Saturday, 27 June 2026

On the 250th Anniversary of 1776: A Polemical Defence of the American Revolution Against Racialist Falsification








But where, say some, is the King of America? I’ll tell you, friend, he reigns above, and doth not make havoc of humanity like the Royal Brute of Great Britain. Yet that we may not appear to be defective even in earthly honours, let a day be solemnly set apart for proclaiming the Charter; let it be brought forth, placed on the Divine Law, the Word of God; let a crown be placed thereon, by which the world may know, that so far as we approve of monarchy, that in America the law is king. 

The Writings of Thomas Paine, Vol. I (1774-1779)

"Associate yourself with men of good quality, if you esteem your own reputation; for 'tis better to be alone than in bad company."

George Washington

"The workingmen of Europe feel sure that... it fell to the lot of Abraham Lincoln, the single-minded son of the working class, to lead his country through the matchless struggle for the rescue of an enchained race and the reconstruction of a social world."

Karl Marx

“We hold the power to start the world anew. No similar situation has occurred since Noah's days until now. A new world's birth is imminent, and a population, possibly as large as all of Europe, is about to gain their share of freedom”

Thomas Paine-

oll.libertyfund.org/titles/paine-the-writings-of-thomas-paine-vol-i-1774-1779#

History as a Battlefield

The upcoming 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence has starkly exposed a deep crisis in the United States' historical awareness. At a time when democratic rights face unprecedented threats, the political elite and its media outlets have shown what the World Socialist Web Site accurately describes as “disinterest and even hostility… toward the bourgeois democratic traditions of the United States.’¹ The ruling class, mired in oligarchic decay, recoils from the revolutionary origins of its own state because those origins expose the illegitimacy of its present‑day authoritarian turn.

In this context, the WSWS hosted a significant international webinar titled “The American Revolution and Its Place in History: From the War Against Monarchy to ‘No Kings.’” Featuring prominent historians such as James Oakes, Sean Wilentz, Richard Carwardine, Adam Hochschild, and Thomas Mackaman, it represented the most in-depth scholarly discussion of the Revolution during this anniversary year. Its importance extends beyond academic clarification, reflecting the ongoing political debate over the significance of 1776.

The core question is whether the American Revolution was a groundbreaking democratic shift in world history or, as the 1619 Project and its academic allies claim, a reactionary revolt aimed at preserving slavery. This answer shapes both our understanding of history and our approach to current fights against dictatorship.

The Revolutionary Character of 1776

The Declaration of Independence remains one of the most consequential documents in world history. As David North emphasised, it “indicted the existing social and political order and called for its overthrow in the most sweeping and universal terms.”² Its proclamation that “all men are created equal” established a new standard of political legitimacy, one that transcended the limitations of its time and pointed toward future struggles for emancipation.

James Oakes underscored this universalism, noting that the Declaration “establishes an entirely new revolutionary standard by which every social movement from that point on is evaluated.”³ The Revolution shattered the ancien régime’s world of inherited rank and ascribed status. Richard Carwardine described 1776 as the formal end of a social order in which one’s place was fixed by birth.⁴

This was not a provincial tax revolt. It was the first great bourgeois‑democratic revolution of the modern era, whose reverberations were felt across the Atlantic world. As Sean Wilentz observed, “you can’t understand any of the other revolutions without understanding the American Revolution.”⁵ The upheaval in North America helped detonate the French Revolution, inspired abolitionist networks in Britain, and later shaped the international working‑class movement.

The Two Revolutions: Against Monarchy and Against Slavery

The Revolution’s internal contradictions—between universal equality and the persistence of slavery—did not negate its revolutionary character. Rather, they generated a second, deeper revolution culminating in the Civil War. Wilentz emphasised that the struggle against slavery was not external to 1776 but inherent within it.⁶

Karl Marx grasped this dialectic with unmatched clarity. Writing for the International Working Men’s Association, he recognised that the Civil War represented the completion of the bourgeois‑democratic revolution begun in 1776.⁷ The working class in Britain, influenced by Marx and Engels, sided with the Union against the Confederacy, despite the economic hardships caused by the cotton famine.

The WSWS webinar traced this international thread: abolitionist diagrams circulated from London to Philadelphia; Lafayette carried the spirit of 1776 to Paris; British workers mourned Lincoln’s assassination.⁸ The Revolution’s universalist content proved irrepressible.

The Presentist Falsification of History

The greatest threat to the Revolution today stems from racialist narratives promoted by the New York Times’ 1619 Project and Gerald Horne’s The Counter-Revolution of 1776. These works suggest that the Revolution aimed to preserve slavery, argue that 1776 was not truly a revolution, or even describe it as a counter-revolution.

Thomas Mackaman demolished this fabrication: “In its time, nobody, including its enemies, thought it was anything but a revolution.”⁹ The claim that the Revolution was a pro‑slavery conspiracy is a grotesque anachronism, a projection of contemporary racial politics onto the eighteenth century.

Both Mackaman and Wilentz identified the method of these narratives as “presentism” and “anachronism.”¹⁰ They reduce history to moral denunciation, stripping events of their material context and class dynamics. David North exposed the underlying ideology as a “petty‑bourgeois view of history” that substitutes race for class and rests on a “perverted zoological conception” of human society.¹¹

Oakes drew the logical conclusion: the universalist principle of equality is “seriously antithetical to identity politics,” which fragments society into antagonistic racial blocs.¹² The 1619 Project’s racial essentialism is not a radical critique of America’s past but a reactionary repudiation of Enlightenment rationality.

The 1619 Project did not develop in isolation. It reflects the worldview of a ruling class that has become increasingly distrustful of its revolutionary democratic roots. As the WSWS notes, the political elite shows “disinterest and indeed hostility... to the bourgeois democratic traditions of the United States itself." In this context, the New York Times’ 1619 Project serves a clear political purpose: it disconnects the working class from the universalist, Enlightenment-inspired principles of 1776. Instead, it promotes a racial mythology that hampers collective action.

The central claim of the Project—that the United States was founded as a slavocracy, that 1619 is the actual founding year, and that the Revolution was fought primarily to defend slavery—is not just mistaken; it distorts history through flawed methods that conflict with rigorous scholarship. It replaces class with race, moralism with materialism, and judges the past through a modern lens.

