The Washington Post’s Katja Hoyer and the Liberal Effort to Bury the Real Lessons of Weimar

Katja Hoyer’s column in The Washington Post, warning that comparing Trump to Hitler is "bad politics,” is not just a neutral academic opinion. It is a deliberate political act by a main ideological tool of the American ruling class. The core message—calm down, stop panicking, trust the institutions—aims to serve a specific class interest: to lull the population into complacency during escalating political unrest and to steer mass opposition away from independent working-class political action.

The Post falsely presents itself as a strict guardian of historical accuracy. However, it is  “a central organ of the Democratic Party and the intelligence agencies,” whose role is to redirect public anger into the controlled space of the Democratic Party. The true purpose of the column isn’t to correct misconceptions about history but to pacify the public. The Post is telling its readers: “calm down, things aren’t that bad, stop making hysterical comparisons.” This isn’t scholarship; it’s political soothing.

I. Liberal Historical Revisionism as a Weapon of Class Rule

A desire for historical accuracy doesn't drive the liberal establishment’s quick rejection of Weimar comparisons. For years, these same groups frequently used Hitler and fascism as references whenever it benefited their foreign policy aims. However, when such an analogy highlights the deep problems within American capitalism—specifically, by pointing to the corruption of the American ruling class rather than a foreign dictator—it is dismissed as “hysterical,” “irresponsible,” and a poor political strategy.

The question isn't whether crude analogies exist; they do. However, the Post’s intervention aims to hide the true lessons of Weimar: the class struggles that led to fascism and the political betrayals that facilitated it. The liberal narrative claims that fascism arises from 'institutional failure,' 'fragile democracy,' or 'eroding norms.' This viewpoint is a middle-class fairy tale. In reality, fascism stems from a ruling class facing an insoluble capitalist crisis, which pushes them to authoritarian measures to protect their wealth and power.

The German edition of David North’s Where Is America Going? makes this point with clarity: Trump is not an invader of a healthy democracy but “the political embodiment of a degenerated, bestial ruling class that expresses the historical crisis of the capitalist system.” This is the truth the Post cannot allow to surface.

II. The Marxist Analysis: What Is and Is Not Fascism Today

As David North pointed out in a key interview on fascism and history, Trump’s movement “smells of fascism”—it has “that particular odour, or, I might say, stink”—but it isn't yet a widespread fascist movement in the traditional sense. The petty-bourgeois mobs of 1933 are not present in the United States in a similar form.[1]

However, the lack of a perfect analogy does not imply that the danger is imaginary. Studying Weimar aims not for an exact comparison but to grasp the patterns of capitalist crises: the ruling class’s shift toward authoritarianism, the promotion of far-right groups, the intensification of nationalism, and the buildup to war.

These trends are clearly evident. The US faces rising international conflicts, its political systems are breaking down, and the ruling class depends more on the military, intelligence, and courts to stay in power. Meanwhile, the working class is shifting left, as North observed—exactly the kind of change that historically pushes the bourgeoisie toward fascist measures. The Post’s advice—“don’t panic”—is not about avoiding fear but about cautioning against rushing into action.

III. The Lesson Liberals Fear Most: The Betrayal of the Working Class

The key lesson from Weimar, which the liberal establishment desperately tries to conceal, is not about the weakness of democratic institutions but about how the working class was betrayed by its own organisations. “Hitler gained power not due to flaws in Weimar’s constitution, but because the Social Democratic Party and the Stalinist Communist Party failed to unite against fascism.”

The SPD defended the bourgeois state, suppressed workers’ uprisings, and collaborated with the military and police. During Stalin’s harmful “Third Period” policy, the KPD labelled the SPD as “social fascists,” equating them with the Nazis and splitting the working class at a crucial time. This serves as a lesson the Post refuses to learn, as it exposes the failure of the Democratic Party’s current approach. Today, the Democrats and their pseudo-left allies—such as DSA and Jacobin—urge the working class to submit to the Democratic Party, the CIA, and the national security forces in a “popular front” against Trump. This is not a tactic to defeat fascism; it is the very strategy that enabled fascism.

Trotsky’s writings from 1931–33—' For a Workers’ United Front Against Fascism' and 'The United Front for Defence'—continue to serve as essential guides. Trotsky emphasised that workers should unite in action against fascist violence while remaining politically independent from reformist leaders. The Stalinist rejection of this approach led to disastrous consequences. Today's refusal by the Democrats is equally perilous.

IV. The Political Function of “Don’t Panic” History

Hoyer’s column clearly plays an ideological role. It reassures readers that their concerns are exaggerated, claiming that institutions will stay stable. The Weimar comparison is dismissed as “bad politics." It promotes trust in the courts, upcoming elections, and the Democratic Party. Most importantly, it recommends doing nothing.

This mirrors the Democrats’ real political strategy: a passive dependence on state institutions, legal tactics, and electoral processes, combined with strong opposition to any independent working-class mobilisation. The true ‘bad politics’ isn’t the historical analogy. Still, the systematic effort… to disarm the population, persuade them their eyes deceive them, and redirect legitimate fear and anger into the dead-end of the Democratic Party. The working class does not need reassurance. It needs revolutionary leadership.

V. The Real Lesson of Weimar: Independent Working‑Class Mobilisation

The United States faces a crisis not of “norms” or "institutions," but of capitalism itself. The question posed by the title "Where is America Going? Fascism or Socialism" is genuine and not rhetorical. Its answer isn't found within the Democratic Party, the courts, or the mythologised “guardrails” of American democracy. The sole force that can prevent the slide toward authoritarianism and conflict is the independent, international mobilisation of the working class, guided by a socialist program.

The Liberal Misuse of Weimar: A Historiographical Critique

Liberal scholarship on the Weimar Republic has long served as an ideological mirror reflecting the anxieties of the contemporary bourgeoisie. Unsurprisingly, during times of crisis, liberal historians tend to isolate Weimar not to shed light on the present but to obscure it. The latest wave of commentary—like Katja Hoyer’s column in The Washington Post—represents just the most recent phase in a longstanding historiographical effort: turning Weimar into a morality tale about “fragile democracy,” “institutional failure,” and the risks of “polarisation,” while actively ignoring the class struggles and political betrayals that paved the way for fascism.

This critique examines the dominant liberal interpretations of Weimar, their political function, and how they distort the historical record to serve the needs of the contemporary ruling class.

I. The Liberal Narrative: Weimar as a Parable of Institutional Fragility

The common liberal view of Weimar simplifies the republic's fall to a series of institutional issues: a flawed constitution, too much presidential power, proportional representation, fragile parties, and a lack of a truly “democratic' political culture. This explanation has been repeated so often that it has become the accepted orthodoxy. Its main points are: the Weimar Republic failed due to weak institutions; the German populace lacked a democratic spirit; and extremism from both ends contributed to its collapse. The takeaway is to protect the current liberal system at all costs.

This framework is politically convenient because it absolves the ruling class from responsibility for the capitalist crisis that led to fascism. It portrays Hitler's rise as a technical failure rather than a result of class-driven resistance. Additionally, it enables modern liberals to see themselves as heroes defending "democracy” from irrational threats. However, this perspective is historically inaccurate.

II. The Suppression of Class: Liberal Historiography’s Foundational Evasion

The core fact of Weimar history is that fascism arose in response to a deep crisis in German capitalism. The ruling class, frightened by the revolutionary rise of the working class, used Hitler as a tool for counterrevolution. This is not just an interpretation; it is a documented fact.

Liberal scholars frequently overlook this reality. The crisis is depoliticised, viewed just as a vague “loss of faith in democracy,” a “breakdown of consensus,” or a “failure of moderation.” The class struggle is often neglected, portraying the working class as passive and the bourgeoisie as an abstract entity. Political parties such as the SPD and KPD are labelled as polarising forces rather than recognised as actors with defined class strategies.

 

 This deliberate avoidance aligns with current political priorities. To understand Weimar's class dynamics, one must also recognise similar class struggles in today's capitalism and see that the crisis of liberal democracy—marked by rising inequality, militarism, and authoritarianism—is rooted in the inherent contradictions of the capitalist system, not just polarisation. Liberal historiography, however, cannot acknowledge this, which prevents it from telling the full truth about Weimar.

III. The SPD and the KPD: Liberalism’s Most Dangerous Silence

The most politically provocative lesson of Weimar history is the part played by the Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the Stalinized Communist Party (KPD) in disarming the working class. “Hitler came to power not because Weimar’s constitution was flawed, but because the Social Democratic Party and the Stalinist Communist Party refused to unite against fascism.” This is the historical truth that liberal scholarship is most eager to conceal.

1. The SPD’s role

The SPD: defended the bourgeois state, suppressed revolutionary workers, collaborated with the military and police, and ultimately supported Hitler's appointment. However, in liberal historiography, the SPD is portrayed as a tragic defender of democracy—an honourable but doomed force overwhelmed by irrational extremism. This portrayal is a gross misrepresentation.

