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

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

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

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

Spectacle as Political Function

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

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

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

Taylor Swift and the Culture of Fictitious Capital

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

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

Bread, Circuses, and the Atrophy of Civic Life

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

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

The Revolutionary Heritage and Its Betrayal

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

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

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

 

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

 Against the Heritage Myth

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

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

Caedmon and the Social Relations of Early Northumbria

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

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

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

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

Manuscripts as Material Objects Under Capitalism

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

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

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

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

International Cooperation vs Nationalist Mythology

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

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

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

Historiographical Context

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

Culture, Labour, and the World System

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

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

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

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

Political Tragedy of 20th-Century British Intellectuals

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

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

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

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

Braddick’s Biography: A Study in Evasion

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

Post-Revisionism 

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

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

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

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

The Academic Class Offensive Against Hill

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

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

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

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

The Political Function of Post-Revisionism

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

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

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

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

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

Hill’s Enduring Significance — and His Limits

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

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

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

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

The Struggle for Historical Truth 

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

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

 

A Personal Remembrance of Comrade Herma Huber(1949–2026)

When I think of Herma, I do not first think of the long arc of her political biography—though it is immense, and though she devoted her entire adult life to the struggle for Trotskyism. I think instead of the quiet moments in which her character revealed itself: the way she listened, the way she explained, the way she made younger comrades feel that they were part of something serious, principled, and profoundly human.

I met Herma on numerous occasions during my early life in the party. Those encounters were not dramatic; they were not marked by grand speeches or sweeping gestures. They were marked by her presence—calm, steady, patient, and deeply committed. She had a way of making you feel that the work you were doing mattered, that your questions were worth answering, that your uncertainties were part of a process she herself had lived through decades earlier.

The Educational Camps

My fondest memories of Herma come from the educational camps organised by the BSA and later the SEP. These camps were formative experiences for many of us: intense days of lectures, discussions, reading groups, and political debates, punctuated by shared meals, late-night conversations, and the sense of being part of a living international movement.

Herma was always there—never at the centre, never demanding attention, but always present. She had a gift for creating an atmosphere of seriousness without heaviness, of discipline without rigidity. You could sit with her after a lecture, perhaps over a cup of coffee or during a break in the afternoon, and she would speak with a clarity that made complex historical questions feel accessible.

She never rushed. She never dismissed a question as naïve. She understood that young comrades were not simply learning facts; they were learning how to think politically, how to orient themselves in history, how to understand the world in order to change it. And she took that responsibility seriously.

Herma’s Warmth

There was a warmth to Herma that is difficult to describe without risking sentimentality. It was not the warmth of someone who tries to be liked or who seeks emotional closeness for its own sake. It was the warmth of someone who genuinely cared about the development of younger comrades, who wanted them to succeed, who wanted them to understand the political tasks before them.

She had a gentle humour—quiet, understated, but always present. She could laugh at the absurdities of daily life, at the bureaucratic madness of the post office, at the petty hypocrisies of official politics. But she never laughed at people. Her humour was never cruel. It was part of her humanity.

Herma’s Political Depth

What struck me most, even as a young comrade, was the depth of her political understanding. She did not speak in slogans. She did not repeat formulas. Her grasp of Trotskyism was lived, experiential, rooted in decades of struggle, study, and reflection.

When she spoke about the Frankfurt Auschwitz Trial, she spoke not as someone recounting historical facts, but as someone who had lived through the moral shock of discovering the truth about fascism in a society that wanted to forget. When she spoke about the split with the WRP, she spoke with the seriousness of someone who had endured the crisis and participated in the re‑armament of the movement. When she spoke about internationalism, she spoke with the conviction of someone who had travelled, studied, and fought alongside comrades from around the world.

Herma’s Quiet Strength

Herma’s strength was quiet, but it was unmistakable. She was not easily discouraged. She did not waver. She did not retreat into private life when confronted with illness or hardship. Even in her final years, when cancer made every day a struggle, she continued to attend meetings, participate in educational work, and discuss political developments with comrades. She believed deeply that the principles she had adopted in her youth were becoming more relevant than ever. And she was right.

What She Leaves Behind

Herma leaves behind more than a political legacy. She leaves behind a memory of what it means to be a revolutionary in the fullest sense: principled, disciplined, generous, and humane. She leaves behind the example of someone who devoted her life to the working class without ever seeking recognition or reward. She leaves behind the imprint she made on younger comrades—comrades like me—who learned from her not only the history of the Fourth International, but the meaning of commitment.

Herma was a comrade in the truest sense of the word. Her presence enriched the movement. Her example will continue to guide those who follow.

I will always remember her with affection, respect, and gratitude.

 

Freerein61’s Response to Steven Bamlett’s Reflections on Geoff Andrews’ Radicals

Steven Bamlett’s blog post on Geoff Andrews’ Radicals initially appears to be notably honest. It's uncommon for a reviewer to openly admit the tension between enjoying a book—based on shared background, memories, and politics—and recognising its shortcomings on its own terms. His statement that Andrews’ work is “as deeply flawed a book as my enjoyment of it” reflects sincere self-awareness and merits acknowledgement. However, the post also serves as a record of a political deadlock, prompting us to explore why this deadlock exists, how it developed, and what it reveals about the broader historical path of the British left. 

The Eurocommunist Formation: A Political and Historical Context 

Bamlett mentions attending CPGB summer schools led by Martin Jacques, reading miners’ notebooks in Swansea under Raphael Samuel’s supervision, and maintaining an ‘inclination to [Eurocommunism’s] openness.” These facts are crucial for understanding why he appreciates Andrews’ book but also why he cannot completely abandon its framework. 