The 1619 Project isn't a historical account but a moral story crafted to support current political objectives. As Thomas Mackaman and Sean Wilentz pointed out in the WSWS webinar, it employs 'presentism' and 'anachronism' by judging the past through today's standards, reducing complex historical events to moral judgments about individuals. Presentism isn't just a flawed method; it fundamentally rejects genuine historical analysis by blurring the line between past and present, preventing understanding of historical figures within their own context. David North highlighted that this approach replaces explanation with moral condemnation and lacks true explanatory power.

The racial essentialism underlying the Project.

The 1619 Project is based on what North correctly calls a “perverted zoological conception” of human society. It views race as a timeless, unchangeable factor that determines human behaviour. This isn’t radical thinking; it’s a step backwards to pre-Enlightenment ideas. It dismisses the idea that human reason is universal and that people can overcome inherited social roles.

The Project criticises the Declaration of Independence because its claim that “all men are created equal” clashes with its racial worldview. As Oakes notes, the universalist idea of equality directly conflicts with identity politics. Consequently, the 1619 Project seeks to challenge the validity of the Enlightenment itself.  

The Revolution was not fought to defend slavery

The Project claims that colonists rebelled to defend slavery from British abolition, but this is clearly false. There is no evidence—none—that fears of abolition drove the Revolution. As Mackaman noted earlier, “In its time, nobody, including its enemies, thought it was anything but a revolution.” The British Empire didn't abolish slavery until 1833, fifty-seven years after the Declaration. The Somerset decision of 1772 applied only to England and Wales, not to the colonies. The idea that it threatened colonial slavery is a myth.

The Revolution sparked ideological forces that made slavery increasingly difficult to sustain. The earliest abolition societies appeared in the 1770s and 1780s. Northern states began to enact gradual emancipation. The Declaration’s universal principles directly influenced the antislavery movement. Wilentz repeated his point that “you can’t understand any of the other revolutions without understanding the American Revolution.” The 1619 Project, however, isolates the Revolution from the Atlantic world, overlooking its crucial role in the French and Haitian Revolutions and the global push for democracy.

The Continuity of Democratic Struggle

Far from being a dead letter, the Declaration’s principles have animated every major democratic movement in American history. Oakes noted that labour radicals of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries “repeatedly invoked the Declaration of Independence,” as did abolitionists and suffragists before them.¹³

Adam Hochschild demonstrated the contemporary relevance of the Declaration’s indictment of George III. Its charges—military power over civil authority, the transportation of people “beyond seas” for “pretended offences”—read, he observed, as if they “were written this morning.”¹⁴The continuity is unmistakable: the struggle for democratic rights is inseparable from the revolutionary legacy of 1776.

The Present Crisis and the Necessity of Historical Consciousness

The United States is undergoing a profound crisis of bourgeois democracy. Trump’s open embrace of dictatorial methods, his attempt to overturn the 2020 election, and his use of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 for mass deportations all testify to the breakdown of constitutional norms.¹⁵The Supreme Court’s reactionary rulings, the impunity of the January 6 conspirators, and the draconian sentences imposed on anti‑ICE protesters reveal a ruling class that has repudiated even the pretence of democratic rights.¹⁶

In this context, the fight over the meaning of 1776 is not academic. It is a struggle over political consciousness. As North concluded, “the political consciousness and perspective required for the future” cannot be supplied by any faction of the ruling class.¹⁷ The defence of democratic rights falls to the international working class, whose interests align with the universalist principles first articulated in 1776.

Conclusion: Toward 2036 and Beyond

North ventured a prediction: “The America and the world of 2036 will look vastly different from the world of today.”¹⁸ This is not utopian speculation but a sober assessment of the contradictions tearing apart global capitalism. The revolutionary potential of the international working class, the globalised character of modern society, and the intensifying social opposition all point toward profound transformations.

To realise this potential, the working class must reclaim the revolutionary heritage of 1776—not as nationalist mythology, but as part of the world‑historical struggle for human emancipation. The fight for socialism requires a fight for historical truth.

The WSWS webinar stands as a major contribution to that struggle. Its analysis must be studied, disseminated, and armed with Marxist clarity. The meaning of 1776 is not settled in the past; it is being fought over in the present, and its outcome will shape the future.

Footnotes

  1. On the eve of the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, 1.
  2. Ibid., 2.
  3. Ibid., 4.
  4. Ibid., 5.
  5. Ibid., 3.
  6. Ibid., 5.
  7. Karl Marx, The Civil War in the United States (New York: International Publishers, 1937).
  8. On the eve…, 3–4.
  9. Ibid., 6.
  10. Ibid., 6.
  11. Ibid., 7.
  12. Ibid., 7.
  13. Ibid., 4.
  14. Ibid., 8.
  15. Ibid., 2.
  16. Ibid., 8.
  17. Ibid., 9.
  18. Ibid., 9.

Endnotes

The Writings of Thomas Paine, (1774-1779) oll.libertyfund.org/titles/paine-the-writings-of-thomas-paine-vol-i-1774-1779

Friday, 26 June 2026

From Puritanism to Postmodernism: An Examination of Ruland and Bradbury’s Bourgeois Literary History

Richard Ruland and Malcolm Bradbury’s 1991 book, From Puritanism to Postmodernism, remains a staple in American university course lists, where it is regarded as an authoritative overview of American literary history. However, its longevity reflects more the ideological preferences of the modern academic world than rigorous scholarship. The book presents a sanitised, depoliticised account of American literature, one that neglects the class struggle, suppresses the Marxist perspective, and concludes with a celebration of postmodernism. This ideological stance represents a social order in decline.

Marxist criticism's role is not merely to annotate distortions politely but to reveal their social purpose. Trotsky emphasised that, like science, art does not seek orders and inherently cannot accept them.”¹ The bourgeois academy, however, requires this kind of obedience: a literary history that normalises capitalist growth and hides the revolutionary contribution of the working class.

Teleology as Ideology: “From Puritanism to Postmodernism”

The book’s title presents its ideological stance. It suggests that American literature evolved from Puritanism to postmodernism, implying that the latter is the inevitable result of a three-century progression. This notion of teleology is significant because it subtly endorses the reactionary view that postmodernism—characterised by its dismissal of objective truth, rejection of historical causality, and emphasis on subjectivity—is the rightful conclusion of American literary evolution.