2. The KPD’s role

The Stalin-era KPD’s labelling of the SPD as 'social fascism'—equating it with the Nazis—was a harmful betrayal. Yet liberal historians rarely analyse this from a class perspective. Instead, they tend to see it as "extremism on both sides,” which maintains the misleading idea of equivalence that reinforces their broader narrative.

3. Why this silence matters

Acknowledging the SPD’s betrayal would reveal the failure of current liberal strategies, which urge the working class to submit to the Democratic Party, intelligence agencies, and the national security state in a “popular front” against the far right. Liberal historians try to prevent this comparison and, as a result, suppress the truth.

IV. The Myth of the “Strongman”: Liberalism’s Psychological Reductionism

A key feature of liberal Weimar scholarship is its focus on the psychology of authoritarian leaders. Hitler is portrayed as a charismatic demagogue who deceived a naive populace. The dictator's personality overshadows the broader economic crisis of capitalism. This perspective has two main aims: it personalises fascism, framing it as a pathology in one individual; and it reassures liberals that authoritarianism can be overcome through “better leadership,” “civic education,” or “restoring norms.”

Contemporary liberal commentators often focus on Trump’s personality, rhetoric, and “authoritarian style,” while overlooking the social forces that support him. This psychological reductionism, similar to Weimar historiography, transforms into a political strategy: it depoliticises the crisis, personalises the threat, and sidesteps any challenge to the capitalist system.

V. The Weaponisation of Weimar: Liberalism’s Present‑Day Agenda

Liberal invocations of Weimar are not academic exercises. They serve a political function.

1. To defend the existing order

By depicting Weimar as a delicate experiment shattered by extremism, liberals portray the current capitalist system as the sole defence against authoritarianism. The underlying message is straightforward: any opposition to the system—particularly from the left—is considered a threat.

2. To delegitimise working-class struggle

Strikes, protests, and socialist movements are depicted as indicators of “polarisation” and “instability.” The working class is viewed as a threat to democracy rather than its supporter.

3. To justify alliances with the state and the right

Similarly, the SPD justified working with the military and police by claiming it was protecting democracy, while liberals now defend alliances with the CIA, FBI, and Pentagon as essential to curb the far right.

4. To suppress the real lessons of history

The core lesson of Weimar—that the working class needs to stay politically independent and struggle for socialism—is exactly what liberal historiography tries to erase.

VI. Toward a Marxist Historiography of Weimar

A Marxist analysis unveils what liberal scholarship often overlooks: the importance of class struggle, the capitalist crisis as the root of fascism, the roles of the SPD and KPD leaders in disarming workers, the need for an independent socialist movement, and the global nature of the crisis. This approach is not outdated; it is the only framework that truly comprehends the present. The working class requires revolutionary leadership, not reassurance. That is the essential lesson of Weimar. This forms the basis of a genuinely historical, political, and emancipatory understanding of the past.

 

 

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[1] An interview with David North on fascism, Trump and the lessons of history-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2025/04/17/ttml-a17.html

Against Mysticism and Historical Falsification: The Rise of Hitler and the Bankruptcy of Bourgeois Irrationalism

 Today’s interest in Nostradamus, astrology, and mystical prophecies isn’t just innocent fascination. It reflects a deep intellectual decline in bourgeois society. Trying to explain Hitler’s rise with 16th-century cryptic verses isn’t just foolish; it’s a reactionary act. “The framing of this question… is itself an expression of the irrationalism that pervades bourgeois culture in decay.” This irrationalism isn’t marginal; it acts as an ideological shield for capitalism during its final crisis.

The ruling elite, troubled by the disastrous consequences of their system, seeks comfort through mystification. The petty-bourgeois classes, bewildered by social upheaval, rely on supernatural explanations. Meanwhile, the academic community, having moved away from the Enlightenment’s emphasis on reason, now promotes the idea that history is driven by fate, myth, or “dark forces," rather than by class struggle. Hitler's rise was not predicted by Nostradamus nor written in the stars; it resulted from specific, identifiable, and preventable political betrayals by the leaders of the German workers’ movement.

The Material Foundations of Fascism

The rise of Nazism can only be understood through the Marxist lens of historical materialism. In the early 1930s, Germany was Europe's most developed industrial economy, yet it was constrained by the Treaty of Versailles and the global capitalist crisis. The productive forces had surpassed the limits of the nation-state. German imperialism aimed for expansion, but before fighting abroad, it needed to suppress the working class domestically.

The Nazis were not a supernatural anomaly. As Trotsky described, they were “a party of national despair,” gaining backing from the devastated petty bourgeoisie—“the small artisans and shopkeepers of the cities, petty officials, employees, technical staff, the intelligentsia, and impoverished peasants.” These groups, shattered by the crisis, were whipped into a rage of hatred toward the proletariat, whom they blamed for their social downfall.

However, fascism in power was not merely the rule of these devastated classes. As Trotsky aptly states, “fascism in power is least of all the rule of the petty bourgeoisie. On the contrary, it is the most ruthless dictatorship of monopoly capital.” German industrialists, bankers, and military leaders saw Hitler as the tool they needed to break down workers’ organisations and gear up for imperialist conflict. The Düsseldorf meeting of January 1932, where leading industrialists pledged their support to Hitler, was not a mystical convergence of destiny. It was a class decision.

The Working Class Wanted No Part of Fascism

Contrary to the myth—propagated by both fascists and liberals—that Hitler rose to power on widespread popular support, the German working class largely opposed him.  “The working class did not want fascism.” In the November 1932 elections, the combined votes for the Social Democrats and Communists exceeded those for the Nazis. Furthermore, in the factories, the Nazis were held in contempt.The decisive factor was not the will of the masses but the treachery of their leaders.

The Stalinist and Social Democratic Betrayals

The Stalinist leadership of the Communist Party, following Moscow's orders, embraced the harmful theory of “social fascism,” labelling the Social Democrats as the primary enemy. This strategy—one of the worst crimes in workers’ movement history—blocked the creation of a united front for the working class when such unity could have defeated the Nazis. Meanwhile, Social Democratic leaders failed to mobilise their workers, fearing revolution. They surrendered to the bourgeois state, disarming the working class and enabling Hitler to become chancellor in January 1933.

Trotsky’s warnings proved to be prophetic in the true sense: they were based on scientific analysis. He stated that a Nazi victory would lead to "the extermination of the best of the German proletariat, the destruction of its organisations, and the eradication of its self-belief and hope for the future.” He also predicted that Italian fascism would seem “pale” in comparison. Every prediction was confirmed.

Mysticism as a Weapon Against the Working Class

The shift towards Nostradamus and astrology is not impartial. It fulfils specific ideological roles: depicting fascism as unavoidable rather than stoppable; excusing the responsibilities of the ruling class and leaderships, such as reformist and Stalinist; replacing class analysis with fatalism; and discouraging the working class by implying that supernatural forces shape history. The pursuit of prophecies and astrological justifications for Hitler is not only unserious but also politically reactionary. This type of irrationalism echoes the postwar pessimism of the Frankfurt School, which blamed “the Enlightenment" for fascism, thus diverting attention from capitalism and the failures of the workers’ movement.

The Lessons for Today

The worldwide rise of fascist movements, increasing irrationalism, and the decline of bourgeois democracy are not just predictions but stem from capitalism's fundamental contradictions. These include economic crises, imperialist competition, and the ruling class's failure to resolve these issues democratically. The focus shouldn't be on deciphering old astrological texts, but on cultivating the revolutionary leadership that Germany lacked in 1933.

 

Racism, the Media, and the Commodification of Sport: The Political Meaning of Rafael van der Vaart’s Remark

 Introduction: A “Gaffe” That Reveals the Social Order

The controversy over Rafael van der Vaart’s televised comment that Japanese footballers “look alike” has been dismissed by the media as just another case of personal bias. However, this statement actually exemplifies the racial dehumanisation that capitalism fosters. It is “a textbook expression of the racial dehumanisation that capitalism systematically produces and reproduces.” The importance of this incident is not in the personal beliefs of a former football player but in the social conditions that normalise and even trivialise such thinking.

The phrase “they all look alike” has a dark history, used for centuries to overlook individual differences and lump entire groups together. It's not surprising that a former international player—who has played with teammates and opponents from around the world—would repeat this cliché on air. This reflects a broader culture rife with racial stereotypes, one whose core beliefs are deeply intertwined with the capitalist system supporting it.

The Media’s Ritual of Containment

The media response adhered to a familiar pattern. Outrage was aimed at the individual, with commentators calling for an apology, which Van der Vaart provided. The cycle then continued. As noted in the document, capitalist society tends to “individualize the offense, focus outrage on one person, demand an apology, and then move on.” This ritual has a clear political purpose: it treats racism as a personal moral failing rather than a structural issue rooted in class society.

The sports-media complex, which benefits financially from the worldwide movement of athletic labour, is especially skilled at this kind of ideological control. It can criticise a pundit’s comment while still running an industry that views players—particularly from Africa, Asia, and Latin America—as commodities. This industry is "more than willing to publicly condemn racist remarks while continuing to operate the commercial system that treats those same players as commodities.” The hypocrisy is glaring. The media condemns van der Vaart while reproducing the very conditions that make such remarks inevitable.

