Nuremburg

If the Nuremberg Trials Played at the Payson Tea Party

Last night we watched a movie about the Nuremberg Trials—that moment in history when the world finally told the Nazi leadership: You don’t get to shrug this off. You don’t get to say “I was just following orders.” You don’t get to lie your way out of mass murder.

And all I could think was this:

What if that movie were shown at a local Tea Party meeting in Payson?

Would anyone recognize themselves in it?

Payson is full of people who, in another time and with a little brown-shirted uniform, would have thrived in the Nazi system. Not because they’re monsters in comic-book terms—but because authoritarianism feeds on the same traits we see today: blind loyalty, tribal rage, contempt for facts, and the absolute worship of a strongman who promises to crush “the enemy.”

The Tea Party movement in Payson is as close as we get to that political DNA. Wrap it in flags. Sprinkle in Jesus. Add some Facebook outrage and conspiracy theories. Then repeat the lie until it feels true.

History doesn’t repeat itself exactly—but it sure as hell rhymes.

At Nuremberg, Hermann Göring did what every authoritarian does when the bill comes due: he denied everything. He spun stories. He blamed others. He acted offended that anyone would dare hold him responsible. Sound familiar?

So does Donald Trump.

The Big Lie wasn’t invented in 2020—it was perfected in the 1930s. If you repeat a lie loudly enough and long enough, you can convince millions to distrust their own eyes. Trump didn’t invent that playbook. He just translated it into red hats and rage-filled rallies.

And here’s the part that should chill every thinking person in Payson:

The early Nazis didn’t think they were villains.
They thought they were patriots.
They thought they were saving their country.
They thought the courts were rigged.
They thought the press was the enemy.
They thought violence was justified because their side was “under attack.”

Sound familiar yet?

This is why the Nuremberg Trials still matter. They weren’t just about punishment—they were about truth in the face of propaganda. They were about documenting lies while the liars were still breathing. They were about telling future generations, “Here is what actually happened—no matter how badly you want to rewrite it.”

So let me ask the uncomfortable question out loud:

If the Nuremberg film played at a Tea Party meeting in Payson—
Would anyone see the warning sign?
Or would they just mutter, “Fake news,” and ask where the donuts are?

The scariest part of authoritarianism isn’t the dictator at the top.
It’s the ordinary people underneath who decide that truth no longer matters as long as their side wins.

Payson may think it’s far removed from the world of Nazi Germany.

It isn’t.

Not when you crush facts.
Not when you excuse cruelty.
Not when you chant lies in unison.
Not when you dismiss the rule of law as optional.
Not when you cheer for the man who promises to break the system instead of fix it.

History already showed us where that road ends.

The only real question left is this:

Do we recognize it now—or do we pretend we don’t?

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