As David North has shown, postmodernism did not originate from a true philosophical breakthrough. Instead, it resulted from the political disintegration of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia after Stalinism's betrayals, the setbacks faced by the working class in the 1970s and 1980s, and the collapse of the USSR.² Its central dogmas—the “incredulity toward metanarratives,” fragmentation, pastiche—are the ideological rationalisations of a social layer that has abandoned any connection to the revolutionary struggle of the working class. To present this retreat as the “culmination” of American literary history is to falsify history itself.

A Literary History Without History

Ruland and Bradbury’s approach exemplifies standard academic idealism: viewing literature as a self-contained domain driven by the internal development of aesthetic forms. The role of class struggle—the driving force of American history—is practically missing. It's possible to read hundreds of pages without encountering the Civil War as a conflict over the expansion of slavery production³. The transformation of literary production by industrial capitalism⁴ and the impact of the Great Depression and the class battles of the 1930s⁵the cultural devastation wrought by the Cold War anti‑communist purge⁶Instead, literature appears as a polite conversation among authors, floating serenely above the social convulsions that shaped their work. This is not history but embalming.  

The Erasure of the Working Class

The most noticeable oversight is the absence of the working class. American literature features a strong tradition of authors who directly addressed class conflict—such as Jack London, Upton Sinclair, John Dos Passos, Richard Wright, Tillie Olsen, and others. However, in Ruland and Bradbury’s portrayal, these figures are merely seen as “protest literature” or “naturalism," with their political beliefs reduced to stylistic labels.

Their depoliticisation reaches its lowest point in the way they handle Theodore Dreiser. 'An American Tragedy' (1925), arguably the most impactful American novel of the 20th century, is not just a naturalist story but a harsh critique of the American class system—the “American dream” revealed as a tool that destroys human lives. As David Walsh pointed out, Dreiser achieved “perhaps the most acute and all-sided alignment of the individual and national tragedy" because he understood how social forces shape personal destinies. Ruland and Bradbury can't recognise this because their framework fails to see class as a significant historical factor.

Why Dreiser Matters

Any Marxist reinterpretation of American literary history must prioritise Theodore Dreiser. No other American novelist of the twentieth century directly addressed the harsh realities of capitalism with such honesty. Dreiser’s major works—especially Sister Carrie (1900) and An American Tragedy (1925)—stand as the most detailed effort in American literature to explore how social factors shape individual destinies. As David Walsh has noted, Dreiser achieved “perhaps the most keen and comprehensive alignment of personal and national tragedy” within the American canon.

Dreiser is often dismissed, depoliticised, or overlooked by bourgeois literary historians. For example, Ruland and Bradbury, in From Puritanism to Postmodernism, portray him as merely a "naturalist" and a writer focused on "social conditions," viewing him as a precursor to protest literature. This view erases his political commitments, his involvement in class struggle, and his sharp critique of American capitalism.

Restoring Dreiser’s proper position involves seeing him not just as a naturalist portraying social suffering, but as the leading figure of American realism from a Marxist perspective—an artist who understands the dialectical connection between individual psychology and social totality.

Dreiser’s Realism and the Materialist Conception of History

Dreiser’s realism is closely linked to a materialist view of history. He instinctively and increasingly consciously recognised that social forces, beyond individual control, shape human behaviour. This perspective aligns him with the major European realists—Balzac, Tolstoy, Zola—who Engels praised for illustrating “the social relations of their time”, even if they held conservative political views.³ Dreiser’s novels reveal: the commodification of human relationships, the fierce competition of capitalist society, the ideological deception of the “American dream," and the oppressive influence of class status.

In Sister Carrie, the protagonist’s ascent reflects the influence of impersonal economic forces rather than personal determination. Similarly, in An American Tragedy, Clyde Griffiths' downfall is driven by the systemic flaws of American capitalism rather than moral failings. Dreiser’s realism emphasises historical and social contexts rather than psychological or moral interpretations; it is rooted in materialism rather than idealism.

An American Tragedy: The Novel of the American Century

An American Tragedy is considered the most significant American novel of the twentieth century. It uniquely tackles the core paradox of its time: the hope of endless opportunity in a society divided by class inequality.

Clyde Griffiths exemplifies a common outcome of a society that encourages youth to pursue wealth but restricts their access to it. His story illustrates problems inherent in American capitalism. Dreiser’s success is in demonstrating how: Clyde’s desires are moulded by consumer culture; his social class limits his opportunities; economic pressures influence his moral decisions; and the legal system acts as a tool for maintaining class dominance. This embodies Marxist realism, exposing social realities through the individual's fate.

Dreiser and the Class Struggle

Dreiser’s political journey was inconsistent and influenced by the turbulent events of the early 20th century. He expressed sympathy for the working class, backed the Russian Revolution, and criticised the abuses of American capitalism. However, he also, unfortunately, fell under the Popular Front's ideological pressures. Like many artists of his time, he confused Stalinism with socialism and sacrificed his artistic independence to serve the diplomatic interests of the Soviet bureaucracy.

A Marxist evaluation must recognize both aspects: Dreiser’s realism as a pinnacle of American literature and his political surrender as a sign of Stalinism's harmful effect on the American left. This duality is crucial for understanding twentieth-century cultural history.

Ruland & Bradbury’s Falsification of Dreiser

Ruland and Bradbury’s analysis of Dreiser exemplifies bourgeois literary mystification. They reduce him to a mere 'naturalist,' overlook his critique of capitalism, ignore his involvement with socialism, and fail to place his work within the context of class struggle. Instead, they interpret _An American Tragedy_ as a psychological analysis rather than a social critique. Their chapter on Dreiser is not only lacking but also driven by ideological bias. Recognizing Dreiser’s Marxist relevance would threaten the overall teleological narrative of their book, which ultimately celebrates postmodernism.

Dreiser reveals the social truth often denied by postmodernism: that human life is influenced by objective forces, society has an underlying structure, and capitalism is a historical system with a start and an end.

