Against Antiquarianism: A Critique of Margaret Willes’s The Curious World of Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn

Margaret Willes’s The Curious World of Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn exemplifies more than just a flawed book; it highlights a broader intellectual decline in modern historiography. A retreat from social analysis characterises this decline, the abandonment of class as a key historical category, and the transformation of history into a refined part of the heritage industry. Willes’s work serves as yet another instance of a widespread trend in academia and publishing—portraying history as a lifestyle rather than an analytical discipline.¹

The book’s premise is simple: Pepys and Evelyn were curious individuals and keen observers of Restoration England, with diaries that provide charming glimpses into a vibrant era. While this follows the typical bourgeois-antiquarian pattern, it is also historically unjustifiable.

Pepys and Evelyn lived “through and after the greatest social upheaval England had ever experienced.”² They were not mere floating personalities in a timeless Restoration scene. Instead, they were actors—though minor—who revealed much in the aftermath of the English bourgeois revolution. To dismiss them as eccentric hobbyists, as Willes does, undermines their historical significance and reduces the Restoration to a depoliticised space of wigs, gardens, coffee houses, and domestic trivia. This shift is more than an interpretive mistake; it is an act of ideological shaping.

The Academic Abdication: Class Removed, Revolution Denied

Modern historians have mostly set aside the Marxist ideas that once fuelled serious research on the 17th century. Today, Christopher Hill’s work—often seen as outdated by many scholars—still stands as the only comprehensive framework for understanding that era. Hill showed that the mid-17th-century crisis dismantled one social class’s dominance and installed another.³ This is not a matter of opinion; it is a matter of historical fact.

Yet Willes, like her peers, writes as though the English Revolution never occurred. The Civil War becomes background noise. The Commonwealth is reduced to a curiosity. The Restoration is treated as a return to normality rather than a class compromise forced upon a frightened bourgeoisie. The Glorious Revolution is barely acknowledged as the culmination of capitalist consolidation.⁴ This is not ignorance. It is avoidance.

Pepys and Evelyn: Not Curiosities, but Class Representatives

Pepys was not a gossiping flâneur. He was a bureaucrat of the capitalist state. His diary is saturated with the machinery of empire—shipbuilding, naval contracts, colonial administration. As the accompanying document notes, this was “the apparatus of a nascent capitalist state projecting its power across the globe.”⁵ Pepys’s rise through the Admiralty reflects the increasing importance of administrative competence in a society transitioning from feudal personal rule to capitalist state rationality.

Pepys exemplifies what Ellen Meiksins Wood has described as the “political form of capitalist social relations,” in which the early modern state becomes increasingly central to the organisation of economic life.⁶ His diary reveals the emergence of bureaucratic rationality, contract management, and logistical planning—key features of the developing capitalist state.

Evelyn was more than just a gentleman gardener; he was an innovative scientist whose Sylva was created to fulfil the navy’s timber needs. His interests in pollution, architecture, and horticulture mirrored the bourgeoisie's rationalist ideals. As a Royal Society member, he played a key role in shaping bourgeois science. Engels recognised this well: contemporary science arose from the breakdown of the medieval worldview under the pressure of capitalist progress.⁷ Willes perceives the Royal Society as a charming assembly of inquisitive individuals, reflecting the commonplace liberal view. However, in actuality, the Society served as a tool for maintaining class dominance. Its focus on empirical research, experimentation, measurement, and progress aligned with the interests of a growing capitalist elite. Fields such as navigation, metallurgy, ballistics, forestry, and colonial mapping were not merely genteel hobbies but the technical backbone of capitalist growth.⁸ To present the Royal Society as an apolitical intellectual salon is to falsify its historical function.

Bourgeois Antiquarianism: The Ideology of Contemporary History Writing

Willes’s book exemplifies “bourgeois antiquarianism.”⁹ This is not simply a methodological flaw; it is an ideological stance. It is the refusal to acknowledge that history is shaped by class struggle. It is the displacement of social conflict by personality, of revolution by anecdote, of material forces by domestic interiors.

The World Socialist Website (WSWS) has criticised this trend repeatedly, most recently in its appraisal of Lucy Worsley, whose work “consistently displaces class antagonism, economic crisis, and mass political struggle, fixating on monarchs, courtiers, domestic interiors and historical cosplay.”¹⁰ Willes belongs to the same school: history as entertainment, history as escapism, history as depoliticised spectacle. This is not accidental. It reflects the ideological needs of the present bourgeois order, which seeks to naturalise itself by erasing the revolutionary processes that created it.

The Academic and Media Establishment: A Catalogue of Evasion

Let us speak plainly. The contemporary historical establishment has abandoned the English Revolution. It has abandoned class analysis. It has abandoned materialism. It has abandoned the very concept of historical causality. Worsley’s output—generously funded, heavily promoted, and ever-present—embodies the essence of bourgeois-antiquarian kitsch. As the WSWS pointed out, her work repeatedly shifts focus away from class conflict, economic crises, and large-scale political struggles, instead emphasising monarchs, courtiers, domestic settings, and historical cosplay.¹¹ Willes’s book belongs to precisely this tradition: history as costume drama. Other historians follow a similar path. One being David Starky.

Starkey’s extensive career has centred on the idea that history is primarily shaped by monarchs, courtiers, and individual personalities. He is widely known for his disdain for social history. His impact has been damaging, as he contributed to fostering an intellectual climate where a book like Willes’s could be published without shame.¹² Antonia Fraser’s Restoration biographies are elegant but politically vacuous. They treat the 17th century as a theatre of personalities rather than a battleground of classes. Her approach has shaped public expectations of the period, encouraging precisely the depoliticised reading Willes reproduces.¹³ Simon Schama stands out as the most polished in the group, but his work ultimately portrays a liberal-bourgeois narrative that highlights continuity, compromise, and national identity. His perspective on the English Revolution is somewhat vague and sentimental, and it sidesteps class analysis.¹⁴ He has helped normalise the idea that the Revolution was a cultural moment rather than a social rupture.

These historians are not purely neutral chroniclers but ideological architects. Their influence has cultivated a cultural setting in which the English Revolution is either minimised or overlooked, thereby enabling Pepys and Evelyn to be seen as charming eccentricities rather than as representatives of a burgeoning class consolidating its authority.

The shift from viewing history as heritage is more than a cultural trend; it’s a political move. When historians avoid addressing class issues, they make the past incomprehensible and the present fixed. This creates a world where social conflicts vanish, revolutions are unthinkable, and the bourgeoisie seems timeless. Pepys and Evelyn become mere charming curiosities instead of symbols of a class whose victory transformed England and established modern capitalism. Willes’s book isn’t just lacking; it reflects a wider intellectual surrender.

Restoring History to History

It is time to say openly what many historians privately acknowledge: the field has been intellectually captured by a bourgeois‑antiquarian sensibility that is hostile to social analysis and allergic to class. The English Revolution has been domesticated. Pepys and Evelyn have been trivialised. The Restoration has been aestheticised.

A Marxist critique restores what Willes and her peers omit: class, revolution, contradiction, and the emergence of the capitalist state. Pepys and Evelyn were not eccentric diarists. They were functionaries and intellectuals of a class consolidating its power after a revolutionary upheaval.

Their diaries are not curiosities. They are instruments of history. Contemporary historians who refuse to confront this reality are not writing history. They are producing ideology.

Footnotes

1. For the concept of “heritage history,” see Robert Hewison, The Heritage Industry (London: Methuen, 1987).
2. Previous Draft, p. 2.
3. Christopher Hill, The English Revolution 1640 (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1940), 7.
4. J. H. Plumb, The Growth of Political Stability in England 1675–1725 (London: Macmillan, 1967).
5. Previous Draft p. 3.
6. Ellen Meiksins Wood, The Origin of Capitalism (London: Verso, 1999).
7. Friedrich Engels, Dialectics of Nature (1883).
8. Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).
9. Previous Draft p. 4.
10. WSWS, “Lucy Worsley and the Politics of Heritage History,” accessed 2024.
11. Ibid.
12. See David Starkey, The Reign of Henry VIII (London: Vintage, 2002).
13. Antonia Fraser, King Charles II (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1979).
14. Simon Schama, A History of Britain: The British Wars 1603–1776 (London: BBC Books, 2001).

 

Anne Frank, Fascism, and the Dialectic of History

Anne Frank’s diary stands as one of the most widely read human records of the twentieth century, yet its historical importance has often been misrepresented. It is frequently depicted as a universal moral symbol—symbolising innocence lost to “evil” and serving as a beacon of hope during dark times. This sentimental view is intentionally crafted to align with the ideological interests of the postwar capitalist system, transforming the Holocaust into an abstract moral lesson that disconnects from the social and political factors behind it. As a result, this leads to a significant distortion of history.

A Marxist analysis starts from a different perspective. Anne Frank’s fate is not separable from the crisis of global capitalism from 1914 to 1945. The First World War broke down the old European order and sparked a period of revolutionary upheaval. The German working class, Europe's most potent and politically advanced, entered history with remarkable revolutionary potential. However, the betrayal by the Social Democratic Party—especially its support for the Kaiser’s war in 1914 and its suppression of the Spartacist uprising in 1919—left the working class disoriented and demoralised. The later decline of the Communist Party under Stalinism, marked by the disastrous “social fascist” line of the late 1920s, further deepened political paralysis. During this time, the working class was divided precisely when unity was most needed.