Identity Politics and the Politics of Evasion

Liberal commentators and identity-politics advocates respond in a similarly insufficient manner. They concentrate on personal responsibility, diversity training, and public 'calling out,' but these actions fail to address the fundamental social structures. Such initiatives do nothing to challenge the capitalist system that generates racial oppression. "

Identity politics views racism as stemming from individual attitudes, cultural insensitivity, or representational issues. It advocates for moral education, corporate training, and symbolic actions. However, racism is not merely a psychological flaw. It is “a product of class society, deliberately cultivated by the ruling class to divide workers who share a common interest in abolishing capitalism.”

Reducing racism to an interpersonal offense masks its material foundations, turning a structural class domination mechanism into a question of etiquette. It replaces political struggle with moralism, thus diluting its political significance.

Racism as a Tool of Class Rule

The persistence of racialised thinking in sport is intentional. Modern professional sports are part of a global industry that generates profit by exploiting workers, who are mostly from the most oppressed parts of the world. The commercialisation of athletic labour cannot be separated from the broader patterns of imperialism and global inequality.

Racism is central to this process, as it normalizes inequality, justifies exploitation, and divides workers with similar material interests. It is not just a relic of history but an active tool used in modern class domination. The claim that racism is “deliberately cultivated by the ruling class” is supported by the entire history of capitalism, from colonialism to today's global supply chains. Van der Vaart’s comment is not just an anomaly; it reveals the ideological forces supporting the global sports industry and, more generally, capitalist society.

The International Working Class and the Fight Against Racism

The only effective way to fight racism is through the independent political mobilisation of the global working class. This is not a moral appeal but a strategic move. Racism cannot be eradicated with apologies, media outrage, or corporate diversity efforts. It can only be eliminated by dismantling the social system that sustains it.

The genuine fight against racism requires the building of an independent political movement of the working class, internationally united, that can abolish the material foundation of all racial and national oppression.” This view sharply contrasts with the narrow focus of identity politics and the cynicism often seen in the media.

The global working class—comprising diverse races and nations and becoming more interconnected—has no stake in racial divisions. Its quest for emancipation is inherently linked to the fight against all oppression. Consequently, the struggle against racism is inherently connected to the pursuit of socialism.

Conclusion: Beyond Outrage, Toward Emancipation

The van der Vaart incident is not solely about an individual's bias. Instead, it highlights the social system that fosters such prejudice and leverages media spectacles to mask its roots. Publicly condemning individuals merely sustains the illusion that racism is a personal flaw, rather than a fundamental component of capitalist dominance.

 

G.E.M. de Ste. Croix and the Marxist Historiography of the Ancient World

Introduction: Reclaiming Antiquity for Historical Materialism

G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s 1982 publication, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World, marked a pivotal moment in twentieth-century historiography. During a period when structuralism, Weberian sociology, and the “cultural turn” were weakening the explanatory role of class analysis, de Ste. Croix presented a comprehensive 700-page argument showing that the ancient world was fundamentally organised around relations of exploitation. This book is regarded as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography,’ applying historical materialism across the entire span of Greco-Roman antiquity.

This review places de Ste. Croix within the wider historiographical context, outlines his key arguments, and evaluates his impact on Marxist theory and ancient studies. It emphasises that his main contribution was not just his impressive knowledge—though his mastery of sources was remarkable—but also his revival of class struggle as the driving force in ancient history. Challenging the dominant Weberian view held by Moses Finley and others, de Ste. Croix argued that the crucial issue in any mode of production is how surplus value is extracted, asserting that the ancient world was primarily characterised by the exploitation of unfree labour, especially enslaved people.

I. The Finley–Weber Paradigm: Status, Not Class

By the middle of the 20th century, the exploration of the ancient world was mainly influenced by a Weberian approach emphasising status groups, legal categories, and political institutions. Moses Finley, a prominent ancient historian, argued that Greek and Roman societies were structured around status rather than class divisions. He explicitly stated that ancient societies organised themselves into various political statuses, including citizen, metic, freedman, and enslaved person, thereby rendering the idea of class an unnecessary classification.

Finley’s argument was based on two main points: first, that social status hierarchy outweighed economic position, as a wealthy metic in Athens did not have the political rights of a poor citizen; second, that ancient ideology was mainly political rather than economic, since ancient writers portrayed social conflict through citizenship, honour, and legal privileges. Consequently, modern historians should consider this perspective.

This approach seemed sophisticated, rejecting simple economic determinism and emphasising the independence of politics. It also aligned with the mid-20th-century trend toward sociological pluralism. However, its impact was to eliminate the idea of class struggle in the ancient world, turning it into a realm of fixed hierarchies rather than active conflict.

De Ste. Croix understood that this issue was not just a methodological mistake but also an ideological one. Accordingly, he viewed Finley’s criticism as identical to the opposition Marx encountered: the assertion that ancient society was centred on politics, much as medieval society was centred on religion. In both instances, the ideological appearance was confused with the actual social structure. 

II. De Ste. Croix’s Reconstruction of Class: Surplus Extraction as the Key

De Ste. Croix’s main contribution was redefining class as the key analytical category in ancient history. He revisited Marx’s original view of class as a relation of exploitation rather than merely a sociological group. The crucial question shifts from the legal status of individuals to how the dominant property-owning classes extract surplus value from direct producers. This idea is  summarised thus: “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus...”

This formulation is fundamental to de Ste. Croix’s approach. It helps him pierce the ideological haze in ancient political discourse to reveal the underlying mechanisms of exploitation: slavery as the main means of surplus extraction, with rent, debt, and taxation serving as secondary tools applied to free producers. State coercion acts as the enforcement of elite dominance. In contrast to Finley, de Ste. Croix argued that the ancient world was not “pre-economic” but pre-capitalist, with an economy not driven by markets or profit motives. Nonetheless, it was an economy where the propertied classes derived their wealth from the surplus generated by enslaved people, peasants, and dependent workers.

This method enabled de Ste. Croix to incorporate the full scope of Greco-Roman history into a unified materialist framework, spanning from the Archaic Age to the Arab conquests. It also helped him interpret the political crises of antiquity—such as stasis, civil war, and revolution—not as anomalies but as manifestations of fundamental class conflicts.

III. Aristotle as a Witness to Class Antagonism

One of de Ste. Croix’s most insightful historiographical strategies was to view ancient authors not just as sources of information but as commentators on their own social contexts. Aristotle, specifically, can be seen as an early thinker resembling a proto-Marxist in his analysis of class struggle. He believed that a man’s economic status is the key factor shaping his political actions. Although he recognises the existence of middle groups, Aristotle often simplifies political conflict into a division between property owners and non-owners.

This divide becomes more pronounced during crises when the fundamental opposition between the rich and the poor becomes evident. Aristotle’s concern about stasis—civil unrest caused by class struggles—shows his keen understanding of the built-in tensions within the polis. De Ste. Croix points out that Aristotle’s approach closely resembles Marx’s methodology. This is not an anachronistic misinterpretation but an acknowledgement that ancient thinkers also saw politics as driven by material interests.

By emphasising Aristotle’s class analysis, de Ste. Croix challenges the Weberian idea that class is a modern concept unrelated to antiquity. Instead, he shows that the ancients had a distinct, although ideologically influenced, awareness of their own social classes.

IV. Democracy and Slavery: The Political Economy of the Polis

One of the most debated points in de Ste. Croix’s work is his claim that the structure of Athenian democracy relied on slavery. This challenges both idealised views of ancient democracy and revisionist theories tracing its origins to the free peasantry. “He understood that it was based on slavery… [the propertied class] intensified their exploitation of those who could not defend themselves: the slaves." This is not a moral judgment but a materialist analysis. The reforms by Solon and Cleisthenes reduced elite exploitation of citizens, compelling the propertied classes to shift their oppression onto enslaved individuals. Therefore, the democratic rights of citizens were fundamentally linked to the subjugation of the enslaved.

De Ste. Croix also dismisses the idea that internal contradictions caused democracy to decline. Instead, it was toppled by the propertied classes, particularly after the Peloponnesian War, when oligarchic coups—supported by Sparta—aimed to re-establish elite control. Over time, citizens' rights were gradually reduced until, by the third century CE, “a poor Roman citizen could legally be flogged and tortured—penalties once reserved for slaves.” This extended decline of democracy can only be understood through a class analysis: the propertied classes dismantled democratic institutions because those institutions limited their ability to extract surplus.

V. The Decline of Rome: Exploitation and the Collapse of Social Reproduction

De Ste. Croix offers a compelling materialist interpretation of the Roman Empire's decline. He dismisses cultural, moral, and military reasons, asserting that Rome's fall resulted from the ruling classes escalating exploitation, ultimately dismantling the empire's social foundation. The propertied class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation..."