Dreiser and the Decline of American Literature

The decline of American literature after the 1930s cannot be fully understood without considering Dreiser. He symbolizes the last key figure in a realism tradition that aimed to expose the truths of American society. Following Dreiser, various forces—including Stalinism, anti-communism, the Cold War purges, the commercialization of culture, and the emergence of postmodernism—eroded the conditions necessary for meaningful artistic engagement with social realities. In the postwar period, the novel shifted towards formal experimentation, psychological depth, irony, pastiche, subjectivism, and identity politics. This shift was not driven by artistic innovation but by the ideological demands of a ruling class that prefers to avoid confronting reality.

Dreiser and the Marxist Reconstruction of American Literature

Dreiser is central to any Marxist reinterpretation of American literary history. He is the author who most deeply understood the social conflicts within American capitalism and vividly illustrated their tragic impacts on individual lives. Restoring Dreiser to his deserved position means placing the working class at the heart of American cultural history. It also involves rejecting postmodernist claims denying objective truth and reaffirming the Marxist belief that literature can—and should—expose society's structural realities. Dreiser’s writings remain vital because the systemic issues he highlighted are still present. His novels speak not only to history but also to today’s crises of American capitalism, serving as tools in the ongoing fight for truth.

The Suppressed Marxist Tradition

Equally absent is the revolutionary Marxist tradition in American literary criticism: V.F. Calverton, Granville Hicks, Joseph Freeman, and the early Partisan Review before its capitulation to anti‑communism. Calverton insisted that literature must be understood as “a social product, conditioned by the economic and political forces of its time.”⁸ Hicks argued that the task of criticism was to reveal “the relation of literature to the class struggle.”⁹ These insights are incompatible with Ruland and Bradbury’s idealist framework and are therefore ignored.

Nor do the authors examine the catastrophic impact of Stalinism on American cultural life—the Popular Front’s subordination of artistic integrity to the diplomatic needs of the Soviet bureaucracy, the ideological confusion sown by the Communist Party’s zigzags, or the long‑term damage inflicted by the postwar purge. As Trotsky warned, the Stalinist bureaucracy represented “the antithesis of socialist culture.”¹⁰ Its influence on American letters cannot be omitted without falsifying the historical record.

Postmodernism: The Ideology of a Decaying Order

By the time Ruland and Bradbury arrive at postmodernism, their framework disintegrates into the very phenomenon it attempts to analyze. They regard postmodernism as a valid literary evolution, linking it to writers like Hawthorne, Melville, James, and Faulkner. However, this is a distorted misrepresentation. The gap between nineteenth-century realists—who believed literature could reveal social truths—and postmodernists—who deny the existence of truth—is not a progression but a downfall. The fragmentation, irony, and pastiche that postmodern theorists praise are not purely artistic innovations but signs of a ruling class that can no longer confront reality.Postmodernism is the cultural superstructure of a capitalism that has exhausted its progressive historical role.¹¹ 

Toward a Marxist History of American Literature

A truly Marxist history would start not with Puritan theology but with the material development of American capitalism: including primitive accumulation and the genocide of indigenous peoples, the slave South and its destruction during the Civil War, the rise of industrial capitalism and the class conflicts from 1877 to 1934, the betrayals involving the CIO and Stalinists, the Cold War, and the long decline of American imperialism. It would also view major writers—Hawthorne, Melville, Twain, James, Wharton, Dreiser, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Wright—not as isolated geniuses but as artists who, to varying degrees, reflected the social realities of life under capitalism.

And it would explain the decline of American literature since the 1930s not as a sequence of aesthetic fashions but as the cultural expression of a ruling class that has nothing left to say.

Conclusion: The Working Class as the Heir of Culture

Trotsky insisted that the working class is the heir of all genuine culture.¹² It does not need a literary history that ends in postmodern cynicism, relativism, and despair. It needs a literary history that arms it with the truth—about capitalism, about its own revolutionary role, and about the profound social forces that shape artistic creation.

Ruland and Bradbury’s From Puritanism to Postmodernism presents a sanitized, depoliticized, and reactionary view. It should be rejected not just academically but politically as well. Marxist criticism's role is to free American literature from academic ideological biases and reestablish its connection to the fight for human emancipation.

Footnotes

  1. Leon Trotsky, Literature and Revolution (New York: Pathfinder Press, 1991), 182.
  2. David North, In Defence of Leon Trotsky (Oak Park: Mehring Books, 2012), 245–60.
  3. Karl Marx, The Civil War in the United States (New York: International Publishers, 1937), 54–60.
  4. Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working Class in England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 27–45.
  5. Mike Davis, Prisoners of the American Dream (London: Verso, 1986), 89–120.
  6. Ellen Schrecker, No Ivory Tower: McCarthyism and the Universities (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 3–40.
  7. David Walsh, “Theodore Dreiser and the Tragedy of American Life,” World Socialist Web Site, 2001.
  8. V.F. Calverton, The Liberation of American Literature (New York: Scribner’s, 1932), 12.
  9. Granville Hicks, The Great Tradition (New York: Macmillan, 1933), 4.
  10. Leon Trotsky, The Revolution Betrayed (New York: Pathfinder Press, 1972), 112.
  11. North, In Defence of Leon Trotsky, 258.
  12. Trotsky, Literature and Revolution, 40.

 

Bibliography

Calverton, V.F. The Liberation of American Literature. New York: Scribner’s, 1932.

Davis, Mike. Prisoners of the American Dream. London: Verso, 1986.

Engels, Friedrich. The Condition of the Working Class in England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

Hicks, Granville. The Great Tradition. New York: Macmillan, 1933.

Marx, Karl. The Civil War in the United States. New York: International Publishers, 1937.

North, David. In Defence of Leon Trotsky. Oak Park: Mehring Books, 2012.

Schrecker, Ellen. No Ivory Tower: McCarthyism and the Universities. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Trotsky, Leon. Literature and Revolution. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1991.

———. The Revolution Betrayed. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1972.

Walsh, David. “Theodore Dreiser and the Tragedy of American Life.” World Socialist Web Site. 2001.