Eurocommunism was not simply a benign shift towards new cultural or political ideas within Marxism. Instead, it embodied the final phase of the Stalinist Communist Parties’ integration into their capitalist states. Trotsky had noted as early as 1938 that these parties depended dualistically: on Kremlin funding and on the super-profits of their own imperialist societies, which they channelled through trade-union and social-democratic bureaucracies. By the 1970s, with the Soviet connection becoming more problematic, Eurocommunist factions—such as Berlinguer’s PCI, Carrillo’s PCE, and the Marxism Today branch of the CPGB— abandoned even the rhetoric of revolution, openly endorsing a “parliamentary road to socialism.” 

The historical record clearly shows that the PCI’s Historic Compromise disarmed a working class moving left, setting the stage for austerity and the party’s eventual fall. During the 1980s, the CPGB’s Euros, such as Jacques and Hobsbawm, offered ideological support for Neil Kinnock’s efforts to dismantle Labour’s reformist agenda. As the WSWS has noted, Marxism Today served as the ideological precursor to New Labour. 

This tradition, which Andrews has dedicated his career to rehabilitating, is characterised by a focus on Eurocommunism. His earlier work on the CPGB and PCI, as freerein61 notes, is mainly about restoring their reputation: rescuing Eurocommunism from historical disgrace. Bamlett still describes this tradition as emphasising “openness.” But openness to what? In reality, Eurocommunism’s version of openness included support for various forms of class collaboration: forming alliances with Christian Democrats, partnering with Labour modernisers, exploring cultural avenues away from class struggle, and abandoning the revolutionary principles of Marxism. 

The Vagueness of “Radicalism” 

Bamlett agrees with freerein61 that Andrews’ use of “radical” is vague and lacks a clear definition. However, he challenges the main point: that this ambiguity is deliberate rather than the result of scholarly error, and that it carries important political implications. Andrews groups Chartists, Fabians, trade unionists, suffragettes, Eurocommunists, and identity-politics activists under the label "radical," intentionally merging the concepts of reform and revolution. He effectively blurs the clear divide between the two, equating the 1839 Chartists' armed march on Newport with the Fabians' advocacy of municipal gasworks. The revolutionary potential of the working class—their ability to challenge not just specific injustices but the entire system of wage labour—is reduced to a general “ethos” of progressive reform. 

This is not objective history; it acts as a political tactic to erase the revolutionary legacy. Portraying all “radicals” as fundamentally the same suggests that the working class doesn't need its own independent party, a revolutionary platform, or a break from bourgeois politics. As a result, groups such as the Labour Party, the trade-union bureaucracy, and NGOs are viewed as legitimate outlets for “radicalism.” Andrews strictly aligns with this Eurocommunist viewpoint. 

Strategic Omissions: The Politics of Erasure 

Phillip Green’s Morning Star review points out Andrews’ oversights: omissions. Mary MacArthur and the 1910 women chain-makers’ strike, omitting Arnold Wesker, misidentifying Jayaben Desai, and overlooking Hall and Stead’s A People’s History of Classics. Bamlett questions whether these are small errors or part of a larger intentional plan. 

They are strategic. Consider Mary MacArthur: the 1910 Cradley Heath strike was more than a typical labour conflict—it was a militant, well-organised, class-conscious movement of women workers that demonstrated the capacity of the most exploited to unite and fight collectively. This example challenges Andrews’ idea that “ethos" is more important than class struggle or the belief that individual autodidactic ambitions outweigh collective action. As a result, it is often overlooked or dismissed. The same reasoning underpins Andrews’ dismissive attitude towards The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. Bamlett cites freerein61’s excellent defence of Tressell’s novel: “Socialist consciousness is not an abstraction imported from outside the working class… but something that emerges from the working class’s own experience.” 

Andrews cannot accept this because his framework insists that working-class consciousness originates outside of class struggle—stemming from liberal education, Arnold’s idea of “sweetness and light,” Methodism, and an “ethos” that is beyond class. Consequently, Tressell is diminished: his “proletarian authenticity" is questioned, his vision labelled “mystical," and his book portrayed as a “minority vision." This is not genuine literary criticism but an effort to disconnect working-class experience from socialist consciousness—the very link that has kept Tressell’s work alive within the working class for over a century. 

Stuart Hall and Raphael Samuel: Heroes of What?  

Bamlett cites Raphael Samuel and Stuart Hall as “heroes” of Andrews’ book, which is insightful. Both figures emerged from the turmoil of British Stalinism’s decline in 1956. After Khrushchev’s revelations and the suppression of the Hungarian uprising dismantled the CPGB, most who departed either disengaged from politics altogether or integrated into the Labour Party and trade-union structures. 

The emerging “New Left”—including groups like New Reasoner, Universities and Left Review, and the early New Left Review—did not renew Marxism but instead challenged it. Stuart Hall’s Cultural Studies shifted social critique from class to identity. At the same time, Raphael Samuel’s History Workshop movement, despite its valuable recovery of “history from below,” replaced Marxist class analysis with a romanticised “people’s history.” Bamlett’s political journey—from CPGB summer schools to Open University blogging—reflects this environment: a genuine commitment to working-class culture and history, paired with a reluctance to accept the revolutionary changes that history calls for. 

