Thursday, 25 June 2026

Heather Cox Richardson’s How the South Won the Civil War- How Liberalism Rewrites History to Save Itself

Introduction: Liberal Mythmaking in an Age of Crisis

Heather Cox Richardson’s How the South Won the Civil War (2020) isn’t traditional history but a political commentary disguised as history. Its aim isn’t to clarify the past but to defend the legitimacy of American liberalism during a crisis. The main idea—that the slaveholding South’s “ideology” spread westward and culminated in Donald Trump—serves as a moral story for a confused middle class, reassuring them that the Democratic Party still protects “democracy.”

Richardson’s narrative is a “concentrated expression of the political and historiographical dead end of American liberalism.”¹ This narrative depicts a world where ideas are detached from material realities, class conflict vanishes, and the Democratic Party takes centre stage in American history. However, this is not genuine history; it is a form of ideological self-comfort.

The Civil War as a Bourgeois Revolution

The American Civil War stands as the most significant revolutionary event in U.S. history. Contrary to liberal historiography's portrayal as a moral struggle between “democracy” and "oligarchy" or a tragic clash of opposing American ideals, it was fundamentally a bourgeois revolution. This upheaval was fueled by the deep-seated contradiction between the South's slave-based plantation economy and the North's fast-growing industrial capitalism.

The abolition of slavery was essential to the full development of American capitalism. The Union's victory dismantled the political influence of the enslaved person owning class, seized control of the plantation aristocracy, and freed four million enslaved individuals. This marked the Second American Revolution, finishing what the first had started: establishing a unified national market and removing pre-capitalist barriers to bourgeois progress. However, like all bourgeois revolutions, it contained inherent contradictions that the bourgeoisie itself could not resolve.

Reconstruction: The High Point of the Democratic Revolution

Reconstruction stood as the most radical democratic effort in American history. During a short-lived phase, Radical Republicans, freedmen, and impoverished Southern whites united to reshape the South around universal male suffrage, public education, civil rights, and the political advancement of formerly enslaved people.

This moment marked the peak of the Second American Revolution's democratic potential. There was a brief window for a complete transformation of Southern society, including the redistribution of land and the establishment of a biracial democracy focused on labour interests. However, this opportunity was never realised, as the bourgeoisie backed away from the consequences of their own revolution.

The Bourgeoisie Feared the Working Class More Than the Planter Class

Once slavery was abolished and the national market secured, Northern capital no longer needed the freedmen as political allies. What it feared was the emergence of a politically conscious, unified working class—Black and white—whose demands would extend beyond democratic rights to social and economic equality.

The bourgeoisie recognised that the democratic mobilisation unleashed in the South could merge with the rising labour movement in the North. The Great Railroad Strike of 1877 confirmed these fears. Faced with the prospect of a broader class challenge, the bourgeoisie chose to abandon Reconstruction and reconcile with the Southern elite.

The Agrarian Question Was Never Resolved

Reconstruction failed to initiate the agrarian revolution that could have dismantled the economic dominance of former slaveholders. Without redistributing land, political rights remained fragile, leaving freedmen economically reliant on their former masters. This shortcoming was deliberate; the bourgeoisie could not endorse challenging property structures that sustained the reactionary class's power.

The Democratic Revolution Threatened to Become a Social Revolution

Trotsky’s concept of permanent revolution explains why Reconstruction failed. The bourgeoisie initiates the democratic revolution but cannot finish it because doing so would endanger capitalist property by mobilising the masses. Only the working class has the capacity to complete the revolution. In the 1860s and 1870s, in America, the working class was not ready to take on this role due to a lack of organisation, political independence, and class awareness. Consequently, the revolution remained incomplete.

IV. The Counterrevolution of 1877 and the Consolidation of Jim Crow

The end of Reconstruction was not due to “Northern fatigue,” “racism,” or Southern ideology's persistence. Instead, it was a counterrevolution led by the bourgeoisie to maintain capitalist dominance.

The Compromise of 1877, which ended federal military presence in the South, coincided with the violent suppression of the Great Railroad Strike. These events were interconnected, representing different aspects of the same class struggle. The bourgeoisie suppressed both the democratic hopes of freedmen and the rising militancy of industrial workers. Consequently, this led to the establishment of the Jim Crow system: Black voter disenfranchisement, the restoration of planter dominance, racial terror, and a strict racial caste hierarchy. This outcome was not a Southern “victory” but a betrayal of the democratic revolution by the Northern bourgeoisie.

The Legacy of the Second American Revolution

The abolition of slavery was irrevocable, but Reconstruction's failure left the democratic revolution unfinished. Its repercussions influenced American society for over a century: the working class remained racially divided, the South turned into a centre of reactionary politics, and the ideal of multiracial democracy was postponed. Additionally, the capitalist state solidified racial hierarchy as a means of class dominance. The unresolved issues from Reconstruction resurfaced throughout American history—from the Populist movement to the CIO, the civil rights era, and ongoing challenges to American democracy.

 

The Book’s Foundational Falsehood: The South Did Not Win the Civil War

Richardson’s title serves as a provocation, yet it is historically inaccurate. The South did not achieve victory in the Civil War—neither militarily, politically, nor socially. The slave system was dismantled; the planter aristocracy was broken; and four million enslaved individuals were freed. As the document highlights, these represent “world-historic achievements of the Second American Revolution.”²

Richardson’s trick is to reinterpret “winning” as the subsequent betrayal of Reconstruction. However, this was not a victory for Confederate “ideology.” Instead, it was a shift in class alliances within the Northern bourgeoisie, which, after fulfilling its goals of unifying the nation and dismantling the slave power, chose to forsake the freedmen. It then reconciled with former enslavers to secure capitalist stability in the South.

This was not a triumph of ideas but a victory of property relations. The bourgeoisie pulled back from the revolutionary consequences of Radical Reconstruction because it endangered private property rights and empowered the rising labour movement.³Richardson’s ideological framing—“democracy vs oligarchy”—is a liberal mystification that dissolves the material foundations of the conflict into a moral drama.

 Ideology Without Class: The Liberal Flight from Materialism

Richardson’s story centres on a long-standing conflict between “democracy” and “oligarchy,” but these terms are not purely historical categories; rather, they serve as moral labels. This framing obscures the reality that the Civil War was fundamentally a conflict between two economic systems: chattel slavery, based on plantation agriculture, and free labour, driven by industrial capitalism.

The critique rightly observes that Richardson “substitutes a clash of ideas for a struggle between classes.”⁴ This exemplifies contemporary liberal historiography, which struggles to recognise the importance of class without compromising its political core. By equating the planter class with the modern Republican right as manifestations of a single “ideology,” Richardson neglects the significant changes in American capitalism over the past 150 years. Her approach shifts from detailed analysis to a moral narrative.

The Erasure of the Working Class

Perhaps the most critical flaw in Richardson’s book is its almost complete neglect of the working class. The significant labour struggles of the late 19th century—the Great Railroad Strike of 1877, the Haymarket Riot, the Homestead Strike, and the Pullman Strike—are either overlooked or treated merely as background. Richardson suggests that 'History is made by elites,' with the working class only depicted as a passive object of elite kindness or manipulation. This isn’t an accidental omission but a reflection of a class stance: the petty-bourgeois liberal intelligentsia cannot see the working class as an independent historical actor. Its political viewpoint is confined to swinging between “good” and “bad” elites.

The New Deal, in Richardson’s account, becomes a triumph of enlightened leadership rather than a ruling‑class concession extracted under the pressure of mass strikes and the growing influence of socialist ideas.⁶ This is liberal mythology, not history.

The Democratic Party as the Hero of History

Richardson’s narrative clearly aims to reframe the Democratic Party as the enduring protector of democracy. Achieving this requires ignoring a substantial amount of history. Historically, the Democratic Party was associated with slavery, Jim Crow laws, internment of Japanese Americans, initiating the Cold War, and escalating the Vietnam War. Its so-called "progressive” reforms were actually concessions gained through mass activism, which were then reversed once the pressure diminished.⁷

Yet Richardson groups Lincoln, FDR, LBJ, and contemporary Democrats together as part of a single “democratic tradition.” This is more about political branding than analysis. As the critique points out, this framing “serves a clear political purpose: to channel opposition to Trump and the right into support for the Democratic Party.”⁸

Trump as Symptom, Not Confederate Resurrection

Richardson sees Trump as the reincarnation of the Confederate oligarchy, but this oversimplifies the American crisis. Trump isn't a modern Jefferson Davis; he's the result of decades of deindustrialisation, loss of stable jobs, working-class hardship, endless imperialist conflicts, and political disintegration. As noted, "Trump is not Jefferson Davis reborn. He is a product of decades of capitalist decay.”⁹ By personalising and moralising Trumpism, Richardson obscures the structural crisis of American capitalism and the bankruptcy of both major parties.

