It’s the second time I’ve mentioned Hitler here, something that makes you pause. The first time was about Hitler’s highways; this time, it’s about a board game.
A coworker had tipped me off to Secret Hitler, knowing how much our family enjoys social deduction games like Mafia and (One Night) Werewolf. But this one felt different. Provocative by design, impossible to ignore.
Before opening the box, I checked the premise. It does not glorify fascism; quite the opposite. It’s satire with a warning label, showing how easily deception can slip into power. The website even jokes that if you’re offended, you can write to the U.S. Senate, all 100 members of it.
So there we were: seven players around the table, the perfect number for chaos. Our three sons, our youngest daughter, a family friend, Ruth and me. Yet one question lingered: was this right for our seven-year-old Nadia?
We’d faced a similar dilemma before. On a road trip to Poland, we decided to visit Auschwitz. I’d been there before; it’s not something you simply “see,” it’s something that stays with you. We wanted to teach her history without scarring her, so we chose carefully what she’d encounter. The most graphic thing she saw was a single photo of two emaciated children, barely holding on to life. Enough to plant the seed of empathy without crushing innocence.
When we explained Secret Hitler, we framed it the same way: as a lesson. That even the most charming people can hide dark intentions. That evil doesn’t always arrive wearing a villain’s mask; it often smiles first.
I told her what I believe every child should learn early: when someone tries too hard to seem good, listen to the tone beneath their words. Deception rarely looks like danger. Sometimes, it feels like trust.
Is that too heavy for a seven-year-old? Maybe. But the world she’s growing up in demands discernment. In an age of deepfakes and misinformation, understanding manipulation isn’t morbid; it’s survival.
So we played. We laughed. We argued. And somewhere between rounds, something clicked. This wasn’t just a game about lying; it was about detecting lies, an exercise in intuition, empathy, and critical thought. The very skills our children will need to navigate tomorrow’s world.
Designing New Roles for Truth
Later that night, I began to imagine what could come next. A variant of Secret Hitler, not with fascists, but with aliens. Or maybe inspired by The Handmaid’s Tale, where identity, obedience, and courage collide.
Because in real life, the roles we play are rarely assigned by cards. They’re shaped by perception, fear, and choice. Some people resist. Others conform. And a few learn to see through the game entirely.
Perhaps that’s what good play does; it mirrors the world just enough for us to see it clearly, to laugh, and maybe to learn the truth hiding between the lies.
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