The Political Impasse: Knowing the Truth but Not Acting on It 

Bamlett concludes his post with a sense of urgency: “There is. Too much – and it will, it must start soon before it is too late, for the planet itself could yet give up on what capital continues to subject it to.” This reflects a genuine awareness that capitalism is an existential threat and urgent action is needed. However, Andrews’ book fails to provide any solutions. Bamlett himself admits, “There is no sense of what the role of the working class might be, or if indeed it exists in any pertinent way in politics, in the future of Modern Britain.” The book dismisses working-class radicalism as a relic of the past—more of a nostalgic object for retired academics than a dynamic force capable of societal change. 

What Is To Be Done?  

Bamlett cannot bring himself to give the answer that aligns with the Eurocommunist, New Left, and History Workshop traditions that shaped him. This answer, as highlighted by freerein61’s blog, is that the working class remains the revolutionary subject. It has not been “integrated into capitalism." Its defeats are due to betrayals by its leadership—whether Stalinist, social democratic, or trade-union—not because of any flaw within the class itself. What is required is not vague "radicalism” or an expanded “ethos,” but the development of a revolutionary party equipped with the programme of the Fourth International. 

 

 

Jonathan Healey and the Liberal Falsification of the English Revolution

Jonathan Healey’s The Blazing World is more than just a flawed book; it functions as an ideological effort to undermine historical understanding, oversimplify class conflict into basic stories, and portray revolution solely as chaos. It reflects a declining liberal order that fears revolution because of its fear of the working class.

Healey has become one of Britain’s most admired popular historians, recognised for his “fresh” and “vivid” portrayal of the seventeenth century. However, the positive reception of his work is deliberate. His narrative serves an important ideological purpose for today's ruling elite: it dismisses the English Revolution's revolutionary essence. It presents it as a period marked by chaos, chance, and constitutional happenstance. This isn’t just poor history; it constitutes political falsehood.

Healey’s main argument that the English Revolution wasn't truly a revolution but a “crisis of governance" caused by miscommunication, local grievances, and the emotional atmosphere of the time — represents the latest effort in a long-standing attempt to minimise the global significance of the English Revolution. This approach continues the revisionist trend begun in the late twentieth century, which aims to dismiss the Marxist view of the Revolution as the first major bourgeois revolution. Healey’s perspective reflects a society that has lost faith in its future and, as a result, struggles to recognise the revolutionary events that shaped its history.

Healey’s opposition to revolution is based on structural reasons rather than personal bias. He functions within an academic and political sphere that views revolution as dangerous, irrational, and destabilising. Consequently, the English Revolution is seen not as a crucial turning point in capitalism’s development but as a tragic mistake. This ideological fear is rooted in forty years of political backlash—such as the decline of the post-war welfare state, the rise of neoliberalism, the discrediting of social democracy, and the deepening crisis of global capitalism.

In this context, the concept of revolution—even one that's been around for three and a half centuries—becomes unacceptable. Healey’s book isn’t just a historical account; it's a political statement aimed at reassuring modern readers that neither logical nor structural factors drive revolutions. Instead, they occur when people are confused, scared, or overwhelmed.

Another weakness—rooted in the ongoing focus on national history in British historiography—is Healey's neglect to place the English Revolution within the wider international crisis of the seventeenth century. This revolution was not an isolated event but part of what Marxist scholars refer to as the "general crisis of the seventeenth century," a series of revolutionary upheavals spanning from the Dutch revolt and the Fronde in France to the Thirty Years' War in Germany.

Although these conflicts appeared in different national contexts, they all revealed the same fundamental contradiction: the progress of capitalist productive forces versus the persistence of feudal-absolutist political systems. The English Revolution was the most successful, largely because England's capitalist class was more developed than in continental countries and because it successfully dismantled the absolutist state. The central message of The Blazing World is that history lacks a clear direction, class struggle is meaningless, and revolution is a mistake.

The Historiographical Context

To properly evaluate Healey's book, it is essential to understand the intellectual context it engages with. A significant contribution by the Marxist historian Christopher Hill, discussed in Ann Talbot's detailed 2003 obituary on the WSWS, was to identify the upheavals of the 1640s as a bourgeois revolution: the overthrow of feudal-absolutist rule by a burgeoning capitalist class, paving the way for England's later capitalist growth. Despite his political limitations as a former Stalinist who never fully embraced Trotskyism, Hill showed that the execution of Charles I, the abolition of the monarchy and the House of Lords, and the creation of the Commonwealth were not mere mistakes or temporary anomalies, but a big social change where one class replaced another in state power.

Starting in the 1970s, a revisionist school led by figures like Conrad Russell and John Morrill systematically challenged this framework. They argued that since there was no rising bourgeoisie, a bourgeois revolution did not occur. According to them, the Civil War was a temporary collapse of the Tudor-Stuart state, driven by war financing, religious rigidity, and Charles I's personal failings — a "war of religion," not a class struggle, nor a revolution. This revisionism was politically motivated. It coincided with a rightward shift among British intellectuals after setbacks in the 1970s-80s and the fall of the USSR. It aimed to erase the revolutionary aspects of English history, paralleling the ruling class's efforts to forget the revolutionary elements of the twentieth century.

Healey is part of a "post-revisionist" generation that aims to go beyond sterile denial while avoiding the Marxist categories discredited by revisionists. His book offers a popular synthesis, attempting to strike a balance: he describes the period as revolutionary, emphasises the role of ordinary people and radical movements, and captures the drama and scale of the events — all without presenting a clear class analysis.