Trotsky examined this disaster with exceptional clarity. In his writings about Germany from 1930 to 1933, he argued that fascism was more than just a reaction; it was a counter-revolution—the mobilisation of the furious petty bourgeoisie as a battering ram against the proletariat. He described fascism as “the most savage expression of the decay of capitalism,” a movement that emerged when the bourgeoisie could no longer uphold its rule via parliamentary methods. Trotsky explained that Hitler’s anti-Semitism was closely linked to his hatred of the working class. The Jew was used as a symbol representing Marxists, Bolsheviks, and revolutionaries. Anti-Semitism was called  “the socialism of fools”—a fake explanation for social crises that misdirected anger away from capitalists and toward a vulnerable minority.

Trotsky’s insights into the Jewish question are crucial for grasping Anne Frank’s story. He dismissed both Zionism and assimilationism as ineffective solutions. According to him, Jews are a “people-class" dispersed by capitalism and made vulnerable during its crises. In a 1938 appeal to American Jews, Trotsky forewarned: “It is possible to imagine without difficulty what awaits the Jews at the mere outbreak of the future world war.” He stressed that only a victory for the international working class could avert disaster. The tragedy of Anne Frank’s life is that Trotsky’s warnings went unheeded—not for lack of clarity, but because the working-class organisations that claimed allegiance to them refused to act.

Fascism did not originate from metaphysical ideas, cultural illnesses, or the longstanding German anti-Semitic tradition. Instead, it was a deliberate counter-revolutionary tool used by the bourgeoisie to suppress the working class and uphold capitalist property systems. The Holocaust represents the extreme manifestation of this logic, involving the mass extermination of millions during a war of colonization against the Soviet Union and a social counter-revolution aimed at erasing the impact of 1917. Anne Frank’s diary, written inside the cramped Secret Annex, is a human record created amid this tumult of historical forces. Her thoughts on war, inequality, and societal irrationality—such as “Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?”—are not accidental. They reflect, in raw form, the awareness of a young person living at the heart of capitalism’s slide into barbarism.

After World War II, the way Anne Frank’s legacy was managed was influenced by Cold War ideology. The same nations that denied Jewish refugees in the 1930s later celebrated Anne Frank as a moral figure—since icons like her do not threaten capitalist interests. Her diary was decontextualized, serving as a symbol of broad “tolerance,” while ex-Nazis found roles within West Germany's government agencies, including the CIA-controlled Gehlen Organisation and the BND. Karl Josef Silberbauer, the Gestapo officer who arrested the Franks, was never convicted and lived out his days unpunished. In this way, memory was sanitized and historical truth was distorted.

Trotsky foresaw this distortion. He cautioned that the bourgeoisie would attempt to turn the crimes of fascism into abstract metaphysical concepts, disconnected from the class struggle. He emphasised that truly honouring fascism’s victims requires understanding the social forces behind it and developing a revolutionary movement to prevent its future rise.

Ignoring Trotsky’s analysis has clear consequences today. Across Europe and the U.S., far-right groups are resurging. These fascist movements are actively supported by parts of the ruling class, with funding, weapons, and political backing. The rise of fascism isn't due to “extremism” or "populism," but reflects capitalism’s failure to resolve its internal conflicts through democratic processes. The diary’s importance now is strategic, not just commemorative. Anne Frank’s story is not just history; it’s a warning for the future.

Honouring Anne Frank means facing the reality of the world that led to her death. It involves recognizing, as Trotsky argued, that fascism arises when capitalism fails to sustain its dominance through parliamentary systems. It also requires understanding that the Holocaust was not an accident but a direct consequence of imperialism and counter-revolution. Furthermore, it demands acknowledging that preventing such tragedies again calls for the deliberate, coordinated action of the global working class against capitalism.

Anne Frank once said, “I want to go on living after my death.” She has achieved this, but the significance of her survival hinges on current political struggles. Her diary endures not merely as a symbol of despair but as a powerful call for historical awareness and revolutionary effort. The ongoing struggle for human emancipation—halted by fascism, compromised by reformist approaches, and distorted by Stalinism—continues to be the most critical challenge of our era.

This article situates The Diary of a Young Girl within the historical context that produced it. Anne Frank’s voice endures because it is inseparable from the crisis of capitalism. To honour that voice is to confront the system that silenced it—and to build the socialist movement capable of ensuring that such crimes never recur.

Anne Frank’s voice persists because it is fundamentally linked to the crisis of capitalism. Honouring her voice means confronting the system that silenced her and creating a socialist movement that prevents such crimes from happening again.

 

Katja Hoyer’s Cultural Dreams, Political Nightmares: Liberal Historiography and the Erasure of Class in the Interpretation of Weimar Germany

Abstract

This essay presents a Marxist critique of Katja Hoyer’s recent interpretation of the Weimar Republic, placing her account within the broader context of liberal historiography that prevails in modern British media and cultural circles. Using primary sources, Marxist theory, and the historiography of the German Revolution and the rise of Nazism, it argues that Hoyer’s perspective systematically obscures the class dynamics that shaped the Weimar Republic from its start. By omitting the counterrevolutionary role of the Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the damaging effects of Stalinisation on the Communist Party of Germany (KPD), Hoyer promotes a politically convenient myth: that fascism results from “polarisation” and economic hardship rather than the deliberate actions of political entities within a capitalist crisis. The essay ends by analysing the ideological significance of this liberal narrative today and reaffirming the revolutionary lessons of Weimar for today’s working class.[1]

Introduction: Liberal Historiography and the Sanitisation of Weimar

Katja Hoyer’s depiction of the Weimar Republic reflects a prevalent liberal interpretive style, framing it as a meditation on how "democratic dreams can die in the face of economic ills and polarising politics" (Hoyer, 2024). This style features a moralising narrative, a culturalist view of political conflict, and a systematic neglect of class analysis. Hoyer’s framing is “seductive and utterly misleading,” turning the German catastrophe into a morality tale rather than a concrete historical process shaped by specific class forces: "This is not history; it is a morality play designed to inoculate readers against the real lessons of the German catastrophe.”

The liberal view presents Weimar as a delicate democratic venture tragically disrupted by bad luck. However, this perspective hides the reality that the Weimar Republic resulted from a counterrevolutionary agreement enforced by the SPD alongside military and industrial elites, rather than democratic ideals. This essay revises that history and explains why overlooking it is politically important now.

The SPD as Gravedigger of the German Revolution

The German Revolution of 1918–1919 marked the most important proletarian uprising in Europe after Russia's, with workers' and soldiers’ councils forming nationwide to challenge the imperial authority and propose a socialist shift (Broué, 2005, pp. 3–45). However, the revolution was swiftly suppressed and ultimately defeated by the SPD leadership, Friedrich Ebert and Gustav Noske.

Hoyer’s account largely omits the SPD’s counterrevolutionary role: “There is no mention that the SPD leadership under Friedrich Ebert and Gustav Noske formed a secret pact with the Supreme Army Command to drown the revolutionary workers’ movement in blood.” This refers to the Ebert–Groener Pact of 10 November 1918, in which the SPD agreed to preserve the authority of the military command in exchange for its support against the revolutionary councils (Groener, 1925, pp. 457–460). The pact ensured that the old officer corps, the Prussian Junkers, and the industrial magnates retained their power.

The Freikorps and the Murder of Luxemburg and Liebknecht

The SPD’s alliance with reaction was not just institutional but also violently repressive. Noske, who became Minister of Defence, notably stated: “Someone must be the bloodhound; I am not afraid of responsibility” (Noske, 1920, p. 68). Under his leadership, the government armed and sent the Freikorps—far-right paramilitary groups mainly made up of demobilised officers and soldiers—to suppress revolutionary uprisings in Berlin, Bremen, Munich, and the Ruhr.

On 15 January 1919, the Freikorps killed Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. Their killers operated with impunity, protected by the judiciary and the SPD-led government (Frölich, 1940, pp. 312–330). As the critique highlights: “The Freikorps—the direct precursors of Hitler’s stormtroopers—were recruited and armed by a Social Democratic government to murder Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg.” This fact alone challenges the liberal view of the SPD as champions of democracy.

The Counterrevolutionary Settlement of Weimar

The suppression of the revolution shaped the Weimar Republic’s institutional architecture. The judiciary remained staffed by imperial judges; the army retained its monarchist officer corps; the industrial barons kept their property; and the Junkers preserved their estates (Peukert, 1991, pp. 45–67). As the attached critique states: “The Weimar Republic was not a democracy tragically undone. It was a counterrevolutionary settlement from its inception.”

This is consistent with Trotsky’s assessment: “The German Revolution was a proletarian revolution beheaded by social democracy; more correctly, it is a bourgeois counterrevolution forced to preserve pseudo-democratic forms after the victory over the proletariat.” (Trotsky 1932, p. 112)Hoyer’s narrative omits this foundational reality.

