Hail Caesar or heil Hitler? Why politicians hijack classical culture 

Elon Musk, the world’s most talked-about billionaire, shocked audiences in January with a gesture reminiscent of Nazi iconography.  

As he sent the Internet into a flame war, defenders of the Tesla CEO rushed in with a counterclaim: it wasn’t a Nazi salute, but a ‘Roman’ salute. 

To settle the debate, we asked a classics expert about the origins of the gesture. And, as it turns out, the so-called salute is about as Roman as a Caesar salad.  

“There is no art from the time that depicts this gesture, and it is not described in any text,” says Dr Estelle Strazdins from the School of Literature, Language and Linguistics at the Australian National University.  

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“The major arm raising gesture that can be associated with Ancient Rome is the adlocutio pose that was adopted by emperors and generals when addressing their troops. But it is a more relaxed, slightly bent arm with a loose pointing posture, rather than the straight arm and hand associated with the ‘Roman salute’.”   

What the so-called ‘Roman salute’ is associated with, Strazdins explains, is 20th century fascist movements.  

“This is an example of how our understanding of antiquity can be highjacked and solidified by active and directed misinterpretation,” she says.  

“Fascism tries to gain legitimacy from its association with ancient Rome, claiming it as something with a deeper cultural legitimacy and as a way of demonstrating its connection to the broader and nebulous concept of ‘western culture’. 

“Knowing Musk’s gesture has nothing to do with ancient Rome in reality saps it of that power and highlights its fascist connections.” 

The Romans did it first

Long before politicians had PR teams and Instagram accounts to help craft their public image, Roman emperors relied on coins, statues, and monuments to do the same job.      

Strazdins’s research is trying to understand the role these early forms of mass media played in securing power during the Later Roman Empire.  

“The emperors of Rome were adept at using visual forms of propaganda,” she says.  

“The use of the emperor’s image was always strategic – they wanted to control how the leader was understood and to spread a uniform message. 

“Portraits are an interesting example. Each emperor had their own official portrait of them wearing military uniform distributed across the empire so local workshops could reproduce it in stone or bronze. This was chosen to convey their authority and right to rule, reminding the population of the consequences of resistance and rebellion. 

“Coins worked in a similar way. Often featuring the emperor’s portrait, they circulated widely, passing through the hands of many people from different social ranks.” 

Researchers have diverse evidence that these imperial messages were effectively received and interpreted by the masses.  

These clues come largely from the elites, proving that, much like today’s influencers set social trends, the images of emperors had a direct effect on the fashion choices of the time.  

“We’ve studied portraits of non-imperial women copying the hairstyles of imperial women,” Strazdins says. “And after Hadrian became the first emperor to wear a beard in his official portrait, subsequent emperors and elites followed suit.  

The parallels to today’s world are uncanny. Just as some politicians have mimicked Elon Musk’s salute – such as  Donald Trump’s former adviser Steve Bannon – Roman elites also played copycat politics. 

“Provincial elites would commission images of the emperor in combination with their own portrait in ways that either used the prestige of connection with the emperor to build up one’s own image or to suggest they were somehow a mediator of imperial power in the region, having some kind of direct influence over the emperor himself,” says Strazdins.  

Everlasting images of power

As the saying goes, all roads lead to Rome. And for centuries, leaders have borrowed symbols of power from the long history of Greco-Roman visual politics. 

“Contemporary leaders have long used historical imagery to convey legitimacy and continuity to the people. Think about the Lincoln monument, which shows Abraham Lincoln seated in a way that riffs on the statue of Olympian Zeus in Greece,” says Strazdins.  

Others, such as Kim-il-Sung from North Korea, have tried to associate their personas to deities, just as Greek and Roman leaders once did.  

“Roman emperors were shown being crowned or attended by gods and goddesses to suggest that their rule is sanctioned by the gods, implying they may be godlike themselves,” Strazdins says.   

The assassination attempt on Trump is perhaps the most recent reminder of an image’s inherent, persuasive power.  

The Washington Post called it a photo that could “change America forever” and Strazdins unpacks why.  

“It would be hard to construct an image that would be more affecting for someone sympathetic to Trump and his rhetoric about what America should be,” she says.  

“He seems often to want to appear as the strong man and the man of the people; the flag, the blood, the raised fist, the security around him seeming more to restrain rather than protect him all cast Trump as a triumphant, larger-than-life leader.” 

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By studying the way ancient civilisations used imagery to gain and sustain power, Strazdins hopes to gain a deeper understanding of the visual tactics modern leaders use to sway the public.  

“Understanding how these visual tropes work is helping break down what they’re trying to tell us, allowing us to question whether those messages are truly relevant to society,” she says. 

“The Musk salute is a perfect illustration of why a historical understanding of images matters.” 

Estelle Strazdin’s research is part of a project funded by the Australian Research Council and led by Macquarie University.