards for speech made without public authority are fundamentally different from those for behavior and statements made by someone who wields state power.

What is cited against Meloni belongs to a period when she was:

• a minor
• not yet in public office
• in an early phase of worldview formation
• speaking within a closed youth-political environment

And the age itself matters. Fifteen is not an age that “represents society.” It is a stage of immaturity and change, where people absorb surroundings, revise beliefs, and learn through trial and error.

In a democracy, if we freeze a minor’s statement as a lifetime verdict, we deny the possibility of learning and maturation. That is not accountability; it is the denial of change.

So the proper metric is not “what was said at 15,” but what was said and done after power was acquired: what was endorsed, what was institutionalized, and what was tolerated.

And crucially: there is no evidence that Meloni, after entering parliament and rising to executive authority, has repeatedly praised Mussolini or used him as a legitimizing political reference.

Does Meloni Praise Mussolini?

Answer: No.

Giorgia Meloni, as

• a member of parliament
• a party leader
• prime minister

has not praised or celebrated Mussolini.

“Not praising” here does not merely mean she avoids saying “I admire him.” It means she does not invoke Mussolini as a political model or as a source of legitimacy for contemporary governance.

Instead, in public contexts she has maintained positions consistent with Italy’s constitutional order:

• fascism is incompatible with democracy
• dictatorship is a past to be rejected, not revived
• racial laws, censorship, and war responsibility were grave wrongs

In Italy, these are not “cosmetic” disclaimers. They reflect the political reality that Mussolini is not a usable symbol in mainstream politics. Openly praising him would carry immediate political consequences.

So whatever one thinks of her on immigration, culture, or national identity, it does not follow that her politics is “Mussolini revived.” That leap is narrative, not analysis.

If Meloni is to be judged politically, it should be on governance and policy choices after acquiring power—not on teenage fragments treated as permanent proof.

Meloni’s “Age-15 Remarks” and Takaichi’s “Actions as a Lawmaker” Are Not Comparable

These two cannot be treated as equivalent, and the reason is not simply “age.”
The decisive difference is the stage of responsibility in a democratic society: when the act occurred, from what position, and with what public authority.

Politics is not a courtroom for private thoughts, nor a moral purity test. It is the realm where public power is exercised—and where public trust must be protected.

That is why it is analytically wrong to evaluate a minor’s pre-office remarks and an elected official’s public conduct under the same standard.

What is repeatedly cited regarding Meloni concerns remarks from her teenage years—made:

• before public office
• without institutional authority
• in an early phase of worldview formation

Treating such remarks as decisive evidence of the political identity of a sitting prime minister decades later is closer to labeling than analysis.

By contrast, what drew controversy in Japan involved concrete actions taken by an adult politician while holding public office and political influence. That difference matters.

Photo with a Neo-Nazi Group Representative (2014)

In September 2014, it was reported that Sanae Takaichi (then a cabinet minister) had been photographed in the National Diet with a man identified as the representative of a Japanese neo-Nazi group. Takaichi’s side explained that she “did not know” the man’s affiliation and framed the situation as unavoidable.

But the core issue is not simply whether she was “tricked.” A photo taken inside the Diet, by a national lawmaker, can function as a form of public credibility—especially for extremist actors who seek legitimacy through proximity to power.

And the “I didn’t know” explanation is itself politically problematic. If she truly did not know, then at minimum one of the following applies:

• Insufficient political literacy for a national legislator (a failure of due diligence), or
• Institutional negligence in screening and risk management (staff failure is still political responsibility), or
• A rhetorical shield used to evade accountability after the fact.

In any case, responsibility does not vanish. “Not knowing” is not a neutral alibi for a public official; it indicates a failure of competence, oversight, or accountability.

Neo-Nazism is not “just another extreme view.” It is an ideology historically tied to mass violence and the destruction of democratic politics. Allowing such actors to obtain imagery that looks like institutional endorsement is precisely why public officials are expected to exercise heightened caution.

This is why the controversy is not about “intent.” It is about the public function of the act: providing symbolic legitimacy through an official setting and an official role.

Endorsement Blurb for a Hitler-Related Book (2014)

Also in 2014, it was criticized that Takaichi had provided an endorsement blurb for a book titled Hitler’s Election Strategy (by Yoshihiro Tanaka). Some defenders argue, “It was merely an analysis of campaign tactics.”

But the point is not whether the book claims to be “analysis.” An endorsement by a sitting politician is not an academic footnote. It functions as a public signal—a form of reputational lending that can shape how the work and its subject are received.