Conclusion: Liberalism’s Desperate Search for a Usable Past

How the South Won the Civil War is more of a political narrative than a serious historical work. It aims to reassure liberal readers that history supports their views, portrays the Democratic Party as the guardian of “democracy,” and considers Trumpism an anomaly rather than a sign of systemic failure. As the critique notes, the book’s popularity reflects the political deadlock of that social class, which desperately seeks a past that can justify remaining loyal to a party aligned with Wall Street and warfare.”¹⁰

Historical materialism points in the opposite direction: toward the necessity of the working class taking power in its own name.

Footnotes

  1. “The book’s thesis can be critically assessed… concentrated expression of the political and historiographical dead end of American liberalism.”
  2. “These were world‑historic achievements of the Second American Revolution.”
  3. “The failure of Reconstruction was the failure of the bourgeoisie to carry through the democratic revolution to its conclusion…”
  4. “Richardson’s framework… substitutes a clash of ideas for a struggle between classes.”
  5. “In Richardson’s narrative, history is made by elites.”
  6. “When the New Deal arrives, it is presented as a victory of enlightened leadership…”
  7. “Its ‘progressive’ reforms have always been concessions wrung from it by mass struggle from below…”
  8. “Richardson’s framing serves a clear political purpose: to channel opposition to Trump… into support for the Democratic Party.”
  9. “Trump is not Jefferson Davis reborn. He is a product of decades of capitalist decay.”
  10. “The book’s popularity… is a measure of the political impasse of that social layer…”

  

Red Card: The 2026 World Cup, Sportswashing, and the FIFA Greed Machine

Introduction: A Book That Documents Much and Explains Little

Jules Boykoff’s Red Card comes at a time when the 2026 World Cup has already revealed the profound corruption within global capitalism. Hosted by the United States, Mexico, and Canada, the tournament has become a platform for militarisation, xenophobia, financial greed, and the overt display of American dominance. Therefore, Boykoff’s book is especially relevant. It provides a comprehensive list of abuses, including FIFA’s internal corruption and the blatant profiteering by the host countries.

However, the book’s political structure—highlighted right in its title—is fundamentally flawed. “Sportswashing” is not a neutral analytical category but an ideological tool. It originates in Western liberalism to criticise the misconduct of rival nations while concealing the far greater crimes of imperialist powers. Boykoff’s dependence on this framework, combined with Dave Zirin’s role as the introducer, guarantees that "Red Card" remains confined within the pseudo-left sphere from which it originates.

The book highlights symptoms of capitalist decay and exposes corruption, yet it hides its root causes. While condemning abuses and lamenting exploitation, it does not address class rule or imperialism, offering no revolutionary alternative. Essentially, it is a critique that ultimately supports the very system it criticises.

The 2026 World Cup: A Case Study in Imperialist Barbarism

Boykoff’s Red Card honestly details the authoritarian measures surrounding the 2026 tournament. The information is striking: ICE agents at every stadium, transforming venues into extensions of the US deportation system. Dynamic pricing has skyrocketed ticket costs — starting at $10,990, with one reportedly listed at $2.3 million. Iran’s team was prevented from spending a night on US soil, a petty act of geopolitical spite. The Haitian team’s Vertières symbol was forcibly removed, erasing the only successful slave revolution in history. Somali referees were detained and expelled, held for eleven hours without reason. Meanwhile, a “FIFA Peace Prize” was awarded to Donald Trump, a grotesque distortion of reality.

These incidents are part of a consistent pattern: turning a global sporting event into a tool for state repression and imperialist propaganda. The 2026 World Cup is not just commercialised; it has become militarised. It is not only corrupt; it exhibits outright authoritarian tendencies. Boykoff documents these facts but doesn’t explain.

The Ideology of “Sportswashing”

Red Card's main flaw lies in its dependence on the idea of “sportswashing.” This term, widely promoted by Western NGOs, academics, and media, claims that authoritarian regimes use sports to improve their image. It has been frequently used against Qatar (2022), Russia (2018), China (2008), and Saudi Arabia’s LIV Golf project. However, the 2026 World Cup reveals the shortcomings of this ideological approach.

 Few terms have spread as quickly across the academic, NGO, and media worlds as “sportswashing.” It’s regularly used: Qatar “sportswashed” the 2022 World Cup; Russia “sportswashed” the 2018 tournament; Saudi Arabia “sportswashed” its LIV Golf project; China “sportswashed” the 2008 Olympics. The underlying message remains consistent: authoritarian regimes leverage sport to clean up their images.

This idea is not merely insufficient; it is ideologically toxic. It hides the true forces behind global power, sustains Western imperialism's moral claims, and distracts from the capitalist system that has turned sports into a multimillion-dollar tool for exploitation and propaganda. “Sportswashing” isn't just a descriptive term; it's a strategic political tool.

The Liberal Origin of the Concept

The term did not originate in Marxist theory but rather in Western think tanks, human-rights NGOs, and media aligned with US foreign policy interests. It belongs to the same ideological toolkit as terms like “authoritarianism,” “rogue states,” “malign influence,” “hybrid warfare,” and “democratic values.” These are not neutral labels; they serve as geopolitical signals that justify the actions of imperialist powers and portray their opponents as threats.

The brutality is not concealed; it is flaunted. The Haitian team is ordered to remove the symbol of the only successful slave revolution in history. The Iranian team is barred from sleeping on US soil. ICE agents patrol stadiums. Ticket prices reach $2.3 million. A Somali referee is detained and expelled.

The phrase 'what is being washed' is misleading; nothing is actually being cleaned. The violence is the actual focus. The idea falls apart because it was never meant to analyse imperialism, only to conceal it. In section IV, the double standard becomes clear: Qatar and Russia are labelled sportswashes, but the US isn’t. Western media in 2022 held Qatar accountable for migrant worker deaths to criticise a geopolitical rival. Meanwhile, U.S. actions in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Yemen—costing hundreds of thousands to millions of lives—were not called 'sportswashing' or 'human rights abuses' related to sports. This double standard shows how the concept is used selectively to serve Western foreign policy goals.

The Class Function of the Concept

“Sportswashing” is not just hypocritical; it serves a specific ideological purpose. It individualizes systemic issues by shifting the blame for corruption onto “bad regimes,” ignoring the broader global capitalist system. It moralizes politics by replacing analysis of class relations with a focus on virtue and vice. It diverts attention from imperialism, with US and allied crimes hidden behind moral condemnation aimed at rivals. It obscures the involvement of Western corporations—such as Nike, Adidas, Coca-Cola, Visa, Fox, Comcast, and JP Morgan—that are the real profiteers. Lastly, it depoliticizes the working class. In essence, “sportswashing” functions as a bourgeois mystification.

The Pseudo‑Left’s Embrace of the Concept

The pseudo-left, including figures like Dave Zirin, Jacobin writers, and the academic “sports activism” community, has eagerly adopted the term. This is no coincidence. The pseudo-left tends to dismiss class analysis in favor of identity politics, aligns with the Democratic Party's foreign policy goals, moralizes politics rather than analyzes it, and replaces revolutionary strategies with activism. "Sportswashing” seamlessly fits into this ideological framework, enabling the pseudo-left to appear radical while supporting the geopolitical narratives of the US government.

The United States Is Not “Washing” Anything

The US is not hiding its crimes behind the World Cup; instead, it is using the event to promote them. The genocide in Gaza is openly defended rather than concealed. The offensive against Iran is being escalated rather than softened. The militarization of the US–Mexico border is celebrated openly instead of being disguised. The shift toward authoritarianism is being normalized rather than mitigated. What is the supposed 'washing'? The brutality is not hidden; it is displayed proudly.