The oppressed populations, burdened by heavy taxes, military demands, and later by the parasitic Christian clergy, lacked motivation to protect the empire from barbarian invasions. The ruling elite, focusing on their immediate gains, weakened the long-term stability of the social system—an example of Marx's concept of the “fetishism of private property.” This interpretation emphasises the role of the exploited classes: Rome's fall was not solely due to external factors but also to internal exploitation, which rendered the empire unsustainable.

VI. The Peasantry Debate: Numbers vs Structure

A major debate in historiography focuses on the role of the peasantry. Ellen Meiksins Wood argued that Greek democracy relied on the free labour of independent smallholders, rather than slavery. In contrast, Ann Talbot criticises Wood’s view, describing it as “purely arithmetical and formal.”

The core issue is structural: the numerical majority of peasants does not influence the dynamics of the class struggle. Instead, what matters are the conflicts between rich and poor citizens, and between citizens and enslaved individuals. These contradictions, rather than demographic proportions, fuelled the political crises of antiquity. Therefore, De Ste. Croix’s analysis remains valid, even amidst revisionist efforts to downplay slavery’s importance.

Conclusion: De Ste. Croix’s Enduring Significance

De Ste. Croix’s intellectual and moral stature has remained strong over time. He “did not view the ancient world merely as a collection of dead structures; he engaged with its political struggles as if they were his own.” His work reflects the finest traditions of twentieth-century Marxism, influenced by the Russian Revolution and opposition to fascism.

De Ste. Croix proved that historical materialism extends beyond capitalism, shedding light on the entire class-based society. His contributions continue to be essential to understanding not only antiquity but also the ongoing mechanisms of exploitation and resistance across eras.

Historiographical Appendix: Finley, Wood, de Ste. Croix, and the WSWS Tradition

I. Introduction

Over the past fifty years, the study of the ancient world has been influenced by markedly different methodological approaches. These debates are not just about how to interpret Greek and Roman history but also concern the status of concepts like class, surplus extraction, and historical materialism as analytical tools. This appendix reviews four key perspectives: Moses Finley's Weberian focus on status; Ellen Meiksins Wood's 'political Marxism'; G.E.M. de Ste. Croix's traditional Marxism; and Trotskyist historiography.

This appendix sets a clear interpretive framework for the latter two, describing de Ste. Croix’s "Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World" as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography” and highlighting his claim that “the most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is... how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus."¹

II. Moses Finley and the Weberian Displacement of Class

Finley’s work is the most significant effort to omit class as an explanatory factor in ancient history. Influenced by Max Weber, he contended that the ancient Mediterranean was mainly organised around status groups—such as citizens, metics, freedmen, and enslaved individuals—rather than economic classes.²  Finley argued that “ancient Greece and Rome were societies structured around a range of political statuses, making class an unsuitable category."³

Finley’s argument was based on two key ideas: that social status took precedence over economic wealth. For example, a wealthy metic did not have the political rights of a poor citizen, and an imperial freedman could be wealthier than a senator but still hold a lower social status.⁴ Ancient ideology primarily focused on political issues rather than economic ones. Since ancient writers depicted conflict through themes of citizenship and honour, modern historians ought to approach it in a similar way.

Finley reshaped the ancient world into a realm of fixed social hierarchies, in which the processes of surplus extraction became less visible. His method was praised for its elegance but effectively blocked the use of historical materialism. As the referenced document mentions, de Ste. Croix saw this as similar to what Marx faced: the argument that ancient society was “based on politics” because its ideology expressed political ideas.⁵

III. Ellen Meiksins Wood and the Peasant‑Citizen Thesis

Ellen Meiksins Wood aimed to reposition class at the heart of ancient history. She achieved this by shifting the focus from slavery to the autonomous labour of smallholder farmers as the basis of Greek democracy. In her work Peasant-Citizen and Enslaved Person, she contended that the polis was a community of free producers whose political equality depended on their economic independence.⁶ Slavery existed, but it was not structurally constitutive of democracy.

In reference to Ann Talbot’s discussion in the WSWS, Wood’s method is characterised as “purely arithmetical and formal,” treating “peasant” as a generic label that overlooks the diversity among the numerous peasant societies throughout history.⁷ The issue is not about numbers but about structure: the key question is how surplus is extracted, rather than the number of peasants. Wood’s concept of 'political Marxism” therefore tends to emphasise free labour and civic community as the main categories, often overlooking the slave mode of production as the fundamental basis of Athenian democracy.

IV. G.E.M. de Ste. Croix: Class as Surplus Extraction

De Ste. Croix’s intervention was to reexamine Marx’s initial idea of class as a relation of exploitation, focusing on the mode of surplus extraction rather than viewing class as just a sociological category. It is this process of surplus extraction that characterises class.⁸ “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus…”⁹

De Ste. Croix argued against Finley, asserting that the ancient world was not “status-based,” but instead a slave-based system where the propertied class gained surplus through the exploitation of unfree labour, mainly enslaved people. Regarding Wood, he contended that Athens' democratic structure was fundamentally rooted in the organic link between citizen rights and the unfree status of slaves. The reforms introduced by Solon and Cleisthenes aimed to curb elite exploitation of citizens, which led the propertied classes to increase their exploitation of enslaved individuals.¹¹

De Ste. Croix’s approach also included a radical reinterpretation of ancient writers. For instance, Aristotle is seen not merely as a theorist of social hierarchies but as an analyst of class conflict shaped by ideological influences. He consistently simplifies political disputes into a dichotomy between hoi tas ousias echontes (property owners) and hoi aporoi (those without). As the uploaded document points out, Aristotle’s analysis closely resembles the approach used by Marx.”¹³

V. The Trotskyist Tradition: De Ste. Croix as a Model of Historical Materialism

The Trotskyist tradition regards de Ste. Croix as an example of authentic Marxist historiography. It commends him for dismissing “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’” and for showing “a true understanding of Marx and a dedication to the class struggle as essential to comprehending all human history.”¹⁴

This tradition's reading is characterised by three features: historical materialism as a universal approach and recognition of the ancient world not as a pre-economic period but as a unique historical setting of exploitation and resistance. It also views democracy as a form of class rule, noting that Athenian democracy “was based on slavery,” and its fall was due to deliberate actions by the elite rather than internal decline.¹⁵ Elite self-destruction as a historical process: The Roman ruling class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”¹⁶ 

VI. Comparative Synthesis

The four positions can be outlined as follows: Finley emphasises status-centrism, with a marginalised view of class, analysing democracy through political structures; slavery is acknowledged but not viewed as structurally central. Wood reintroduces class, focusing on free smallholders, considers slavery as secondary, and sees democracy rooted in peasant-citizenship.

De Ste. Croix characterises class as the extraction of surplus, with slavery being fundamentally embedded in this process. He sees democracy as a form of rule based on slave exploitation. Trotskyists regard De Ste. Croix, as a key model, universalises the concept of class struggle and interprets ancient history through the framework of exploitation and resistance. His work is considered an essential resource for Marxists, showing that historical materialism explains the full scope of class society.”¹⁷

Notes

1. Appx. Doc., “G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World… stands as one of the great works of Marxist historiography,” and “The most significant distinguishing feature… is how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus.”
2. Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973).
3. Appx. Doc., “Finley argued that ancient Greece and Rome were societies organised around a spectrum of political statuses… and that class was therefore an inappropriate category.”
4. Ibid.
5. Appx. Doc., “De Ste. Croix recognised this as the same objection Marx himself had faced…”
6. Ellen Meiksins Wood, Peasant-Citizen and enslaved person: The Foundations of Athenian Democracy (London: Verso, 1988).
7. Appx. Doc., “This is a purely arithmetical and formal approach… ‘peasant’ is an empty term…”
8. Karl Marx, Capital, vol. 3, ch. 47.
9. Appx. Doc., “The most significant distinguishing feature…”
10. Appx. Doc., “by the exploitation of unfree (especially slave) labour.”
11. Appx. Doc., “the constitutional measures… prevented the propertied class from exploiting the peasantry… [so] they intensified their exploitation of… slaves.”
12. Aristotle, Politics, 1279b–1281a.
13. Appx. Doc., “bears a remarkable resemblance to the method of approach adopted by Marx.”
14. Appx. Doc., “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’… genuine knowledge of Marx…”
15. Appx. Doc., “He understood that [democracy] was based on slavery.”
16. Appx. Doc., “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”
17. Appx. Doc., “His work remains an indispensable resource for Marxists…”

 

On The Financial Times Editorial on the 2026 World Cup

 A recent Financial Times editorial, “Football will eclipse politics at this World Cup,” exemplifies the complacent, upper-middle-class liberalism that has long provided ideological cover for the abuses of global capitalism. Its main argument—that the 2026 World Cup’s “goals, talent and diversity are set to drown out controversy off the pitch”—is not just naïve; it’s a reactionary move to suppress public awareness amid the growing tensions of world capitalism, which are now affecting every aspect of social life, including sports.

The editorial board’s stance is based on a flawed and strongly ideological divide between “politics” and “the beautiful game.” The authors briefly admit that the tournament has been “tainted by events off the pitch,” mentioning the troubling scene of FIFA giving a “peace prize” to Donald Trump, the exorbitant ticket prices that make supporters pay nearly $7,000 just to watch their team, and the blatantly discriminatory visa policies excluding fans from non-European countries and even “a match referee from Somalia.” Despite these issues, they are dismissed as minor problems—mere background distractions that do not detract from the overall spectacle of goals and celebration.