The Rise of Nazism: Political Betrayal, Not Economic Fate

Liberal accounts often attribute the rise of Nazism to economic crisis and political polarisation. Hoyer follows this pattern, emphasising “economic ills” and “polarising politics” (Hoyer, 2024). However, the electoral data contradict the notion that the Nazis were an unstoppable force. In the November 1932 elections, the SPD and KPD together won 221 seats, while the Nazis won only 196 (Mommsen, 1996, p. 312). The workers’ parties were still far stronger than Hitler’s movement.” The decisive factor was not economic distress but political paralysis within the workers’ movement.

The SPD leadership repeatedly failed to rally its mass base against the fascist threat. It approved the Brüning government’s emergency decrees, supported Hindenburg’s presidential bid, and responded to the 1932 Prussian coup with a legal challenge rather than mass mobilisation (Winkler, 1993, pp. 421–450). “When Hindenburg and von Papen forcibly removed the SPD-led Prussian state government in 1932—a direct coup against the republic—the SPD did nothing.” This inaction demoralised SPD workers and encouraged reactionary forces.

Under Stalin’s orders, the KPD embraced the “social fascism” thesis, asserting that the SPD and Nazis were essentially identical, not opposites (Comintern, 1930, p. 12). This extreme-left stance hindered the formation of a united front against fascism and at times even led the KPD to tactically collaborate with the Nazis, such as during the 1931 Prussian referendum (Broué, 2005, pp. 789–795). The attached critique encapsulates Trotsky’s harsh judgment: "The Social Democratic workers remained with their leaders; the Communist workers lost faith in themselves and in the leadership"  This division within the working class proved disastrous.

The Bauhaus/Buchenwald Fallacy: Culturalism vs Class Analysis

Hoyer frames Weimar as a space of “uncomfortable proximity of idealism and barbarism,” juxtaposing the Bauhaus and Buchenwald (Hoyer, 2024). This culturalist framing is aesthetically appealing but analytically empty. This transforms a class question into a cultural juxtaposition, as though Nazism were simply the dark flipside of modernist creativity.

In 1925, reactionary forces ousted the Bauhaus from Weimar, forces that later backed the Nazis (Droste, 2002, pp. 112–130). Buchenwald was constructed by the same state apparatus that the SPD maintained after 1918. These two events are not cultural opposites but both reflect the same class-based dynamics.

Liberal narratives about Weimar serve a modern ideological purpose. They suggest fascism arose from ‘polarisation” and economic hardship, hiding the influence of political leadership and class conflict. The lesson for today is to be cautious of extremism, have faith in moderate institutions, and avoid economic crises pushing people toward radical politics. This aligns with the interests of current elites, aiming to weaken the working class amidst growing far-right movements, militarism, and authoritarian tendencies.

The core lesson of Weimar is the opposite: Fascism does not stem from cultural pathology but from capitalist crises. When threatened, the ruling class resorts to authoritarian measures, while the working class needs independent revolutionary leadership. These key lessons are often systematically omitted in liberal historiography.

The Revolutionary Lessons of Weimar

The Weimar Republic was not merely a failed democratic attempt but a regime formed through the repression of the German working class. Nazism's emergence was not unavoidable; it stemmed from the betrayal of workers by the SPD and the damaging sectarianism enforced on the KPD by Stalin. Hoyer’s account, similar to many liberal histories, tends to hide these factors, replacing them with cultural metaphors and moralistic cautions about.

It is crucial to conclude with a clear warning: “Without revolutionary leadership, the unresolved capitalist crisis will lead society back to barbarism.”

This statement is supported by history, not mere rhetoric. The lessons from Weimar are still relevant today, as the capitalist crisis worsens and far-right groups grow stronger across Europe and elsewhere. The only way to avoid repeating the catastrophe of 1933 is through a deliberate, organised revolutionary movement of the working class.

References

Broué, P. (2005). The German Revolution 1917–1923. Chicago: Haymarket.

Comintern (1930). Resolution on the Struggle Against Social Democracy. Moscow: Executive Committee.

Droste, M. (2002). Bauhaus 1919–1933. Cologne: Taschen.

Frölich, P. (1940). Rosa Luxemburg: Her Life and Work. London: Victor Gollancz.

Groener, W. (1925). Erinnerungen eines Soldaten. Leipzig: Köhler.

Hoyer, K. (2024). Cultural Dreams, Political Nightmares. BBC.

Mommsen, H. (1996). The Rise and Fall of Weimar Democracy. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Noske, G. (1920). Von Kiel bis Kapp. Berlin: Verlag für Politik und Wirtschaft.

Peukert, D. (1991). The Weimar Republic: The Crisis of Classical Modernity. New York: Hill and Wang.

Trotsky, L. (1932). The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany. New York: Pathfinder.

Winkler, H.A. (1993). Weimar 1918–1933: Die Geschichte der ersten deutschen Demokratie. Munich: Beck.

 

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[1] "Cultural Dreams, Political Nightmares" is a historical essay by British-German historian Katja Hoyer. Published in History Extra Magazine, it explores how interwar Weimar Germany became a crucible where utopian modernism flourished alongside the rise of Nazism. The piece specifically uses the town of Weimar as a lens to show how economic crises and polarisation destroyed democratic dreams.

Against the Revisionist Denial of the English Revolution

Christopher Thompson's recent writing offers a sober critique of Marxist views on the English Revolution. However, it essentially follows a familiar revisionist pattern: pulling away from structural analysis, refusing to consider the socio-economic changes of the 16th and 17th centuries, and portraying the Civil Wars as merely “un grand soulevement” instead of a crucial turning point in the shift from feudalism to capitalism. The author’s stance is not just anti-Marxist; it’s anti-historical, as it dismisses the long-term processes that contributed to the crisis of the 1640s. This counter-essay aims to outline the dialectical framework of the English Revolution and show why the revisionist view fails under close examination.

The Revisionist Premise: Politics Without Structure

Jonathan Healey’s main assertion is definitive: “There was no ‘bourgeois revolution’, no preceding ‘class conflict’, and certainly no ‘feudal/absolutist state’.” This statement is more of a negation than an argument; it claims that there is no structural conflict by highlighting the lack of explicit anti-commercial policies. However, Marxist historiography does not rely on the idea that the Tudors or early Stuarts deliberately aimed to suppress capitalism. The shift from feudalism to capitalism results from inherent contradictions within the relations of production, rather than royal intent.

The revisionist position collapses because it equates structure with policy. It assumes that if monarchs encouraged trade, then no structural impediment existed. This is a category error. Absolutism was not defined by hostility to commerce; it was defined by the attempt to preserve the political supremacy of a landed ruling class in conditions where market relations were expanding beneath them. The author’s argument is therefore premised on a misunderstanding of what Marxists mean by “feudal” and “absolutist.”

The Long Transition: Agrarian Capitalism and Class Formation

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, significant socio-economic changes occurred: Enclosure increased, leading to a landless rural proletariat. Tenant farming evolved towards competitive leasing and market-driven production. London's rapid expansion fostered a national market and a rise in commercial bourgeoisie. The gentry grew, shifting from static feudal landlords to capitalist farmers and investors. Meanwhile, the state’s fiscal crisis worsened as traditional feudal revenues proved insufficient for a modernizing government.

These developments are well-documented in manorial records, court rolls, probate inventories, and by historians ranging from R.H. Tawney to Robert Brenner. However, the author of the document overlooks all this evidence. Instead, they claim that population growth up to 1630 happened “without major conflicts,” suggesting that the lack of peasant revolts indicates social harmony. Yet, class conflict doesn't always manifest as open rebellion. It can be seen in litigation over enclosure, disputes over customary rights, wage struggles, religious polarization, and political alliances driven by economic interests. A single spark did not cause the English Revolution; it was the culmination of a century of structural transformation. 

The State as a Site of Contradiction

Thompson dismisses the idea of a “feudal/absolutist state,” but in reality, the early Stuart monarchy embodied that very form. It aimed to uphold the dominance of a landowning elite while increasingly relying on capitalist economic activities. This created a sharp contradiction: the Crown needed revenue, yet its traditional sources were insufficient. Since Parliament controlled taxation, the monarchy tried to impose extra-parliamentary levies such as ship money and monopolies. These actions alienated both gentry and merchants. Additionally, religious conflicts intensified political divides, and the issue of multiple kingdoms deepened the crisis. This wasn’t just a random “great uprising”—it was the political manifestation of systemic tensions in a society in transition. The author’s refusal to recognize this isn’t humility but a form of theoretical blindness.

Supporters of King and Parliament were present at every societal level. This fact is accurate but not relevant, as class is defined by one’s relationship to the means of production, not political loyalty. The fact that individuals with similar class backgrounds chose different sides shows that class conflict persists, with ideology, religion, and political culture acting as mediators. Marxists have never claimed the Civil Wars were fought by purely self-aware bourgeois armies waving banners of capitalism. Instead, they see the political crisis as revealing deeper socio-economic contradictions. Revisionism fails because it insists on a simplistic, mechanistic class alignment that no Marxist historian has ever endorsed.

