Fascism: London's Unspoken Blueprint.

England’s involvement in Benito Mussolini’s rise did not stem only from fears of a communist wave sweeping across Europe. It also emerged from a deeper quest among influential British circles to find an effective way to rein in what they perceived as the unruly demands of labor movements and expanding popular rights. Italy, unstable and desperate for direction after the First World War, offered a laboratory where British statesmen and financiers could watch how drastic government policies might crush union power, restore order, and discipline the workforce.

As strikes flared across Italy, British officials worried that similar unrest might grip England. They watched as Mussolini’s squads attacked socialist organizers and broke up union gatherings with disturbing efficiency. Many within the British establishment recoiled at the violence but also noted its apparent success: the Fascist government forced workers to accept limits on collective bargaining and carved up existing labor institutions under the banner of national progress. Leading figures in London circles saw a macabre logic in the Italian experiment. Mussolini’s no-holds-barred approach had a chilling effect on labor activism, which opened space for investment and, so the British elites believed, for economic growth unshackled by constant demands for wage increases or better working conditions.

British bankers and industrialists, some of whom had long grumbled that union power at home sapped productivity, cast envious eyes on this unfolding drama. They suspected that if Italians accepted heavy-handed tactics, perhaps workers in other countries might cave as well. Newspapers published editorials brimming with praise for the “energy” and “efficiency” of the new regime in Rome. Mussolini, in his turn, played up the image of a well-oiled, strife-free Italy, touting his modernization schemes and claiming that strikes and labor disputes now belonged to a messy past. At dinners in London’s fashionable clubs, influential men spoke of Italy as a pioneer, a place proving that a determined government could bludgeon labor disruptions into submission.

Behind that admiration lay a deeper motive: to discover whether they could implement similar measures in Britain without inciting too much protest or outright revolt. As Italian Fascists carved away at union influence, scrapped social spending, and funneled funds into grandiose public works, British observers took notes. Such policies, though not yet labeled as such, laid the groundwork for a broad reduction in social safety nets—a blueprint for forcing everyday people to shoulder economic burdens while shielding the upper crust. Over time, a single word would come to define this strategy of slashing public assistance, freezing wages, and funneling government resources into industry: austerity.

In Italy, Mussolini sold these cutbacks as a national imperative to restore greatness. British elites saw a chance to observe how average Italians coped. If an authoritarian figure could impose these belt-tightening measures on an already agitated populace and still maintain a grip on power, then perhaps democratic governments could attempt a milder version of those measures at home, especially if they found the right balance of propaganda and policy. Influential financiers, diplomatic staff, and certain Cabinet ministers in Britain found themselves quietly cheering Mussolini’s crackdown on labor. Some even expressed open admiration, if couched in guarded official language, saying that the Fascist methods might hold lessons for the rest of Europe.

Yet while the English viewed the postwar Italian state as a convenient test subject, they did not fully anticipate the long-term ripple effects of Mussolini’s authoritarian turn. What began as a way to subdue union power and trim public spending soon morphed into a broad assault on civil liberties and political opposition of any kind. Italy’s “experiment” in economic discipline thus progressed hand in hand with a broader dismantling of democracy, something that many Britons found harder to applaud—at least openly. Still, for those who believed worker demands had grown unreasonable, Italy stood out as an example of just how forceful a government could be when it refused to yield an inch to labor. It showed that, with enough muscle behind it, the state could impose an austere model of governance.

England’s alignment with Mussolini, then, did more than ward off fears of communist contagion. It also let British elites watch a live demonstration of strong government cracking down on unions and curbing social entitlements. The eventual name for that tightening of government spending and labor rights, “austerity,” would become a fixture of later debates about how societies should handle economic crises. And its roots, in part, lay in the uneasy alliance between England’s power brokers and a brash Italian dictator who promised order at any cost.