Slavery, Capitalism, and the Problem of Historical Categories: A Critical Assessment of David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism

Abstract

This article critically examines David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History (2020) within the broader discussion of slavery's connection to capitalism. While McNally seeks to distinguish his view from the “New Historians of Capitalism” (NHC) and the racialist elements of the 1619 Project, his approach ultimately exhibits a common flaw: merging slavery and capitalism into a single, unified system.¹Building on classical Marxist theory, especially the concept of modes of production, this article argues that McNally’s framework conceals the fundamental differences between enslaved people and capitalist relations and fails to fully account for the origins or revolutionary importance of the American Civil War. It concludes by emphasising the importance of preserving clear analytical categories in Marxist historiography.

Introduction

The connection between slavery and capitalism has become a hotly debated topic in recent history. The emergence of the NHC in the 2010s, along with the 2019 launch of the New York Times’ 1619 Project, triggered a surge of research claiming that American capitalism is deeply linked to racial slavery.² Historians of the Civil War era have criticised these works, asserting that merging slavery and capitalism blurs the fundamental differences between them and makes the Civil War harder to understand historically.³

David McNally’s 'Slavery and Capitalism' positions itself as a deliberate Marxist critique. He aims to address what he perceives as the shortcomings of both the NHC and specific Marxist interpretations, which, according to him, draw an overly strict line between slavery and capitalism. His main argument is that slavery was not separate from capitalism but a fundamental part of its rise as a global system, especially in the context of cotton production for British industrial growth.⁴

This article contends that, although McNally's empirical input is valuable, his analysis ultimately replicates the conceptual collapse typical of the NHC. By focusing on how slave-produced commodities are integrated into global markets, McNally conflates slavery as a mode of production with capitalism as a separate social system.⁵ This blurring carries important historiographical and political implications, especially for grasping the essence of the American Civil War and the mechanisms of racial oppression in the contemporary United States.

The Historiographical Context: The NHC and the 1619 Project

The NHC, including experts like Sven Beckert, Edward Baptist, Walter Johnson, and Matthew Desmond, contends that slavery was not just a leftover from pre-capitalist times but actually played a key role in driving the growth of American capitalism.⁶ Their work highlights the managerial strategies, productivity measures, and global commodity networks that connected the plantation South with the industrialising North and British textile manufacturing.

Critics observe that this method depends more on analogy than detailed analysis. James Oakes contends that the NHC “effectively erase the fundamental differences between the two systems” by emphasising only superficial similarities in commercial practices.⁷ The outcome is a historical account where the Civil War appears inexplicable. If slavery and capitalism are fundamentally the same system, then the underlying reason for the North-South conflict disappears.

The 1619 Project popularised this framework, arguing that racial slavery is intrinsic to American capitalism and that the country's founding principles are based on racial dominance.⁸ Although McNally does not support the racial essentialism promoted by the 1619 Project, his work is influenced by the historiographical landscape it has helped shape.

McNally’s Intervention: A “New Marxist History”

McNally’s book seeks to reshape the understanding of the link between slavery and capitalism through a Marxist lens. He cites Marx’s concept of primitive accumulation, emphasising that colonial slavery and the transatlantic slave trade were pivotal episodes in the violent sequence of events that set the stage for capitalism's development.⁹ McNally argues that cotton produced by enslaved people was crucial to the rise of British industrial capitalism, framing slavery as a pivotal part of the development of the global capitalist system.

This argument provides valuable insights. Marx indeed recognised the importance of colonial plunder, such as slavery, in the development of capitalism.¹⁰ McNally correctly highlights that capitalism's roots are intertwined with centuries of global violence, dispossession, and forced labour, rather than arising in isolation. However, the central question remains whether slavery should be considered a form of capitalist production, not merely whether it contributed to capitalism’s development. This is where McNally’s argument becomes weaker.

Modes of Production and the Problem of Conceptual Precision

Classical Marxism differentiates modes of production based on their core social relations. In slavery, the direct producer is treated as property; labour-power itself is not a commodity. In capitalism, the worker is legally free and sells their labour-power on the market.¹¹ These differences create distinct economic laws of movement, class organisations, and political behaviours. The enslaved individual in the South existed within a slave society. Wealth was rooted in human property, the economy was relatively conservative technologically, and a planter aristocracy dominated the class structure, with interests opposed to those of the northern bourgeoisie.¹² The capitalist North, by contrast, developed based on free labour, industrialisation, and the expansion of an internal market.

McNally’s focus on incorporating slave-produced cotton into global markets causes him to blend these distinctions. However, being part of a world market does not define how the cotton is produced. Merchant capital has historically shown no concern for the social systems involved in trade.¹³ Manchester manufacturers buying cotton from slave plantations does not make the plantations capitalist, just as medieval merchants purchasing wool from feudal estates does not turn those estates capitalist. By confusing exchange relations with relations of production, McNally undermines the analytical framework necessary for Marxist historical analysis. 

The Civil War and the Consequences of Conceptual Collapse

The merging of slavery and capitalism profoundly impacts how we interpret the American Civil War. If slavery is viewed as a form of capitalism, then the North-South conflict appears as an internal struggle within the same system, rather than a revolutionary clash between fundamentally different modes of production.¹⁴

This interpretation cannot explain the secession of the slave states, the political economy of the planter class, the industrial and demographic bases of Union victory, or the revolutionary nature of emancipation. Marx himself acknowledged the Civil War as a revolutionary conflict between free and enslaved labour.¹⁵ To collapse the two systems into one is to obscure the historical significance of the war and to undermine the Marxist understanding of its causes and consequences.

Marx, Engels, and the American Civil War: Capital, Free Labour, and the Revolutionary Destruction of Slavery

Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels closely examined the American Civil War, creating over fifty articles and letters from 1861 to 1865 that analysed the conflict, its class struggles, and its international implications.¹⁶ Their writings represent the most comprehensive engagement by nineteenth-century socialist thinkers with the issue of slavery and its link to capitalism. Unlike modern views that see slavery as a form of capitalism, Marx and Engels emphasised the fundamental differences between the two systems. They viewed the Civil War not as an internal conflict within capitalism but as a revolutionary clash between two different modes of production: slave labour and free wage labour.¹⁷

Marx and Engels on Slavery as a Distinct Mode of Production

Marx’s analysis of slavery is based on his overall theory of modes of production. In Capital, he differentiates slave labour from capitalist wage labour through the nature of property relations. In slavery, “the labourer himself is sold as a commodity,” while in capitalism, “the worker sells his labour-power.”¹⁸

This distinction was not just legal but structural, influencing how accumulation, production, class relations, and political structures developed. Marx and Engels often pointed out that enslaved individuals in the South were not capitalists. In a 1861 article for Die Presse, Marx described the South as embodying “a specific mode of production based on slavery,” with its expansion driven by the limitations inherent in slave labour.¹⁹ Engels, writing to Marx in 1862, described the planters as “a quasi‑feudal aristocracy” whose economic interests were fundamentally opposed to those of the northern bourgeoisie.²⁰ This analytical distinction is central to their interpretation of the Civil War.

Free Labour and the Dynamics of Capitalist Development

In the mid-1800s, Marx and Engels regarded the North as the most advanced example of capitalism. Its industrial expansion, expanding domestic market, and reliance on free wage labour demonstrated its clear alignment with the process of capitalist accumulation.²¹

Marx argued that free labour was the necessary foundation of capitalist development because it created a mobile, commodified labour‑power and compelled constant technological innovation. Slave labour, by contrast, was economically stagnant, technologically conservative, and dependent on territorial expansion to maintain profitability.²² This divergence produced a structural antagonism between North and South.

The Civil War as a Revolutionary Conflict Between Modes of Production

Marx and Engels viewed the Civil War as a revolutionary conflict between opposing social systems. In an 1861 article, Marx described the conflict as “a war of two social systems,” emphasising it was more than just a political disagreement.²³ The South aimed to maintain a slave-based economy, while the North, despite initial doubts, was driven by the conflict's logic to abolish slavery. Engels was clearer, stating in an 1863 letter that the war would “necessarily lead to the abolition of slavery,” as the Union couldn't defeat the Confederacy without disrupting its economic basis.²⁴ This interpretation stands in stark contrast to contemporary frameworks that treat the Civil War as a conflict internal to capitalism.

Emancipation and the Transformation of the War

Marx praised the Emancipation Proclamation as a pivotal step in the revolution. In his 1863 speech for the International Working Men’s Association, he stated that Abraham Lincoln had “inaugurated a new era of the ascendant working class. .²⁵ Emancipation changed the war from merely defending the Union into a revolutionary attack on slavery. Marx and Engels highlighted the active role of enslaved people, pointing out that widespread self-emancipation—such as fleeing to Union forces, stopping work, and fighting—was crucial in weakening the Confederacy.²⁶.