Christopher Hill and the Straw Man

Thompson seeks to undermine Marxist historiography by highlighting changes in Christopher Hill’s work. However, Hill’s development was not a repudiation of Marxism; rather, it was an evolution. His initial focus was on class conflict, while his later work highlighted the bourgeois outcomes of the revolution. This shift is not inconsistency but dialectical progress. Hill recognized that: the revolution did not immediately establish capitalism but destroyed political barriers to its development, created a state structure compatible with market relations, and hastened the emergence of a bourgeois political culture. Therefore, the author’s dismissive view of Hill is superficial, as it misinterprets both Hill’s intellectual evolution and the Marxist approach.

The Restoration Was Not a Royalist Victory

“A great uprising … which ended in a Royalist victory in and after 1660.” This characterization is historically inaccurate. The Restoration was a negotiated compromise that retained many of the revolution's gains: the monarchy was restored, but absolutism was not. Parliament's dominance was maintained, the fiscal-military state grew, agrarian capitalism advanced, and the bourgeoisie gained influence. The Glorious Revolution finalized this process. If this is considered a “Royalist victory,” it is a peculiar one—one that undermines the very foundations of Royalist power. The author’s assertion appears rhetorical rather than analytical.

The Necessity of Structural Explanation

The revisionist view outlined in the document is not only incorrect but also insufficient. It fails to account for key developments such as England's long-term socio-economic changes, the state's fiscal crisis, political polarization in the 1630s and 1640s, the ideological radicalization of the New Model Army, the abolition of the monarchy and House of Lords, and the rise of a state aligned with capitalist growth. Marxist historiography can explain these phenomena, as it doesn’t reduce the revolution solely to class conflict but places political events within societal contradictions during structural change. The English Revolution was not merely a “great uprising"; it was a pivotal break in the shift from feudalism to capitalism. Denying this is to deny the course of history itself.

 

The Sullivan Affair and the Ideological Degradation of Holocaust Historiography

“Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?

Anne Frank, Diary of a Young Girl, entry of 3 May 1944.

"I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."

 — Elie Wiesel

"First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist... Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me." — Martin Niemöller.

"It is possible to imagine without difficulty what awaits the Jews at the mere outbreak of the future world war. But even without war, the next development of world reaction signifies with certainty the physical extermination of the Jews.

Leon Trotsky

In 2022, Rosemary Sullivan’s The Betrayal of Anne Frank was withdrawn by its Dutch publisher after its main claim was proven unfounded. This wasn’t just a correction of an academic error but also a revealing sign of how Holocaust historiography is progressively degrading under modern capitalism. The book falsely claimed there was a “Jewish betrayer” responsible for the Frank family’s arrest—an allegation based on guesswork, misinterpretation, and pseudo-forensic showmanship. Despite its flaws, major media outlets endorsed and heavily promoted the book, only retracting it after experts showed its claims fell apart under minimal examination.

The Sullivan affair exemplifies a wider trend: the shift of the Holocaust from a historical event tied to capitalism, imperialism, and class conflict into a depoliticised morality story, a detective mystery, and ultimately a tool used by the ruling class for ideological purposes.

The Individualisation of Fascist Crime

Sullivan’s core argument in “Who betrayed Anne Frank?” is flawed. It suggests that the moral failure of a single person is the key to understanding Anne Frank’s death, which resembles crime fiction more than historical analysis. Anne Frank was not betrayed by an informant; she was murdered by the Nazi regime—an instrument of German financial capital in its most brutal form. The relentless search for a single betrayer serves an ideological purpose: it simplifies a complex historical atrocity into a moral failure, shifting focus from social forces to finding a villain.

This pattern is now widespread. Popular Holocaust stories—memoirs, films, museum exhibits, and “cold case” investigations—mainly highlight personal accounts, moral conflicts, and psychological profiles. The Holocaust is seen as a platform for individual heroism or guilt, while the broader social, economic, and political factors that led to fascism are overlooked. This focus on individualisation is deliberate, aligned with modern bourgeois ideology, which struggles to recognise the link between fascism and capitalism without condemning itself.

From Historical Event to Cultural Commodity

The public perception of the Holocaust has significantly evolved over time. In the years right after World War II, its memory was influenced by survivors, scholars, and political groups who saw fascism as stemming from a crisis within capitalism. The genocide was closely linked to the fall of bourgeois democracy, the betrayal of the working class by Social Democracy and Stalinist regimes, and Germany's imperialist ambitions for dominance.

By the late 20th century, the way Holocaust memory was presented changed significantly. Museums, films, memoirs, and educational programs multiplied, but their focus shifted mainly to personal stories, moral lessons, and emotional engagement. As a result, the Holocaust evolved into a universal symbol of “evil,” losing touch with its specific historical context.

This commodification fulfils a specific ideological role by turning the Holocaust from a political incident into a commercial commodity. It replaces critical analysis with emotional appeal, factual history with storytelling, and class conflict with individual tragedy. As a result, the Holocaust is transformed into a brand—one that is referenced, consumed, and marketed—rather than a cautionary tale about risks associated with capitalist crises.

The Reactionary Function of the “Jewish Betrayer” Narrative

Sullivan’s book specifically aimed to identify a Jewish betrayer, not just any traitor. This choice is deliberate and significant. The image of the Jewish collaborator—such as a Judenrat official, kapo, or informant—has historically been employed to blur the moral distinctions of the Holocaust and suggest a false “shared responsibility” between victims and perpetrators. In reality, these individuals operated under extreme coercion and degradation, and their actions, though morally complex, were driven by the totalitarian system of extermination. However, the political implications of emphasising these figures depend entirely on the surrounding context.

Currently, promoting a “Jewish betrayer” narrative serves reactionary goals: it downplays fascist crimes by implying Jews were partly responsible for their own fate. It fuels far-right ideas that aim to diminish accountability for German imperialism. Additionally, it supports the German state’s cynical use of Holocaust remembrance to justify its backing of Israel’s actions in Gaza and its wider militarist goals. Institutions like the Buchenwald memorial have prohibited criticising Israel under the pretence of fighting antisemitism, thus exploiting Holocaust memory for modern imperialist aims. In this environment, seeking a Jewish betrayer is not just misguided but also politically perilous.

The Pseudo‑Science of the Cold Case Method

Historians like Johannes Houwink ten Cate, Bart van der Boom, and others challenged Sullivan’s claims by showing that the book’s main accusation was based on speculation, misinterpretation, and a lack of understanding of historical context. The so-called "smoking gun,” an anonymous note from after the war, lacked any real evidence. The supposed betrayer, Arnold van den Bergh, was already in hiding by 1944. When examined critically by scholars, the entire case fell apart immediately.

The core problem is methodological. The cold-case approach views history as a solvable puzzle using forensic clues, rather than recognising it as a complex social process influenced by class forces. This pseudo-scientific method, borrowed from criminal investigation and the true-crime genre, appeals to the desire for narrative closure and a definitive villain.

This method is fundamentally anti-historical. It fails to recognise the Holocaust as a result of capitalism in crisis, imperialism, and the collapse of the working-class movement. Instead of providing analysis, it resorts to speculation; instead of offering context, it leans on conjecture; and rather than presenting history, it seeks entertainment. The appeal of these approaches mirrors the ideological demands of bourgeois culture, which favours soothing stories over confronting uncomfortable realities.

The Real Betrayal: The Collapse of Working‑Class Leadership

From a Marxist perspective, the key betrayal enabling Anne Frank’s death was not carried out by any single informant, but rather by the organisations professing to represent the working class, which ultimately betrayed them.

The Social Democratic parties surrendered to their national bourgeoisies well before Hitler rose to power. Meanwhile, the Stalinist bureaucracy placed the fight against fascism behind its diplomatic tactics, resulting in the 1939 Hitler–Stalin Pact. The Communist Party of the Netherlands, which had organised the brave February 1941 strike—the first large-scale protest against the Nazis in Europe—was politically rendered powerless by Stalinism and unable to lead a revolutionary movement. Without a revolutionary socialist movement, the working class was left vulnerable to fascism.

This is the true historical lesson of the Holocaust. It is also the lesson that bourgeois historiography tries to hide by focusing on individual morality and betrayal stories.

The Contemporary Stakes: Memory as Ideology

The Sullivan affair must be seen within a larger crisis in our understanding of history today. As capitalism encounters new difficulties—such as war, authoritarian states, and economic recessions—the ruling class often manipulates historical memory for its

Three key trends are apparent: firstly, the commercialisation of Holocaust remembrance, turning it into a product disconnected from its political significance and aimed at consumerism; secondly, the depoliticisation of fascism, viewed as a moral flaw or anomaly rather than a result of capitalist crises; and thirdly, the exploitation of Holocaust memory to justify modern militarism, nationalism, and imperialism. Within this context, the Sullivan affair exemplifies how Holocaust history is being ideologically compromised in a capitalist system.

Conclusion: The Necessity of Revolutionary Leadership

Anne Frank’s words from May 3, 1944—“Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?”—challenge decades of ideological distortion. Her question isn’t a moral dilemma; it’s a political critique of a capitalist system that fosters war, poverty, and genocide.