This is a common ideological tactic of the bourgeois media. While the FT notes the symptoms, it avoids examining the underlying issue. The World Cup is not corrupted by politics; rather, it exposes itself as a large commercial and geopolitical venture, where football acts as a front for the interests of governments, corporations, and oligarchic elites.

The FT’s depoliticisation of sport is itself a political act.

The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” exemplifies ideological mystification. Because the World Cup is a worldwide media spectacle watched by billions, ruling classes aim to manipulate it. The FT’s suggestion to concentrate on “goals” and “serendipity” is not harmless; it urges the public to ignore the harsh realities of the global system.

The editorial downplays the extraordinary fact that “this is the first World Cup where a host nation is at war with one of the participating countries," viewing Trump’s decision to deny the Iranian team overnight stay in the US as a minor curiosity instead of a stark example of how militarism and xenophobia are now openly influencing international sports.

The FT’s lack of coverage on the wider issues—the escalating US–Iran conflict, the growing trade war between the host countries, the global surge of authoritarian regimes, and the worsening crisis of global capitalism—is deliberate. It mirrors the class interests of the publication, which represents the financial oligarchy that benefits from commodifying sport and militarizing geopolitics.

The editorial celebrates the very inequalities it pretends to lament.

The FT criticizes the “extortionate pricing” of tickets but celebrates the expansion to 48 teams as a sign of “worldwide representation.” This presents a cynical contradiction. What does “representation' truly mean when the working-class populations cannot afford to attend? When the editorial mentions that Curaçaoans, Cape Verdeans, Uzbeks, and Jordanians will “watch from home with pride,” it unintentionally exposes the class divide: the global poor may provide the players, but the stadiums are owned by the wealthy.

Likewise, the editorial highlights the “vibrancy of international cultures” that will be showcased as fans move between 16 North American cities—yet it concedes that only those “who can afford it” will be able to participate. This is not true diversity; it amounts to luxury multiculturalism catered to the wealthy.

The fetishisation of individual stars masks the structural rot.

The FT devotes significant space to Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Lamine Yamal, suggesting that the star power of individual players can compensate for corruption in the sport's governance. This focus on personal charisma illustrates bourgeois ideology by transforming systemic issues into a spectacle of individual achievement. Additionally, the editorial characterises Roberto Lopes' recruitment to Cape Verde via a 'LinkedIn message' as charming, disregarding its indication of the chaotic, unregulated, and exploitative global labour market that shapes modern football.

The World Cup cannot “eclipse politics” because it is a product of politics.

The FT’s conclusion that the tournament’s “enduring power" is rooted in its ability to “entertain” regardless of politics essentially accepts the logic of spectacle. It suggests that the audience should be kept distracted, pacified, and depoliticized by sport’s spectacle while the ruling elite pursues its predatory interests unnoticed. In reality, the opposite is true. The 2026 World Cup is not an escape from the global capitalist crisis but a vivid reflection of it. The militarized borders, corporate profiteering, sky-high ticket prices, geopolitical tensions, exploitation of migrant workers, and authoritarian displays by host governments are not external to the event—they are integral to its nature.

Claiming that football will “eclipse politics” demands the public accept a world that's unequal, violent, and ruled by oligarchic interests. Socialists must reveal this falsehood, expose the material forces behind global sport, and insist that the working class—whose labor, passion, and creativity make football possible—should not be passive spectators in a spectacle that hides their exploitation.

Obituary for the Beautiful Game:

Once, football was a pastime of the working class, not just a game but a shared expression of solidarity and human creativity. Played in factory yards, slag heaps, crowded streets, and muddy fields, it only needed a ball, a small space, and the imagination of its players. That era has passed.

Today, what remains of “football” is a distorted imitation: a worldwide commodity, a tool for marketing, a pawn in geopolitics, a means to clean oligarchic wealth, and an entertainment designed to pacify a population losing political influence. The “beautiful game” has been embalmed, packaged, and sold to the public at a cost they can no longer bear. This isn't an obituary for a sport that has merely evolved; it's for a sport that has been completely extinguished.

The Expropriation of a Working‑Class Inheritance

Football originated among the industrial working class, whose labour established the very time and social environment for collective leisure. Clubs were established by railway workers, dockers, miners, and textile workers. The terraces served as the one space where the working class could emerge as a unified social force, expressing their collective voice and purpose. However, late capitalism has undermined this foundational aspect.

Stadiums have transformed into luxury zones, with even the cheapest tickets exceeding the financial reach of the original community that built the sport. As the FT editorial notes, tickets for the 2026 World Cup will start at nearly $7,000 before travel costs—an extraordinary figure a generation ago. This change has pushed the working class out of the stands, making room for corporate sponsors, tourists, and wealthier elites. The vibrant, spontaneous atmosphere has been replaced by curated fan experiences, and the organic culture of the game has been replaced by branded content. Overall, football has become privatized, financialized, and disconnected from its social roots.

The Oligarchic Capture of the Global Game

The modern football economy highlights the stark inequalities of today. Clubs serve as investment tools for petro-monarchies, hedge funds, and billionaire investors. FIFA and UEFA act as transnational corporations mainly focused on generating profit.

The World Cup, originally a showcase of international sporting spirit, has now transformed into a spectacle marred by corruption, authoritarianism, and geopolitical drama. The editorial highlights FIFA's decision to give a “peace prize” to a sitting US president, a move so ridiculous it might be funny, if not for revealing the organisation’s complete submission to state influence.

Visa bans, militarised borders, and political vendettas now determine who can attend, participate, or even enter host countries. For example, a Somali referee was refused entry; entire national fan groups are excluded; and a nation participating in an event is prevented from staying overnight in the host country. These are no longer exceptions but reflect a broader world order where sport is manipulated to serve the interests of powerful nations. Football has evolved into a diplomatic tool, a means of propaganda, and a way to legitimize political agendas.

The Commodification of the Player

Players—originally local heroes developed through community clubs and youth initiatives—have transformed into commodities in the international market. Their bodies are traded like financial derivatives, and they are pushed to perform at higher levels to accommodate a growing number of matches designed to increase revenue.

The editorial emphasizes Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Yamal, yet this concentration on star players signals a decline in the sport. The fixation on superstars masks harder truths: the exhaustion, injuries, and exploitation faced by young players from Africa, South America, and Eastern Europe, who are trafficked through academies and often discarded if they fail to meet commercial expectations. The so-called “beautiful game” now functions as a labor market where human beings are reduced to mere brand assets.

The Spectacle as Social Pacification

The ruling class recognizes the political role of football. In a time marked by increasing inequality, declining living standards, and rising geopolitical tensions, sports serve as a pressure release. The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” is not just a statement but a demand: urging the masses to divert their attention from global crises and become absorbed in entertainment.

The World Cup is promoted as a celebration of “diversity,” “vibrancy,” and “international culture”—but only accessible to those who can afford it. The working class is left watching from home, passively absorbing the spectacle and cheering for a world they are becoming more excluded from. Football has shifted from a shared act of solidarity to a tool for distraction.

The Death of the Beautiful Game

What made football beautiful was not its commercial spectacle but its simplicity, accessibility, and universality. It was a game that belonged to everyone because it required almost nothing and reflected the creativity, spontaneity, and collective spirit of ordinary people. Under late capitalism, that world has been dismantled.

The “beautiful game” is not dead because people no longer love it, but because capitalism has consumed it. It was destroyed through privatisation, financialisation, militarised borders, oligarchic ownership, and the transformation of sport into a commodity, turning fans into consumers. What is left is a shell driven by marketing, broadcast rights, and geopolitical agendas.

However, the obituary concludes with a contradiction: while the game is considered dead, the desire that birthed it remains alive. The working class that originally invented football continues to exist, along with its ability to reshape the world—and the sport—on a new basis. The revival of the beautiful game will not originate from FIFA, billionaires, or corporate media, but from the same force that created it initially: the collective strength of the working class.

 

 

Comment On the Observer’s A Declaration of Interdependence

The recent Observer editorial, 'A Declaration of Interdependence,' reveals more about the panic within Britain’s liberal-imperialist class than its analysis. It shows disorientation among a ruling elite whose global framework is collapsing under contradictions. The editors claim that Donald Trump has “pulled the rug from under the Starmer project,” implying that Britain’s capitalist crisis stems from a single reckless act rather than decades of militarism, austerity, and imperial decline. The editorial outlines four ways Trump has supposedly sabotaged Starmer. In truth, each “shock” merely exposes the corruption at the heart of the entire system.

1. The economic crisis is not Trump’s doing—it is capitalism’s

The Observer laments that the UK’s fragile economic recovery was disrupted when Trump authorized the US-Israeli attack on Iran, leading Tehran to seal the Strait of Hormuz. It mournfully notes that “world oil prices are still nearly 30% above prewar levels,” as if this situation were an unpredictable act of God rather than a direct result of imperialist intervention in the Middle East.