VI. The Global Significance of the Civil War

Marx and Engels regarded the Civil War as a significant moment in world history. They believed that abolishing slavery in the United States would eliminate a major barrier to the growth of the global labour movement.²⁷ Engels noted that the British working class overwhelmingly supported the Union despite the cotton famine, demonstrating the international solidarity of labour against slavery. This solidarity was, for Marx and Engels, evidence that the struggle against slavery was inseparable from the struggle for socialism.²⁸

Marx and Engels Against the Collapse of Historical Categories

Marx and Engels’ analysis sharply differs from modern interpretations that conflate slavery and capitalism into one system. Their works emphasise the structural differences between enslaved people and the capitalist modes of production, highlight the revolutionary significance of the Civil War, and underline the importance of free labour in the development of capitalism.²⁹ To treat slavery as capitalism is to negate the theoretical foundations of their analysis and to render the Civil War historically unintelligible.

Marx and Engels’ writings on the American Civil War represent a highly detailed analysis of slavery, capitalism, and revolutionary change in nineteenth-century political thought. Their focus on the fundamental conflict between enslaved people and capitalist modes of production provides clarity that remains vital in modern historiography. At a time when the line between slavery and capitalism is becoming increasingly unclear, their analysis offers a solid alternative based on historical materialism. It emphasises the revolutionary importance of the Civil War and reaffirms the essential role of free labour in the development of capitalism.

Political Implications: Race, Class, and the Contemporary Left

The breakdown of the connection between slavery and capitalism in historiography has political implications. If slavery is seen as a form of capitalism, then racial oppression appears as a permanent aspect of American society, rather than a historically specific form of domination rooted in particular social relationships.³⁰ This framework aligns, however unintentionally, with the racialist politics that have gained prominence in contemporary liberal and pseudo‑left circles.

McNally’s political background within the International Socialist Organisation (ISO) is significant here. The ISO’s politics were influenced by the interests of the professional-managerial class, frequently substituting racial categories for class analysis. Although McNally’s scholarship is more precise than the ISO’s public messaging, his analytical approach still tends to blur class boundaries and align with dominant ideological trends.³¹

Conclusion

David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism is a serious and ambitious contribution to a contentious field. Its empirical material is valuable, and its engagement with Marx’s analysis of primitive accumulation is welcome. However, its conceptual framework ultimately reproduces the NHC’s central weakness: collapsing slavery and capitalism into a single system.

A Marxist historiography must maintain clear analytical distinctions between modes of production. Only by doing so can it adequately explain the origins and dynamics of the American Civil War and provide a coherent framework for understanding the persistence of racial oppression in the modern United States. McNally’s “New Marxist History,” despite its intentions, represents a retreat from this clarity.

ENDNOTES

1. David McNally, Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History (London: Verso, 2020), 3–5.
2. For an overview of the NHC, see Sven Beckert, Empire of Cotton: A Global History (New York: Knopf, 2014); Edward E. Baptist, The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism (New York: Basic Books, 2014); Walter Johnson, River of Dark Dreams: Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013).
3. James Oakes, The Scorpion’s Sting: Antislavery and the Coming of the Civil War (New York: Norton, 2014), 12–15.
4. McNally, Slavery and Capitalism, 27–30.
5. Ibid., 41–45.
6. Beckert, Empire of Cotton; Baptist, Half Has Never Been Told; Johnson, River of Dark Dreams; Matthew Desmond, “To Understand the Brutality of American Capitalism, You Have to Start on the Plantation,” New York Times Magazine, August 14, 2019.
7. Oakes, Scorpion’s Sting, 14.
8. Nikole Hannah‑Jones, “Our Democracy’s Founding Ideals Were False When They Were Written,” New York Times Magazine, August 14, 2019.
9. Karl Marx, Capital, vol. 1 (London: Penguin, 1976), 915–926.
10. Ibid., 915.
11. Marx, Capital, 270–72.
12. Eugene D. Genovese, The Political Economy of Slavery (New York: Pantheon, 1965), 7–12.
13. Robert Brenner, “Agrarian Class Structure and Economic Development in Pre‑Industrial Europe,” Past & Present 70 (1976): 30–75.
14. For a critique of this collapse, see Charles Post, The American Road to Capitalism (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 45–52.
15. Karl Marx, “The North American Civil War,” Die Presse, October 20, 1861.
16. See the collection in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Civil War in the United States (New York: International Publishers, 1937).
17. Marx, “The North American Civil War.”
18. Marx, Capital, 271.
19. Marx, “The North American Civil War.”
20. Friedrich Engels to Karl Marx, June 1862, in Marx and Engels Collected Works, vol. 41 (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1986), 389.
21. Marx, Capital, 713–15.
22. Ibid., 716–20.
23. Marx, “The North American Civil War.”
24. Engels to Marx, January 1863, in MECW, vol. 41, 453.
25. Karl Marx, “Address of the International Working Men’s Association to Abraham Lincoln,” January 1863.
26. W. E. B. Du Bois, Black Reconstruction in America (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1935), 67–108.
27. Marx, “Address to Lincoln.”
28. Engels to Marx, February 1863, in MECW, vol. 41, 470.
29. Marx, Capital, 270–72; Engels to Marx, June 1862.
30. Adolph Reed Jr., “The Limits of Anti‑Racism,” Left Business Observer 121 (2009).
31. For a critical history of the ISO’s political evolution, see Paul D’Amato, The Meaning of Marxism (Chicago: Haymarket, 2006), though the ISO’s later racial‑political turn is better analysed in Reed, “Limits of Anti‑Racism.”

 

  

The Limits of Bourgeois Reformism in the Debate on Sex Work and the Commodification of Intimacy

Benjamin Weil’s article, despite its focus on inequality, precarity, and platform economy hierarchies, remains firmly within the realm of bourgeois reformism. Its goal is the ongoing survival of capitalism, presented more benignly with an “inclusive” regulatory approach. Using the language of solidarity and rights, Weil’s suggestions essentially amount to requesting that the capitalist state better oversee the exploitation it already oversees.[1]

To grasp why this framework remains politically sterile, it is essential to start from the Marxist view that the commodification of human intimacy is not an anomaly but a fundamental aspect of capitalist social relations.

The Commodification of Intimacy: A Product of Capitalist Social Relations

The article’s core slogan—“sex work is work”—is viewed as a political goal, meant to be recognised through legislation and state support. However, while this view helps defend against criminalisation, it hides a deeper truth: under capitalism, all things are transformed into work because they become commodities. The real question isn’t whether selling sexual services counts as "work," but rather the social system that forces people to sell their bodies, time, emotions, and innermost abilities to get by.

Marx and Engels vividly outlined this dynamic. In The Communist Manifesto, the authors argue that the bourgeoisie has reduced human relationships to self-interest and monetary exchange, converting all human worth into “exchange value.” The rise of OnlyFans does not signal a democratisation of pornography. Still, it continues this logic into the most personal areas of life, driven by algorithms, payment systems, and the global economy. The platform economy doesn't free people; it monetises their activities. It doesn't give power; it extracts it. It doesn't promote democracy; it creates stratification.

The Pseudo‑Left’s Framework: Reform Without Revolution

Benjamin Weil accurately points out the incoherence of the “sex worker” label and the absurd spectacle of celebrities using the slogan for their own branding. However, his proposed solution — “solidarity from top to bottom” and “permanent protections” provided by the capitalist state — leads to a political dead end.

The capitalist state does not serve as a neutral protector of rights; instead, it functions as a tool for class domination. Its laws—such as FOSTA-SESTA and the Earn It Act—have repeatedly increased efforts to criminalise, monitor, and marginalise sex workers. Asking this state for protection is like requesting the arsonist to control the fire.

This represents the typical approach of identity-based reformism: recognising a genuine social harm and attempting to fix it within the existing system that causes it. It struggles to conceive of a world beyond capitalism and advocates only for kinder management of capitalist exploitation.

What the Article Cannot Theorise: Inequality as a Structural Feature, Not a Distortion

The article criticises how earnings are concentrated among the top 1 per cent of creators, highlights the racial biases embedded in platform algorithms, and discusses the gap between celebrity “sex workers” and those pushed into online sexual labour out of economic necessity. However, it views these issues as distortions within an otherwise legitimate industry.

This is a significant misconception. These inequalities are not exceptions but rather the usual operation of capitalism. The gig economy—exemplified by OnlyFans—is capitalism in its most current and pure form: removing employer responsibilities, fragmenting workers, and transferring all risks to individuals.