Her death teaches us that the real lesson isn't to pursue informants after eighty years, but that the working class must create its own revolutionary party—free from capitalist, nationalist, Stalinist, and social-democratic influences—to stop the barbarism that took her life from returning. This barbarism isn't just history; it's an active threat, nurtured by the same capitalist system that is pushing the world toward a third world war.

  

Minority Rule, the American Founding, and the Marxist Theory of the State

Introduction

Recent studies on the decline of American democracy focus on institutional failures, partisan division, and the solidification of minority rule. Ari Berman’s book, *Minority Rule*, fits within this discourse, and the Guardian’s review highlights its key assumption: that the U.S. is an “undemocratic democracy,” a republic whose founding principles have been undermined over time. This article challenges that view as historically inaccurate. Using Marxist state theory and the history of the American Revolution, it argues that the U.S. constitutional system was intentionally designed to limit popular sovereignty and maintain the political power of property owners.

The US Constitution was never intended as a democratic blueprint, but rather as a counter-revolutionary tool to control and undo the democratic changes sparked by the 1776 revolution. This chapter explores how this assertion fits into the wider academic discussions.

The Social Dynamics of the American Revolution

The American Revolution was not solely an elite political rupture but a period of intense popular mobilisation. Alfred Young’s microhistorical study of George Hewes demonstrates the political agency of artisans and labourers in revolutionary Boston.¹ Gary Nash’s synthetic account likewise emphasises the “lower-sort republicanism” that animated popular committees, militia organisations, and town meetings.² Archival petitions from Massachusetts and Pennsylvania reveal widespread demands for price regulation, debt relief, and expanded suffrage during the 1770s and early 1780s.³

These developments generated what Nash describes as a “radical democratizing impulse," which challenged the established elites and called for significant political reform.

The Revolution’s democratic energies generated significant elite anxiety. Gordon Wood’s The Creation of the American Republic remains the foundational account of this ideological shift. Wood demonstrates that leading figures — Madison, Hamilton, Morris — increasingly viewed popular politics as destabilising.⁴ Their correspondence reveals deep concern over “the turbulence and follies of democracy.”⁵

Woody Holton’s Unruly Americans and the Origins of the Constitution extends this analysis by emphasising the economic dimension: debtor-relief legislation, paper money issuance, and tax resistance threatened the interests of bondholders and merchants.⁶ Holton’s use of state legislative records shows that the Constitutional Convention was convened in response to these pressures, not merely to address interstate commerce or diplomatic weakness.

Anti-Federalist writings provide crucial evidence for understanding how contemporaries perceived the Constitution. Melancton Smith’s speeches at the New York ratifying convention warned that the proposed system represented a “transfer of power from the many to the few.”⁷ Archival notes from the debates show that Smith and others objected specifically to the Senate’s malapportionment, the indirect election of the president, and the lifetime tenure of federal judges.⁸

These critiques align with Charles Beard’s An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution, which argued that the Constitution reflected the interests of property owners seeking to stabilise social relations after a decade of popular unrest.⁹ Although Beard’s thesis has been debated extensively, recent scholarship — notably Michael Klarman’s The Framers’ Coup — has revived aspects of his argument by demonstrating the extent to which the Convention operated outside popular control.¹⁰

The institutional architecture of the Constitution — the Senate, the Electoral College, the separation of powers, and the independent judiciary — must be understood as mechanisms designed to restrain democratic participation. Archival records from the Convention show explicit discussions of the need to “check the impetuous vortex” of popular politics.¹¹ The Senate was conceived as a body representing “the wealth of the nation.” At the same time, the judiciary was insulated from electoral accountability to ensure “firmness” in protecting property rights.¹²These features were not accidental. They were deliberate responses to the democratic mobilisation of the preceding decade.

Marxist theory provides a conceptual framework for understanding why the Constitution took this form. Marx and Engels argued that the state is “a committee for managing the common affairs of the bourgeoisie.”¹³ Lenin, in State and Revolution, emphasised that the bourgeois state is structurally incapable of serving as an instrument of genuine popular rule.¹⁴ Trotsky, in The Revolution Betrayed, stressed that the form and function of the state are determined by underlying class relations, not by constitutional ideals.¹⁵

From this perspective, the American state’s institutional architecture reflects the class interests of those who shaped it. The Senate’s malapportionment, the Electoral College’s indirect mechanism, and the judiciary’s insulation from democratic oversight are structural features designed to limit the political power of non‑propertied classes.

The Supreme Court’s historical trajectory illustrates this continuity. Early Court decisions — Calder v. Bull (1798), Fletcher v. Peck (1810), Dartmouth College v. Woodward (1819) — reveal a consistent pattern of protecting contract rights and property interests.¹⁶ While the Court has occasionally upheld measures favourable to labour or civil rights, such decisions have typically occurred under conditions of intense social pressure. When those pressures recede, the Court reverts to its structural role as a defender of property. The Federalist Society’s contemporary influence intensifies this tendency but does not fundamentally alter it.

Liberal Reformism and Its Limits

The Guardian review concludes with examples of successful ballot initiatives in Michigan and Wisconsin, suggesting that such reforms demonstrate the resilience of democratic participation. Yet these cases illustrate the limits of liberal reformism rather than its promise. Archival data from the Michigan Independent Citizens Redistricting Commission show that while the initiative altered district boundaries, it did not change the underlying distribution of political power or the state's socioeconomic structure.¹⁷ Similarly, Senate debates over filibuster reform reveal that institutional veto points persist because both major parties benefit from them under different circumstances.¹⁸

To conclude, the answer to the crisis of American democracy is… the building of an independent political movement of the working class.” Whether one accepts this political prescription or not, the underlying historical insight is clear: the institutions of American governance were constructed to limit popular sovereignty, and their contemporary functioning reflects that foundational purpose. Any analysis that treats these institutions as neutral mechanisms capable of straightforward democratisation fails to grasp the historical depth of the problem.

This article contends that current forms of minority rule in the U.S. are not distortions but rooted in its original democratic framework. The U.S. Constitution was deliberately structured to limit democratic participation and uphold property-based political dominance. When viewed through Marxist state theory and the history of the American Revolution, this shows a consistent thread in American political evolution. Recognizing this continuity is crucial for evaluating the scope of reforms and the potential for deeper political change.

Notes

1. Alfred F. Young, The Shoemaker and the Tea Party: Memory and the American Revolution (Boston: Beacon Press, 1999).
2. Gary B. Nash, The Unknown American Revolution: The Unruly Birth of Democracy and the Struggle to Create America (New York: Viking, 2005).
3. Massachusetts Archives, vol. 210; Pennsylvania State Papers, Revolutionary Series.
4. Gordon S. Wood, The Creation of the American Republic, 1776–1787 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1969).
5. James Madison to Thomas Jefferson, 24 October 1787, in The Papers of James Madison, vol. 10.
6. Woody Holton, Unruly Americans and the Origins of the Constitution (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007).
7. Melancton Smith, New York Ratification Debates, 20 June 1788.
8. New York Public Library, Melancton Smith Papers.
9. Charles A. Beard, An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution of the United States (New York: Macmillan, 1913).
10. Michael J. Klarman, The Framers’ Coup: The Making of the United States Constitution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016).
11. James Madison, Notes of Debates in the Federal Convention, 14 June 1787.
12. Ibid.
13. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto (1848).
14. Vladimir I. Lenin, State and Revolution (1917).
15. Leon Trotsky, The Revolution Betrayed (1937).
16. Calder v. Bull, 3 U.S. 386 (1798); Fletcher v. Peck, 10 U.S. 87 (1810); Dartmouth College v. Woodward, 17 U.S. 518 (1819).
17. Michigan Independent Citizens Redistricting Commission Records, 2021–22.
18. Congressional Record, 117th Congress (2021–22).

  

The American Revolution and the Struggle for Historical Truth

The current political crisis in the U.S., marked by Trump's authoritarian cultural push, the Democratic Party's emphasis on racial narratives, and increasing attacks on democratic rights, must be viewed through a precise and analytical understanding of the American Revolution. The debate over "America’s story" extends beyond museum displays or school lessons; it is fundamentally a conflict over the historical roots of political awareness among the working class.

The ruling class recognises history as a powerful tool. The distortion of the American Revolution—whether via right-wing chauvinist myths or the racialist narratives of identity-politics factions—is crucial for preserving capitalist dominance. To counter these distortions, it is important to re-examine the American Revolution using historical materialism, exposing its true nature as a bourgeois-democratic rebellion with lingering contradictions that still influence American society.

The Material Roots of Revolution

The American Revolution didn't simply arise as a pure expression of “liberty.” Instead, it developed from the concrete growth of capitalism in the Atlantic world during the eighteenth century. By 1770, the colonies had grown into dynamic, expanding societies, with their economic progress often conflicting with the limitations imposed by British imperial authority.

A growing colonial bourgeoisie—comprising merchants, planters, and land speculators—pushed for unrestricted access to markets and land. Small farmers and artisans, burdened with debt and facing imperial taxes, also fought in this movement. These class interests, rather than ideals, drove the Revolution. As Marx noted about bourgeois revolutions, they “storm heaven” only because material circumstances force them to.

The Revolution was considered progressive for its era because it challenged monarchy and aristocratic privileges, paving the way for the growth of capitalism and the rise of the modern working class.