Having said that, Healey's book has notable strengths. It vividly narrates the era's social history for general readers. The Levellers, Diggers, Ranters, and Quakers—the remarkable surge of radical ideas and working-class activism that Hill helped restore—are thoroughly discussed. Healey emphasises that the 1640s and 1650s were more than elite disputes; they marked a time when ordinary men and women began to think and act in radically new ways, challenging not just the monarchy but the entire social hierarchy. The title, borrowed from Margaret Cavendish's 1666 utopian book The Blazing World, highlights Healey's focus on the creative and intellectual fervour during the political upheaval.

He also cautiously challenges the revisionist denial, asserting that a truly revolutionary event took place—one that turned the world upside down—and that the century saw a fundamental shift in the English state and society. This serves as a helpful correction for readers who have been influenced by the revisionist view that the Civil War was merely an unfortunate accident.

The core issue is that Healey seeks the revolution's benefits without understanding the class analysis behind it. He enumerates the observable events—such as the breakdown of censorship, the rise of radical groups, the king's trial and execution, the founding of the Commonwealth, and the 1688 Glorious Revolution—yet fails to identify the fundamental problem the revolution addressed. Healey does not label the English Revolution as a bourgeois revolution nor systematically examine the class forces that propelled it.

This isn't just a minor omission; it's the key difference between merely describing events and truly explaining them. A revolution isn't just a time of upheaval and change; it is a distinct historical event where contradictions between the development of productive forces and existing relations of production — specifically, a rising class clashing with an outdated ruling class — lead to political and military conflict. The English Revolution reflected this conflict: a rising capitalist class, allied with parts of the gentry focused on commercial agriculture and trade, versus a feudal-absolutist monarchy that aimed to rule without Parliament, impose arbitrary taxes, and sustain monopolies that hinder capitalist progress.

The Marxist perspective, based on Marx's writings on primitive accumulation and the English Revolution, argues that the monarchy had to be overthrown because it hindered the development of capitalist social relations that had been unfolding within feudal society for over a century. Cromwell's New Model Army was more than just a military force; as Trotsky noted, it was the organised political tool of the revolutionary bourgeoisie—regularly purging Parliament to align with its class interests and ruthlessly suppressing the Levellers and Diggers when they threatened to extend the revolution beyond the limits necessary for capitalism to thrive.

Healey, in contrast, presents a revolution lacking a revolutionary class. He outlines the clash between Crown and Parliament, religious fervour, popular movements, and the eventual constitutional agreement—yet the driving force behind these events remains unclear. Why did these conflicts emerge at specific times, in particular forms, and lead to certain outcomes? Revisionists, at least, offered a straightforward (though incorrect) explanation: it was all due to random chance. Healey's post-revisionist view offers a vivid picture of revolutionary upheaval but fails to clarify what was being changed, by whom, or for what purpose.

This argument is absurd. The English Revolution resulted from deep-rooted structural conflicts: the growth of agrarian capitalism, the expansion of merchant capital, the transformation of the gentry into a capitalist class, the crisis of feudal institutions, and the emergence of new political ideas among small producers, artisans, and labourers. Healey cannot accept this, as doing so would mean acknowledging that the Revolution was a class struggle between the rising bourgeoisie and the declining feudal system, rather than merely a chaotic crisis. Instead, he reduces class to vague notions like “ordinary people,” “local grievances,” and “messy complexity.” This isn’t analysis; it’s avoiding the real issues.

The Levellers, Diggers, and Fifth Monarchists—the most progressive democratic movements of their time—are now seen merely as colourful footnotes. Their agendas, which reflected the developing political awareness of the rising working class and petty producers, are dismissed as curiosities rather than viewed as vital expressions of historical development. Healey’s account is thus not just incomplete but also ideologically distorted. 

Cromwell Without History

Healey’s depiction of Cromwell highlights his method by portraying Cromwell as a conflicted character troubled by doubt, fear, and religious concern. Rather than examining his political decisions through the lens of class struggle, Healey attributes them to psychological factors. This aligns with the liberal tendency to reduce historical figures to individuals, stripping away class context and explaining behaviour in terms of personal traits. Nonetheless, Cromwell was more than an individual; he represented a segment of the bourgeois class—the agrarian bourgeoisie—aiming to overthrow feudal absolutism. To fully grasp his actions, it is essential to consider this wider class framework. Consequently, Healey’s Cromwell is a fictitious figure: a person without class, a leader without a social foundation, a historical actor devoid of history.

The Revisionist Tradition and Its Political Purpose

Healey is part of a tradition of revisionists such as Conrad Russell, John Morrill, and Mark Kishlansky, all of whom aim to challenge the Marxist view of the English Revolution. His approach is especially influential because it is more accessible, making revisionist ideas more widely understood. The political goal of revisionism is evident.

To deny the origin of revolutions from structural contradictions, the role of class struggle in history, the agency of the working class, or the revolutionary rupture through which capitalism emerged is to reject fundamental Marxist ideas. Revisionism parallels neoliberalism by viewing history as accidental, politics as gradual, and revolution as unjustified. Healey’s book thus goes beyond historical debate; it participates in a wider ideological campaign aimed at diminishing awareness of historical forces.

The Marxist perspective remains clear in opposition to Healey’s liberal distortion. The English Revolution was: a bourgeois revolution paving the way for capitalist growth; a class struggle between the emerging bourgeoisie and the feudal aristocracy; a phase of radical popular action in which subordinate classes articulated independent political agendas; and a pivotal event that significantly influenced the evolution of modern capitalism. This revolution was neither accidental nor chaotic, nor driven by fear or confusion. Instead, it was the inevitable result of deep structural contradictions within English society.