“Sportswashing” Is a Tool of Imperialist Hypocrisy

As WSWS writers like Peter Schwarz have highlighted, the Western media’s criticism of Qatar’s migrant worker policies was never genuinely about human rights. These outlets remained silent on the over a million deaths caused by US-led wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and Syria. The term “sportswashing” is used as a geopolitical weapon rather than a sincere ethical critique. Boykoff adopts this perspective uncritically, which causes him to overlook a key point: the core issue isn’t authoritarianism, but imperialism; not corruption, but capitalism.

Dave Zirin and the Politics of the Pseudo‑Left

Having Dave Zirin, the sports editor of The Nation, as the introducer highlights a political stance. Zirin symbolises the American pseudo-left: he is radical in speech but reformist in action, and his politics are aligned with the Democratic Party. While he condemns racism, exploitation, and corruption, he does not see the working class as the revolutionary force that can end these issues. His approach favours ongoing protest rather than socialist change.

Zirin’s framework considers racism and sexism as independent systems, separate from capitalist social relations. This approach enables him to criticize injustice without questioning the underlying economic structures that cause it. Zirin supported Bernie Sanders, whose role was to direct working-class frustration within the Democratic Party. However, his critique of sports capitalism does not advocate for the working class to disconnect from the Democrats and form an independent political movement. Boykoff’s book, introduced by Zirin, shares these limitations.

What the Book Cannot Say: The Marxist Explanation

A truly groundbreaking analysis of the 2026 World Cup must begin with these fundamental assumptions: 1. Sport as a Social Product of the Working Class: Football is not merely a bourgeois invention but a collective cultural creation of the working class, later exploited by capital. 2. FIFA as a Tool for Global Finance Capital: FIFA's corruption is not just individual misconduct but results from its structural connections to media monopolies, financial institutions, corporate sponsors, and the geopolitical interests of major imperialist countries. 3. The 2026 World Cup as a Political Event: It highlights the intertwining of sport with political agendas, state repression, the use of mega-events to normalize militarization, the subordination of culture to capital, and the ideological mobilization of nationalism to divide workers. These insights fall outside the conceptual scope of Boykoff and Zirin.

Conclusion: A Book That Reveals the Crisis but Conceals Its Cause

Red Card presents a contradictory stance. It passionately condemns the barbarity of the 2026 World Cup but fails to propose solutions. Its liberal perspective doesn’t address imperialism's realities and instead directs anger toward reformist dead-ends. While highlighting corruption, it neglects to critique the capitalist system that sustains it. Overall, Red Card isn't a radical critique; it underscores the ideological limits of the pseudo-left. The working class's goal isn't to reform FIFA or combat sportswashing but to overthrow capitalism, which has turned every facet of life, including sports, into a space of exploitation, repression, and profit.

  

A “Masterclass in Scholarship” or an Ideological Retreat? John Morrill’s Cromwell Edition and the Politics of Historical Revisionism

The publication of John Morrill’s new edition of The Letters, Writings and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell has been greeted with a remarkable unanimity of praise from the historical profession. Such consensus is itself a political fact. As the uploaded document insists, this edition “deserves to be examined not merely as an editorial achievement but in terms of its political and historiographical implications,” and the “universal acclaim from the historical profession should itself be interrogated.”¹ The task of Marxist historiography is not to echo academic fashion but to expose the class forces that shape it. Morrill’s edition is not a neutral scholarly improvement upon Thomas Carlyle’s 1845 text; it is an intervention in a decades‑long ideological struggle over the meaning of the English Revolution.

Carlyle’s Edition and the Revolutionary Tradition

Thomas Carlyle’s 1845 edition of Cromwell’s writings was a landmark in nineteenth‑century historiography. Despite his limitations—his “great man” theory and his later reactionary turn—Carlyle possessed the intellectual courage to recognise Cromwell as a revolutionary figure. Marx praised Carlyle for having “taken the literary field against the bourgeoisie at a time when its views, tastes and ideas held the whole of official English literature totally in thrall,” citing “his apology for Cromwell” as one of his most significant interventions.²

Carlyle understood, however imperfectly, that the English Civil War was not a constitutional misunderstanding but, in the words of the uploaded document, “a world-historical convulsion in which a class seized power through the execution of a king.”³ This insight—partial, distorted, but nonetheless real—explains why Marx and Engels valued Carlyle’s work. They recognised in the English Revolution the first great bourgeois revolution, the event that cleared the ground for capitalist development and inaugurated the modern epoch.

Carlyle’s edition was flawed, as the document acknowledges: “his transcriptions were not always reliable, his selection was idiosyncratic, his commentary was infused with his own increasingly authoritarian worldview.”⁴ But these were the flaws of a bourgeois radical struggling to articulate the class dynamics of a revolution whose full meaning only Marxism could later reveal.

The Rise of Revisionism and Morrill’s Role

John Morrill is not a neutral editor. He is a leading figure of the revisionist school that has dominated English Civil War historiography since the 1970s. This tendency—associated with Conrad Russell and others—denies that the 1640s constituted a bourgeois revolution. It rejects the notion of a rising bourgeoisie, dismisses the class character of the conflict, and reinterprets the revolution as a contingent political or religious crisis.

The revisionists insist that “there was no bourgeois revolution because there was no rising bourgeoisie and that people from all social classes can be found on either side of the struggle.”⁵ Even Cromwell, they argue, was not a revolutionary but “a representative of the declining gentry.”⁶

This is the intellectual framework within which Morrill has worked for decades. His edition is therefore, as the document states, “not a politically innocent replacement of a ‘flawed’ Victorian text with a ‘scientific’ modern one. It is an intervention in a long-running class struggle within historiography.”⁷

What Revisionism Seeks to Erase

The revisionist school does not correct Carlyle’s limitations from a more advanced standpoint. It retreats from them. It denies that the English Revolution was a revolution at all.

Against this retreat, Christopher Hill’s Marxist historiography stands as a towering achievement. Hill demonstrated in God’s Englishman that Cromwell was a revolutionary leader of the bourgeoisie: a man who purged Parliament until it reflected the needs of his class, built the New Model Army as an instrument of revolutionary power, and suppressed the Levellers when they threatened to push the revolution beyond the limits of capitalist development. Hill’s position was that Cromwell “must be understood as a revolutionary leader of the bourgeoisie… who suppressed the Levellers when the plebeian elements threatened to push the revolution beyond the limits required for capitalist society.”⁸

Hill’s work followed Trotsky’s analysis in Where Is Britain Going?, which identified two revolutionary traditions in British history—Cromwell and Chartism—both of which were systematically denied by the Whig myth of gradualism. Revisionism, for all its claims to sophistication, represents a return to this Whig outlook: the comforting fiction that Britain has been uniquely blessed with peaceful, incremental change. As the document notes, Simon Schama proudly declares himself “a born-again Whig.”⁹

The Political Meaning of Today’s Acclaim

The universal praise for Morrill’s edition is not a matter of scholarly merit alone. It reflects the political trajectory of the bourgeoisie itself. The class that once celebrated Cromwell as its revolutionary ancestor now finds that ancestry embarrassing. Having long since abandoned all progressive historical tasks, the bourgeoisie prefers to pretend that revolution never happened.

The bourgeoisie now insists that “the execution of Charles I was a regrettable incident, that the Levellers were irrelevant extremists, and that the whole unpleasant episode could have been avoided if only people had been more reasonable.”¹⁰This ideological sanitisation is not accidental. It serves contemporary political needs. A ruling class that fears revolution must deny that revolutions have ever been necessary, progressive, or successful.

Hence, the “unanimity of the acclaim” for Morrill’s edition. It “conforms to what the contemporary historical profession wants to believe about the seventeenth century and about revolution in general.”¹¹ A genuinely critical edition—one that illuminated rather than obscured the class forces at work—would not receive such praise. 

The Working Class and the Revolutionary Heritage

The working class has every interest in understanding the English Revolution for what it was: the first in the series of bourgeois revolutions that created the conditions for modern capitalism and, in doing so, brought into being the proletariat itself.

The revolutionary traditions of the bourgeoisie—however historically limited—belong not to today’s anaemic liberalism but to the international working class. As the document concludes, these traditions “belong to the heritage of the international working class – not to the anaemic, phlegmatic liberalism that now disowns them.”¹²

To defend the revolutionary content of the English Civil War is therefore not an antiquarian exercise. It is part of the broader struggle to arm the working class with an understanding of the historical processes that shaped the modern world—and to expose the ideological falsifications through which the bourgeoisie seeks to obscure its own past and the revolutionary future that confronts it.