David Walsh’s analysis of singer Kate Nash’s shift to OnlyFans highlights a broader social issue: a society that marginalises its artists, pushing them into pornography out of shame and neglect. This also reflects the millions who, during the pandemic, turned to online sexual work—not because they felt empowered, but because capitalism provided no alternative for their survival.

The pseudo-left uses terms like “agency,” “choice,” and “bodily autonomy” to mask underlying coercion. It presents economic pressure as a form of self-expression.

The “Sex‑Positive” Industry: A Pseudo‑Left Apologia for Capitalist Degradation

Today, few ideological groups are as reactionary yet as skillfully marketed as the NGO and academic “sex-positive" industry labelled as "progressive." Operating under the guise of empowerment, autonomy, and liberation, this scene acts as a political cleanser: it disguises capitalist exploitation as a colourful array of “choices." This sector serves as the ideological extension of a large commercial system that gains from turning intimacy into a commodity, fragmenting social life, and capitalising on the desperation of millions.

Rather than contesting the social pressures that force people to commodify their bodies, the sex-positive industry instead celebrates this tendency as a form of self-expression. It serves as an ideal ideological partner to a system that has turned every aspect of human capability—physical, emotional, and sexual—into a marketable good.

The Ideological Function of “Sex Positivity”

The sex-positive framework didn't arise as a bold critique of capitalist morality. Instead, it functions as a market-friendly rebrand of sexual commodification. Its main principles — “agency,” “choice,” and "empowerment” — are directly borrowed from neoliberal ideology. These same ideas are applied to defend zero-hour contracts, gig-economy insecurity, and the reduction of social protections.

When NGOs, academics, and media personalities promote "sex positivity," it often comes across as a moral obligation: people are expected to embrace the commodification of intimacy, or else be labelled prudish, conservative, or "anti-sex," which is a severe criticism in this context. This does not represent true liberation. Instead, it acts as a form of censorship against dissent, all in the interest of capitalism.

The NGO‑Academic Complex: A New Clerisy of Capitalist Morality

The sex-positive industry depends on a complex network of NGOs, foundations, university departments, and media outlets. Their funding comes from sources like corporate philanthropy, tech companies, and state-aligned foundations, underscoring their class affiliation. Instead of opposing capitalism, they act as its ideological subcontractors.

These institutions primarily perform three roles: They depoliticise exploitation by presenting sexual commodification as just another form of 'work,' thereby concealing the underlying coercive structures that force millions into it. They individualise systemic issues by framing poverty, unemployment, and social neglect as personal “choices” that lead to entry into the industry. Additionally, they lend moral legitimacy to capitalist platforms, with companies like OnlyFans and Pornhub described as “empowering tools' instead of profit-driven entities that benefit from human desperation. This creates an ideological framework that turns capitalist exploitation into a lifestyle brand.

The Academic Wing: Postmodern Apologetics for Exploitation

Scholars supporting the sex-positive industry—mainly from gender studies and postmodern theory—have developed a language that obscures exploitation. Their terminology mixes Foucauldian micro-politics, intersectional terms, and neoliberal voluntarism. For example: coercion is called “choice,” economic desperation is labelled “agency,” alienation is described as “self-expression,” and platform exploitation is termed “entrepreneurship.” This is not genuine scholarship but ideological obscuration.

These scholars view the capitalist market as a neutral space where people negotiate meaning, identity, and pleasure. They are unable to imagine social relations beyond the commodity form because their entire theoretical framework rests on rejecting the concept of class.

NGOs and the Business of “Empowerment”

The NGO sector has realised that promoting "sex positivity” is a profitable brand. They offer numerous workshops, conferences, “empowerment” seminars, and consulting services. Although they claim to "support sex workers," their true role is to divert discontent from class struggle, focusing instead on seeking state recognition, regulatory changes, and philanthropic funding. Their political outlook is rooted in sustaining capitalism, masked with an inclusive, rainbow-colored image. Rather than fighting exploitation, they tend to manage it.

The Pseudo‑Left’s Role: Sanitising the Market

The pseudo-left, which includes the DSA-influenced scene in the US, the NGO-Labourist groups in Britain, and similar organisations worldwide, has fervently embraced sex-positive ideology. This change is deliberate. These groups have abandoned their socialist roots and now prioritise lifestyle, identity, and personal expression over the goal of dismantling capitalist property systems.

For these individuals, turning intimacy into a commodity isn’t seen as a social tragedy but as a form of “resistance.” They praise the entrepreneurial “creativity” of OnlyFans creators, ignoring broader problems like unemployment, declining wages, and weak social safety nets that push people toward these platforms. Their viewpoint promotes recognising, regulating, and even celebrating exploitation instead of eliminating it.

What the Sex‑Positive Industry Cannot Admit

The sex-positive movement often overlooks the essential fact that prostitution, pornography, and the commercialisation of intimacy are rooted in a class society. Engels showed that these issues emerge alongside private property and the oppression of women. They are not timeless, natural, or solely expressions of freedom; rather, they are manifestations of alienation.

Accepting this would mean recognising that true liberation depends on dismantling capitalism, which would immediately cut the sex-positive industry off from its sources of funding, institutional backing, and ideological roots. Therefore, they hold on to the illusion that the market can be made more humane, that exploitation can serve as a form of empowerment, and that commodification can lead to liberation.

The Marxist Position: Abolition, Not Celebration

Marxists oppose the core idea of the sex-positive industry: that turning intimacy into a commodity aligns with human freedom. Their goal isn’t to sanitise or destigmatise exploitation but to eliminate the social relations that enable it.

A socialist society, characterised by collective ownership and democratic control of the means of production, would remove the economic pressures that push people into commodified sexual labour. It would establish the material basis for truly free human relationships, free from monetary influence. The sex-positive industry struggles to envision such a society. Marxists are actively working to create it.

Conclusion: The Pseudo‑Left’s Moral Bankruptcy

The NGO-academic sex-positive industry does not truly promote liberation. Instead, it acts as a complex ideological tool that justifies capitalist exploitation by masquerading as empowerment. Its role is to persuade individuals to accept their own degradation, turning structural coercion into a matter of personal choice, and to frame the commodification of intimacy as a victory for autonomy.

Marxists oppose this reactionary politics by advocating for the struggle for socialism, which is the only way to create a society where people no longer have to sell their bodies, emotions, or intimacy to get by.

The Historical Materialist Perspective: Prostitution as a Product of Class Society

Engels, in The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State, argued that prostitution and the sexual double standard are not innate aspects of human existence but are shaped by class society — particularly the monogamous family structure that emerged alongside private property. The commercialisation of sexuality is inherently linked to the broader commodification of labour.

Viewing sex work as a fixed, natural category means abandoning the perspective of historical materialism. Alternatively, seeing it as a legitimate industry in need of improved regulation implies accepting the enduring nature of capitalist social relations.

The Real Solution: Abolition, Not Sanitisation

The working class cannot attain liberation by simply regulating how their bodies are commodified. The fight is not just for a “safe home to sell” sexual services, but for a society where nobody is forced to sell intimate access to their body.

This calls for more than just legislative change; it necessitates dismantling the capitalist system that equates all human interactions with exchange value. A socialist overhaul — including ending private ownership of production means and empowering the working class with democratic control over the economy — is essential for ending prostitution and the commercialisation of intimacy. Only in such a society can human relationships be freed from the cash nexus and reconstituted based on equality, solidarity, and genuine freedom.

The article’s call to “instate the obvious” flips reality. What needs to be established is not just acknowledging that “sex work is work,” but realising that a society based on the commodification of everything — including human intimacy — should be dismantled. Reform efforts cannot resolve capitalism’s contradictions; they can only contain them. Marxists’ role is not to humanise exploitation but to eliminate it.

 

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[1] Sex Work is (Gig) Work: Assessing the OnlyFans effect: Benjamin Weil

 The Baffler, MAY-JUN 2022, No. 63 (MAY-JUN 2022), pp. 78-86

BBC investigation into OnlyFans exposes the brutal reality of platform capitalism — and the political forces seeking to conceal it

 “What sort of society drives its artists into pornography? One that does not need virtually any of them—is, in fact, ashamed of them, and wishes them to be ashamed too. It wishes the artists had the same view of themselves that it does—as scoundrels capable of any degradation. After all, there is always the danger one of these “scoundrels” may hit a nerve with the public and expose the rottenness of the social order before tens of millions.”[1]

David Walsh

"The community of women is a condition which belongs entirely to bourgeois society and which today finds its complete expression in prostitution. But prostitution is based on private property and falls with it. Thus, communist society, instead of introducing a community of women, in fact abolishes it."