Healey and the Politics of Historical Amnesia

The Blazing World is a readable, engaging, and in important respects welcome contribution to the popular historiography of seventeenth-century England. Its willingness to call the period revolutionary is a partial break from the revisionist orthodoxy that has impoverished historical understanding for decades. But it is a break that stops halfway. Healey has restored the drama without restoring the analysis. He has given us a revolution without a revolutionary class, upheaval without explanation, transformation without a motor force.

The result is a book that can satisfy neither the serious student of history nor the politically conscious worker seeking to understand the dynamics of social revolution. The former will find too much description and too little explanation; the latter will find a revolution stripped of the very class content that makes it relevant to the struggles of the present. For a genuinely scientific understanding of the English Revolution — its class character, its driving forces, its achievements and its limits — one must return to the Marxist tradition that Healey's post-revisionist framework cannot accommodate: the work of Hill at his best, and beyond Hill to the classical analyses of Marx, Engels, and Trotsky, who grasped that the execution of a king by his subjects was not a misunderstanding but a world-historical act of class struggle.

 

 

 

 

Stuart Hall and the Petty-Bourgeois Revolt Against Marxism: From 1956 to New Labour The Memoir as Historical Evidence

Stuart Hall’s autobiography, Familiar Stranger: A Life Between Two Islands (2017), examines his identity as a colonial outsider navigating between Britain and Jamaica. Its most significant contribution is not in its explicit claims but in what it inadvertently uncovers. Hall describes himself as a “familiar stranger,” which conceals the crucial detail that he was “a non-native petty bourgeois—someone who encountered racism as an obstacle to upward mobility within established power structures. His goal was not revolutionary change but to reform British social democracy to better include people like him.

The memoir serves as an important resource for understanding the petty-bourgeois opposition to Marxism in Britain post-1956. Hall’s path—from the New Left to Cultural Studies, then to Marxism Today and New Labour—demonstrates a deliberate intellectual development. It reflects the ideological stance of a social class whose interests contrast sharply with those of the working class. This review seeks to place Hall within this wider historical context.

1956 and the Crisis of Stalinism 

The year 1956 marked a major crisis for Stalinism, highlighted by the Moscow Trials. Khrushchev’s “secret speech” and the Hungarian workers’ uprising shattered the illusions held by Communist Parties across Europe. In Britain, the CPGB lost nearly one-third of its members. For revolutionary Marxists—especially Trotskyists of the International Committee of the Fourth International—1956 confirmed Stalinism’s counter-revolutionary character. They opened an opportunity to attract confused CP members to a truly internationalist outlook.

Hall arrived at Oxford in 1951, coinciding with the onset of this crisis. His memoir describes his political awakening, which focused on opposing authoritarianism and dogmatism. However, it is important to clarify that his real political shift was marked by his rejection of Leninism, which was based on a pseudo-leftist critique of the vanguard party.

Hall did not align with the Trotskyists, who sought to clarify Stalinism and uphold the continuity of Marxism. Instead, he became a founding editor of Universities and Left Review, which later merged with E.P. Thompson’s New Reasoner to create the New Left Review. This environment openly rejected the Leninist idea of the revolutionary party, criticising it for Stalinism’s atrocities.

The Role of Jock Haston

During this period, Hall's mentor was Jock Haston, a former Trotskyist who abandoned the Fourth International and pledged his allegiance to the Labour Party, which he regarded as "one of the most democratic workers’ organisations in existence." Haston’s shift—from revolutionary Marxism to Labourism— symbolised the petty-bourgeois response to 1956: a withdrawal from the working class and an attempt to find a “third way” between Stalinism and Trotskyism that, in fact, represented a step back into social democracy. Hall absorbed this outlook completely.

The British New Left didn't revive Marxism; they outright rejected it. Their core belief was that Leninism inevitably led to Stalinism, so they argued the revolutionary party should be abandoned. This perspective falsely reverses historical facts — Stalinism was a betrayal of Leninism, not its successor. Yet, the petty-bourgeois intellectuals of the New Left equated Leninism with words like “authoritarianism,” “dogmatism,” and “sectarianism.” Hall’s memoir can't challenge this ideological stance because it was the foundation of his entire political perspective.

The New Left emerged from a specific social layer: middle-class intellectuals disillusioned with Stalinism but hostile to the working class as a revolutionary force. They sought a politics that would preserve their moral radicalism while avoiding the discipline and programmatic clarity required by Marxism.Hall’s own background—“middle-class Jamaican upbringing,” Rhodes Scholarship, Oxford intellectual circles—placed him squarely within this layer. His political development was not a break with his class position but its ideological expression.

Cultural Studies  

Hall’s key institutional contribution was leading the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (CCCS) at Birmingham from 1972. While Cultural Studies is frequently seen as an innovative academic field, Hall reportedly referred to it as “politics by other means” Cultural Studies was effectively an intellectual framework created to supplant class as the primary focus of social analysis.

Cultural Studies emphasized race, gender, sexuality, nationality, and “subcultures” as separate areas of struggle that are "relatively autonomous." This focus complicated viewing capitalist exploitation as a unified system. As a result, the working class was replaced by shifting identity-based 'agencies' as the main revolutionary subjects. This shift was not a supplement to Marxism but a rejection of it. Cultural Studies laid the ideological groundwork for current identity politics that now dominate the pseudo-left.

The emergence of Cultural Studies coincided with the decline of the traditional labour movement and the increasing involvement of petty-bourgeois intellectuals within the growing university sector. Hall’s theoretical innovations were not politically neutral; instead, they reflected the aims of a social class eager to gain influence in both the state and academia, rather than promote revolutionary change.