 

What Though the Field Be Lost: Christopher Kempf, the Civil War, and the Ideology of Ambivalence Introduction: Poetry at the End of the American Cycle

Christopher Kempf’s What Though the Field Be Lost appears at a moment of profound crisis in American society. Staggering levels of social inequality ravage the United States, a political system in advanced decay, and a ruling class increasingly reliant on authoritarian methods to maintain its dominance. Under such conditions, the Civil War — the “Second American Revolution” — inevitably returns as a point of reference. It is the last moment in US history when the contradictions of the social order were resolved through revolutionary means. Any serious artistic engagement with the present must therefore confront the legacy of that conflict not as a cultural inheritance but as a historical process driven by class forces.

Kempf’s collection highlights the ideological deadlock facing modern American intellectuals. It is driven by a sincere desire to explore the past and its ongoing impact today. The work dismisses the superficial confessional trends common in American poetry, focusing instead on history, landscape, and the enduring material traces of the Civil War within the American consciousness. However, it is ultimately limited by the ideological frameworks—such as race, region, identity, and the elevation of “ambivalence” as a moral and aesthetic ideal—that shape how the liberal-academic world interprets reality.

The poem explores key questions of American history, though it stops short of fully addressing them. Kempf perceives the Civil War as a revolutionary break and senses the lingering contradictions it left unresolved. He also intuitively understands that today’s American capitalism crisis stems from the same class conflicts that ignited in 1861. However, he struggles to realise these ideas fully, instead adopting a stance of cultivated uncertainty, as if the poet’s role is to observe contradictions rather than resolve or comprehend them.

This ambivalence is fundamentally a social issue rather than an artistic one. It illustrates the stance of a segment of petty-bourgeois intelligentsia that exists anxiously between the working class and the ruling class, feeling the mounting pressures beneath but lacking the political and theoretical tools to understand their true meaning. Kempf’s poetry reflects this tension clearly: it hints at the revolutionary aspects of American history but stays grounded in culturalist ideas that hide that history’s true significance.

In this framework, the Civil War is seen not as a revolutionary clash between conflicting social systems but as a symbolic space where issues of identity, memory, and national belonging are explored. The working class is depicted not as an active historical force but as a cultural symbol — sometimes sentimentalised, sometimes ridiculed, admired for its “decency” yet often viewed humorously, as if its presence were an anthropological oddity rather than the cornerstone of modern society.

Kempf’s approach has limitations that go beyond aesthetics; they are political. As the American ruling class currently uses reactionary tactics—such as censorship, rewriting history, and fuelling racial and gender divisions—the artist’s role is to clarify the historical forces, not to aestheticise ambiguity. The Civil War was fundamentally a class struggle over the future of a social order, not merely an issue of identity politics. To relate its revolutionary fervour to today, one must pinpoint modern parallels, such as widening inequality, labour exploitation, and the global capitalism crisis.

Kempf’s poetry, despite its intelligence and craftsmanship, ultimately doesn't make this leap. It stays confined within the ideological limits of the present, unable to see the past as a guide for the future. Therefore, criticism's role isn't just to evaluate the poems but to situate them within the larger crisis of American intellectual life—one caused by the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia's failure to break free from the ideological frameworks that benefit the ruling class.

The Civil War as Historical Problem — Class, Revolution, and the Limits of Cultural Memory

The American Civil War holds a distinctive place in global history. It was more than just a regional conflict or a tragic internal rupture; it represented a revolutionary clash between two incompatible social systems: the industrialising capitalist North and the slave-dependent, semi-feudal South. The abolition of slavery—considered the largest expropriation of private property in the Western Hemisphere before the Russian Revolution—was not merely a consequence of the war but its core historical significance. To truly understand the Civil War, one must recognise it as a class struggle fought across the continent, with its outcome shaping the future of American capitalism for over a century.

However, prevailing ideological perspectives in modern American culture make this understanding nearly inaccessible. The Civil War is often viewed primarily through the lens of identity: as a clash among racial groups, regional cultures, or conflicting national narratives. This shift towards culturalist interpretation is intentional, serving the interests of the ruling class. It aims to hide the revolutionary roots of American history and to prevent the working class from realising its own historical power.

Kempf’s poetry, despite its historical interest, remains confined within a specific ideological framework. His portrayal of the Civil War is filtered through the lens of modern liberal concepts such as race, region, memory, and the obsession with “national identity.” These ideas are not just inadequate; they distort the true history of the conflict by turning a revolutionary war into a symbolic stage for cultural expression, emphasising ambiguity over social analysis.

Kempf’s portrayal of Confederate memory reveals an aesthetic focus on the monument’s "splendour," which is not merely a mistake but a natural outcome of viewing the Civil War as part of cultural heritage instead of a class struggle. When the war is seen as a conflict of identities, even reactionary ones gain a degree of legitimacy. Consequently, the Confederate cause is depicted as a tragic regional pride rather than a defence of human bondage. The monument is thus seen as an object of beauty rather than a symbol of violent reaction. A Marxist cannot adopt this perspective. The Civil War was a clash between social systems, not cultures. The Confederacy epitomised the most reactionary class in American history: a slaveholding oligarchy whose economic goals were opposed to modern societal progress. Approaching its symbols with ambivalence conceals the underlying class struggle and blurs the distinction between revolutionary change and reactionary forces. 

Kempf’s poetry reveals a broader issue in how Americans perceive their history. The Civil War is fading from its specific origins and instead serves as a symbol of national trauma, division, and contemporary anxieties. This isn’t merely a misunderstanding; it is a political error. Detaching the Civil War from its class issues erases the working class's revolutionary legacy. It conceals that America’s major advances—such as ending slavery, expanding democratic rights, and asserting federal authority—were achieved through mass struggles, not just cultural debates.

Kempf’s work engages with this process, even as it aims to resist it. His poems include historical fragments, archival remnants, and traces of the past. Yet these elements do not provide a clear, dialectical view of history shaped by class struggles. Instead, they remain in an aestheticised ambiguity, suggesting that the poet is cautious about making definitive claims about the material he references.

This passage explains the ideological role of “ambivalence” in modern American literature. It enables artists to acknowledge historical complexity without confronting its political consequences. Instead of interpreting contradictions, poets act as curators of them. Essentially, it represents a form of ideological stagnation—the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia's failure to recognise the revolutionary significance of history when such awareness is critically needed.