Frederick Engels— The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State

"If you expel prostitution from society, you will unsettle everything on account of lusts."

Saint Augustine

The worst part about prostitution is that you're obliged not to sell sex only, but your humanity. That's the worst part of it: that what you're selling is your human dignity, not really so much in bed, but in accepting the agreement - in becoming a bought person.

Kate Millett

A BBC investigation has inadvertently torn the veil from one of the most profitable and ideologically protected sectors of the platform economy: the sexual content industry centred on OnlyFans. What the documentary reveals — and what it desperately attempts to obscure — is the operation of a system of exploitation inseparable from the social order defended by the British ruling class and its media apparatus.[2]

The investigation documents a world in which women are coerced, threatened, physically assaulted, and financially drained by predatory “managers” who openly describe their method as the “pimp method.” One agent, following a business model discussed in public Telegram forums, threatened to have a woman and her daughter “written off” before sending masked men to strangle her in her own home. As this article notes this is not an aberration but the norm: “he is following a business model that is discussed openly in these forums.”

Yet the BBC’s framing is entirely predictable. It isolates the most grotesque abuses, invokes the language of “modern slavery,” and calls for regulatory tinkering — all to prevent any examination of the capitalist foundations of the industry. 

A platform built on the commodification of human intimacy

OnlyFans, owned by Fenix International, generated $684 million in pre-tax profits last year. Its business model is simple: extract a 20 per cent rent from the sale of sexualized images and interactions, while disclaiming responsibility for the conditions under which this content is produced. The platform “takes its 20 per cent cut and washes its hands of everything else.”

This is the purest expression of the rentier logic of platform capitalism. OnlyFans does not produce content; it extracts value from the labour of others. It does not employ creators; it parasitises them. It does not police exploitation; it creates the conditions in which exploitation becomes the norm.

The OFM Empire Telegram group, with 24,000 members, functions as an open training ground for predatory extraction. Agents take 50–70 per cent of creators’ earnings, demand full account access, impose fines for leaving contracts, and enforce compliance through threats and violence. This is not a fringe phenomenon. It is the informal enforcement arm of a platform that relies on the atomization and desperation of its workforce.

The BBC’s ideological function: to contain, not expose

The BBC’s response exemplifies bourgeois journalism confronting the fallout of its social structure. The documentary references the Online Safety Act — a broad censorship tool aimed at suppressing political dissent — and features an interview with the UK’s anti-slavery commissioner, who describes the issue as “modern slavery.”

This framing is politically significant. Calling it “modern slavery” portrays extreme exploitation as a rare crime rather than a fundamental feature of capitalism. This allows the state to target a few offenders while leaving the economic forces that compel women into the industry unchallenged. The BBC’s stance “individualises exploitation, prosecutes the worst offenders, and leaves the economic structure that produces the desperation intact.” In doing so, the BBC isn’t exposing the system; it’s managing public outrage to ensure the system’s continuation.

The pseudo left’s role.

The BBC's probe into OnlyFans has triggered the expected reaction from the pseudo-left circle surrounding the Labour Party, NGOs, and the 'sex-positive' academic industry. Fearing that revelations of coercion, violence, and exploitative middlemen could threaten their rallying cry “sex work is work,” they have swiftly come to the platform economy's defence with fervour often seen among junior allies of capitalism.

Their stance is not just incorrect; it is politically regressive, lacking in theoretical credibility, and socially harmful. The so-called pseudo-left argues that the abuses reported by the BBC — including women being threatened, strangled, extorted, and robbed by “managers” employing the “pimp method” — are caused by too little regulation, not capitalism itself. Their repeated answer is always the same: increased oversight, more NGOs, and expanded “labour rights” for an industry fundamentally based on turning human intimacy into commodities.

This is not Marxism; it represents the ideology of the petty-bourgeois professional class, which sees commodification not as a social disaster but as a career opportunity. The pseudo-left views OnlyFans creators as ‘entrepreneurs’ needing better protections, and uses terms like “choice” and “agency which reflect the upper-middle-class worldview. This reflects the pseudo-left’s class stance: a segment disconnected from the working class and uninterested in challenging the profit-driven system.

“Sex work is work”: the slogan of capitalist realism.

The phrase “sex work is work”, often associated with the pseudo-left, is not an innovative idea; rather, it exemplifies capitalist realism—the notion that all human interactions must become commodities, and opposing this is seen as prudish or anti-sex. However, the women featured in the BBC documentary were not acting out of genuine ‘agency.’ Instead, economic hardship pushed them into an industry designed to profit from their bodies. The platform itself deliberately blurs the line between ‘content creation’ and outright sexual exploitation.”

The pseudo-left’s claim that this is merely another form of labour is comparable to the justification of child labour in the 19th century: “They choose to work. They need the money. Who are we to judge?” This is not liberation but capitulation. Their support for OnlyFans is deliberate, reflecting the material interests of a class that has embedded itself into the commodification of identity, sexuality, and self-presentation.

In this class, commodification is portrayed as empowerment, precarity as flexibility, exploitation as entrepreneurship, and the market as the definitive measure of value. These ideas serve as ideological tools of neoliberalism, framing capitalist relations around concepts such as “consent,” “agency,” and “self-expression.”

The women from the working class featured in the documentary — facing threats, assaults, and financial exploitation — are absent from the pseudo-left’s perspective. They serve as uncomfortable reminders that capitalism is not a space for self-promotion but a system rooted in coercion.

The pseudo left’s political function: to neutralise opposition to capitalism

The pseudo-left is essential in maintaining the stability of the capitalist system. By claiming that exploitation can be defined as “safe,” “ethical,” or “empowering,” they shift blame away from the system itself and onto individual bad actors. This tactic is similar to the BBC’s ideological strategy, which “individualises exploitation, prosecutes the worst offenders, and leaves the economic structure that produces the desperation intact.”

The pseudo-left adopts a progressive veneer, condemning 'pimp managers” but defending the platform that allows them. They criticise violence yet endorse the market that necessitates it. They push for regulation but oppose any challenge to the commodification of the human body. Their politics are not reformist but rather counter-revolutionary.

The Marxist position: abolition, not sanitisation

The Marxist view is straightforward: turning human intimacy into a commodity isn't a problem that rules can fix. It originates from social forces that erode stable jobs, weaken cultural work, and push millions into precarious survival strategies. “No amount of regulation can make the commodification of the human body humane.”

The pseudo-left opposes this stance because it dismisses Marxism, class analysis, and the revolutionary overthrow of capitalism. It also rejects the idea that human relations should be freed from market forces. Instead, it functions as an ideological cover for the very system responsible for the horrors reported by the BBC. The working class must oppose the pseudo-left’s attempt to normalise exploitation. Fighting against the platform economy—such as OnlyFans, Uber, Deliveroo, Amazon, and the broader digital rentier capitalism—requires a revolutionary agenda: expropriating tech monopolies, abolishing the market in human intimacy, reimagining culture and labour as public goods, and building an independent socialist movement.

Predictably, the pseudo-left aligned with the Labour Party and NGOs will claim that “sex work is work,” asserting that the core issue is stigma and insufficient regulation. This stance effectively concedes to capitalism, cloaked in radical rhetoric. It normalises and accepts the commodification of deeply personal human relations as inevitable.

It views the OnlyFans creator as an “entrepreneur” in need of better labour protections, ignoring the fact that most women join the platform due to economic coercion. The document succinctly highlights this: “The language of ‘choice’ and ‘agency’ is the ideology of the upper-middle class, for whom OnlyFans might be a lucrative side hustle. For Rebecca from South Wales, it was a trap. “The pseudo left’s celebration of 'agency' is the moral alibi of the market. It is the same logic that hails Uber drivers as “micro entrepreneurs” while they sleep in their cars.

The BBC investigation should be viewed within the broader decline of sustainable income in the cultural and creative sectors. As highlighted even well-known artists like Kate Nash now incur losses on each performance and resort to platforms like OnlyFans to finance their tours. This is not due to personal shortcomings but results from factors such as streaming services paying just $0.00173 per play, touring expenses increasing by 40% since the pandemic, 80% of music revenue being captured by only 1% of artists, and the monopolisation of cultural production by a few large corporations.

Given these conditions, turning to sexual commodification is not a voluntary choice but a forced response to the collapse of stable, socially supported cultural work. OnlyFans is not an exception; it represents the inevitable outcome of neoliberal cultural production.