Marxism Today 

By the late 1970s, the CPGB adopted Eurocommunism, forsaking any claim to revolutionary politics. Marxism Today, the publication of the Eurocommunist faction, became the main platform for this ideological shift, with Hall being its most prominent contributor. His 1979 essay, “The Great Moving Right Show," is often regarded as visionary. However, its true importance lies in its adaptation to Thatcherism rather than a critique of it. Hall suggested that Labour needed to move away from its traditional working-class roots and fight elections on the same "conjunctural” terrain established by Thatcher. This approach served as the ideological basis for New Labour. By 1990, Blair was using Marxism Today to float the ‘New Labour’ project. Hall later expressed mild misgivings about Blair, but this is irrelevant. He had already supplied the theoretical justification for Labour’s rightward turn: the working class was in decline, class politics were obsolete, and Labour must become a party of the “modernising” middle class.

Hall’s contributions to Marxism Today played a role in weakening the working class during the neoliberal era. By claiming that class politics were outdated, he offered ideological support for Labour’s move away from socialism and towards market reforms. His innovative theories—such as Cultural Studies, the “New Times” thesis, and conjunctural analysis—laid the groundwork for identity politics. By breaking down social analysis into individual identities, Hall fostered a politics naturally opposed to the interests of the working class.

Identity politics benefits the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia by shifting focus away from class as the main political axis, emphasizing subjective experience over objective social relations, dividing the working class into competing identity groups, and granting moral justification for middle-class progress within capitalist structures. Hall did not create identity politics, but he laid out its theoretical framework.

Hall’s memoir is the autobiography of a man who spent his entire career constructing an anti-Marxist intellectual apparatus. History will judge him more harshly: as someone who helped disarm the working class at the very moment it needed revolutionary leadership.”

Notes

 

1.           Stuart Hall and Bill Schwartz, Familiar Stranger: A Life Between Two Islands (London:                Penguin Books, 2017).

2.           Paul Bond, “Stuart Hall: A Political Obituary,” World Socialist Web Site, 2014.

3.           E.P. Thompson, “The Peculiarities of the English,” Socialist Register (1965).

4.           Stuart Hall, “The Great Moving Right Show,” Marxism Today (January 1979).

5.           Geoff Andrews, Endgames and New Times: The Final Years of British Communism                      (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 2004).

6.           Alex Callinicos, The New Mandarins of American Power (Cambridge: Polity, 2003).

7.           David North, The Heritage We Defend (Detroit: Labour Publications, 1988).

 

Class, Revolution, and the Limits of Bourgeois Democracy: Cromwell, the Levellers, and the English Revolution

Revised Preface

This dissertation is the product of a long engagement with the English Revolution — the first great bourgeois revolution and the foundational rupture of the modern world. My aim is not simply to recount familiar events but to interrogate the class forces that propelled them, the ideological forms through which those forces became conscious, and the historical limits that shaped the revolution’s trajectory and ultimate settlement.

The English Revolution has often been narrated as a constitutional drama or a struggle for religious liberty. Yet beneath these forms lay deeper social antagonisms. The Putney Debates of 1647, the suppression of the Levellers, and the fleeting emergence of the Digger communes were not marginal episodes but moments in which the revolution revealed its underlying contradictions. In the arguments exchanged at Putney church — about sovereignty, property, political rights, and the meaning of equality — we encounter the earliest explicit articulation of tensions that would come to define capitalist society.

This dissertation proceeds from the conviction that these questions remain unresolved because they cannot be resolved within the framework of bourgeois democracy. The English Revolution inaugurated a new social order, but it also exposed the limits of that order. The Levellers’ demands for political equality, the Diggers’ insistence on common ownership, and the broader popular struggle for substantive democracy all collided with the imperatives of emergent capitalist property relations. The revolution achieved the political supremacy of the bourgeoisie, but only by suppressing the very democratic energies it had unleashed.

For this reason, the English Revolution is not merely a past event but a living contradiction. Its legacy is incomplete; its unresolved questions continue to shape the present. The debates of the 1640s still echo in contemporary struggles over representation, economic power, and the meaning of democracy. To study the English Revolution is therefore not an antiquarian exercise but an inquiry into the origins of our own world — a world still marked by the tensions first articulated in that moment of rupture.

This dissertation is offered in the hope that revisiting those debates with clarity and historical precision can illuminate the structural limits of bourgeois democracy today and help us understand why the aspirations voiced by the Levellers and Diggers remain both unfinished and urgent.

 

The American Revolution and the Crisis of Historical Consciousness: A Defence of 1776 Against the Pseudo Lefts

The Battle Over 1776 in the Present Crisis

The discussion on the importance of the American Revolution has become a central ideological conflict in the early 2000s. The elite, struggling with a legitimacy crisis, tries to both absorb and undermine the democratic ideals of 1776. At the same time, the pseudo-left has completely abandoned these traditions, reducing the Revolution to a moralistic list of hypocrisies, exclusions, and crimes. In this context, defending the American Revolution as a key bourgeois democratic movement is not just an academic issue but a crucial political stance.

The latest article, published by the British Socialist Workers Party, illustrates what happens when a pseudo-left view tackles a historic issue without a solid Marxist basis. The article exemplifies the pseudo-left's failure to clearly answer key questions, swinging between praising the revolution's "radical" aspects and criticising its shortcomings, concluding with a vague moral call to "make true" its promises—without explaining how or through which social forces. This is not representative of Marxism. It is political tourism through the past.

Currently, the only political organisation capable of providing a historical materialist perspective on the American Revolution is the ICFI and its online publication, The World Socialist Website. It rejects the vague "on the one hand, on the other' approach used by the SWP and instead employs the method of historical materialism to uphold the revolutionary legacy of 1776.