Notes

  1.  “This is a significant publication… the universal acclaim from the historical profession should itself be interrogated.”
  2. Ibid.: Marx praised Carlyle for “having taken the literary field against the bourgeoisie… citing specifically ‘his apology for Cromwell’.”
  3. Ibid.: Carlyle recognised the Civil War as “a world-historical convulsion in which a class seized power through the execution of a king.”
  4. Ibid.: “His transcriptions were not always reliable… his commentary was infused with his own increasingly authoritarian worldview.”
  5. Ibid.: “There was no bourgeois revolution because there was no rising bourgeoisie…”
  6. Ibid.: “Even Cromwell… can better be understood as a representative of the declining gentry.”
  7. Ibid.: Morrill’s edition “is an intervention in a long-running class struggle within historiography.”
  8. Ibid.: Cromwell “must be understood as a revolutionary leader of the bourgeoisie… who suppressed the Levellers…”
  9. Ibid.: “Simon Schama… happily declares himself ‘a born-again Whig.’”
  10. Ibid.: The bourgeoisie now claims “the execution of Charles I was a regrettable incident…”
  11. Ibid.: Morrill’s edition “conforms to what the contemporary historical profession wants to believe…”
  12. Ibid.: “The revolutionary traditions of the bourgeoisie… belong to the heritage of the international working class.”

 


Carlo Ginzburg (1939–2026): An Obituary of a Historian of the Fragment in an Age of Retreat¹

Carlo Ginzburg, who died on June 17th  2026, at the age of 87, was one of the most influential historians of the late twentieth century—a scholar whose work, especially The Cheese and the Worms, became emblematic of the micro historical turn that reshaped large sectors of the historical profession from the 1970s onward.² His death marks the passing of a figure whose intellectual trajectory expressed, in concentrated form, the political and theoretical disorientation of an entire generation of European intellectuals confronted with the defeats of the working class and the collapse of the revolutionary movements of the post‑1968 period.³

Ginzburg was an exceptionally knowledgeable historian, known for his precise philology and archival skills. However, despite his brilliance, his work was fundamentally limited by a significant theoretical shortcoming: he distanced himself from the analysis of social totality, class relations, and the laws governing historical progress.⁴ His body of work serves as a testament to the intellectual impact of the prolonged decline of the workers’ movement, the fading of Marxism in academia, and the growth of culturalist approaches that prioritized fragments over entire systems, anecdotes over structures, and the idea of the “exceptional normal” over the actual processes of class struggle.⁵

A Scholar Formed in the Ruins of the Italian Left

Born in Turin in 1939 to the literary critic Leone Ginzburg and the novelist Natalia Ginzburg, Carlo Ginzburg grew up in a milieu shaped by anti‑fascist resistance and the cultural ferment of postwar Italy.⁶ His intellectual development occurred not during the revolutionary surge of the late 1960s but afterwards, as that movement waned. The autunno caldo of 1969, along with the factory councils and mass strikes that challenged Italian capitalism, was succeeded by the fragmentation of the extra-parliamentary left, the infiltration of terrorism by some intelligentsia, and an overall sense of demoralization within the radical circles.⁷

It was in this context—of retreat, exhaustion, and the abandonment of revolutionary politics—that microhistory emerged as a self‑consciously anti‑totalizing method.⁸ Ginzburg wasn't a direct participant in these conflicts, but his intellectual focus was influenced by the same circumstances. His shift away from topics like class, modes of production, and the analysis of capitalist development toward the local, the unusual, and the culturally unique was intentional. It reflected the ideology of a generation that had become disillusioned with the prospects of revolutionary change.⁹

The Cheese and the Worms: Achievement and Limitation

Ginzburg’s most celebrated work, The Cheese and the Worms (1976), reconstructed the mental universe of Menocchio, a sixteenth‑century Friulian miller executed by the Inquisition.¹⁰ Through painstaking analysis of trial records, Ginzburg demonstrated that this semi‑literate peasant possessed a strikingly original cosmology, drawing on scraps of printed books, oral traditions, and his own material experience.¹¹

This was a real achievement. Against the Annales School’s depersonalised serial history—what Guy Bois called “a history without people”—Ginzburg insisted that the consciousness of the oppressed was recoverable, complex, and worthy of study.¹² Yet the very category at the heart of the book—“popular culture”—revealed the idealist foundation of Ginzburg’s method.¹³ Popular culture was defined not by class position or the relations of production but by its opposition to “elite” culture.¹⁴

Menocchio’s cosmology—his vision of the world emerging from chaos “just as cheese is made from milk, and worms appear in it”—was rooted in his daily labour as a miller.¹⁵ But Ginzburg’s framework could not account for this material determination. Culture, in his hands, became autonomous, self‑generating, governed by internal dynamics of transmission and reinterpretation.¹⁶

Microhistory and the Flight from Totality

Ginzburg’s microhistory was premised on the intensive study of the “exceptional normal”—the anomalous case that illuminates broader structures.¹⁷ But as a programmatic orientation, microhistory systematically avoided the analysis of the totality of social relations.¹⁸ It substituted the fragment for the whole.

Marxism does not reject the study of individuals or local contexts. The Eighteenth Brumaire is a masterful analysis of individual actors—Louis Bonaparte, the party leaders, the lumpen conspirators—. Still, these individuals are understood as representatives of class forces acting within a determinate historical conjuncture.¹⁹ Ginzburg’s method, by contrast, provided no basis for moving from the village miller to the feudal mode of production, from the Inquisition trial to the role of the Church in the class struggles of early modern Europe.²⁰

The “Evidential Paradigm”: A Retreat from Scientific Method

In “Clues: Roots of an Evidential Paradigm” (1979), Ginzburg proposed an epistemology based on the hunter’s tracking of traces—the conjectural reconstruction of reality from insignificant details.²¹ He counterposed this to the “Galilean” paradigm of experimental, mathematical science.²²

From a Marxist standpoint, this represented a retreat from the aspiration to scientific knowledge of society.²³ The “evidential paradigm” elevated the fragmentary, the intuitive, and the conjectural into a methodological principle.²⁴

Ginzburg and Gramsci: A Culturalist Appropriation

Ginzburg engaged with Marxism primarily through the cultural writings of Antonio Gramsci.²⁵ But his use of Gramsci was selective and culturalist. He extracted insights into hegemony while discarding the revolutionary political framework within which those insights were developed.²⁶

Gramsci’s concept of hegemony was not a cultural‑studies toolkit; it was a theory of bourgeois rule and proletarian revolution.²⁷ Ginzburg’s Gramsci was a Gramsci without the October Revolution, without the factory councils, without the Communist Party.²⁸

Legacy: A Historian of the Fragment in an Age of Defeat

Carlo Ginzburg leaves behind a body of work that is often brilliant in its particulars, rich in empirical detail, and animated by a genuine commitment to recovering the voices of the oppressed.²⁹ But his work does not provide an alternative to historical materialism.³⁰ It provides, at best, empirical material that can only be adequately understood through the Marxist method he declined to embrace.³¹

Microhistory can tell us what Menocchio thought; it cannot explain why he thought it, why he was burned for it, or why the society that burned him was destined to be overthrown by the class whose labour sustained it.³² Those questions require a theory of history grounded in the mode of production, class struggle, and the laws of social development.³³