Why can't regulation humanise exploitation? The BBC’s suggestion of increasing regulation is deceptive. Regulation assumes that the market is legitimate, but the market for sexualized images isn’t a flawed part of the system; it’s a lucrative and growing sector of capitalism. The violence Rebecca endured isn’t an accident; it’s the way this market enforces itself, demanding continuous content creation even in desperate conditions.

“No regulation can humanise the commodification of the human body." The state cannot eliminate this exploitation because it is inherently designed to uphold the market. The socialist solution: eliminate the conditions that lead to commodification.

The only way forward is to eliminate the social conditions that force women into the platform economy, such as unstable jobs, social isolation, cultural monopolisation, and the reduction of all human interactions to market exchanges. This entails expropriating tech monopolies, socialising digital platforms, transforming cultural labour into a public good, and forming an independent political movement for workers. The violence reported by the BBC is not an isolated incident; it is capitalism laid bare without its ideological mask.

 

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[1] On contemporary music and musicians: What singer Kate Nash’s choice tells us. www.wsws.org/en/articles/2024/12/23/hdgy-d23.html

[2] www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m002xv2q/onlyfans-inside-the-machine

The Guardian as the House Organ of the Professional Managerial Class

Today, The Guardian serves more as an ideological hub for a privileged, self-satisfied professional-managerial class than as a traditional newspaper. Its editorial stance is driven not by the needs of the oppressed or working people, but by the concerns, ambitions, and economic interests of a narrow social group whose wealth and status rely on the stability of capitalism.1

Identity politics serves as the common language within this environment. It acts as an ideological tool that dissolves class conflicts, replacing them with a moral classification based on identities, privileges, and ‘‘positionalities.’’ The Guardian has adopted this perspective as a comprehensive interpretive model—one that accounts for everything except the fundamental structure of capitalist society. Consequently, the publication consistently champions notions of ‘‘justice’’ while upholding the social system that prevents true justice from being achieved.2

The Guardian’s identity-politics framework is based on a straightforward yet politically impactful idea: that race, gender, and sexuality are the main factors shaping social life, not class. This idea is not only incorrect but also reactionary in its political implications. 3

By framing social conflict as a clash between identity groups, the Guardian conceals the core opposition between the working class and capitalists. It shifts from material analysis to moral judgment, from structural critique to therapeutic talk, and from political action to personal confession. This isn't a mere coincidence but a reflection of the interests of a class that stands to lose much.

The Guardian’s racial discourse operates as a closed system, with core assumptions left unchallenged: that racial identity is a crucial political factor, that whiteness has a longstanding influence, and that the working class—especially its largest part—is inherently suspicious. In this view, social progress is attributed to elite-led “representation” rather than widespread activism. As a result, the working class is often seen as problematic—regarded as too backward, provincial, “privileged,” or overly white. The Guardian’s writers usually discuss workers with a mix of fear and condescension, akin to Victorian liberals’ view of the “dangerous classes.”

The Guardian’s approach to identity politics tends to erase historical context. It overlooks key events like the interracial strikes of the 1930s, the CIO’s extensive organising campaigns, multiracial alliances in the civil rights movement, and the integrated struggles of miners, autoworkers, and dockworkers. It also ignores the global history of socialist and anti-colonial movements rooted in class solidarity. Recognising these facts would mean accepting that racial divisions are not fixed or impossible to overcome—that, through struggle, the working class has repeatedly bridged racial divides.

Instead, the Guardian advances a historical narrative that portrays racial oppression as the only driving force in American and British history, while rendering class struggle invisible or disguising it as racial conflict. This is not true history; it is mythology used to suppress political engagement. The Guardian’s focus on identity politics serves a key political role: it redirects social anger from the capitalist system onto the working class itself.

By framing white workers as the main barrier to progress, the Guardian provides a convenient scapegoat for liberal capitalism's failures. This perspective helps the Democratic and Labour Parties, along with their wealthy supporters, avoid facing their own roles in austerity, war, inequality, and the dismantling of public services. Identity politics then serves as a moral excuse for a political elite that has long abandoned even superficial social reform. Consequently, the Guardian’s editorial stance benefits the ruling class by dividing and demoralising workers, reducing their political activism, while leaving the fundamental structures of capitalist power intact.

The Class Basis of Grundy’s Argument

This is why the paper favours academics like Saida Grundy. Her thesis—that white workers are inherently reactionary—mirrors the worldview of The Guardian rather than being an isolated view. Saida Grundy, a sociologist at Boston University, exemplifies the ideological stance of the current professional-managerial upper class. Rather than offering true scholarship or sociological analysis, her article acts as a political tool aimed at dividing the working class. Its goal is to “sow division, contempt, and fatalism,” serving as a pseudo-intellectual justification for the Democratic Party’s shift away from class-based politics towards racialist frameworks.

Grundy’s argument is based on the material interests of the wealthy upper-middle class she represents. Her claim that white workers “choose racial domination over putting food on the table" is not only factually questionable but also mirrors the political fears of a social group that depends on maintaining capitalism and suppressing class consciousness.

This argument aligns with a broader ideological view that emphasises racial identity over class as the main focus of political analysis. It weakens universalist politics and portrays most of the American working class as inherently reactionary. This perspective favours a privileged group that views both white and non-white workers with distrust and hostility.

The Falsification of Electoral Reality

Grundy argues that white workers mostly vote Republican because of racial hostility. However, this claim is based on misleading and biased data. The main story of the 2016 U.S. presidential election was not the large number of white workers switching to Trump, but rather the nearly 99 million eligible voters who abstained, reflecting widespread disillusionment with both capitalist parties. Among those who did vote, economic issues were the dominant concern.4

The 2020 election highlights the limitations of the racialist narrative.5 Joseph Biden’s wins were mostly among white workers, especially those without college degrees. Conversely, Trump saw increased support from wealthier African American, Latino, and LGBT voters. These patterns suggest that economic class, not racial identity, is the key factor influencing voting behaviour. Grundy’s framework misses this fact, as it relies on dismissing class differences and replacing them with racial essentialism. This approach aligns with the Democratic Party’s political aims and the social groups it represents.6

The Cynical Abuse of W.E.B. Du Bois

Grundy references W.E.B. Du Bois’s idea of the “psychological wages of whiteness” to bolster her argument. However, this use significantly warps Du Bois’s original Marxist analysis.7

In Black Reconstruction in America, Du Bois contended that the Southern elite used the concept of a “public and psychological wage” to persuade poor whites to accept their economic exploitation.  Importantly, Du Bois saw this as a tactic by the ruling class to hinder interracial working-class unity.8

Grundy challenges this analysis by framing the “psychological wages” as an inherent trait of white workers, rather than as a historically specific tool used by the bourgeoisie. This shift not only distorts Du Bois’s argument but also removes its revolutionary significance. The document highlights that Grundy’s reinterpretation is effectively “a betrayal of Du Bois’s Marxist method.”

Erasing the History of Interracial Class Struggle

Grundy’s narrative reflects the racial essentialism seen in the 1619 Project, portraying American history as an ongoing lineage of white supremacy and omitting the importance of class struggle.

This depiction is historically incorrect. U.S. history features many instances of working-class solidarity across races, such as the CIO's extensive organising in the 1930s, multiracial wildcat strikes post-World War II, and civil rights-era movements driven by socialist and labour activists.9

These episodes show that racial divisions, though real and historically important, are neither fixed nor insurmountable. Eliminating these divisions is essential for Grundy’s argument, which relies on depicting white workers as naturally opposed to progress. As the document notes, recognising this history would “expose the bankruptcy of her racial essentialism.”

The Political Function: Justifying the Democrats’ Rightward Turn

Grundy’s article functions more as a political statement than an academic analysis. Its goal is to defend the Democratic Party’s emphasis on Wall Street, intelligence agencies, and the affluent upper-middle class.10

If white workers are viewed as hopelessly racist, the Democratic Party need not prioritise their economic issues. Instead, it can continue to support the financial elite while advocating for "racial justice." This approach advantages a privileged social segment that fears the working class more than the far right. The Guardian is central to this strategy, acting as a hub for racialist politics promoted by the professional-managerial class.

The Socialist Alternative

This article challenges racialist myths by emphasising the unity of the American working class, described as "the most diverse in the world" and including people of all races, nationalities, and backgrounds. Their commonality lies not in their individual identities but in their shared relationship to the means of production. Socialists seek to build a movement that bridges racial gaps and promotes the collective class interests of all workers. Racialist ideas—whether promoted by The Guardian, the Democratic Party, or the identity-politics scholarly industry—are employed by the ruling class as tools to prevent the development of a united, politically conscious working class.