The editorial criticizes not the fact that the US and Israel initiated another unjust war, but that it harms British capitalism's interests. The hardships faced by Iranian and Palestinian civilians are ignored; what's crucial is that Starmer’s “green shoots” story doesn’t resonate with voters in Makerfield. This reveals the genuine stance of the Labour-liberal circle: war can be justified or even needed, provided it doesn’t interfere with internal political interests.

2. Labour’s crisis over Gaza is a crisis of imperialism, not of messaging

The Observer criticizes Trump’s backing of Israel’s destructive attack on Gaza, which has led to the loss of nearly 73,000 Palestinian lives, claiming it has caused a division within the Labour Party. However, Labour's division was not caused by Trump; it was due to its persistent support for imperialist violence.

Starmer’s so-called "tortured expressions of support for Israel’s right to self-defence" are actually sincere, representing Labour’s position within the British state. The real focus of the editorial is that the working class, especially young people and Britain’s Muslim community, is shifting away from Labour towards parties perceived as more supportive of Palestine. For the Observer, the concern isn’t the widespread violence itself but the political consequences it might trigger.

3. The culture‑war panic reveals the fragility of the British state

The third critique in the editorial—that JD Vance and Elon Musk are fueling Britain’s “culture wars”—exposes a feeling of helplessness. The British elite, having spent years demonising migrants, refugees, and the poor, now shows shock when their own reactionary rhetoric is echoed by their American counterparts. The Observer points out that Musk "acted as an arsonist, reposting flagrantly false and racist comments” following the Belfast stabbing. However, Musk is not an anomaly; he embodies the core of capitalist reaction. The far right's rise is not solely due to online provocateurs but also because the political establishment—Labor included—has legitimised nationalism, militarism, and xenophobia.

The editorial’s fear is not fascism, but the loss of control over the forces it helped unleash.

4. The defence‑spending crisis exposes the bankruptcy of British imperialism

The Observer’s final complaint is that Trump has called for NATO members to allocate 5% of their GDP to defence, a target Starmer “can’t afford.” This is seen as an outrageous demand from a reckless American leader. However, it is actually a natural extension of Britain’s own imperial commitments. The British government cannot sustain global wars, maintain a nuclear arsenal, challenge Russia and China, and keep its welfare state intact all at once. Something has to give—and the ruling class has already decided it will not cut the military. The editorial worries that the working class might resist this arrangement.

The Observer’s conclusion: a desperate plea for imperialist unity

The article concludes by urging Britain to adopt “interdependence” with NATO, Europe, and the U.S., framing it as a pragmatic alternative to Brexit’s rejection of reality. However, in reality, it demands that the working class endure ongoing austerity, perpetual conflict, and subjugation to the major imperialist powers. The Observer claims Britain is “fortunate” to be at the crossroads of these powerful systems. But is it fortunate? To be a subordinate member of NATO’s military actions, Europe’s austerity policies, and America’s military-industrial complex? That’s not luck; it’s a trap.

The Observer fails to recognize that Britain’s crisis is rooted in the failure of global capitalism itself, not in Trump, Brexit, or Starmer’s errors. The decline of the “special relationship” reflects the broader collapse of the post-Cold War international order. Ongoing conflicts in Gaza, Iran, Ukraine, and the South China Sea are not isolated incidents but signs of a coming global upheaval. The working class should reject the Observer’s appeal for “interdependence” with imperialist powers. Instead, the only effective solution is for workers across Britain, Europe, the U.S., and worldwide to organize independently in opposition to war, nationalism, and capitalism.

 

Identity Politics and the Manufactured Spectacle of the 2026 World Cup

The BBC’s focus on a VAR official’s hand gesture during the 2026 World Cup isn’t a rare mistake or journalistic error. Instead, it reflects a corrupt political culture where those in power, facing growing social issues and increasing imperialist violence, depend increasingly on divisive identity politics. This strategy aims to split the working class and steer collective dissent into meaningless, symbolic conflicts. The so-called “OK sign” controversy is just the most recent example of this reactionary approach.

While the media was breathlessly speculating about “a VAR official’s fingers,” the United States, as the host of the tournament, was engaged in violent actions: prosecuting a war of aggression against Iran, preparing military operations against Cuba, sustaining the Gaza genocide, and conducting mass deportations unseen in modern American history. The World Cup itself has become a militarized spectacle: ICE agents patrolling stadiums, entire national teams denied entry, African nations subjected to degrading “quarantine” procedures, and ticket prices soaring to $32,970 for the final—turning a sport originally created by the working class into an event reserved for the global elite.

However, the BBC and the broader media industry focus their attention not on these crimes but on the supposed racial significance of a referee’s hand gesture. This is intentional. It is a political move.

The Function of Identity Politics Under Capitalism

Identity politics is not an uprising from the grassroots nor an opposition to oppression. Instead, it functions as a tool of dominance, engineered and exploited by the bourgeoisie to divert social rage from the capitalist system toward ongoing, unresolved symbolic disputes. The ruling class has realized that nothing better suppresses class awareness than fostering the idea that workers see each other as racial enemies, potential racists, or carriers of concealed “dog whistles.”

The VAR controversy serves as a clear example. Whether the gesture was meant to be innocent doesn't matter. What matters is that the media focused on it because it is harmless, symbolic, and divisive. This encourages the public to engage in a moral policing ritual instead of challenging the underlying structures of exploitation.

The “OK sign” controversy started as a hoax on 4chan—deliberately designed to trick the liberal media into believing a harmless gesture was a white supremacist symbol. The media bought into it, and the Anti-Defamation League added it to their database. Consequently, a gesture used by millions worldwide was transformed into a racialized symbol, fueling suspicion, accusations, and performative outrage. This exemplifies identity politics at its most superficial: a focus on symbols without real substance, morality divorced from materialism, and vigilance disconnected from actual struggle.

The Real Conditions of the 2026 World Cup

While the media focuses on racist hand gestures, the real aspects of the tournament expose the harsh realities of modern capitalism. A host country engaged in several imperialist wars, with police-state security present throughout stadiums, mass deportations disrupting immigrant communities, and entire national teams barred from entry. African nations face racist humiliation disguised as "public health," and FIFA's president awards Donald Trump an “inaugural FIFA Peace Prize”—a disturbing mockery of diplomacy.

This is the truth the BBC avoids addressing. The World Cup now serves as a worldwide showcase for authoritarianism, militarism, and the commercialisation of human life. It is a celebration of oligarchic wealth, built on excluding the working class—whose labour created the sport and whose enthusiasm keeps it alive. The media’s responsibility is to prevent any of this from becoming a source of public anger.

Why the Ruling Class Needs Identity Politics

The capitalist class faces a world in chaos: economic stagnation, geopolitical conflicts, declining living standards, and increasing working-class resistance. In such times, the ruling elite cannot allow the rise of a unified, class-aware movement of workers—whether American, Iranian, Congolese, Mexican, European, African, or Asian—who identify their shared adversary in the capitalist system.

Identity politics counters unity by prompting workers to view each other not as allies in a common struggle but as racialized suspects, potential bigots, or members of hostile identity groups. It shifts focus from the universalism of class to the particularism of identity, turning the battle against oppression into a rivalry for symbolic acknowledgment.

The VAR controversy exemplifies a situation where a trivial gesture becomes a national scandal, serving as a distraction that deepens racial divisions among workers while the state continues its war effort, deports millions, and benefits the oligarchy.

The Task of the Working Class

The remedy to this spectacle isn't increased vigilant policing of symbols, but rather cultivating revolutionary class consciousness. Workers need to reject the entire framework of identity politics, which mainly hides the material roots of oppression and causes division among the exploited majority. The core issue isn't what a referee did with his fingers; it's why workers should accept a system that sends them to fight and die in imperialist wars, deport their neighbours, humiliates entire nations, makes them unable to afford the sport they helped create, and then demands they focus on media-fuelled symbolic disputes. The working class must respond to this not with outrage over small gestures, but through a united fight against capitalism itself.

  

Osip Mandelstam and the Stalinist Counter Revolution

 Osip Mandelstam's fate epitomises the Stalinist bureaucracy’s suppression of the revolutionary intelligentsia. His life and death unveil, with striking clarity, the fundamental conflict between true artistic independence and the parasitic ruling class that seized political power from the working class. His destruction was not an isolated incident or a tragic accident of a lone poet; it was a deliberate consequence of a political counter-revolution that aimed to silence any voice resisting its ideological dominance.

A new book highlights that “Mandelstam’s fate symbolises the broader destruction of the Soviet artistic and literary avant-garde by Stalinist counter-revolution. The bureaucracy, which seized political power from the working class, could not accept true artistic independence.” This is more than just a biographical note; it serves as a political critique.[1]

The Revolution and the Poet: A Brief Convergence

Mandelstam was not a Bolshevik and never claimed to be one. However, he had something that the bureaucracy feared even more than political allegiance: a spiritual independence that could not be assimilated, a dedication to truth, form, and historical awareness. His early Acmeist emphasis on “clarity, concreteness, and craftsmanship—' the word as such'" served as a subtle critique of the growing Stalinist aesthetic, which favoured bureaucratic bombast and ideological kitsch.