ENDNOTES

  1. For a biographical overview, see Carlo Ginzburg, Il filo e le tracce (Milan: Feltrinelli, 2006).
  2. Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth‑Century Miller, trans. John and Anne Tedeschi (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980).
  3. Donald Sassoon, One Hundred Years of Socialism (London: HarperCollins, 1996).
  4. Perry Anderson, “The Antinomies of Antonio Gramsci,” New Left Review I/100 (1976).
  5. Geoff Eley, A Crooked Line: From Cultural History to the History of Society (Ann Arbour: University of Michigan Press, 2005).
  6. Natalia Ginzburg, Family Lexicon, trans. Jenny McPhee (New York: NYRB Classics, 2017).
  7. Robert Lumley, States of Emergency: Cultures of Revolt in Italy from 1968 to 1978 (London: Verso, 1990).
  8. Giovanni Levi, “On Microhistory,” in New Perspectives on Historical Writing, ed. Peter Burke (Cambridge: Polity, 1991).
  9. Eley, A Crooked Line.
  10. Ginzburg, Cheese and the Worms.
  11. Ibid.
  12. Guy Bois, The Crisis of Feudalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984).
  13. Eley, A Crooked Line.
  14. Levi, “On Microhistory.”
  15. Ginzburg, Cheese and the Worms, 4.
  16. Ibid.
  17. Carlo Ginzburg, “Microhistory: Two or Three Things That I Know About It,” Critical Inquiry 20, no. 1 (1993).
  18. Ibid.
  19. Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte (1852).
  20. Bois, Crisis of Feudalism.
  21. Carlo Ginzburg, “Clues: Roots of an Evidential Paradigm,” Theory and Society 7, no. 3 (1979).
  22. Ibid.
  23. Alex Callinicos, Making History (Leiden: Brill, 2004).
  24. Ginzburg, “Clues.”
  25. Carlo Ginzburg, “Some Queries Addressed to Myself,” in Threads and Traces (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).
  26. Anderson, “Antinomies of Antonio Gramsci.”
  27. Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. Hoare and Nowell‑Smith (New York: International Publishers, 1971).
  28. Ibid.
  29. Ginzburg, Threads and Traces.
  30. Callinicos, Making History.
  31. Ibid.
  32. Ginzburg, Cheese and the Worms.
  33. Marx, Eighteenth Brumaire.

 

Wednesday, 24 June 2026

A Marxist Critique of Robin Blackburn’s An Unfinished Revolution: Karl Marx and Abraham Lincoln

Robin Blackburn’s An Unfinished Revolution: Karl Marx and Abraham Lincoln offers a significant addition to the study of Marx’s role in the American Civil War. It includes Marx’s journalism, his letters to Engels, and the International Workingmen’s Association’s messages to Lincoln. However, as the review suggests, Blackburn’s political and methodological approach—shaped by the decline of the academic left and its distancing from revolutionary Marxism—limits the interpretations. While the book sheds light on many aspects, it ultimately does not fully capture the revolutionary importance of the history it describes.

Blackburn’s observations are accurate. He rightly highlights that Marx’s engagement with the Civil War was core to his political work in the 1860s, not just a side interest. As the review states, Marx closely tracked military campaigns, contributed extensively to the New York Daily Tribune and the Vienna Presse, and coordinated widespread working-class resistance in Britain against Palmerston's pro-Confederate interventionist policies.”¹ Blackburn also notes Marx’s respect for Lincoln as a bourgeois revolutionary who, faced with circumstances, went beyond his class boundaries. Marx’s 1865 tribute—cited in the assessment—praises Lincoln as “one of the rare men who succeed in becoming great, without ceasing to be good.”²—was not diplomatic rhetoric but a political judgment grounded in historical necessity.

Blackburn’s political framework is rooted in his longstanding connection to the New Left Review and its post-Trotskyist origins. The assessment places Blackburn within the tradition of the International Marxist Group and the reunified Fourth International, which split from the International Committee in 1963, leading to a trajectory of political abandonment. This milieu transitioned from Pabloite entryism into the Labour Party to Eurocommunism, support for national-liberation movements, and ultimately to academic postmodernism and identity politics prevalent in today's pseudo-left. As noted, this development “is not a series of disconnected errors. It flows from the abandonment of the central Marxist principle: the political independence of the working class and the fight for world socialist revolution".”³

This political lineage influences Blackburn’s view of the American Revolution as an unfinished process. Marx considered the Civil War a bourgeois-democratic revolution that dismantled the slaveholding elite. However, the emancipation of four million enslaved individuals highlighted social issues—land redistribution, political rights, education, and economic independence—that capitalism could not address. The failure of Reconstruction—marked by the withdrawal of federal troops and the reinstatement of white supremacist rule in the South—further exemplifies this ongoing incompleteness.”⁴—expressed the class limits of the bourgeoisie, not the failure of American democracy in the abstract. From this perspective, the unfinished tasks of the Civil War point not toward liberal reform but toward socialist revolution.

Blackburn, however, examines the issue from a left-liberal reformist perspective. The critique suggests that the New Left Review’s shifting politics—ranging from Keynesianism to left-nationalism and academic radicalism—fail to recognize the working class as a crucial revolutionary subject. Consequently, their idea of the “unfinished revolution” stays confined within bourgeois political boundaries. Here, the working class is seen merely as an object of analysis rather than as an active agent shaping history.

The methodological critique is equally decisive. Marx did not approach the Civil War as an intellectual curiosity but as a revolutionary strategist. His journalism was “a political act aimed at clarifying the stakes of the conflict for workers in Europe and America.”⁵ He aimed to analyze the class forces at play and the strategic consequences of their conflict. Blackburn’s research, however, views Marx’s involvement as a moment in intellectual history rather than a blueprint for revolutionary action. This difference in approach highlights the divide between Marxism as a revolutionary practice and the academic Marxism that now largely influences the post-Trotskyist left.

The assessment compares Blackburn’s method with the stance of the International Committee of the Fourth International regarding the 1619 Project. It characterizes the project as a defense of the revolutionary legacy of the Civil War, opposing a racialist misrepresentation. The argument suggests that the 1619 Project replaces “an immutable racial pathology”⁶ with the class dynamics of American history, thereby serving contemporary ruling‑class interests by dividing the working class. This example illustrates what it means to apply Marx’s method to contemporary political struggles: history is not merely to be interpreted but to be used as a guide to revolutionary practice.

The review concludes by asserting that the working class is the rightful successor to the democratic revolutions of 1776 and 1865. These victories—such as equality before the law, the abolition of slavery, and birthright citizenship—are currently under persistent threat from a capitalist oligarchy that is shifting towards authoritarianism. Defending these gains is inherently linked to the struggle for socialism. As David North writes, “The American working class will not arrive at the construction of independent organs of struggle and rule without studying the history of the country in which it lives.”⁷ The unfinished tasks of the Civil War, the assessment argues, cannot be resolved within the framework of the New Left Review or the academic left more broadly.

Blackburn’s book is useful but constrained. It retrieves key historical data but misses its revolutionary significance. A true Marxist approach to the Civil War should start not with academic analysis but with revolutionary planning. Only then can the concept of the “unfinished revolution” be fully understood and realized.

Footnotes

  1. A Marxist Assessment of Robin Blackburn’s An Unfinished Revolution, 1. (“Marx followed the military campaigns in detail, wrote extensively… organised mass working-class opposition…”)
  2. Ibid., 2. (“one of the rare men who succeed in becoming great, without ceasing to be good”)
  3. Ibid., 3. (“is not a series of disconnected errors… abandonment of the central Marxist principle…”)
  4. Ibid., 4. (“the withdrawal of federal troops, the restoration of white supremacist rule in the South”)
  5. Ibid., 5. (“a political act aimed at clarifying the stakes of the conflict for workers…”)
  6. Ibid., 6. (“an immutable racial pathology”)
  7. Ibid., 7. (“The American working class will not arrive at the construction of independent organs of struggle…”)

 

The Impotence of the Pabloite Critique: Tariq Ali and the Politics of Permanent Evasion

The political turmoil in the British Labour Party has once again prompted a wave of commentary from the pseudo-left intelligentsia. Tariq Ali’s recent article “Tweedledee” is particularly revealing; despite its superficial correctness, it ultimately exposes the exhaustion of the Pabloite tradition he has represented for over fifty years. Ali’s article lists accurate observations that ultimately lead nowhere, serving as a display of radical awareness designed to stop the working class from reaching revolutionary insights.[1]

Ali’s critique of Starmer and Burnham is accurate but ultimately ineffective. He is “factually correct on many points,” such as Starmer’s targeting of the left, his backing of austerity and the Gaza conflict, and Burnham’s clear stance on welfare reductions and increased militarism. Ali even admits that Labour’s drop to 18 per cent reflects a broader collapse of social democracy across the continent, driven by “total capitulation to the markets and US policies.” These are significant acknowledgements.

However, these are the admissions of a man who has spent years recording failures without ever helping to create a revolutionary alternative. Ali’s is "the truth of the salon radical," someone who watches history from a distance and then congratulates himself for seeing the blood on the floor.