The Contradictions of a Bourgeois-Democratic Uprising

The Revolution’s claim that 'all men are created equal' was genuine in its democratic rhetoric, reflecting a bourgeois revolutionary ideal. However, the revolution was inherently contradictory.

 It maintained slavery, further dispossessed Indigenous peoples, and limited political rights to propertied white men. These contradictions weren't incidental; they stemmed from the class nature of the revolutionary leaders, who sought to expand capitalism while preserving the social structures that sustained their wealth.

The enslaved population clearly understood the risks. Tens of thousands escaped to British lines in pursuit of freedom. Indigenous nations acknowledged that independence would hasten settler expansion. While the Revolution promised liberty, it resulted in a republic where democratic rights were heavily restricted by class and race. 

Constitution and the Consolidation of the Bourgeoisie

From 1783 to 1787, the contradictions of the Revolution persisted. Shays’ Rebellion, driven by indebted farmers, raised concerns among the propertied classes. The Constitutional Convention was convened not to expand democracy but to limit it. The resulting Constitution established a strong federal government designed to safeguard private property, quell popular rebellions, maintain slavery, and promote capitalist development.

The new republic was not a modern democracy; instead, it was a bourgeois republic designed to keep political power largely in the hands of the propertied classes.

Slavery, Capitalism, and the Road to Civil War

The Revolution did not resolve the contradiction between slavery and capitalism. It intensified it. Slavery in the American South was not a feudal relic but a highly profitable capitalist system integrated into global markets. The Southern slave-owning class became a reactionary force determined to expand slavery westward.

In the North, industrial capitalism developed rapidly. The Northern bourgeoisie required free labour, national markets, and federal policies favourable to industrial growth. The conflict between these two ruling-class blocs—slave capital and industrial capital—became irreconcilable.

The Civil War was the second American Revolution. Under the pressure of events and mass struggle, the Union was driven towards abolition. The destruction of slavery was a revolutionary act, completing the unfinished tasks of 1776.

Reconstruction was betrayed when the Northern bourgeoisie, having achieved its economic and political goals, turned away from the freedmen. This led to the violent resurgence of planter dominance, the emergence of Jim Crow laws, and the restriction of Black political rights. Class interests, not moral failing, drove this betrayal.

The Crisis of American Democracy

The political climate in the U.S. has reached a point where the ruling elite openly challenges historical truth. The Trump administration’s efforts—such as promoting “patriotic education,' attacking museums and universities, and trying to enforce ideological uniformity in public institutions—reflect the desperation of a capitalist system facing a deep crisis. Meanwhile, the Democratic Party and its cultural allies, heavily influenced by race and identity politics, have significantly contributed to setting the stage for this confrontation.

The fight for historical truth is fundamentally political, not just academic. It involves a struggle over consciousness—whether the working class can grasp the true social forces shaping their lives and respond. Falsifying history serves as a tool for maintaining class dominance. To uphold democratic rights, oppose authoritarian regimes, and develop a socialist movement, the working class must reclaim and affirm the truth about its history.

History as a Battlefield of Class Interests

Every ruling class aims to shape the historical narrative, especially during crises when control becomes urgent. The American elite recognises that a populace educated in history—aware of revolutions, struggles, and democratic ideals— threatens its dominance. Consequently, the Trump administration has embarked on a campaign to “restore patriotism” in American history. This effort isn't about factual accuracy but about enforcing conformity. Its goal is to diminish critical thinking and promote a mythology that elevates capitalism, downplays its crimes, and presents the current social order as part of a divine national destiny.

The Democratic Party’s racialist narrative, however, dismisses any progressive elements in American history. It frames the American Revolution and Civil War solely as moments of white supremacy, ignoring the democratic and revolutionary efforts that built the nation. This perspective benefits a privileged upper-middle class that aims to split workers by race and hide capitalism's core class conflicts. Both this and alternative narratives distort the truth. Both support the interests of the ruling class. Therefore, both should be rejected.

The Revolutionary Content of American History

The American Revolution was neither a mythical battle of endless “freedomloving patriots” nor a conspiracy rooted in white supremacy. It was a bourgeoisdemocratic revolution that challenged monarchy and aristocratic privilege. At the same time, it had real contradictions—particularly the preservation of slavery—; its progressive aspects cannot be denied.

The Revolution claimed the oppressor’s right to overthrow tyranny, establishing republicanism, expanding political participation (for white men), and paving the way for capitalism and the modern working class.

The Civil War is considered the second American Revolution, dismantling the slave power, ending chattel slavery, and briefly creating the chance for a multiracial democracy during Reconstruction. The Northern bourgeoisie’s betrayal of Reconstruction was not unavoidable but a deliberate class choice. After securing the interests of industrial capital, they abandoned the freedmen and allowed the planter class to reestablish its dominance.

These challenges are part of the global effort for human emancipation and are associated with the working class, not the oligarchy.

The Present Assault on Historical Consciousness

The Trump administration’s cultural campaign is not just defensive but authoritarian, aiming to enforce a specific patriotic narrative. This strategy seeks ideological uniformity, akin to the concept of Gleichschaltung—the alignment of cultural institutions with regime interests.

The Smithsonian, universities, and cultural bodies are being targeted because they host exhibitions and research on slavery, racism, labour movements, and social inequality. These topics challenge the core beliefs of capitalist governance, promote critical thinking, and expose societal contradictions.

The Democratic Party’s defence of identity politics as “inclusive” and “representative' amounts to a bureaucratic evasion. Rather than opposing authoritarianism, identity politics serves as a distraction that divides the working class and conceals the true source of oppression—the capitalist system.

The quest for historical truth involves rejecting both the chauvinist mythology upheld by the right and the racialist distortions propagated by the liberal establishment. The ruling class fears history because it exposes several uncomfortable realities: that democratic rights were won through struggle, that revolutions can happen, that ordinary people have overthrown tyranny, that capitalism is not eternal, and that the working class has agency.

A population aware of these truths is a threat to the oligarchy, as it cannot be easily manipulated through nationalism, racism, or authoritarian rhetoric. Such an informed populace cannot be convinced that inequality is natural or that exploitation equates to freedom.

This is why the ruling class aims to erase or distort the revolutionary and democratic aspects of American history. It also explains why the fight for historical truth is intrinsically linked to the struggle for socialism.

The Working Class and the Revolutionary Legacy

The working class must reclaim key elements of American history that are truly progressive: the revolutionary assertion of the right to overthrow tyranny, the abolition of slavery, workers' and immigrants' struggles against exploitation, and the democratic principles found in the nation’s founding documents. These traditions belong to the working class, not the oligarchy, and they point beyond capitalism toward a socialist transformation of society. The fight for historical truth is intertwined with the fight against authoritarianism, nationalism, and identity politics. It also links to the broader goal of socialism. Like all major bourgeois revolutions, the American Revolution created possibilities it could not fully realise, and now, it is the working class's task to fulfil those possibilities.

 

The Swift–Kelce Wedding and the 250th Anniversary: A Portrait of a Republic in Terminal Decline

The coincidence seemed too perfect to be mere chance. On July 4, 2026—two and a half centuries after the Declaration of Independence proclaimed the right to overthrow tyranny—the U.S. celebrated not with reminders of its revolutionary roots, but with a wedding at Madison Square Garden. The marriage of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, costing between $25 million and $100 million, became the iconic image of the celebration. It symbolised oligarchic excess, showcasing a vulgar display that reflected the state of modern America.

Madison Square Garden was transformed into a secure, luxurious enclave—NYPD blocks, barriers, and black SUVs ferrying guests through protected pathways—not just for comfort but to showcase power. The cocktail hour alone drew a thousand guests. The couple’s $26 million charity donation, meant to demonstrate generosity, highlighted the stark disparity: a city where one in four residents lives in poverty, celebrating for the ultra-rich, with the world's highest number of billionaires watching approvingly.

Kevin Reed’s analogy likening the situation to Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette's marriage was apt. In 1770, during royal festivities, commoners were crushed to death in the Place Louis XV—later the site of the guillotine. This comparison isn’t just superficial; it’s grounded in history. The ancien régime was self-absorbed while its foundations weakened. Similarly, in 2026, America is caught in the same destructive cycle.

Spectacle as Political Function

The extensive coverage of the wedding was deliberate, not frivolous. The ruling class and its media used the event as a distraction from the 250th anniversary of a document that championed universal equality and the right to “alter or abolish” unjust rulers. Both political wings have long rejected the principles of the Declaration.

The United States has now seen Elon Musk become its first trillionaire. Nearly 1,000 billionaires hold a combined wealth of $8.4 trillion—about the same as the entire bottom 90% of the population. The current president, who allegedly earned $1.43 billion from a cryptocurrency scheme while in office, leads a government that has sent troops into American cities and deported immigrants to a detention centre in El Salvador without charges or trials. Meanwhile, the Democratic Party promotes the 1619 Project's racially focused narrative, which portrays the American Revolution as a counter-revolution defending slavery.

In this context, the Swift–Kelce wedding was more than just a distraction from politics—it embodied politics itself. It represented the interests of a ruling class that values spectacle over history, celebrity over civic responsibility, and passive entertainment over active democratic participation.