The solution to Trumpism is not to demonise white workers, but to build a revolutionary socialist party that can lead the working class in its fight against capitalism.

Notes

1.   “It is not scholarship. It is not an analysis. It is a political weapon aimed squarely at the working class…”

2.   Ibid.

3.   For analysis of identity politics as a class ideology, see Adolph Reed Jr., Class Notes (New York: New Press, 2000).

4.   “The abstention of 99 million eligible voters…”

5.   See Pew Research Centre, “Voters’ Issue Priorities in 2016,” 2016.

6.   “Biden’s gains came from white workers… Trump increased his support among wealthier African American, Latino, and LGBT voters”.

7.   W.E.B. Du Bois, Black Reconstruction in America, 1860–1880 (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1935), 700–701.

8.   “This is a falsification of history and a betrayal of Du Bois’s Marxist method”.

9.   See Lizabeth Cohen, Making a New Deal (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990).

10.See Jeremy Brecher, Strike! (Boston: South End Press, 1997).

Sunshine on Leith and the Contradictions of Working Class Culture Under Capitalism

The collective singing of “Sunshine on Leith” by Hibernian fans has become a powerful symbol in modern Scottish football culture. Thousands of predominantly working-class voices unite to express a deep bond with their locality, shared memories, and collective identity, standing in stark contrast to the fragmented, commercialised nature of contemporary capitalism. The emotional impact of these gatherings is clear. However, appreciating their true meaning calls for a careful look at the historical and social factors that have influenced both Leith and the sport of football itself.

Media-promoted sentimental stories—such as “community spirit,” “local pride,” or “the magic of football”—mask deeper contradictions. These moments go beyond simple nostalgia or harmless rituals; they expose a collective social identity formed under conditions where capitalism has systematically eroded it. The ongoing presence of these expressions serves as a subtle form of resistance against the social damage caused by decades of deindustrialisation, privatisation, and the dominance of profit in all aspects of life.

A working‑class community transformed by capitalism

Leith, formerly Edinburgh's port district, developed through the efforts of dockers, shipbuilders, and industrial workers who supported Scotland’s maritime economy. Its community identity was shaped by dock work, shipbuilding, and related industries that fuelled Scotland’s maritime trade, highlighting that these occupations were more than jobs—they formed the backbone of a cohesive working-class community.

Hibernian FC was born in this context. Established in 1875 by Irish immigrant workers, it was originally a symbol of community rather than a business. Many football clubs throughout Britain originated similarly—from factories, rail depots, mines, and working-class neighbourhoods. These clubs were formed by workers, for workers.

The social foundations supporting these institutions have been gradually eroded. Leith's docks, once a defining feature, are now either shut down or repurposed into commercial and residential developments targeting a different socioeconomic group. Unstable service-sector roles have replaced traditional industrial jobs. Consequently, the working class has become divided, displaced, and pushed to the margins of politics.

This process was intentional, resulting from deliberate policies by successive governments—both Labour and Conservative—working on behalf of the financial and corporate elite. The dismantling of industrial jobs was part of a wider restructuring of capitalism aimed at maximising profit, and this trend has been pursued relentlessly since the 1980s.

Football under capitalism: from collective institution to commercial asset

The development of football mirrors this broader social change. Originally, clubs served as community hubs, but they have now shifted into profit-driven enterprises. Ownership has become more distant and less responsible to fans. Ticket prices have risen beyond what many working-class supporters can afford. Fans are no longer viewed as participants in a shared cultural tradition; instead, they are seen as consumers whose emotional connections are exploited for financial gain. "The songs, the rituals, the collective emotion—these are remnants of a truly popular, working-class culture. However, they now exist within an institution that is increasingly commercialised and disconnected from the community that created it.”

This situation is not exclusive to Hibernian. Throughout Europe, football has evolved into a global entertainment industry led by corporate interests, television broadcasters, and billionaire club owners. Meanwhile, the working class — the original creators and supporters of the sport for over a hundred years — is becoming increasingly marginalised.

However, the emotional impact of football remains strong because it fulfils needs that capitalism cannot: those for community, solidarity, and shared experiences. These needs are genuine, not mere illusions, as they stem from the social nature of human labour. They go beyond the limited scope of capitalist individualism.

“Sunshine on Leith”: sincerity in an age of commodification

The Proclaimers’ “Sunshine on Leith” exemplifies this vividly. Composed by two musicians from Leith, the song delivers a clear, emotionally honest declaration of heartbreak, resilience, and love for their hometown. It includes the lines: "My heart was broken, my heart was broken / Sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow..."

This passage avoids irony or postmodern detachment, emphasising the song’s authentic sincerity, which enhances its impact. When thousands of fans sing together, it’s more than a performance; it’s a shared emotional experience. These moments are powerful because they pierce the cynicism and commodification that dominate current culture, revealing a collective consciousness that capitalism has not yet eliminated.

However, these moments also expose the boundaries of cultural expression in capitalist society. The heartfelt essence of “Sunshine on Leith” cannot be fully expressed in a system that atomises individuals, fragments communities, and reduces all human relationships to market transactions.

Trotsky, culture, and the future of human solidarity

Leon Trotsky’s 'Literature and Revolution' emphasises that, during the socialist revolution's transitional phase, the working class would not develop an isolated “proletarian culture". Instead, they would adopt and reshape the cultural achievements of previous eras. This understanding is vital.

The working class should not dismiss its cultural traditions. Instead, it needs to understand them through a historical lens—as outcomes of shared life under exploitation, and as visions of a future society where culture isn't a commodity but a universal human right.

The emotional essence of “Sunshine on Leith”—the desire for connection and the validation of shared experiences—is not narrow or purely local. It is deeply human. However, capitalism limits these expressions to temporary instances, leaving the fundamental social needs unfulfilled.

Only by abolishing capitalist social relations—such as ending private ownership of the means of production, establishing workers’ power, and reorganising society based on human needs—can we create the conditions in which such cultural expressions become commonplace rather than rare exceptions.

Conclusion: culture points beyond capitalism

While the mass singing of “Sunshine on Leith” doesn't resolve the issues facing working-class life, nor replace political activism, it serves as a reminder of both the destruction caused by capitalism and the creative potential of the working class.

It briefly captures the hidden sense of collective solidarity within society. It highlights the human desire for community, which capitalism fails to fulfil. Additionally, it suggests a future where culture is viewed not as a commodity but as a collective expression of free, connected people.

The goal is not to romanticise these moments but to see them as signs of a deeper social contradiction—and to work toward socialist societal transformation, the only way to address it.

 

The World Cup and the Crisis of Global Capitalism: Sport, Spectacle and the Struggle for Socialism

Introduction: The World Cup as a Mirror of a Disintegrating Social Order

Few events in culture draw the worldwide focus of the FIFA World Cup. Every four years, billions of viewers watch a month-long event that, on the surface, seems to go beyond politics, social class, and national conflicts. It is promoted as a global celebration of humanity, emphasising talent, creativity, and shared happiness. However, behind this glittering surface, an undeniable truth persists: the World Cup has evolved into a powerful symbol of the deepening crisis within global capitalism.

Jonathan Wilson’s recent history of the tournament, together with the admiring review it received in the London Review of Books, assembles a devastating record of corruption, authoritarianism, and human suffering. They recount Mussolini’s 1934 fascist pageant; Videla’s Argentina, where the cheers of crowds drowned out the screams of the tortured; the thousands of migrant workers who perished in Qatar; and the grotesque spectacle of the Trump–Infantino axis presiding over the 2026 tournament, with ICE agents patrolling stadiums and entire national teams subjected to humiliating visa restrictions.

However, the liberal approach in these critiques makes them politically ineffective. They list abuses but fail to identify their root causes. They highlight corruption without explaining why it is widespread. They criticise the 'politicisation' of sport but neglect to recognise that, under capitalism, sport is inherently political. This leads to moralistic complaints that do nothing to challenge the social system itself.

A Marxist perspective holds that the World Cup is not tainted by capitalism; rather, it is a manifestation of capitalism itself. Its development mirrors the history of the capitalist system, ranging from imperialist expansion and fascist mobilisation to post-war rebuilding, neoliberal globalisation, and the current authoritarian decline of bourgeois democracy. Analysing the World Cup offers insight into the broader world that shaped its existence.

The World Cup as Commodity-Spectacle

The modern World Cup developed during the rise of monopoly capitalism in the early 20th century. As Marx noted in the Grundrisse, the growth of capital leads to the “generalisation of commodity relations across all areas of life.” Originally a working-class pastime, sport quickly became a commodity—its worth now measured not by enjoyment but by profit-making.