In politics, effects matter. Even if one insists the intention was “analytical,” the act still produces predictable consequences:

• it lends a degree of legitimacy to the theme and framing
• it supplies social credibility to the author and the project
• it invites interpretation as political messaging by an office-holder

And Hitler is not a neutral case study. He is not merely “a campaign innovator,” but the figure who enabled mass atrocities and the collapse of democratic institutions.

For a public official, attaching one’s name as an endorsement to material centered on Hitler—regardless of claimed intent—raises a question of political judgment and responsibility.

What is being questioned here is not the legitimacy of studying history, but whether an elected official, acting as an elected official, demonstrated the caution required when dealing with extremist symbolism and its public afterlife.

This is why collapsing these cases into “the same problem” is not a neutral comparison—it is a distortion.

Equating a minor’s pre-office remarks with the conduct of an adult lawmaker exercising public authority erases the very concept of political responsibility. It replaces analysis with labeling, and accountability with aesthetic judgment.

If everything is treated as equally dangerous, then nothing truly dangerous can be identified. Democracy does not fail because of teenage comments preserved in amber; it fails when power is exercised carelessly, symbols are normalized, and responsibility is evaded once authority is held.

The question, therefore, is not who once said something questionable, but who acted, from what position, and with what consequences. Any analysis that refuses to draw this line is not being “strict”—it is being intellectually lazy.

The Essential Difference Is Not “Ideology,” but the Stage of Responsibility

The difference between these two cases is clear. It is not a matter of age alone.

• Meloni: remarks made as a minor, before public office
• Takaichi: actions taken as an adult, while serving as a national lawmaker

What is being compared here is not the content of personal beliefs. The issue is at what stage of responsibility political judgment was exercised.

Politics is not a space for monitoring inner thoughts or moral purity. It is a system designed to examine how power is used, by whom, and under what institutional authority.

For that reason, equating remarks made before holding public responsibility with conduct carried out while exercising public power fundamentally misunderstands how accountability works in a democracy.

Statements made in adolescence—before entering public life—do not carry the same political weight as actions taken by an elected official entrusted with public authority. Treating them as equivalent blurs responsibility rather than clarifying it.

And once responsibility is blurred, accountability becomes easy to evade. Politics then shifts from evaluating conduct to debating impressions, from examining power to trading labels.

That is precisely why democratic systems insist on transparency and responsibility at the point where authority is exercised. Without that distinction, genuine threats become harder to identify, while superficial controversies multiply.

For this reason, placing these two cases side by side as if they were comparable is not an act of careful comparison. It is closer to a collapse of responsibility—one that ultimately weakens political analysis itself.

Any valid comparison must begin with shared conditions of responsibility. In this case, those conditions are decisively different.

Far-Right Groups Do Exist in Italy — But They Have Not Become the Political Mainstream

To be clear, far-right rhetoric and neo-fascist groups do exist in Italy. Xenophobic discourse and symbolic references to Mussolini can still be observed on the margins of society. That fact itself should not be denied.

What matters, however, is how these forces are positioned within Italian society. They are broadly understood as entities that must remain at the margins. The prevailing public sentiment is not that they represent a legitimate political alternative, but that they constitute something to be watched, contained, and kept at a distance.

The primary reason for this lies in Italy’s historical experience. Fascism is not remembered as an abstract ideology or a distant past, but as a concrete national catastrophe involving war, occupation, civil conflict, and the breakdown of social cohesion.

In addition, the Italian Republic was founded on an explicitly anti-fascist constitutional order. Fascism is treated not as one opinion among others, but as something fundamentally incompatible with democratic governance. As a result, far-right rhetoric is quickly recognized as a challenge to constitutional norms, rather than absorbed as part of ordinary political debate.

Media organizations, civil society, academic institutions, and Jewish communities respond rapidly to extremist symbolism and historical revisionism. This makes the political cost of normalizing far-right narratives extremely high.

The outcome is a clear distinction: far-right movements may exist in Italy, but they do not easily become the center of political life. The line between presence and dominance is actively maintained.

Ignoring this distinction and claiming that “Italy is also experiencing a far-right takeover” misreads not only Italian political reality, but also exposes a gap in how such dynamics are perceived from Japan.

This point marks a decisive break from the current political situation in Japan.

In Japan, the historical reckoning with the prewar state and wartime nationalism has remained institutionally and socially ambiguous. As a result, strong state-centered ideas, exclusionary rhetoric, and values reminiscent of the prewar era can more easily slip into mainstream politics, often reframed as merely “one form of conservatism” or “a difference of opinion.”