Taylor Swift and the Culture of Fictitious Capital

Swift’s net worth—around $2 billion, with her media empire valued at $12.1 billion—is driven by financial engineering rather than artistic merit. She epitomises the cultural face of fictitious capital: valuation disconnected from real substance, with celebrity turned into a tradable asset class. Her “Eras” tour is scrutinised by the business media using terminology akin to that used for bond offerings and derivatives.

The contrast between her modest artistic talent and her vast wealth would, in a more authentic cultural context, be a target of satire. Yet, in today's corrupt environment, it is accepted as normal. Fame and riches are now pursued as goals in their own right, admired with the same fervour once reserved for political ideals.

Bread, Circuses, and the Atrophy of Civic Life

The Roman satirist Juvenal saw the popularity of gladiators and charioteers as a sign of a citizenry whose civic abilities had been intentionally diminished. Gaius Appuleius Diocles, a charioteer—considered by some as the highest-paid athlete ever—became prominent as the empire began its prolonged decline. This parallel is intentional and fundamental, not coincidental.

A society that raises entertainers to demigod-like status while leaving millions in poverty, insecurity, and political passivity has failed in its democratic functions. Bread and circuses serve not just as entertainment but as tools of control.

The Revolutionary Heritage and Its Betrayal

The Declaration of Independence states that governments gain their authority from the consent of the people and that citizens have a responsibility to overthrow tyranny. These principles clash with a social structure controlled by a financial oligarchy. The rights to “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness” are hollow without access to stable employment, healthcare, education, housing, and a life free from conflict and repression.

Trotsky observed that “the bourgeoisie has shamefully betrayed all the traditions of its historical youth” and argued that the proletariat should defend the revolutionary legacy of the bourgeoisie. Unlike the 1776 revolutionaries who overthrew the old order rather than petitioned it, today’s goal is not to restore a decayed republic but to achieve a socialist transformation of society.

The Swift–Kelce wedding, held on the anniversary of the Declaration, was more than a mere event; it was a definitive statement. It exposed the decadence of the ruling class and the fatigue of the political system. Instead of reacting with moral outrage, the appropriate response is revolutionary clarity. The enduring legacy of 1776 remains the fight for a society where equality is not just words but a tangible reality.

 

The Poem and Its World: Labour, Ideology, and the International History of a Manuscript

 Against the Heritage Myth

The British press's enthusiastic celebration of a ninth-century copy of Caedmon’s Hymn found in Rome highlights the supposed 'earliest English poem,' heralded as the “birth of English literature' and the “first voice of the nation.' However, these assertions are not just surface-level claims; they are rooted in ideological perspectives. They tend to conceal the underlying material conditions of cultural creation, the class dynamics of early medieval England, and the international networks that facilitated manuscript circulation long before the rise of modern nation-states.

This article challenges that mythology by arguing that Caedmon’s Hymn should be seen not as a national origin story, but as a result of labour, church authority, and global exchange. Rooted in Marxist materialist historiography, it warrants a more comprehensive examination.

Caedmon and the Social Relations of Early Northumbria

Bede’s narrative situates Caedmon firmly within the labouring classes. He is described as “an agricultural labourer – a cowherd” who lacked the courtly skill of poetic recitation and withdrew from the feast in shame. This detail is not incidental. It reveals the class stratification of seventh‑century Northumbria, where poetic performance was an aristocratic cultural practice, inaccessible to those outside elite circles.

The miracle story—Caedmon’s dream-vision where he receives the divine gift of song—is a well-known example of ideological mystification. It turns a social marginalisation, such as a labourer being excluded from elite culture, into a religious story of divine intervention. However, behind this pious appearance lies a crucial material reality: the oldest surviving Old English poem was created by a worker.

This does not make the Hymn “proletarian literature.” As the document notes, its content reflects “the ideological dominance of the Church in early feudal England.” The Church monopolised literacy, manuscript production, and cultural transmission. The poem survives only because it is embedded within Latin ecclesiastical texts — “the vernacular breaks through, but only within the framework of ecclesiastical Latin.”

This is an important point. In early medieval Europe, the rise of vernacular literature was not a spontaneous expression of national identity but a controlled, clerically overseen process. The Church decided what was written, copied, and kept. Caedmon’s Hymn is therefore the result of effort, but it is also influenced by an ideological framework that shaped its form and content.

Manuscripts as Material Objects Under Capitalism

The manuscript’s history provides a condensed overview of cultural property amidst the evolution of capitalism. It traces its journey from a Benedictine abbey to private collectors and ultimately to the Italian state, with each transfer signifying a change in the social relations surrounding cultural artefacts. 

Monastic Production: The manuscript was produced at the Benedictine abbey of Nonantola, a feudal religious community where scribes created manuscripts as part of monastic work. These texts were not viewed as commodities but as instruments of church authority. Post-Dissolution Dispersal: After monastic institutions dissolved, the manuscripts entered private collections via collectors.

It is worth noting that Thomas Phillipps’s vast collection was “a form of nineteenth‑century cultural commodification.” Phillipps illustrates the bourgeois tendency to turn cultural heritage into private property. The manuscript from Phillipps travelled through various hands—first to Martin Bodmer, then to H.P. Kraus, a New York rare-books dealer. During this period, it became a commodity in the international art market, subject to capitalist speculation. Eventually, the manuscript was acquired by the Italian state. However, it remained “virtually unstudied” for fifty years afterwards. Its neglect reflects the austerity conditions of modern cultural institutions, where archival work depends on precarious labour and inconsistent funding.

The digitisation project that eventually made the manuscript accessible is part of a broader, uneven process of democratising archival access. But as the document notes, this process remains “contingent on the funding priorities of state institutions and the unpaid or precariously funded labour of scholars like Magnanti.” Even the most progressive developments in cultural access occur within the constraints of capitalist austerity.

International Cooperation vs Nationalist Mythology

The final section of the document exposes the irony of nationalist uses of Caedmon. The Hymn is routinely invoked as “the beginning of English poetry,” yet the earliest integrated copy was found in Rome, produced in an Italian scriptorium, and identified through collaboration between Irish and Italian scholars.

This fact alone challenges the nationalist story. The manuscript highlights the significance of the English vernacular in the ninth century. Still, it does so via the global networks of the medieval Church, rather than through isolated national growth. The Church was a transnational entity, with its scribes sharing texts across languages and regions.

The material history of culture has always been international, whatever nationalist mythologies later generations construct around it. This is a profoundly Marxist insight. Culture is not the property of nations but the product of human labour operating within global systems of exchange, power, and communication.

Historiographical Context

This argument aligns with a long-standing Marxist historiography tradition emphasising the material basis of cultural production. Scholars like Eric Hobsbawm, Rodney Hilton, and Christopher Hill have shown that cultural forms are inseparable from class relations and institutional structures. In early medieval England, this involves viewing the Church as both an ideological and an economic entity, monastic scriptoria as sites of labour, manuscripts as objects whose circulation indicates shifting property regimes, and vernacular literature as a product of clerical mediation rather than a sign of national awakening. The rediscovery of the Nonantola manuscript offers an opportunity to challenge nationalist narratives and reinforce a materialist view of cultural history.

Culture, Labour, and the World System

Caedmon’s Hymn is more than just an old story; it exemplifies the Marxist view that culture is a social construct. A cowherd's poem persists because ecclesiastical authorities protect it; a manuscript copied by monks becomes a commodity for bourgeois collectors; and a key text in English national mythology is only preserved through global cooperation. Challenging the illusions of heritage narratives, the manuscript’s history shows that culture belongs to humanity, not to nations or markets. Its preservation relies on often unseen labour — sometimes exploited — and its meaning can only be appreciated through a materialist analysis of the world that create

Michael Braddick’s Christopher Hill: A Biography That Evades the Central Political Truth

Michael Braddick’s Christopher Hill: The Life of a Radical Historian appears at a time when bourgeois academia is gradually withdrawing from the study of revolution. Unsurprisingly, though it remains politically significant, Braddick’s biography does not address a crucial aspect of Hill’s intellectual journey: his deep and ongoing connection to Stalinism, which shaped his achievements, limitations, and contradictions. Any biography that ignores this truth cannot truly explain Hill, and Braddick’s work seems deliberately constructed to overlook it.

The International Committee of the Fourth International has historically set the Marxist framework essential for understanding Hill’s development. Ann Talbot’s 2003 review, “These the times … this the man,” is arguably the most insightful analysis of Hill’s work and political progression. It forms the crucial basis for evaluating Braddick’s biography and highlighting its political evasions.

Political Tragedy of 20th-Century British Intellectuals

Hill’s life reflects the tragedy faced by many British intellectuals of his generation, who turned to Marxism amidst the revolutionary waves of the early 20th century but saw their growth stifled by Stalinism. He had remarkable talents, including a vivid historical imagination, a strong empathy for the oppressed, and an intuitive understanding of the collective, mass nature of revolution. However, these talents were never fully able to flourish. Hill was a member of the Communist Party Historians Group alongside E.P. Thompson, Eric Hobsbawm, and Rodney Hilton. The political pressures of

Stalinist bureaucracy shaped the intellectual work produced in this environment. Their approach to 'People’s History' was not authentic Marxism; instead, it mirrored Popular Frontism in historiography—a nationalist, class-collaborationist distortion that negated the class aspects of historical struggles and instead presented them as a narrative of “progressive” Englishness.