By the mid-20th century, the World Cup had evolved into a global spectacle driven by several factors: the expansion of mass media broadcasting, the integration of sports into advertising and consumerism, the dominance of multinational corporations, the geopolitical rivalry among imperial states, and the commercialisation of leisure time. Its economic framework is closely tied to political aims, serving as a tool for capital accumulation and perpetuating bourgeois ideology. Behind the festive public image, the event masks underlying social relations like exploitation, coercion, and state violence, turning them into a symbolic celebration that hides these realities.

This explains why every effort to “clean up” FIFA is destined to fail. The corruption isn't just a flaw; it serves as the system's way of managing a worldwide commodity spectacle in a world divided by inequality.

FIFA as a Transnational Bourgeois Apparatus

Many liberal commentators continue to see FIFA as a once-virtuous organisation betrayed by corrupt officials. However, historical evidence shows the opposite. Since its early days, FIFA has operated as a para-state entity aligned with the global bourgeoisie, serving as an intermediary among imperial powers, emerging capitalist leaders, authoritarian regimes seeking legitimacy, multinational corporations hunting for markets, and media conglomerates seeking content.

The evolution from Havelange to Blatter and Infantino signifies a structural transformation rather than a moral decline. With the rise of global capitalism into its neoliberal stage, FIFA grew more centralised, financially dependent, reliant on authoritarian hosts, intertwined with geopolitical tactics, and increasingly detached from democratic oversight.

Assigning tournaments to Mussolini’s Italy, Videla’s Argentina, Putin’s Russia, and the Qatari monarchy reflects not just rare exceptions but the natural result of an institution that transforms political influence into economic gain, and economic gain into political legitimacy.

The Trump–Infantino alliance epitomises this development. The 2026 World Cup marks the first to explicitly embody the convergence of oligarchic wealth, authoritarian state power, xenophobic nationalism, militarised policing, and the suppression of political dissent. The disturbing image of Infantino handing Trump a massive ticket to the final—“row 1, seat 1, ticket no. 45/47”—is more than a curiosity. It symbolises the new political landscape: the world’s most popular sport has been taken over by the most reactionary segments of the global elite.

The Working Class: From Invisible Victim to Revolutionary Subject

A notable aspect of liberal commentary on the World Cup is how it largely omits the working class as an active political force. The migrant workers who died in Qatar, the displaced residents of Rio’s favelas, the shack dwellers evicted in Cape Town, and the North Korean labourers building stadiums in St. Petersburg are all depicted solely as victims, rather than as agents with agency.

This is not an oversight; rather, it is a political necessity for bourgeois journalism, which may reveal abuses but cannot recognise the social force capable of ending them. A Marxist perspective emphasises that the migrant worker in Doha, the favela resident in Rio, the shack-dweller in Cape Town, the stadium labourer in St. Petersburg, and the fan priced out of 2026 are not isolated victims. Instead, they are part of a single, international class. Their exploitation is systemic, not accidental, and their suffering is integral to the functioning of global capitalism.

The working class pioneered modern football by building stadiums, producing players, and cultivating the culture that turned the sport into a global phenomenon. The takeover of football by oligarchs and authoritarian regimes reflects the larger trend of social life being appropriated by finance capital. The goal isn’t just to reform FIFA but to rally the working class as a revolutionary force to reclaim both sport and society from capitalist control.

Nationalism as Bourgeois Ideology

Wilson’s cultural analysis of national football styles—such as Argentina’s pibe mythology, Brazil’s futebol arte, and Dutch totaalvoetbal—is perceptive but not comprehensive. It views national identity mainly as a form of cultural expression rather than as a political tool.

Nationalism in sport isn't a vibrant tradition but a bourgeois ideology that serves specific functions: to obscure class conflicts, divert collective emotion from political struggles, legitimise the nation-state as the core of capitalist growth, divide workers with shared interests, and provide a controlled outlet for aggression and identity. The 'black-blanc-beur' myth of 1998 and the racialised accusations of 2010 aren't contradictions but different expressions of the same ideological toolset. The ruling class uses multicultural symbols when convenient and racial scapegoating when advantageous. Both serve as instruments of control.

The World Cup serves as a key tool for promoting nationalist ideology today. It makes workers experience their collective emotions primarily as Argentines, Brazilians, or Englishmen—not simply as members of a global class.

The 2026 World Cup and the Authoritarian Degeneration of Capitalism

The 2026 tournament signifies a significant shift. The merging of sport, state violence, and oligarchic influence has advanced to a point where liberal illusions are now outdated. Some notable features include: ICE agents stationed at stadiums, Iranian players banned from spending a night in the US, Haitian players ordered to remove symbols commemorating Napoleon’s defeated slave-reimposition army, Somali referees detained for eleven hours and expelled, dynamic pricing excluding the working class, and Trump threatening military action against co-host Mexico while accepting a “Peace Prize” from Infantino. This is not an anomaly but the logical culmination of a process that has been developing for decades: the authoritarian decline of global capitalism. The World Cup now serves as a stage on which the crisis of bourgeois democracy is vividly displayed.

Historical Case Studies: The World Cup as a Political Instrument of Capitalist Rule

1934: Mussolini’s Fascist Pageant and the Birth of the Political World Cup

The 1934 World Cup in Italy is often dismissed as an embarrassing anomaly—perceived as a moment when an authoritarian regime politicised the event. However, it actually marked the first explicit display of the tournament’s political role within a capitalist context. Benito Mussolini viewed the World Cup as an instrument of statecraft. The fascist government organised mass rallies, choreographed crowds, militarised police, propaganda posters, diplomatic pressure on referees, and intimidation tactics aimed at opposing teams. Their goal was to turn the tournament into a showcase of national unity and imperial ambition. Italy’s victory was not just a sporting achievement but a carefully staged celebration of fascist ideology.

The idea that FIFA was “helpless” before Mussolini is proved false upon closer examination. FIFA actively collaborated with the regime, with officials praising its "efficiency” and “organisation.” The tournament showed that, from its early days, the World Cup could be exploited by authoritarian regimes because its centralised, opaque, and commercially driven structure made it susceptible to political influence. The 1934 tournament wasn't an exception; it revealed the true nature of the World Cup’s vulnerability to political misuse.

1978: Videla’s Argentina and the Counterrevolutionary Function of Sport

The 1934 World Cup showed its susceptibility to fascist influence, while the 1978 tournament in Argentina exposed how it also served the counterrevolutionary strategies of the bourgeoisie. After a US-backed military coup in 1976, the Argentine junta, which took power, was responsible for 30,000 disappearances, organised torture, the killing of trade unionists, students, and left-wing militants, and suppressed all democratic rights. The World Cup was a key part of the junta’s political plan to internationalise the dictatorship, build national unity, silence the voices of the tortured within the ESMA detention centre near the stadium, and shift social unrest into nationalist fervour.

The junta’s interference in the tournament grew grotesque. The notorious 6–0 win over Peru—achieved through diplomatic pressure, economic incentives, and military threats—was a political move by the regime. It secured Argentina’s place in the final and gave the dictatorship a symbolic victory amid worsening economic conditions. The 1978 World Cup was more than just "tainted"; it was a covert counterrevolutionary effort. It showed that the tournament could serve both to legitimise authoritarian governments and to suppress revolutionary movements.

3. 2014: Brazil, Neoliberalism, and the Militarisation of Urban Space

The 2014 World Cup in Brazil exemplified the integration of the tournament into the neoliberal framework. While the Workers’ Party (PT) government promoted it as a symbol of national progress and global stature, it actually functioned as a testing ground for urban militarisation and the displacement of impoverished communities. This included the forced eviction of over 200,000 residents, destruction of informal housing, deployment of militarised police forces, creation of “exclusion zones” near stadiums, criminalisation of protests, and the transfer of billions in public money to private firms.

The PT government, praised by Western liberals as a model of “progressive governance,” functioned as an agent of FIFA and the Brazilian bourgeoisie. It used tear gas, rubber bullets, and mass arrests to suppress widespread protests. The favelas were militarised under the guise of “pacification.” The 2014 World Cup exposed neoliberalism's true nature: the merging of corporate influence and state violence, the commercialisation of public spaces, and the prioritisation of global capital over social needs.

2018: Putin’s Russia and the Normalisation of Authoritarian Capitalism

The 2018 World Cup in Russia received widespread praise from Western journalists for its “smooth organisation” and “friendly atmosphere." However, this praise was not just naive; it was politically motivated. It helped normalise Vladimir Putin's authoritarian capitalist regime and hid the social conditions that enabled the tournament to take place.