The Civil War calls for clarity, requiring an understanding of history as a conflict among social forces rather than merely a collection of cultural identities. Kempf’s poetry, despite its intelligence and craftsmanship, ultimately falls short of this requirement. It mirrors the crisis of a social class that feels the looming Great Events but lacks the necessary theoretical and political tools to understand them fully.

The Ideology of Ambivalence — Petty-Bourgeois Paralysis in Contemporary American Poetry

In Christopher Kempf’s poetic universe, ambivalence functions as more than just a stylistic choice; it is the central ideological principle. It shapes the way history is perceived, informs the poet's attitude toward the world, and offers a means of transforming urgent social issues into aesthetic concerns. To understand "What Though the Field Be Lost," one must view ambivalence not merely as an artistic trait but as a mirror of a broader social problem: the stagnation of the contemporary American petty-bourgeois intellectual class amidst rising class conflicts.

Ambivalence as a Social Position, Not an Aesthetic Insight

Contemporary American poets, especially in academia, hold a conflicted social position. They encounter economic insecurity, become more proletarianised, and face pressures akin to those of the working class. Yet they remain ideologically connected to liberal institutions such as universities, foundations, and cultural organisations, which are strongly dedicated to maintaining the existing social order.

Ambivalence stems from this contradiction, illustrating a class segment that senses the system's instability but cannot imagine an alternative. It embodies the worldview of a social layer that experiences the pressures of capitalism but lacks the political insight to oppose it. Here, ambivalence indicates ideological fatigue rather than sophistication.

Kempf’s poetry effectively depicts this condition. His poems contain numerous historical fragments, political echoes, and social snapshots. Yet, these components never fully coalesce into a coherent view of the world. Instead, they remain in a state of unresolved tension, suggesting the poet is cautious about drawing his insights to their logical end.

The Aestheticisation of Contradiction

Ambivalence allows the poet to treat contradiction as an aesthetic theme instead of a historical process. The Civil War is portrayed as a collage of conflicting narratives; the working class is represented through cultural symbols; and the current crisis is shown as a series of “echoes” or “parallels,” rather than as a reflection of deepening class conflicts.

This aestheticisation of conflict serves to disarm political engagement by transforming the poet's role from a historian's interpreter to a curator of fragments. It suggests complexity without the obligation to analyse, indicating a withdrawal from active comprehension of the world. The WSWS review rightly notes that Kempf’s poems “juxtapose” instead of explaining, "hint” instead of fully expressing, and “suggest” rather than present definitive conclusions. This is not about poor craftsmanship but about perspective. The poet’s ambivalence is not a quest for truth; it is a means to avoid the effort of discovering it.

The Working Class as Cultural Object

Kempf’s portrayal of the American working class exemplifies ambivalence. His mentions of hot dogs, AutoZone, homecoming queens, and small-town rituals do not show solidarity, but rather an outsider's view. These references reflect a poet who watches the working class with affection and amusement, as if examining a cultural spectacle instead of engaging with a social group.

This perspective mirrors the wider liberal-academic view, which sees the working class not as active agents in history but as a cultural concept. Instead of being recognised as subjects shaping history, they are depicted as objects of representation. Their struggles, hopes, and contradictions are often aestheticised rather than genuinely comprehended.

Kempf’s ambivalence toward the working class reflects a class position rather than a personal trait. It represents a social stratum that is materially near the working class but ideologically disconnected from it. This group perceives the potential for working-class unity but struggles to see it as a feasible political reality.

Ambivalence as Ideological Containment

Ambivalence in contemporary American poetry serves a conservative role. It stops poets from making conclusions that could threaten the current social system. Instead, it turns political issues into artistic expressions. This way, poets can recognise social contradictions without the need to clarify or resolve them.

In this context, ambivalence benefits the ruling class by maintaining the intelligentsia's ideological confusion, hindering their ability to develop a clear critique of capitalism. It also conceals the revolutionary legacy of the Civil War with layers of cultural complexity. Additionally, it obstructs the working class from seeing itself as part of history.

The Confederate Question — Aestheticising Reaction in an Age of Resurgent Authoritarianism

The most politically sensitive part of 'What Though the Field Be Lost' is Kempf’s handling of Confederate memory. This section highlights the ideological limits of his uncertain approach and clearly shows the gap between historical materialism and today's liberal cultural perspectives. The Civil War is more than just another historical event; it is the pivotal moment in shaping the modern American state. Addressing its reactionary aspect — the slaveholders’ rebellion — with an aesthetic hesitation is not a neutral artistic decision. It represents a political statement, whether intentionally or not.

The Confederate Monument as an Aesthetic Object

Kempf’s mention of the “splendour” of a Confederate monument is more than a minor detail. It encapsulates the book's overall ideological framework. The monument is presented not simply as an emblem of a reactionary social order but as an aesthetic reflection, a remnant of a tragic history whose significance is complex, layered, and open to various interpretations.

This is exactly the core issue. The Confederate cause was clear-cut. It was neither tragic nor merely a cultural expression of regional identity. Instead, it was the organised political and military defence of a slaveholding oligarchy whose economic interests were inherently opposed to modern societal progress. Approaching its symbols with ambiguity masks the class nature of the conflict and blurs the distinction between revolution and counter-revolution.

The beautification of reactionary ideas is always risky politically, especially now when authoritarianism is resurging worldwide. The ruling class, facing worsening social issues, often resorts to distorting history, restoring reactionary symbols, and promoting nationalist myths. In this environment, the poet’s role isn't to make ambiguity look beautiful but to make the historical significance of the past clear.

The Liberal-Academic Reframing of the Civil War

Kempf’s approach to Confederate memory exemplifies a wider trend within the liberal academic sphere: the transformation of the Civil War from a conflict of revolutionary class struggle into a cultural narrative centred on identity, memory, and regional pride. This reframing serves a particular ideological purpose. It enables the ruling elite to diminish the revolutionary roots of the Civil War by separating it from its material, economic foundations. When the Civil War is viewed as a clash of identities, all identities — including reactionary ones — are given some degree of legitimacy. 

The rebellion of slaveholders is seen as a “perspective,” a “narrative," or a “memory." Confederate monuments then become sites of cultural significance rather than symbols of a social order rooted in human slavery. This perspective is not about historical accuracy but about ideological control.