The October Revolution's heroic phase fostered an extraordinary surge in artistic experimentation. Mandelstam’s nuanced yet insightful reaction to 1917—as illustrated by his mention of “The Twilight of Freedom”—mirrored the conflicted stance of an artist who recognised the revolution's global importance while preserving his intellectual independence.

However, the outcome of the revolution remained uncertain. The Civil War, economic devastation, and the Soviet state's isolation fostered the development of a bureaucratic system whose priorities were essentially at odds with those of the working class and the revolutionary intelligentsia.

Osip Mandelstam and Leon Trotsky: Two Fates in the Grip of the Stalinist Counter‑Revolution

Osip Mandelstam and Leon Trotsky's lives intersect not just through a brief personal encounter or biographical detail but through the broader historical narrative of the Russian Revolution and its subsequent betrayal. They exemplify two of the most brilliant figures of that revolutionary era—one in politics, the other in poetry—whose downfall under Stalinism exposes the bureaucratic counter-revolution that seized power from the working class.

Mandelstam’s fate exemplifies how the Stalinist counter-revolution destroyed the Soviet artistic and literary avant-garde. He was killed because his poetry represented a spiritual independence that the totalitarian regime could not tolerate. These words highlight not only the poet’s personal tragedy but also the larger historical catastrophe that affected Trotsky and the entire October generation.

Two Figures Formed by the Revolution, Not by Stalinism

Trotsky and Mandelstam belonged to different worlds—one the strategist of the Red Army, the other a poet of Acmeist clarity—but both were products of the same historical rupture: the collapse of the old order and the birth of a new one.

As previously noted, Mandelstam was neither a Bolshevik nor a reactionary. His early works focused on "clarity, concreteness, and craftsmanship," demonstrating a profound cultural seriousness that resonated with the revolutionary spirit. He viewed the October Revolution as a pivotal world-historical event, though there was some ambivalence. Trotsky, in Literature and Revolution, correctly labelled this type of thinker as a “fellow-traveller,” attracted to the revolution by its cultural and historical significance, even without full political allegiance.

Trotsky’s stance towards these writers was never sectarian. He argued that the workers’ state should safeguard the independence of the intelligentsia rather than subordinate it to bureaucratic control. This was driven not by generosity but by a historical need: the revolution required the finest achievements of human culture, not their suppression.

The Crimea Episode: Trotsky Intervenes to Save Mandelstam

The closest connection between the two men happened in 1920 during the Civil War. After Mandelstam was captured by Wrangel’s counter-revolutionary troops in Crimea, he was later detained again—this time by fervent Cheka agents following the Red Army’s reoccupation of the peninsula. Nadezhda Joffe reports that Trotsky personally stepped in to help secure Mandelstam’s release.

This incident is more than a minor anecdote; it highlights the stark contrast between the revolutionary leadership of 1917–23 and the later bureaucratic system. Trotsky recognised that the revolution’s role was to protect culture, not destroy it. Mandelstam, after this event, “revered” Trotsky, seeing him as a protector of civilisation against both White and Red barbarism. This was the final moment when the revolution still retained its original essence.

The Bureaucracy Rises: Mandelstam and Trotsky Become Targets

By the late 1920s, the Stalinist bureaucracy had solidified its control. The elimination of the Left Opposition, enforced collectivisation, and the cult of Stalin were more than mere political acts—they were cultural. A regime built on falsification and coercion could not tolerate independent thought in any area.  Mandelstam was a poet who could not be silenced and could not be co-opted, making him an enemy of the bureaucracy. Similarly, Trotsky became the main political threat to Stalin’s power. The elimination of both figures was not accidental; it was structurally driven by the needs of the bureaucratic caste.

Mandelstam’s “Stalin Epigram”: The Poet Speaks the Truth, Trotsky Theorised

In 1933, Mandelstam wrote the “Stalin Epigram,” depicting the dictator as “the Kremlin mountaineer” with “his cockroach moustache” and “fingers fat as grubs.” The poem served as a poetic parallel to Trotsky’s political critique: a sharp, impactful expose of the bureaucratic despotism that had strangled the revolution.

Trotsky had previously warned that Stalinism was not the continuation of October but its negation. Mandelstam conveyed this same truth through poetry, the only language he could use. Both recognised that the bureaucracy was a destructive, parasitic caste feeding on the revolution’s corpse.

The outcomes were similar. Mandelstam was arrested in 1934, exiled, rearrested in 1938, and died in a transit camp. Trotsky was expelled, exiled, slandered, tried in the Moscow Trials, and ultimately assassinated in 1940. Two different paths driven by a common historical logic.

The Shared Fate: Victims of the Same Counter‑Revolution

Mandelstam and Trotsky were victims of the same historical force: the Stalinist counter-revolution. Trotsky’s assassination in Mexico and Mandelstam’s death in a transit camp near Vladivostok are not isolated tragedies but manifestations of the same process— the destruction of the generation that held the revolutionary and cultural hopes of 1917. Mandelstam was 'murdered because his poetry embodied a spiritual independence that the totalitarian regime found intolerable,' which also applies to Trotsky, whose political independence made him a mortal enemy of the bureaucracy. Both represented the living conscience of the revolution and had to be eliminated for the bureaucracy’s survival.

The Bureaucracy Consolidates Power: The Artist Becomes the Enemy

By the late 1920s and early 1930s, the Stalinist bureaucracy had fully expropriated the proletariat politically. The suppression of the Left Opposition, forced collectivization, and the cult of the infallible Leader were not just political acts—they were cultural transformations. A regime that wielded falsification, coercion, and fear could not allow any area of life to be free from its influence. Mandelstam “was a poet who could not be silenced or co-opted.” This is exactly why he had to be eliminated. The Stalinist state demanded obedience over art, flattery over truth, and complete submission of the creative mind to the ruling caste’s needs, rather than independence. Mandelstam’s refusal to conform—his rejection of the grotesque spectacle of bureaucratic self-promotion—made him unacceptable.

The “Stalin Epigram”: A Poet’s Truth Against a Regime of Lies

The “Stalin Epigram” was more than just a poem; it was a daring act of political defiance that displayed remarkable clarity and bravery. The poem vividly depicts Stalin as “the Kremlin mountaineer,” with descriptions like “his cockroach moustache” and “fingers fat as grubs.” These lines were not mere satire—they directly challenged the personality cult that underpinned the bureaucracy’s ideology. In a society where even a careless remark could result in arrest, Mandelstam’s choice to recite this poem, even to a small audience, was an act of revolutionary integrity. It asserted the artist’s right to speak truthfully in a regime built on lies.

The bureaucracy's response was as expected. His 1934 arrest, exile, 1938 detention, and death at a transit camp near Vladivostok were not due to “excesses” or “mistakes." Instead, they reflected a regime that could only endure by eradicating all independent voices.

Nadezhda Mandelstam and the Underground Survival of Truth

Dutli’s book rightly emphasises Nadezhda Mandelstam's remarkable role, describing how she “memorised his unpublished poetry to preserve it – one of the great acts of literary devotion in history.” Her effort was not just personal but also political. In a society where the state aimed to erase its victims' memories, she became a living testament of resistance. Her memoirs, Hope Against Hope and Hope Abandoned, stand as some of the most powerful condemnations of Stalinism ever written. They reveal the moral and psychological destruction caused by a regime that demands complete obedience and punishes even the faintest hint of dissent.

V. The Historical Meaning of Mandelstam’s Murder

Mandelstam died in 1938, at the peak of the Great Terror, a period when the bureaucracy eradicated the generation that had pioneered the revolution. His death reflected the same political agenda that eliminated the Old Bolsheviks, the Red Army leaders, the Marxist intellectuals, and countless workers and peasants.

Mandelstam “was murdered because his poetry embodied a spiritual independence that the totalitarian regime found intolerable.” While accurate, this statement should be understood within its full historical background. His “spiritual independence” was especially unacceptable because it signified the continued existence of the revolutionary spirit—the essence of truth, clarity, and human dignity—resisting a regime that had betrayed the revolution and maintained control through terror.

The Legacy: Mandelstam Against the Bureaucratic Lie

Today, Mandelstam’s poetry continues to stand as a symbol of artistic achievement and political rebellion. His work endured because individuals—his wife and later scholars like Ralph Dutli—refused to let bureaucratic attempts to destroy culture succeed. Dutli belongs to the group of "deep literary links across generations," where later figures dedicate themselves to reviving and sharing voices that the Stalinist regime tried to silence.

Mandelstam’s work enduringly survives as a testament against Stalinism, showing that truth, even when hidden, cannot be completely eliminated. It reveals the failure of the bureaucratic system and highlights the lasting strength of the revolutionary intellectuals.

Mandelstam’s story is more than a tragedy; it serves as a political lesson. It highlights the deep conflict between a creative mind and a repressive bureaucratic regime. It shows that fighting for artistic truth is inherently linked to the fight for political freedom. Additionally, it clearly states that the Stalinist counter-revolution was not a continuation of October but its reversal.