A Political Life in Permanent Retreat

Tariq Ali’s political journey does not trace the path of a revolutionary who has strayed or a Marxist corrupted by age. Instead, it reflects a man who remained within the petty-bourgeois radical environment that influenced him, with his career marked by adapting to the forces he once opposed. His recent article, “Tweedledee,” is not an anomaly but a reflection of a lifetime spent avoiding the core issue of modern politics: the need to develop a revolutionary leadership within the working class.

Ali’s political biography recounts a series of retreats, often cloaked in rhetorical flourish and geopolitical analysis. His life has been shaped by Pabloism, the ideology that fragmented the Fourth International into the “broad left,” subordinated Marxism to Stalinism and bourgeois nationalism, and shifted focus from revolutionary strategy to impressionistic commentary on global affairs.

The Early Years: Radicalism Without Strategy

Ali’s early prominence in the late 1960s—through his involvement with the Vietnam Solidarity Campaign, media presence, and ties to the International Marxist Group—has been mythologised as proof of revolutionary dedication. However, it actually reflected the political stance of a generation of radicalised students who, while genuinely opposed to imperialism, still maintained a fundamentally petty-bourgeois class perspective.

The IMG, representing the British section of the Pabloite “Fourth International,” already believed that external forces would inevitably pressure Stalinist, social-democratic, and nationalist bureaucracies to adopt revolutionary roles. Ali fully supported this view, which provided a convenient excuse for avoiding the difficult and unglamorous work of building a Marxist party within the working class. According to David Walsh, Ali “passed through the International Marxist Group… as a careerist passes through a fashionable phase,” and his greed and self-interest “developed early on, and just grew.”

The 1970s–80s: From Revolutionary Pretensions to Open Adaptation

The dissolution of the IMG into the Labour Party in 1981 was not a betrayal of its principles but their natural evolution. Pabloism consistently opposed the working class's struggle for political independence. Ali’s active involvement in this process demonstrated his shift from a radical outsider to a left-wing figure within the Labour structure.

During this time, Ali’s political writing increasingly focused on geopolitical issues. His books on the Soviet Union, the Middle East, and world politics consistently failed to mention the working class as an active force in history. Instead, he highlighted “progressive” bourgeois figures, nationalist leaders, and dissident bureaucrats as the main agents of change.

His 1988 tribute to Boris Yeltsin’s “political courage” stands out as a particularly grotesque example. It is not surprising that Ali could praise the man responsible for dismantling the USSR, looting its social resources, and causing hardship for millions. This attitude epitomises Pabloite politics: the idea that history is shaped by enlightened elites rather than the working class.

The 1990s–2000s: The Global Commentator and the Lesser Evilist

By the 1990s, Ali had established himself as a prominent figure in the global commentariat. He was no longer seen as a revolutionary but rather as a left-leaning analyst providing insights on world events for the liberal intellectuals. During this period, his political responses show a growing alignment with bourgeois politics.

His advisory role with Benazir Bhutto’s Pakistan Peoples Party—widely viewed as highly corrupt and reactionary in South Asia—was part of his consistent alignment with “progressive” elites and not a mistake. His 2004 endorsement of John Kerry, motivated by the belief that “a defeat for a warmonger government would be seen as a step forward," exemplifies decades of justifying lesser-evil tactics. This approach characterises his political strategy: a series of capitulations to bourgeois politics disguised as sophisticated radicalism.

The New Left Review and the Cultivation of Cynicism

Ali’s extensive connection with the New Left Review has played a key role in shaping his political development. The NLR, acting as the intellectual hub for the Pabloite thinkers, has influenced Ali’s outlook, combining literary depth, geopolitical insights, and a cultivated sense of pessimism.

Ali’s writing embodies the NLR’s typical outlook—cynicism masked as realism. His “Tweedledee” article showcases this, offering a confident shrug at Labourism’s crisis. It presents accurate observations but shows no revolutionary intent; it’s “the knowing shrug of the NLR intellectual who has seen it all and believes nothing can be changed."

This cynicism is not harmless. It functions as a political brake, ensuring that the working class remains trapped within the framework of bourgeois politics. 

The Present: A Spent Force in a New Crisis

The current British political crisis—marked by Starmer’s downfall, Burnham’s rise, and the collapse of social democracy—has revealed the failure of the pseudo-left. Ali’s reply has been to vaguely reference the Greens and the remnants of Corbynism without critically assessing their true influence.

He cannot face the reality that the Greens “actively supplied their voters to Burnham" or that Corbynism “exists in name only” following its systematic demobilisation by Corbyn himself. Recognising this would mean admitting that the pseudo-left has significantly hindered the rise of a revolutionary alternative. Ali is unable to reach revolutionary conclusions because he has spent his entire political career avoiding such insights.

Tariq Ali as a Political Type

Tariq Ali embodies a political archetype: a Pabloite intellectual who favours commentary over strategy, cynicism over Marxism, and adaptation over fight. His political journey—from an IMG radical to NLR leader, from a Yeltsin supporter to a Corbyn sympathiser—reflects a tradition that has repeatedly betrayed the working class. The pseudo-left is not an ally for revolution but an obstacle. Ali’s career exemplifies this pattern.

The Pabloite Method: Cynicism as a Worldview

Ali’s political ineffectiveness is rooted in his methodological approach rather than personal failings. It stems from the Pabloite tradition he came from and remains connected to through the New Left Review, which he recommends at the end of his article. Pabloism has shifted away from the Marxist view of the working class as the revolutionary agent. Instead, it favours geopolitical speculation, petty-bourgeois radicalism, and a cultivated cynicism that dismisses revolutionary strategy as naive.

Pabloism replaces class analysis with geopolitical commentary, replaces revolutionary strategy with world-weary cynicism, and favours literary sophistication over the diligent work of building a party. Ali’s label, “Tweedledee,” is more than just a dismissive joke; it symbolises the attitude of an NLR intellectual who believes they have seen everything and that nothing can change. It suggests that all parties are identical, outcomes are fixed, and resistance is pointless. This attitude is not Marxism but resignation disguised as insight.

Ali admits that the Corbyn supporters “disgraced themselves by rejoining the Parliamentary Labour Party,” but he still sees them as the foundation for creating something new. This isn't analysis; it's avoidance. Asking why Corbynism didn't succeed means confronting the influence of the trade-union bureaucracy, the Labour left, and the pseudo-left intellectuals—including Ali himself—that prevented an independent working-class movement from forming. And that's a question Ali cannot pose, because he has no answer.

The Real Question: What Is to Be Done?

Labour's crisis isn't about personalities or shifting policies. It reveals a fundamental truth: Labour, as the WSWS states, is “a political tool of the corporate and financial elite—body and soul.” Burnham isn't just a lesser evil; he's a candidate representing continuity who will deepen the attack on workers. The Corbyn supporters and the trade-union leadership have been key in silencing opposition and maintaining Labour's authority.

The pseudo-left—spanning from the New Left Review and the Greens to the Corbynite faction—acts not as a genuine alternative but as an obstacle. Its purpose is to articulate the crisis within bourgeois politics in increasingly elaborate terms, all the while preventing the working class from reaching revolutionary conclusions. The working class doesn't require more superficial commentary like Tweedledum-and-Tweedledee; it needs its own political party.

 



[1] Tweedledee Tariq Ali 19 June 2026-newleftreview.org/sidecar/posts/tweedledee

Scam Compounds and the Terminal Crisis of Global Capitalism

 Introduction: A System Exposed in Its Naked Brutality

The insights in Scam: Inside Southeast Asia’s Cybercrime Compounds go beyond exposing a criminal underground. They reveal how modern capitalism operates, eliminating its ideological illusions. As noted, these compounds exemplify “the most extreme manifestation of the essential logic of capitalism; these are human beings that enjoy no rights beyond those of the commodity: to be bought, sold, and used.” This point is crucial. The authors show that this isn't a deviation but the inevitable outcome of a global system built on extracting surplus value from increasingly vulnerable, disposable, and surplus populations.

The scam compounds—fortified complexes in Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, and the Philippines—are not anomalies. They operate as state-approved capitalist ventures, are integrated into global financial systems, and depend on the same labour control, coercion, and profit-motivated methods that drive the world economy. The book’s findings underscore an important point the WSWS has long stressed: modern slavery is not just a leftover from pre-capitalist eras but a core feature of today's capitalism.