In Italy, by contrast, fascist rhetoric is quickly identified as a challenge to the constitutional order. In Japan, similar language is more often treated as part of ordinary debate, or shielded under the banner of ideological freedom.

This difference explains why, in Italy, far-right groups may exist without becoming politically dominant, while in Japan the absence of a clearly enforced boundary allows radical ideas to move closer to the center of political power.

Ignoring this contrast and claiming that “Italy, too, is experiencing a far-right surge” misreads Italian political reality and simultaneously obscures a critical vulnerability within Japan’s own political landscape.

Exclusionism and Immigration Control Are Not the Same

This point marks a decisive difference from the current political situation in Japan.

Exclusionism and immigration control are often conflated, but they are not equivalent. Exclusionism is an ideology that defines specific ethnic, religious, or cultural groups as inherent threats and seeks to exclude them from society. Immigration control, by contrast, is a policy tool through which a state regulates entry, residence, and employment conditions. It is a form of governance adopted by many democratic countries.

Giorgia Meloni’s political position clearly falls into the latter category. Her arguments for stricter immigration management are framed in terms of public security, social welfare sustainability, and labor market regulation. She has not articulated immigration policy as a project of ethnic or religious exclusion, nor has she institutionalized exclusionist rhetoric as a core political doctrine.

In this respect, Meloni’s approach differs fundamentally from that of certain right-wing politicians in Japan, most notably Sanae Takaichi. In Takaichi’s case, discussions of immigration and national security have frequently been intertwined with narratives invoking prewar state ideology, cultural hierarchy, or historical revisionism. As a result, the boundary between policy debate and ideological mobilization tends to become blurred.

In Italy, by contrast, the historical experience of Fascism functions as a clear social boundary. Exclusionism is widely recognized as a political danger, shaped by collective memory of authoritarian collapse. Within that framework, immigration policy is debated across the political spectrum as a matter of institutional design rather than ideological identity.

In Japan’s political discourse, however, immigration control, security concerns, and cultural narratives are more easily fused with exclusionist sentiment. This fusion encourages simplified binaries—“strict on immigration equals exclusionist,” or “right-wing equals dangerous”—which obscure policy substance and weaken accountability.

Treating Meloni and Takaichi as equivalent “exclusionist right-wing figures” ignores these conceptual and historical distinctions. Such comparisons do not constitute analysis; they project Japan’s domestic political ambiguities onto Italian politics and result in systematic misreading.

Conclusion

Meloni has not praised or glorified Mussolini since entering public office. This is not a matter of interpretation or goodwill; it is a matter of public record.

And this point matters precisely because, in this context, Meloni and Sanae Takaichi cannot be treated as equivalent. To label them both as “the same right wing” or “the same danger” collapses the distinction between responsibility and non-responsibility, and obscures political accountability.

In Meloni’s case, what is repeatedly cited are remarks from her teenage years—statements made before public office, before institutional authority, and before she carried responsibility as a representative of the state. After entering parliament, becoming party leader, and assuming the office of prime minister, she has not invoked Mussolini as a political reference or source of legitimacy.

By contrast, what became controversial in Japan involved actions taken by an adult politician while already serving as a member of the National Diet. Photographs with a neo-Nazi group representative and endorsement text for a book dealing with Hitler were not private thoughts, but public acts with political impact, evaluated as such.

What is at issue here is not ideological purity. It is the stage at which responsibility was exercised—and whether power was handled with the caution and judgment required of an elected official.

This is why placing these two cases side by side is not a valid comparison. It erases the distinction between pre-office remarks and actions taken under public authority, replacing analysis with superficial equivalence.

In Italy, Mussolini is not a tradition to be invoked or debated nostalgically. He is fixed in public memory as a concrete example of democratic collapse. That is precisely why Italian politics demands distance from him, and why Meloni is politically constrained to maintain that distance.

What troubles me most is how easily parts of Japan’s political discourse ignore these historical and institutional differences, and instead rely on slogans like “history repeats itself” or “the strong right returns.” Such framing feels persuasive, but it dulls our ability to identify where real democratic risk actually lies.

What should be examined is not fragments of teenage speech frozen in time, but how authority is exercised once power is obtained—what is normalized, what is excused, and what responsibility is accepted or avoided.

For that reason, evaluating Meloni does not require defending her, nor does criticizing her require distortion. But treating her as equivalent to Takaichi is neither fair comparison nor serious analysis.

Without respecting these distinctions, political criticism loses its precision. And without precision, political analysis loses its meaning.