A Marxist viewpoint sees the American Revolution differently. It views it as an important bourgeois-democratic movement in global history. The working class ought to rekindle the democratic ideals of 1776 — not as a patriotic legend, but as a vital part of the ongoing struggle for universal emancipation.

The Historical Necessity of the Bourgeois Democratic Revolution

Marxism does not view bourgeois revolutions as moral issues but as necessary historical stages in the evolution of capitalist society and the modern working class. The American Revolution was not just an accident, an enslaver’s conspiracy, or a simple colonial uprising. Instead, it symbolised big changes in property relations, class structure, global trade, ideological awareness, and the growth of Enlightenment universalism. The pseudo-left fails to understand this because it dismisses historical materialism, replacing analytical reasoning with moral outrage and current feelings without historical context.

By the mid-18th century, North American colonies had developed a distinct social landscape, including a petty-bourgeois class, a rising capitalist elite, and a literate, politically engaged artisan and labourer population. These colonies were also characterised by frontier society in conflict with aristocratic land claims and a political culture influenced by republicanism, dissenting Protestantism, and Enlightenment ideas. These factors made the colonies particularly receptive to revolutionary ideas. The Revolution was not a top-down imposition; rather, it was driven from the bottom up by a broad social coalition whose demands went beyond those of the elite.

 The American Revolution marked the first significant break in the global system of absolutist monarchy. It came before and played a role in sparking the French Revolution, the Haitian Revolution, the Latin American wars of independence, and the worldwide spread of republican ideas. Tom Paine recognised this when he stated that “the cause of America” was “the cause of all mankind.” The Revolution’s universalist language was more than mere rhetoric; it reflected an ideological shift of world-historical importance.

As David North points out in his essential formulation, the Declaration “indicted the existing social and political order and called for its overthrow in the most sweeping and universal terms. “This is the key to understanding 1776. The Declaration’s assertion that “all men are created equal” was not a description of existing social relations. It was a revolutionary negation of the entire edifice of hereditary privilege, monarchy, aristocracy, and divine right.

What the Revolution Was

The American Revolution was a bourgeois democratic movement, not a socialist one, and no Marxist has ever suggested otherwise. This term is a precise, scientific description, not an insult. As David North noted in his opening remarks at the WSWS's 250th anniversary webinar, the Declaration of Independence "condemned the existing social and political order and called for its comprehensive overthrow." It challenged monarchy, hereditary privileges, and colonial dominance. The statement that "all men are created equal" and have "unalienable rights" was revolutionary in a world dominated by lords and kings who claimed divine right.

The Socialist Worker article hints at this but quickly shifts to moral judgment: acknowledging that the revolution was progressive yet noting that enslavers also participated, Indigenous peoples were dispossessed, and power remained in the hands of the wealthy. This 'pros and cons' approach fails to offer real insight. As North pointed out: 'Calling the founders hypocrites does not explain why a revolution happened, why the Declaration gained significance beyond their intentions, or why its words resonated with abolitionists, enslaved people, workers, socialists, and civil rights activists."

The American Revolution was founded on contradictions. Its promises excluded enslaved individuals, women, Indigenous peoples, and those without property. However, the democratic ideals it promoted went beyond the limitations of its era. This creates a dialectic: the Revolution was both rooted in its time and forward-looking. It inspired the French Revolution, the Haitian Revolution, anti-colonial efforts in South America, the abolitionist movement, and later democratic and socialist campaigns. As Tom Paine stated, "the cause of America" was "the cause of all mankind."

The Socialist Worker article views the 1788 Constitution as merely the end of a story — a compromise between Northern capitalists and Southern enslavers that temporarily masked divisions until the Civil War. However, this perspective overlooks a key point: the Civil War was not accidental or secondary. Instead, it was the second American Revolution, completing the first. As North pointed out, "The transition from the first to the second stage of the bourgeois democratic revolution proceeded rather rapidly. Thaddeus Stevens, the most prominent radical Republican, was born in the early years of George Washington's presidency."

The end of slavery and the Radical Reconstruction represented the realisation of the democratic ideals established in 1776, rather than their betrayal. The subsequent defeat of Reconstruction and the rise of Jim Crow laws served as counter-revolutions that reversed the Civil War's progress. This perspective is missing from the pseudo-left, which replaces class analysis with racial theory.

Why This Matters Now

The question "Should we celebrate the American Revolution?" is not purely academic; it has become a highly political issue in 2026. The Trump administration is intensifying its assault on democratic rights, with the president openly discussing dictatorial governance. The fundamental idea of popular sovereignty—government of, by, and for the people—is now under threat.

Under these circumstances, abandoning the revolutionary democratic tradition in favour of reaction would be a devastating political mistake. Unfortunately, that is what much of the pseudo-left effectively does when it dismisses 1776 as merely an enslaver's plot or dismisses the Declaration's language of equality as mere hypocrisy. As North warned: "If the left abandons the revolutionary-democratic tradition, viewing equality, rights, popular sovereignty, and universal emancipation as deception, it risks handing that tradition over to reaction. And that is precisely what is occurring."

The working class must safeguard the democratic ideals of the American Revolution, viewing them not as complete but as unfulfilled. The goals of 1776 cannot be achieved under capitalism; instead, they demand a socialist overhaul in which the working class seizes power and the capitalist system—which accumulates wealth and authority in fewer hands—is abolished. As Andre Damon noted in 2016: "The American Revolution provided the ideological and political impetus for the French Revolution and all subsequent democratic, egalitarian and socialist movements."