The Russian state used forced labour, including North Korean workers, along with mass surveillance and suppression of political opposition. It also cleared homeless populations from city centres and built stadiums amid corruption and exploitation. The tournament aimed to: restore Russia’s international image following the annexation of Crimea, strengthen Putin’s political legitimacy domestically, showcase the ability of an authoritarian capitalist regime to organise large-scale events, and deepen Russia’s integration into global financial markets.

The enthusiastic coverage of the 2018 tournament exposed the ideological failure of Western journalism. It demonstrated that authoritarian regimes are often justified—sometimes even praised—when they produce a spectacle that aligns with FIFA's commercial goals and entertains the middle class.

2022: Qatar and the Apotheosis of Oligarchic Power

The 2022 World Cup in Qatar marked a significant shift in the event's political and economic landscape. An authoritarian government did not just host it; it was supported by a labour system that can be characterised as neo-slavery. Construction workers faced a tragic toll, with over 6,500 migrant workers dying during the process. The event was built on practices such as the kafala system—binding workers to their employers, confiscation of passports, unpaid wages, extreme heat, hazardous working conditions, suppression of trade unions, and criminalisation of dissent.

Qatar spent more than £200 billion on the tournament, exceeding the GDP of many nations. This wasn't a reckless spend but a calculated move by a petro-monarchy aiming to gain geopolitical influence, international legitimacy, integration into Western security frameworks, economic diversification, and to strengthen its ruling elite. The 2022 World Cup exemplifies how modern tournaments serve as platforms to turn human suffering into geopolitical leverage and commercial gain.

2026: The Trump–Infantino Axis and the Authoritarian Degeneration of Bourgeois Democracy

The 2026 World Cup, jointly hosted by the United States, Mexico, and Canada, signifies a political shift in the tournament. It is the first to openly reflect the merging of oligarchic wealth, authoritarian government, xenophobic nationalism, militarised policing, and suppression of dissent. During the Trump era, the tournament has become a stage for ICE agents monitoring events, Iranian players being banned from overnight stays in the US, Haitian players ordered to remove symbols honouring Napoleon’s defeat, Somali referees detained for eleven hours before expulsion, and pricing strategies excluding the working class. Trump has also threatened military action against co-host Mexico while accepting a “Peace Prize” from FIFA’s Infantino.

The shocking image of Infantino handing Trump a large ticket to the final—“row 1, seat 1, ticket no. 45/47”—is more than just an oddity. It symbolises the decline of global capitalism into authoritarianism. The 2026 World Cup is not a break from its past; it represents its inevitable culmination.

Looking at these six instances—1934, 1978, 2014, 2018, 2022, 2026—the pattern is clear: the World Cup consistently serves as a political tool for the ruling class throughout different stages of capitalism. The World Cup is not corrupted by capitalism. It is capitalism.

Marxism, Sport, and Ideology: Why a Marxist Theory of Sport Is Necessary

The liberal perspective views sport as a pure domain—an independent cultural space driven by merit, creativity, and fairness. When issues such as corruption, exploitation, or authoritarianism arise, they are seen as external influences. The goal of this approach is to "shield" sport from political interference.

Marxism starts from a different assumption. Sports, like all aspects of society, are influenced by the material conditions of their creation. It is not an independent domain but a social relationship intertwined with capitalism's economic, political, and ideological systems. To grasp the significance of the World Cup is to understand: the commodification of leisure, the perpetuation of bourgeois ideology, the function of the nation-state, the global division of labour, the methods of social control, and the contradictions inherent in capitalist modernity.

Sport and the Commodity Form

Marx’s analysis of the commodity form provides the foundation for understanding modern sport. Under capitalism, human activity becomes a commodity—something produced for exchange rather than for its intrinsic value. Sport is no exception.

The transformation of play into a commodity

In pre-capitalist societies, games served as communal recreation. With capitalism, they transformed into: ticketed events, broadcast products, advertising platforms, vehicles for corporate sponsorship, and instruments of state diplomacy. The athlete becomes a commodity, with their labour bought and sold. Fans become consumers whose emotional ties are monetised. The match itself becomes a product, its value realised through broadcasting rights, merchandise, and worldwide distribution.

Just as commodity fetishism hides the social relations of production, the sporting spectacle masks several realities: the exploitation of workers, state violence, capitalist interests, and ideological control mechanisms. The World Cup is presented as a celebration of unity, yet it relies on migrant workers' labour, displaces people with low incomes, and reinforces oligarchic power.

Obscuring class antagonisms

Sport serves as a symbolic space where class conflicts are projected onto harmless rivalries. Workers facing exploitation at work are often encouraged to identify not with their class but with a club, a nation, a team, or a star player. This form of identification masks the genuine conflict between labour and capital.

The World Cup serves as a potent means of reproducing nationalist ideology today. It converts the nation-state—originally a tool of capitalist dominance—into a source of emotional pride. Workers from different countries, who share similar interests, are led to view each other as competitors. In reality, workers do not have a direct conflict; their ruling classes do. 

Sport is not an escape from capitalism but a key tool of capitalism. The World Cup exemplifies the influence of global capitalism's political, economic, and ideological systems, rather than being tainted by politics.

Conclusion: The Socialist Reappropriation of Sport

The World Cup at the End of Capitalist Modernity

It is hoped that the reader concludes from this article that the World Cup is not an anomaly within capitalist society but a concentrated expression of it. Its history—from Mussolini’s fascist mobilisation in 1934 to the Trump–Infantino authoritarian spectacle of 2026—reflects the evolution of global capitalism: the ascent of imperialism, the consolidation of monopoly capitalism, the use of mass spectacle as a political tool, the neoliberal commodification of all aspects of life, and the authoritarian decline of bourgeois democracy.

The World Cup exemplifies capitalism worldwide: a spectacle based on exploitation, controlled by oligarchs, sanctioned by governments, and watched by a public whose enthusiasm is more about national pride than class struggle. The liberal criticism that “football has turned political” overlooks history; football has always held political meaning. What changes is the current phase of capitalist decline in which this politicisation happens.

The Working Class as the Agent of Reappropriation

The working class isn't just a victim of the injustices surrounding the World Cup; it is also the origin of modern football and the key social force to reclaim it. Modern football developed from Britain's industrial working class, the communal culture of factory towns, the collective rhythms of proletarian life, and the desire for recreation amid exploitation. The sport’s beauty—its spontaneity, creativity, and collective intelligence—stems from working-class culture. Today, the working class constructs stadiums, produces players, fills stands, creates the atmosphere, sustains the global fanbase, and provides the labour that makes matches possible. Meanwhile, the oligarchs who dominate football offer nothing culturally; they only extract value from it.

The working class must reclaim the game.

Reclaiming football is intertwined with the wider fight for socialism. It involves expropriating FIFA, ending the profit motive in sports, establishing democratic control over sporting institutions, enforcing international labour standards, dismantling nationalist competitions, and transforming sport into a public good. This is not an impractical ideal but the logical outcome of the historical analysis outlined in this article.

4. What a Socialist Reorganisation of Sport Would Mean

A socialist transformation of sport would not abolish competition or eliminate excellence. It would liberate them from the distortions of capital. Under socialism, sport would become: a form of collective self-expression, a means of physical and cultural development, a site of international cooperation, a public good accessible to all.

The beauty of football—the creativity of the dribble, the intelligence of the pass, the collective movement of the team—would no longer be subordinated to the demands of profit, nationalism, or authoritarian spectacle.

Internationalism instead of nationalism

The socialist reorganization of sports would shift focus from nationalist rivalry to international cooperation, aligning with the true interests of the global working class. The Argentine and English workers are not enemies; their oppressors are. A socialist sports culture would reveal this reality instead of hiding it. As Peter Schwarz mentioned in the WSWS’s critique of the Qatar World Cup, “Cultural progress and genuine sport, which are unaffected by commerce, are only achievable through the fight for socialism.” This statement is factual, not just rhetoric. To restore the true essence of the game, we need revolutionary change, not nostalgia, moral appeals, or reform.

The task ahead

The socialist reclaiming of sport is part of a larger effort to expropriate the oligarchy, abolish the profit-driven system, dismantle the nation-state, build an international socialist movement, and reorganize society around human needs. Football belongs to all of humanity and must be taken back by the people.

The current shape of the World Cup stands as a symbol of capitalist decline. However, the passion it evokes—manifested through collective joy, creativity, and shared humanity—transcends capitalism. It demonstrates that ordinary people can craft beauty, solidarity, and purpose even amid exploitation.

Socialism's goal is to free these abilities from capital's control. The working class created modern football, keeps it running, and must take it back. Only through global socialism can the beautiful game and the world that cherishes it be truly enhanced.