The Class Content of the Confederate Cause

From a Marxist viewpoint, the Confederacy was the most reactionary social class in U.S. history. The slaveholding elite aimed not to defend a “way of life” but to uphold a property system that forcibly repressed millions. Their defeat was a vital step in the development of modern American capitalism and the expansion of democratic rights. Romanticising Confederate symbols conceals the revolutionary importance of the Civil War, portraying reactionary elements as mere cultural symbols rather than organised resistance by a ruling class resisting progress.

Ambivalence as a Form of Historical Neutralisation

Kempf’s mixed feelings about Confederate memory are not a flaw but a core aspect of his approach. This ambivalence enables him to view reactionary symbols as aesthetic objects rather than as displays of class dominance. As a result, the Confederate monument becomes a space for reflection instead of a symbol of the violent social system it signifies.

This is not harmless. In a time when authoritarianism is resurging—reactionary forces openly use Confederate imagery, the ruling class revives symbols of past oppression, and historical falsehoods serve political control—the aesthetic presentation of reaction unintentionally aids in confusing the public's understanding of ideology. The poet who treats the Confederate monument with ambivalence is not impartial; instead, he contributes to a larger cultural trend that normalises, sanitises, and erases the historical significance of reaction.

The Importance of Clear Historical Perspective

Understanding the Civil War requires focusing on its social forces rather than viewing it solely as a conflict of cultural identities. The Confederate cause was mainly reactionary, as shown by its symbols and monuments. Ignoring this viewpoint obscures the class dynamics involved and hinders the working class from truly grasping its history. Kempf’s poetry, while insightful and skillfully written, ultimately misses this point. It mirrors the ideological stalemate of a social class that predicts major events but fails to understand the underlying historical forces.

 Kempf’s Interview — Latent Class Insight and the Limits of Liberal Consciousness

Kempf’s interview with the WSWS is the most insightful document on What Though the Field Be Lost, revealing the gap between the poet’s latent political awareness and the ideological limits that influence his artistic approach. In the interview, Kempf offers insights that nearly align with a Marxist critique of modern American society. However, these insights are largely missing from the poetry itself. Thus, the interview acts as a kind of critical commentary on the book — showcasing what the poet understands but avoids expressing. [1]

The Poet Speaks More Clearly Than the Poems

Kempf acknowledges the social themes in his work, highlighting realities his poems only hint at. He points out that graduate students, whom he describes as experiencing "precarious labour," share similar class interests with "Trump voters" in the rural Midwest. This is a notable admission because it contradicts the widespread belief that these groups are culturally incompatible. Instead, it reveals that beneath political differences lies a shared material condition: exploitation by capital.

This point is fundamental and underpins any serious socialist analysis of modern America. However, in the poetry, this understanding is only implicit, expressed through contrasts and echoes instead of a clear perspective. The poems acknowledge the cultural divide but fail to reveal the underlying class unity. The interview shows that Kempf is aware of this unity—it just can't see it as a political force.

The Poet’s Critique of Corporate Identity Politics

Kempf’s observation that “virtually every corporation has much to gain from promoting narrow, sectarian strife” stands out even more. This insight surpasses the rest of the book in political depth, framing identity politics not as an accidental cultural trend but as a deliberate instrument of class control — a way for the ruling class to divide the working class and hinder its awareness of shared interests.

This analysis is exactly what the WSWS presents, an insight that poetry, despite its intelligence, never fully captures. Kempf’s acknowledgement of the corporate roots of identity politics indicates he could offer a more radical critique than his poetry reveals. However, he remains bound by the liberal-academic environment, which emphasises identity as the main lens for social analysis. This creates a clear disconnect: the poet’s political insight surpasses the ideological boundaries of his artistic approach.

The Liberal Fetish of “Ambivalence” as a Barrier to Clarity

Kempf justifies his poetic ambivalence as an intentional artistic choice. He believes that poetry doesn’t instruct directly but instead uses juxtaposition to provoke thought about parallels, incongruities, or echoes across history. This perspective is common among contemporary American writers, reflecting a generation of poets who are wary of clarity, tend to steer clear of political commitments, and regard ambiguity as a sign of artistic refinement.

However, this defence fails on closer examination. Ambivalence is not a way to uncover truth; it serves to avoid it. It allows the poet to recognise social contradictions without analysing them, thereby turning political issues into aesthetic concerns. Essentially, it acts as a form of ideological containment— preventing the poet’s insights from becoming threatening.

Kempf’s interview shows he can be clear. He understands modern American class dynamics and the influence of corporations in fostering division. He also recognises the potential for unity among workers. However, his poetic style, rooted in liberal ambivalence, stops him from stating these insights plainly.

The Unspoken Tension: A Poet on the Threshold of Marxism

The interview reveals a tension permeating the entire project: Kempf is on the verge of adopting a Marxist perspective on American history, but is still unable to do so fully. He recognises the Civil War's revolutionary significance and identifies class struggles in modern society. Although instinctively aware, he also recognises that identity-politics categories do not sufficiently explain the current crisis.

However, he stays confined to the ideological frameworks of the liberal-academic environment. He is unable to see the working class as an active force in history. He cannot envision the potential for revolutionary change. Additionally, he struggles to move beyond the aestheticisation of ambivalence.

The result is a poetry that is historically curious but politically paralysed — a poetry that gestures toward revolution but retreats into ambiguity.

The Task of Criticism

Marxist criticism aims to contextualise Kempf's work within the broader crisis of American intellectual life rather than criticise him for failing to produce socialist poetry. His ambivalence is understood as a social issue, indicative of the paralysis of petty-bourgeois intelligentsia who sense major events approaching but lack the theoretical and political tools to understand them.

The interview points in a different direction—one based on class analysis, historical understanding, and recognition of the working class as the key force in modern society. However, this alternative approach is not yet reflected in his poetry.

The article discusses how Kempf struggles to link the Civil War's legacy to today's issues. The unresolved tension in "What Though the Field Be Lost" only becomes evident when connected to the current American capitalism crisis. For Kempf, the Civil War is not just history but a key perspective on America’s ongoing divisions. Yet pressing modern problems like the decline of democratic institutions, rising inequality, and the resurgence of authoritarianism demand a clearer historical understanding—something Kempf’s uncertain approach does not entirely provide.