 

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[1] Osip Mandelstam: A Biography By Ralph Dutli (Translated from German by Ben Fowkes) Verso 432pp £25

The Guardian’s Fairy Tale of a “Left Wing” Mexico: A Marxist Refutation of Rachel Nolan’s Long Read

Rachel Nolan’s Guardian Long Read about Claudia Sheinbaum and the so-called “world’s most popular left-wing leader” exemplifies bourgeois mystification. Beneath the sentimental narrative, a political reality that the Guardian avoids emerges: Morena is not genuinely leftist but a bourgeois nationalist movement. It has intensified Mexico’s integration into U.S. imperialism, militarised the state, and maintained oligarchic wealth. Its popularity signifies not socialism but the lack of a revolutionary alternative.[1]

A Headline That Conceals More Than It Reveals

The Guardian’s headline — “How did Mexico’s president become the world’s most popular leftwing leader?” — sets an ideological tone even before reading the article. It assumes Claudia Sheinbaum is “left-wing,” that Morena is progressive, and that their popularity is a political mystery worth exploring. However, Sheinbaum is not a left-wing leader, nor is Morena a socialist party. The framing is deliberate, not a mistake; it serves as a political action to reinforce illusions in reformism at a time when such illusions are collapsing among workers across the Americas. The real question is not why Sheinbaum is popular but why the Guardian continues to label her as left-wing.

The detailed article on Claudia Sheinbaum is more ideological spectacle than genuine journalism. It recycles worn-out liberal sentimentalist notions to depict a bourgeois nationalist government as a beacon of “left-wing” hope. This critique shows that Nolan’s story has a political agenda: to conceal Morena's class background, to hide its connections to U.S. imperialism, and to prevent workers in Mexico and the U.S. from recognising its revolutionary potential.

The Guardian’s premise is misleading. Nolan starts with a question implying its answer: How did Mexico’s president become the world’s most popular leftist leader? The answer is simply that Sheinbaum is called 'left-wing,' and the article takes this as a fact, not as an ideological label. However, this doesn't match reality. Claudia Sheinbaum isn’t truly a leftist, and Morena isn’t a socialist party. The article relies on concealing this truth, depicting a bourgeois manager as a progressive icon because admitting the limits of reformism would be politically unthinkable.

Nolan’s Method: Sentimentality as Analysis

The Long Read employs a common liberal tactic: personalising politics. Sheinbaum’s background, scientific expertise, and calm demeanour act as proxies for class analysis. Nolan’s writing shows admiration for her “pragmatism,” “discipline,” and “connectivity with ordinary people.” However, this isn’t genuine analysis; it’s branding. The Guardian’s approach shifts from examining social forces to highlighting personalities. The result is a narrative where political issues diminish, replaced by a positive story about a caring leader. This perfectly aligns with your document’s point: “This type of journalism substitutes class analysis with feel-good stories about benevolent rulers.” 

What Nolan Omits: Militarisation, Repression, and Subordination to Washington

Nolan’s article intentionally omits certain details, a politically motivated omission. Specifically, she does not mention the significant 150% rise in the military budget, the military’s control over ports, customs, and infrastructure, or the establishment of the National Guard to detain migrants in the U.S. Additionally, she overlooks the constitutional recognition of the armed forces as “the pillar of the Mexican state’ and the deployment of tens of thousands of troops to the U.S. border for ‘migrant containment’ operations. These actions demonstrate that this is not simply left-wing governance but the strengthening of a militarised capitalist state.

The near‑shoring agenda

Nolan praises Mexico’s economic “boom” but fails to mention its true source: U.S. imperialism’s efforts to reshape supply chains to confront China. Sheinbaum’s plan explicitly supports this, which states it aims for Mexico to “replace imports mainly from Asia with regional production"—a clear reflection of Washington’s strategy. Nolan overlooks Sheinbaum’s commitments, such as no tax hikes, corporate incentives, "Republican austerity," and bi-national security cooperation with the U.S. This approach essentially represents neoliberalism with a nationalist twist.

Popularity Is Not Proof of Left Politics

Nolan interprets Morena’s popularity as evidence of its progressive stance, but this is a category mistake. The support for Morena primarily stems from dislike of the PRI-PAN era, a demand for increased social programs, a lack of revolutionary options, and temporary relief from cash transfers. While Nolan considers this support impressive, it actually reflects genuine public sentiment. Nonetheless, Morena has channelled this popular backing into a dead-end. Popularity alone does not define socialism; it is a sociological fact that can be exploited for either reactionary or reformist ends.

5. The Oligarchy’s Endorsement: The Most Damning Evidence

Nolan’s storyline completely unravels when considering the class that has gained the most from Morena: the Mexican bourgeoisie. According to Oxfam Mexico, the top 1% earn 35% of the country's income and hold 40% of private wealth, with Carlos Slim’s wealth increasing by 66% since 2020. Slim himself has praised AMLO, stating: “There is social peace, there is no confrontation.” This is the highest compliment the bourgeoisie can give, implying that the working class has been effectively contained. Any truly left-leaning government would not receive such praise.

6. The Guardian’s Political Function

Why does Nolan not include this? Why does the Guardian not publish it? Because the Guardian isn't a neutral observer, it functions as an ideological tool of the liberal bourgeoisie. Its role is to promote illusions about reformist leaders, prevent workers from seeing social democracy's limits, redirect discontent into safe, nationalist, pro-capitalist channels, and prevent a revolutionary perspective from emerging. The Guardian's purpose is to ensure that this conclusion is never reached.

Nolan’s Long Read is not just incorrect; it poses a political risk. It fosters the idea that workers should rely on a bourgeois nationalist agenda, which is already embedded in U.S. imperialism’s economic and military plans. A truly left-wing movement in Mexico will not be built from Morena.

Morena and the Pink Tide: A Familiar Cycle of Populist Containment

Nolan’s narrative portrays Morena as a new phenomenon. In fact, it is a late-stage example of the “pink tide” governments that swept Latin America in the early 2000s. These regimes — from Chávez to Lula to Correa — combined limited social spending with support for capitalist property relations and pragmatic cooperation with U.S. imperialism.

The pattern remains consistent: rhetorical anti-imperialism paired with material subordination to imperialist interests. Morena exemplifies this pattern precisely: cash-transfer programs that reduce extreme poverty without changing class structures; nationalist rhetoric that appeals to popular sentiment while avoiding conflict with capital; collaboration with Washington on security, migration, and nearshoring; and the preservation of oligarchic wealth despite increasing inequality. The Guardian’s sentimental narrative obscures this continuity.

The Militarisation of the Mexican State

A key aspect of Morena’s leadership, not mentioned by Nolan, is the substantial militarisation of Mexican society. Under AMLO, the military budget increased by 150%, and the armed forces took control of ports, customs, and major infrastructure projects. A new National Guard was created, mainly tasked with mass migrant detention following Washington’s orders. The military was legally reinforced as “the pillar of the Mexican state,” deploying tens of thousands of soldiers to the U.S. border to oversee “migrant containment.” AMLO entrusted ports, customs, and infrastructure to the armed forces and stationed numerous troops at the US border. This pattern doesn’t indicate left-wing governance but reflects the rise of a militarised bourgeois state.

Sheinbaum’s Program: Near‑Shoring and Austerity

The Guardian describes Sheinbaum as a scientist-technocrat with a social conscience. Yet, her government’s plan openly aligns Mexico with U.S. strategic interests. It aims to help Mexico "capitalise on the economic situation to replace imported goods—primarily from Asia—with regional production," supporting Washington’s near-shoring strategy against China. Sheinbaum guarantees no tax increases, corporate incentives, "Republican austerity," and bi-national security collaboration with the U.S. This rhetoric resembles that of a bourgeois manager rather than a socialist.

Popularity Is Not Socialism

The Guardian interprets Morena’s popularity as evidence of its leftist positioning. However, popularity is a sociological fact that requires explanation rather than being a political characteristic. "The popularity Nolan admires truly reflects a reality: large numbers of Mexican workers and youth genuinely detest the right-wing legacy of austerity, corruption, repression, and subservience to US imperialism." Morena’s support is rooted in the rejection of the PRI-PAN era, a desire for more social programs, the absence of a revolutionary alternative, and short-term gains from cash transfers. However, this support has reached a dead end. As the document notes, Morena “has handed the Mexican working class — as a source of cheap labour —" directly into the hands of US imperialism’s war efforts."

The Necessary Conclusion

The Mexican working class doesn’t require a “popular left-wing leader” to manage capitalism more gently. Instead, it needs revolutionary leadership that rejects Morena’s nationalist illusions and pursues socialist unification across the Americas. The goal is to ‘discard the Mexican bourgeoisie and its Morena representatives into the trash bin of history and unite with their class allies in the United States and throughout the Americas to eliminate imperialism and capitalism.”

 

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[1] How did Mexico’s president become the world’s most popular left-wing leader? www.theguardian.com