Hill’s early political development demonstrates his deep integration into the Stalinist system. He was brought into the Communist Party's network, received an extended stay in the Soviet Union in 1935, and was later assigned to the Foreign Office as an intelligence officer — a role that indicates the British elite’s perception of Stalinism as, in Trotsky’s words, “insurance against revolution.” Although Hill never publicly admitted to reading Trotsky, his most insightful ideas — such as viewing Cromwell as a revolutionary bourgeois leader and identifying the Levellers as a plebeian force striving beyond the limits of the bourgeois revolution — clearly reflect Trotsky’s analysis in "Where Is Britain Going?"

Hill's main contradiction was that a Marxist approach influenced his best work, which he couldn't openly acknowledge, as doing so would have put him at odds with the Stalinist bureaucracy on which he depended for his career.

Braddick’s Biography: A Study in Evasion

Braddick is a skilled historian of early modern England, but he is not aligned with Marxist theory. His work aligns with the post-revisionist consensus, which has spent decades dismantling Hill’s main argument—that the English Civil War was a bourgeois revolution—without offering a clear alternative. The dominant view holds that “there was no bourgeois revolution because there was no rising bourgeoisie,” framing the overthrow of Charles I as a constitutional misunderstanding. This intellectual environment influences Braddick’s writing and shapes the political bounds of his biography.

Post-Revisionism 

Over the last forty years, the post-revisionist approach to English Civil War history has effectively initiated an intellectual counter-revolution. Its scholars have not only dismissed Christopher Hill’s Marxist view of the English Revolution but also sought to eliminate the idea of history as a class-struggle-driven process. Their research reflects the ideological priorities of a bourgeois academy that has moved away from meaningful involvement with social dynamics, political economy, or revolutionary change.

This environment shapes Michael Braddick’s biography of Hill. As a result, it is not merely limited—it is also politically biased. It originates from a school whose main goal has been to undermine Hill’s accomplishments while hiding the political reasons for doing so.

Post-revisionism did not emerge from new evidence or scientific breakthroughs. Instead, it was rooted in the political environment of the late 1970s and 1980s— during the Thatcher era, the fall of the post-war consensus, and an ideological push against Marxism. Its purpose was clear: to undermine the very idea of revolution. Post-revisionists argue that there was no bourgeois revolution, denying the existence of a rising bourgeoisie; no class struggle, dismissing it as a mix of “local grievances,” “religious sensibilities,” and “constitutional anxieties"; and no revolutionary consciousness, reducing political ideas to “discourses” detached from material realities. This is not genuine scholarship but political reaction disguised as sophisticated methodology.

The English Revolution—the pivotal overthrow of a feudal monarchy by the emerging bourgeoisie—is reinterpreted as a constitutional misunderstanding, a tragic misstep, or a moment of chaos. Cromwell appears as a hesitant reformer. The Levellers are reduced to a pressure group. The majority of the people become unseen. This is not genuine history; it is a form of historical negation.

The Academic Class Offensive Against Hill

Christopher Hill’s work challenged the post-revisionist narrative by asserting three claims that bourgeois academia typically rejects: that the English Civil War was a revolution, that it was motivated by class forces, and that its ideas stemmed from material conditions and social conflict. His research clarified that the execution of Charles I was not a mere constitutional accident but a revolutionary act—signifying the overthrow of one class by another. Such assertions threaten the university's current stance, which has shifted towards liberal proceduralism and the view that history is contingent.

The post-revisionists initiated a continuous effort to dismantle Hill’s legacy. Instead of refuting his ideas, they declared his categories outdated. They substituted class analysis for micro-history, political economy for “localism,” and revolution for “multiple kingdoms.” They replaced detailed historical explanations with mere descriptions, and descriptions with anecdotes. This has led to a historiography that is politically neutral, intellectually lacking, and methodologically inconsistent.

Braddick’s biography of Hill mirrors this intellectual environment. It's not only that Braddick isn't a Marxist; he comes from a tradition focused on challenging Marxist historiography. As a result, his biography tends to avoid direct engagement: Hill’s Marxism is portrayed as youthful zeal; his CP membership is a minor detail; his departure from Stalinism is seen as a personal crisis instead of a political transformation; and his key ideas are labelled as "interesting interpretations” rather than outcomes of a consistent Marxist approach.

Braddick cannot directly challenge Hill’s work because it implies that Hill’s accomplishments reveal the flaws of post-revisionism. Hill’s focus on class struggle, revolutionary consciousness, and the material foundations of ideas directly criticises the academic views Braddick supports. Consequently, Hill needs to be domesticated—made less threatening. He must be repositioned from a Marxist historian to a “radical"—a politically meaningless term, academically practical, and ideologically convenient.

The Political Function of Post-Revisionism

Post-revisionism is not just mistaken; it is a politically reactionary stance. It aims to invalidate the revolutionary nature of history, especially as capitalism faces a renewed crisis. Essentially, it serves as an ideological shield for the status quo. By rejecting the bourgeois revolution, post-revisionism dismisses the potential for any revolution. When it reduces class to mere “local grievances,” it dismisses the reality of class struggle. Similarly, framing ideas as “discourses” undermines the material foundation of consciousness. This behaviour is deliberate, reflecting the bourgeoisie’s fear of revolution and their dread of history.

Hill’s work remains powerful because it asserts that revolutions are tangible events created by the masses and rooted in material conditions. Post-revisionism rejects this view because it cannot accept that social forces drive history beyond the ruling class's control. For Marxists, post-revisionism should be seen not just as a mistaken approach but as an ideological adversary—a political project aimed at eliminating the revolutionary significance of history. It mirrors neoliberalism, austerity policies, and the suppression of workers' struggles in its historiographical stance.

The title — Christopher Hill: The Life of a Radical Historian — suggests a softened depiction of Hill. The term “Radical” is presented as safe and diluted, losing its revolutionary weight. This framing makes Hill seem colourful, eccentric, and somewhat left-leaning, while distancing his work from the Marxist roots that heavily influenced him. Braddick’s biography treats Hill’s Marxism as just a youthful phase, an ideological period, or a personal eccentricity—not the central political approach that shaped his entire intellectual development. As a result, the story feels sympathetic and accessible, while somewhat avoiding deep political analysis.

A comprehensive biography would have addressed Hill's 1957 split from the CP following the Soviet invasion of Hungary—an event that sparked his most productive era. It would also cover his decision not to focus solely on 20thcentury history, despite the strong Stalinist influence. Additionally, it would explore the distortions caused by Stalinism, such as the national framing of history, the neglect of international perspectives, the romanticisation of sects, and the avoidance of Trotsky's revolutionary legacy.

Braddick avoids these issues altogether because addressing them would mean admitting that Hill’s life is inseparable from the conflict between Marxism and Stalinism — a conflict that bourgeois academia is unwilling to acknowledge.

Hill’s Enduring Significance — and His Limits

Despite the restrictions of Stalinism, Hill’s work remains highly valuable. In a time when bourgeois historians often adopt a “born-again Whig” perspective — with Simon Schama being a prominent example — Hill’s assertion that the execution of Charles I was a revolutionary act remains compelling. Hill recognised that revolutions result from mass movements whose awareness must evolve, and he vividly expressed the natural, human essence of revolution with remarkable clarity.

However, Hill’s shortcomings were genuine. His broad national perspective on the English Revolution, romanticised view of religious sects, neglect of the global context, and avoidance of the revolutionary party all stemmed from the political restrictions imposed by Stalinism. These limitations need to be addressed openly rather than hidden.

A truly Marxist biography of Hill would situate the English Revolution within its broader international context, trace its ideas through the Enlightenment and the American and French Revolutions, and place the revolutionary party and the fight for political power at the heart of the analysis. It would explore how Stalinism influenced, warped, and ultimately constrained Hill’s intellectual growth. Such a biography would need to engage with the political significance of Hill’s work, rather than simply recounting his life as part of 20th-century intellectual history. It would also acknowledge that Hill’s most profound insights stemmed from a Marxist approach he could not openly adopt.

Braddick’s biography cannot accomplish this because it is authored within an academic environment that is antagonistic toward Marxism, opposed to class analysis, and dismissive of Hill’s revolutionary implications.

The Struggle for Historical Truth 

Hill’s work is still crucial, but advancing it demands more than just his contributions. Developing a truly Marxist historiography of the English Revolution won't be achieved by scholars confined to university settings. Instead, it will be accomplished by Marxists who recognise that the pursuit of historical truth is inherently linked to the fight for socialism.

Braddick’s biography, despite its strengths, aligns with a tradition that aims to tame Hill, diminish the revolutionary aspects of his work, and conceal the political struggles that influenced his life. A Marxist perspective must oppose this tendency, emphasising that Hill’s life can only be fully grasped within the broader political conflict of the 20th century: the clash between Marxism and Stalinism.