The Civil War as a Mirror of the Present

The Civil War marked the final time in American history when revolutionary methods resolved the contradictions within the social order. It was a conflict centred not on cultural identity but on the future of the social system itself. The abolition of slavery was a crucial prerequisite for the rise of modern American capitalism. As Marx described, it was a “bourgeois revolution” led by the most progressive elements of the ruling class and backed by the widespread mobilisation of both the working class and the enslaved people.

Today, the United States faces a new yet equally significant crisis. The contradictions of capitalism—such as globalised production, financialisation, extreme inequality, and political decline—have escalated to the point where traditional governance structures can no longer contain them. In response, the ruling class employs authoritarian tactics, engages in historical distortion, and fosters racial and gender divisions. Meanwhile, the working class, though fragmented and confused, remains objectively the sole force capable of addressing the crisis.

At such a moment, the Civil War acts as a mirror, reflecting the revolutionary potential of the working class, emphasising the need to challenge reactionary forces, and showing that deep social conflicts cannot be resolved through cultural negotiation. Kempf perceives this clearly. His poems echo the past within the present, capturing the “presentness of the past" and the strange persistence of Civil War memory in modern American life. However, he cannot explicitly express this link, as doing so would mean abandoning the ideological frameworks of identity and ambivalence that underpin his work.

The Liberal-Academic Horizon as a Barrier to Historical Understanding. Kempf’s poetry is limited not by aesthetics but by ideology. He views the Civil War mainly through familiar liberal categories like race, region, identity, and memory. These are not impartial; they serve as ideological tools the ruling class uses to interpret social conflict in cultural terms, concealing its economic roots. To truly see the Civil War as a class struggle, one must recognise the class nature of the current crisis. This involves understanding that the working class, rather than cultural identity groups, is the key force today and abandoning the dominant ideological frameworks in academia in favour of a historical materialist approach.

Kempf is unable to make this leap because it would directly conflict with the institutions shaping his worldview. The liberal-academic environment treats identity as the primary analytical category and regards class as either secondary or suspect. It promotes ambivalence and mistrusts clarity, encouraging the aestheticisation of contradiction while discouraging political engagement. Kempf’s poetry embodies these restrictions: it is historically intriguing but politically reserved. It hints at class struggle but focuses on cultural aspects, sensing the Civil War's revolutionary potential yet failing to express it.

The Revolutionary Legacy of the Civil War and the Fear of Its Implications

Viewing the Civil War as a revolutionary event means acknowledging the potential for revolution today. This hidden fear underscores Kempf’s analysis. The Civil War was not merely a tragic conflict of identities but a violent break that dismantled the old social order and established a new one. During this period, the working class and the oppressed significantly influenced the course of history.

Recognising this suggests that the current crisis might demand a significant rupture. It acknowledges that the contradictions within modern capitalism cannot be resolved through cultural debates or aesthetic indifference. Instead, it emphasises that the working class, rather than the liberal intelligentsia, drives historical change. Kempf’s poetry hints at this possibility but never fully confronts it. The Civil War is depicted as a haunting memory or a symbolic landscape — never as a framework for understanding today. While the poems sense the arrival of major events, they remain immobile in the presence of these events.

Conclusion — Toward a Marxist Aesthetics of the American Past

The contradictions at the heart of What Though the Field Be Lost are not merely the contradictions of a single poet. They are the contradictions of an entire social layer — the American petty-bourgeois intelligentsia — confronting a historical moment that exceeds its ideological capacities. Kempf’s work is therefore valuable not only for what it says, but for what it cannot say; not only for its insights, but for its silences; not only for its historical curiosity, but for the ideological limits that shape it.

Kempf’s collection title, taken from Milton — "What though the field be lost?" — reveals more than the poet might expect. The field is not truly lost. The revolutionary legacy of American history endures. The working class continues to be the key driver of historical change. The contradictions within modern capitalism highlight the need for revolutionary transformation.

What is required is clarity — the clarity that ambivalence cannot provide, the clarity that historical materialism demands, the clarity that the present crisis makes unavoidable.

Kempf’s poetry, for all its limitations, is a symptom of a society on the brink of transformation. It registers the tremors beneath the surface. It senses the approach of great events. It reveals, in its very hesitations, the ideological crisis of a social layer confronted with the return of history. The task now is to move beyond ambivalence — to grasp the field not as lost, but as the terrain upon which the future will be fought.

 

 Notes

What Though the Field Be Lost: Poet Christopher Kempf’s historical view of contemporary America-Erik Schreiber-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2021/07/29/kemp-j29.html

 



[1] An interview with poet Christopher Kempf, author of What Though the Field Be Lost-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2021/08/18/kemp-a18.html

Thursday, 25 June 2026

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

Introduction: Liberal Mythmaking in an Age of Crisis

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

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

The Civil War as a Bourgeois Revolution

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

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

Reconstruction: The High Point of the Democratic Revolution

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

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

The Bourgeoisie Feared the Working Class More Than the Planter Class

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

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

The Agrarian Question Was Never Resolved

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

The Democratic Revolution Threatened to Become a Social Revolution

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

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

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

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

The Legacy of the Second American Revolution

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

 

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

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

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

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

 Ideology Without Class: The Liberal Flight from Materialism

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

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

The Erasure of the Working Class

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

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

The Democratic Party as the Hero of History

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

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

Trump as Symptom, Not Confederate Resurrection

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

Conclusion: Liberalism’s Desperate Search for a Usable Past

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

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

Footnotes

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

  

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

Introduction: A Book That Documents Much and Explains Little

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

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

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

The 2026 World Cup: A Case Study in Imperialist Barbarism

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

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

The Ideology of “Sportswashing”

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

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

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

The Liberal Origin of the Concept

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

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

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

The Class Function of the Concept

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

The Pseudo‑Left’s Embrace of the Concept

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

The United States Is Not “Washing” Anything

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

“Sportswashing” Is a Tool of Imperialist Hypocrisy

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

Dave Zirin and the Politics of the Pseudo‑Left

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

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

What the Book Cannot Say: The Marxist Explanation

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

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

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