The Scam Compound as a New Form of Capitalist Production

Industrialised Fraud as a Labour Regime

The scam compounds exemplify a new, hybrid form of capitalist production: they commodify deception itself, employing trafficked workers who are both victims and coerced tools of exploitation. Workers are compelled “to become the instruments of exploitation against others,” caught in a “victim-offender trap.” This is not just crime; it is organised, hierarchical, profit-driven production on a global scale. The compounds operate through shift systems, quotas, performance metrics, punitive discipline, vertical management, and financialised profit extraction. Essentially, they resemble the Amazon warehouse, Foxconn factory, and Uber.

The Role of Surplus Humanity

The Asia-Pacific region’s share of “66 per cent of the world’s modern slaves” is intentional. It results from large-scale surplus populations generated by agrarian collapse, IMF-led structural adjustments, export-focused industrialisation, land dispossession, and climate-driven displacement. These millions of people serve as the human foundation for both sweatshops and scam operations. Capitalism not only accepts these conditions but depends on them.

State, Crime, and Capital: A Single Integrated Apparatus

A key politically sensitive point in the document is its claim that “systemic impunity" is not a flaw but the norm in the capitalist state within these regions. The compounds are not secret criminal hideouts but are: Licensed casinos, tax-paying tech parks, Joint ventures with political elites, and protected by police and military forces. The distinctions between state, business, and organised crime are nonexistent—they are fully integrated. Although this situation is not unique to Southeast Asia, it is more visible there. The scam compound exemplifies how the capitalist state can function under high inequality and global capital flows: as a tool to safeguard profits, irrespective of legality, morality, or human cost.

The Liberal‑Reformist Dead End: The Limits of the Verso Framework

As the book in question was published by Verso, it is worth looking at the politics promoted by the publisher. Verso Books holds a unique place in today's intellectual scene. It is the most prominent “radical” publisher in the English-speaking world, but also one of the most politically tame. Its catalogue features detailed explorations of global capitalism's horrors—such as sweatshops, border controls, environmental destruction, and financial exploitation—yet it often stops short of advocating the revolutionary actions that its evidence suggests are necessary.

Although Verso’s output “meticulously documents capitalist horrors, it ultimately channels opposition into dead-end political conclusions. This is not just a flaw; it defines Verso’s role: managing dissent, transforming systemic critique into marketable radicalism, and preventing outrage from developing into revolutionary consciousness. Its degeneration is therefore political, structural, and historical, not merely editorial.

The Political Economy of Radical Publishing

Verso originated within the New Left Review environment, which itself developed after the 1956 crisis of Stalinism and the decline of traditional Communist Parties. Its founders aimed to establish a space for independent Marxist scholarship, separate from both Soviet orthodoxy and Western social democracy. However, the fall of the USSR, neoliberal changes in academia, and the commercialisation of “radical theory” have shifted Verso from being a platform for Marxist discussion to a niche brand within left-wing critique.

Today, Verso operates under the same market logic as any other cultural enterprise: it must sell books, cultivate a brand, appeal to a professional-managerial audience, and avoid alienating liberal institutions, NGOs, and academia. It also must stay within the ideological boundaries of the capitalist state. This structural position shapes its politics, preventing Verso from advocating the overthrow of capitalism, since its survival depends on reproducing the class relations it criticises. Therefore, there's a contradiction: Verso markets radical ideas as a commodity while simultaneously neutralising their revolutionary potential.

The Ideological Function: Radicalism Without Revolution

Verso’s political decline is most evident in the genre typified by Scam: Inside Southeast Asia’s Cybercrime Compounds. This book reveals a shocking brutality—trafficked workers coerced into large-scale fraud, shielded by alliances between the state and criminal networks—yet the political scope stays limited to: “better regulation,” “international cooperation,” “corporate accountability,” “ethical consumerism,” and “strengthening civil society.”

The founder of the Global Slavery Index suggests consumers should “ask the company where it was made,” a view that simplifies structural exploitation into individual choices. This encapsulates Verso’s approach: a systemic critique that ultimately issues a moral urging. The literature that arises from this approach: identifies capitalism’s crimes, explains how it operates, details its victims, reveals its hypocrisies, and then offers solutions that preserve capitalism. This is not radicalism but left-wing liberalism with a Marxist visual style.

The Class Basis of Verso’s Degeneration

To grasp Verso’s political direction, it’s essential to analyse the class forces it appeals to. Its primary audience includes: academics, NGO professionals, graduate students, cultural workers, journalists, and the progressive segment of the professional-managerial class. This group opposes the ruling class but is wary of the working class. They advocate for social justice yet fear social revolution. Their goal is to regulate capitalism, not dismantle it. They pursue moral purity rather than engaging in class struggle.

Verso’s catalogue reflects this social position. Its books critique capitalism’s excesses but stop short of challenging its fundamental structure. They support reforms that do not threaten property rights, promote activism that does not confront state authority, and celebrate movements driven by moral outrage rather than class analysis. Furthermore, these publications favour identity-based frameworks over class-based explanations. This approach explains why Verso can publish works on slavery, trafficking, and exploitation without concluding that only expropriation of capital by the working class can eliminate these issues.

The Commodification of Dissent

Verso’s decline is closely linked to the wider commodification of radical politics. In the neoliberal age, dissent has become a commercialised niche. Radical critique is often packaged, branded, and marketed to an audience that treats it as a lifestyle choice. Verso’s role is to offer: the semblance of radicalism, the language of critique, the aesthetics of Marxism, and the moral comfort of “being informed” — all without endangering the material interests of its readership. That’s why Verso books frequently conclude with appeals to NGOs, calls for increased “awareness,” demands for transparency, pleas for ethical consumption, and proposals for regulatory change. These are not revolutionary tactics; instead, they serve as means of draining revolutionary energy.

The Political Consequences: Paralysis in the Face of Crisis

The world faces an unprecedented crisis: widespread inequality, worsening climate change, mass migration caused by war and ecological collapse, authoritarian regimes, disrupted global supply chains, a resurgence of slavery and forced labour, border militarisation, and rising imperialist conflicts. The Scam Compounds are not isolated incidents but part of a larger ongoing pattern of exploitation. This includes Amazon warehouses with injury rates exceeding those in logging and mining, gig-economy workers considered "independent contractors,” sweatshops in Bangladesh and Vietnam, migrant detention centres in the US and EU, Foxconn’s suicide nets, and quasi-indentured labour in the global shipping industry. The same relentless pursuit of profit fuels these issues—driving Amazon warehouse conditions, the gig economy, and catastrophic factory collapses and suicides. The scam compound is capitalism stripped of its facade.

Why Policing Cannot Solve the Problem

The push for transnational policing—like Interpol task forces, crypto-tracking, and border enforcement—relies on a major misconception. These scam hubs are not outside the system; they are embedded within it, serving as profitable points in global capital flows. Policing cannot eliminate them because it addresses only symptoms, not root causes. It ends up reinforcing the repressive tools of the capitalist state, shifting exploitation elsewhere, criminalising migrants and trafficked workers, and leaving the profit system intact. No amount of transnational policing… will abolish this industry.”

Conclusion: The Future Is Being Written in Sihanoukville

The scam compounds aren't just a peripheral horror; they serve as a warning—a preview of the future capitalism is heading toward as its crisis worsens. With the rise of automation, climate disasters, and geopolitical instability, the ruling class will increasingly depend on Coercive labour systems, criminalised profit-making, State-backed violence, Digital monitoring, and disposable populations. The scam compound is not the final form but a prototype. Only the organised, global effort of the working class can stop this slide into a world in which the Sihanoukville model becomes widespread.

 

Alexander Rabinowitch (1934–2026): Historian of the October Revolution and Defender of Historical Truth

 

Alexander Rabinowitch, who passed away on June 16, 2026, at age 91, was the foremost American historian of the 1917 Russian Revolution. Over more than sixty years, his extensive research created a body of scholarship that critically challenged both Stalinist distortions and Cold War anti-communist myths. His work revived the vibrant, democratic, mass nature of Bolshevism and highlighted the revolutionary role of the Russian working class in history.

Rabinowitch’s notable achievement is even more impressive given the political and intellectual climate in which he grew up. Born in London to Russian-Jewish émigrés who fled Petrograd after the revolution, he was raised among Mensheviks and liberal critics of Bolshevism. He remembered that in his family’s circle, the October Revolution was seen as “a cold-blooded coup... by a small group of Lenin’s fanatic followers." During his time in the United States amid the McCarthy era, he was taught in ROTC to see the Soviet Union as the personification of evil.

