Sure! Let’s dive into this story unraveling Elon Musk’s gesture in a way that feels like a chat over coffee, full of curiosity and context.
So, was it a Hitler salute or wasn’t it?
This question has been making waves since Elon Musk’s appearance at President Trump’s inauguration event. In a high-profile moment, Musk placed his right hand over his chest, then extended it diagonally upward, palm downward—twice. It left people puzzled, sparking a whirlwind of interpretations. Was it a Nazi salute, a Roman salute, or something entirely innocent?
Let’s unpack this step by step.
The Gesture That Caught the World’s Eye
The action immediately drew comparisons to the infamous Nazi salute, which remains illegal in several countries, including Germany. The Anti-Defamation League (ADL), which monitors hate imagery, describes the Nazi salute as raising an outstretched right arm with the palm facing down—the “most common white supremacist hand sign in the world.” By that definition, Musk’s gesture seemed uncomfortably close.
But wait. Before anyone could settle on a conclusion, other narratives emerged. Some commentators called it a “Roman salute,” others saw it as a clumsy but heartfelt expression, while some simply dismissed it as an awkward moment of enthusiasm. Even the ADL stepped in to clarify, calling Musk’s move “an awkward gesture in a moment of enthusiasm, not a Nazi salute.”
Still, this didn’t dampen the controversy. The gesture rekindled deeply emotional discussions about history, symbols, and politics at a time when the far-right is gaining prominence in multiple countries. And Musk—never one to shy away from heated debates—added fuel to the fire by responding on social media with, “The ‘everyone is Hitler’ attack is soo tired.”
But context matters, and there’s much more to this story.
The German Reaction: No Time for Subtleties
In Germany, where history still casts a long shadow, the debate was swift and resolute. Gestures resembling the Nazi salute are not just frowned upon—they’re illegal. German authorities take this seriously, viewing such symbols as acts of incitement in a country scarred by its past.
Prominent German newspaper Die Zeit didn’t mince words. “A Hitler salute is a Hitler salute is a Hitler salute,” it said, criticizing any attempts to reinterpret the act as benign. According to its editors, the historical weight of the gesture leaves no room for ambiguity, especially when performed in front of a partly far-right audience—a point underscored by the presence of figures like Tino Chrupalla of Germany’s far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party and Italy’s far-right Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni.
Adding a dramatic visual to the controversy, anti-Musk demonstrators in Germany projected an image of his gesture alongside the words “Heil Tesla” onto the walls of Tesla’s Berlin factory. Subtle? Not at all. Their message was clear: the world saw what it saw.
But Was It a Roman Salute?
This raises an intriguing question: could Musk’s gesture have been a nod to ancient Rome rather than Nazi Germany? After all, “Roman salute” started trending online, with users sharing grainy film stills of actors in togas performing similar moves. Even Andrea Stroppa, one of Musk’s close associates in Italy, chimed in, initially celebrating the act with the comment, “The Roman Empire is back,” only to later backtrack after seeing how the gesture was linked—historically and visually—to Nazi-fascism.
But here’s the kicker: the so-called “Roman salute” wasn’t a thing in ancient Rome. That’s right—it’s a modern myth. According to Martin Winkler, a classics professor who literally wrote the book on this topic (The Roman Salute: Cinema, History, Ideology), there’s no archaeological or artistic evidence of Romans using this gesture.
So where did it come from?
A Fascinating (and Troubling) History of the Salute
The gesture’s origins turn out to be surprisingly modern. It first appeared in 19th-century stage productions and later in the silent film era, used as a dramatic flourish in costume dramas set in ancient worlds like Rome. Without dialogue, filmmakers relied on exaggerated movements to convey meaning, and salutes like this one fit the bill.
Then, things took a darker turn. In 1919, Italian nationalist Gabriele D’Annunzio co-opted the gesture during his brief, militarized rule over the Croatian city of Fiume. Calling it “Il Saluto Romano,” he imbued the salute with a militaristic tone, likening it to a symbolic dagger thrust into an enemy’s throat. This theatrical flair caught the eye of Benito Mussolini, who adopted it in 1923 to lend his fascist movement an air of historical grandeur. Adolf Hitler followed suit in 1926, rechristening it the “German salute” and solidifying its sinister place in modern history.
But the story doesn’t end there.
The American Connection: A Forgotten Salute
Here’s a surprising twist: for decades, a similar salute accompanied the Pledge of Allegiance right here in the United States. In 1892, Francis Bellamy—who authored the pledge—devised a companion gesture: standing with the hand on the heart, then extending the right arm toward the American flag. Known as the “Bellamy salute,” it was part of an effort to instill patriotism in schoolchildren.
This practice persisted until World War II, when Americans began associating the outstretched arm with the Nazis. By 1942, the U.S. scrapped the salute in favor of simply placing the hand over the heart—ensuring no confusion or unwelcome comparisons. As Winkler put it, the change reflected a collective sentiment: “These are our enemies, and we don’t want to be like them.”
So, What Was Musk Trying to Say?
Musk’s salute, though not identical to a Nazi gesture, bore uncomfortable similarities. He started with a hand on his chest—evoking shades of the Bellamy salute—before extending his arm upward. Given the history and symbolic weight of the action, the gesture raised eyebrows, especially at an event attended by far-right European leaders. Context matters, and Musk is no stranger to courting controversy. By opening a dialogue with far-right politicians across Germany, Italy, France, and Britain, he risks emboldening extremist interpretations of his actions.
Reflecting on this moment, Die Zeit captured the broader implications: “Neo-Nazis and right-wing radicals can interpret the stretched right arm as a gesture of fraternization and empowerment.” It’s a sobering reminder of how symbols—intended or not—shape perceptions and narratives in ways that ripple far beyond the gesture itself.
What’s Next?
Ultimately, whether Musk intended the gesture as a playful nod to history, a moment of enthusiasm, or simply an awkward mishap, the controversy underscores the power of symbols—and the responsibility that comes with wielding them, especially in politically charged settings. As we grapple with rising extremism worldwide, the lesson is clear: gestures are never just gestures. And Musk, with his rockstar status and global influence, should know that better than anyone.