Rabinowitch’s research challenged the biases of his upbringing. A pivotal 1963–64 trip to the Soviet Union led him to dispute the Western view of 1917. His 1968 dissertation, Prelude to Revolution, argued that the July Days were a popular uprising, not a Bolshevik coup attempt, and that the Bolsheviks initially tried to control it. This conclusion set him apart from both Cold War orthodoxy and Stalinist doctrine.

His second book, The Bolsheviks Come to Power (1976), marked a significant milestone in the historiography of revolution. Despite lacking access to Soviet archives, Rabinowitch carefully reconstructed Petrograd's political landscape by analysing newspapers, minutes, and memoirs. He demonstrated that in 1917, the Bolshevik Party was not a secretive, conspiratorial group, but rather a large workers’ party with deep connections to factories, barracks, and local districts. Its internal dynamics featured lively debate, factional fights, and broad democratic involvement. Lenin’s April Theses and Trotsky’s leadership of the Military Revolutionary Committee were not top-down commands but reflected the revolutionary hopes and demands of the working class.

This work significantly challenged the anti-communist view of October as a coup and questioned the Stalinist myth of a united party that followed Lenin without deviation. Rabinowitch’s conclusions largely aligned with Trotsky’s analysis in Lessons of October, a point that Soviet authorities quickly recognised, condemning him as a “bourgeois falsifier.”

The collapse of the Soviet Union granted Rabinowitch access to archives that had long been unavailable to him. Instead of succumbing to cynicism, as many scholars did after 1991, he deepened his research. This led to the publication of The Bolsheviks in Power (2007), a comprehensive analysis of the first year of Soviet governance in Petrograd. Utilising newly accessible party, government, and Cheka records, he depicted the enormous difficulties faced by the revolutionary administration: economic collapse, famine, sabotage, foreign intervention, and the breakdown of the previous state structure.

Rabinowitch’s account uncovers a political process far more intricate and democratic than the simplified portrayals in anti-communist and Stalinist histories. He highlights the intense debates within the Bolshevik Party regarding the formation of the Soviet government, the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly, the Brest-Litovsk Treaty, and the Red Terror. Additionally, he restores the contributions of many Bolshevik leaders—such as Smilga, Uritsky, and Volodarsky—who were later killed during Stalin’s purges and subsequently erased from official history.

His final book, The Bolsheviks Survive: Petrograd 1919 (2026), completed just before his death, explored the remarkable endurance of the revolution during the civil war. It represents the culmination of his lifelong efforts to uncover the truth of one of the most significant events in world history.

Rabinowitch’s research put him at odds with the reactionary intellectual climate of the post-Soviet period. In Germany, where the ruling elites have tried to downplay Nazi crimes and restore imperialist militarism, right-wing historians like Jörg Baberowski have attempted to prevent his lectures. Their opposition was more than academic: Rabinowitch’s work revealed the distortions that underpin modern historical revisionism. His lectures in Berlin and Vienna, organised by the International Students for Social Equality and attended by hundreds, became notable political events.

During these struggles, Rabinowitch formed close intellectual ties with members of the Trotskyist movement. He worked with Mehring Verlag on the German editions of his books and gave interviews to the World Socialist Web Site. This was driven not by political allegiance but by a shared dedication to uncovering historical truth. As the WSWS obituary pointed out, he was part of a rare generation of historians who saw history as a science aimed at enhancing human understanding.

When Empiricism Becomes a Political Blind Spot

Rabinowitch’s work has some limitations. His empirical approach, though highly valuable, occasionally caused him to underestimate the broader international context of the revolution or to misread the political reasoning behind certain decisions.

Alexander Rabinowitch’s extensive four-volume series on the Russian Revolution represents a significant scholarly milestone. However, even meticulous empirical research struggles with complex political issues that cannot be fully understood through archives alone. The most notable flaw in Rabinowitch's analysis is his handling of the Shchastny affair—Trotsky's decision to prosecute and execute Admiral Aleksei Shchastny in June 1918. This mistake is more than a simple misinterpretation; it signifies a fundamental category error that exposes the limitations of relying solely on empirical data without incorporating the Marxist theoretical framework.

Rabinowitch labels the trial a "sham" and claims Trotsky organised it alone, possibly making it the first Soviet show trial. Yet, this characterisation is both inaccurate and historically unsound. It conflates revolutionary coercion with bureaucratic terror and confuses the defence of a workers’ state with Stalinist attempts to dismantle the revolution. Rabinowitch’s analysis of the Shchastny affair is not only flawed but also a theoretical oversight that contradicts the very evidence he presents.

 

The Historical Context Rabinowitch Underestimates

By spring 1918, the Baltic Fleet faced near-insurrection as German forces advanced following the collapse of the Brest-Litovsk talks. Mutinous mine-layer crews and factory workers at Obukhov were on the verge of revolt. British agents—Cromie, Lockhart, O’Reilly—were actively encouraging counterrevolution, circulating forged documents alleging Bolshevik plans to surrender Kronstadt and the fleet to Germany. Rabinowitch describes this tense situation in detail but does not incorporate it into his analysis of the Shchastny case.

Shchastny was not just a neutral military officer. He circulated false documents accusing Bolsheviks of treason, promoted distrust toward the Soviet government, defied orders to relocate or scuttle the fleet, and positioned himself as a potential Bonapartist leader within the navy. In a revolutionary context, these actions go beyond mere administrative errors—they are political acts that could lead to severe consequences.

Rabinowitch’s assertion that the Shchastny trial was “possibly the first Soviet show trial” is historically unfounded. A show trial, in the Stalinist context, involves fabricated charges, forced confessions, predetermined verdicts, and the political suppression of the Old Bolsheviks. The Shchastny trial does not fit this description. Trotsky’s charges were public and political, aligned with the revolutionary government’s need to control the armed forces during a civil war. Comparing Trotsky’s 1918 actions to Stalin’s purges of 1936–38 ignores the critical difference between defending a workers’ state and establishing a bureaucratic dictatorship. This distinction is not merely semantic but is central to 20th-century revolutionary history.

Rabinowitch’s mistake arises from a methodological flaw: he views political events as isolated administrative incidents rather than as parts of a larger class struggle of historical importance. He notices a trial, a formidable commissar, and an officer being condemned. However, he overlooks the German advance, the mutinying fleet, British agents, and the fragile state of the revolution. Absent the dialectical approach, the deeper political significance of these events is lost.

Trotsky openly admitted his involvement, sharing his testimony in 'How the Revolution Armed' and later in his 1926 Works edition. This is not indicative of someone orchestrating a “sham trial,’ but rather of a revolutionary leader defending a political decision to the working class. Trotsky understood that the fleet was a vital military resource; its fall could result in German forces occupying Petrograd, and Shchastny’s actions threatened the revolution's survival. In such a context, revolutionary justice is concrete, representing the dictatorship of the proletariat as it safeguards its existence.

Rabinowitch’s key point is that his own archival evidence contradicts his conclusion. He presents records of the mine-layers' mutiny, the Obukhov uprising, forged German documents, British intelligence efforts, the Left SR assassination of Mirbach, and Petrograd’s near-collapse. However, he treats the Shchastny trial as if it happened in isolation. This isn’t just an oversight but stems from a theoretical bias: a failure to differentiate between revolutionary coercion and bureaucratic repression.

By suggesting a link between Trotsky’s actions and Stalin’s purges, Rabinowitch unintentionally supports the flawed idea that Stalinism was an unavoidable result of Bolshevism. This contradicts what his research actually shows. However, these limitations do not undermine his overall contribution. His work offers the essential empirical basis for developing a Marxist interpretation of the revolution.

He is survived by his wife of more than six decades, Janet Rabinowitch, an accomplished editor who supported his work at every stage. His death is a profound loss to the historical profession and to all those committed to the defence of historical truth. Yet his legacy endures. As new generations confront the crises of global capitalism, the appeal and significance of his work will only grow.

Alexander Rabinowitch’s scholarship epitomises intellectual honesty. Amidst an era of misinformation, he emphasised the importance of evidence. During times of reaction, he championed the revolutionary role of the working class. And in a world increasingly at risk of war and authoritarian regimes, he highlighted the crucial period when humanity nearly escaped exploitation. His work will continue to be essential for anyone studying the Russian Revolution and for those advocating for a socialist future.