The significance of the American Revolution extends beyond mere history; it is a crucial political issue today. By 2026, democratic institutions face exceptional pressures, with the executive branch increasingly flirting with authoritarianism and democratic norms eroding rapidly. The pseudo-left’s rejection of 1776 as a conspiracy by enslavers dismisses the progressive aspects of the bourgeois revolution, rejects universal principles, weakens the ideological basis for democratic rights, and leaves the working class without political power.

Yes, we should honour the American Revolution—not as a patriotic myth, a completed achievement, or by ignoring its contradictions—but as a significant historical milestone whose democratic principles are still revolutionary today. Its unfulfilled promises can only be realised through socialist revolution, and the working class must protect its legacy against the current authoritarian threat. The ambiguous, moralistic, and politically inconsistent tone of the Socialist Worker article offers no guidance.

The democratic principles established in 1776 — such as equality, rights, and popular sovereignty — are still revolutionary. However, they cannot be fully realised within capitalism and instead demand a socialist revolution. The American Revolution was a major bourgeois-democratic revolution of global historical importance. While it had contradictions, these do not diminish its significance; rather, they highlight the need for continued revolutionary progress.

The working class must uphold the democratic legacy of 1776, not as a myth but as a historical fight for universal emancipation. Achieving the Revolution's promises requires a socialist restructuring of society.”

 

Set My Heart on Fire: Izumi Suzuki, Petty Bourgeois Despair, and the Ideology of Her Revival

A Literary Resurrection as Political Symptom

The reissue of Izumi Suzuki’s Terminal Boredom and Set My Heart on Fire by Verso Books is more than just a literary event; it is a political gesture. Suzuki’s portrayal as a “radical feminist icon” by the #MeToo movement and the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia reflects the ideological needs of the ruling class facing the most severe crisis of global capitalism since the 1930s. Her fiction—branded as rebellious, provocative, and visionary—is actually a reflection of political defeat, social fragmentation, and petty-bourgeois despair.

The fact that a publisher, claiming to be "left-wing," is now promoting this kind of work serves as a warning: identity-driven pseudo-radicalism has become a cultural tool used to redirect social anger away from capitalism and into pointless, apolitical dead ends. Suzuki’s resurgence should be viewed in a historical context. It is motivated more by ideological convenience than by literary value.

Historical and Class Context: Literature Born of Defeat

Suzuki’s worldview wasn't born from personal eccentricity or a tragic life story. Instead, it stemmed from the devastating defeat of Japan's working class after the war—a loss managed, justified, and upheld by the Stalinist Japanese Communist Party (JCP). The JCP’s cooperation with the American occupation, its nationalist stance, and its suppression of revolutionary efforts resulted in a political void. This vacuum left sections of the intelligentsia feeling alienated, pessimistic, and inward-looking.

Suzuki’s shift away from the working class was not merely a personal eccentricity but a result of both objective historical failures and subjective betrayals. This is the core idea. Suzuki’s writing does not symbolise progress; instead, it reflects a tired generation that lost hope and stopped seeking. The aftermath of defeat heavily influences her stories: they reject collective action, show a breakdown in historical awareness, and elevate individual trauma to a metaphysical level. This background forms the foundation of her fiction.

Suzuki’s Worldview: Gender War as Ersatz Politics

Suzuki’s stories centre around themes of gender conflict, misanthropy, and personal grievances. They portray worlds where men are imprisoned, women wield power through bureaucratic oppression, and social conflict is replaced by personal domination. This does not represent feminism or radical ideas. Instead, it reflects the ideology of a petty-bourgeois class that has lost faith in the working class, resorting to identity categories rather than class analysis.

Her dystopias mirror oppressive systems rather than challenge them. They don't provide a route to human freedom, only a reshuffling of the prison hierarchy. The uploaded document states: “Suzuki’s focus on gender classifications and identity… aligns with a petty-bourgeois movement that replaces collective class action with individual grievances.” This explains why the #MeToo movement supports her. As it's rooted in upper-middle-class circles, it emphasises personal trauma over social analysis and views gender identity as the main political focus. Suzuki offers a simplified mythology: a world where men are naturally oppressive, women are inherently victims, and social change is reduced to interpersonal power struggles. Her writings reflect a resignation rather than resistance.

The Philip K. Dick Comparison: A Category Error

Calling Suzuki 'Japan’s Philip K. Dick” is not just inaccurate but also politically telling. Dick, despite his contradictions, wrestled with major 20th-century issues such as fascism, technological power, the vulnerability of democracies, and the manipulation of consciousness. As the uploaded document mentions, The Man in the High Castle explores themes of historical memory and the political fallout of losing.

Suzuki, in contrast, completely withdraws from history. Her worlds are sealed off, lacking social conflict, class distinctions, or collective action. They feel claustrophobic, introspective, and politically inert. Comparing Dick and Suzuki blurs the lines between pessimism and depth. Dick explores the roots of alienation, while Suzuki depicts alienation as an aesthetic. This comparison unfairly favours Dick and misrepresents Suzuki.

Her work risks falling into psychologism, but her personal experiences—marriage to Kaoru Abe, violence, the toe-cutting incident, and suicide—should not be seen as explanations for her writing. Instead, they reflect the same social pathology that influences her fiction: the isolation of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia, disconnected from the working class and overwhelmed by personal despair.

A Marxist review should reject the liberal approach that treats biography as direct causation. Instead, the focus is not on pathologising Suzuki but on uncovering the social forces that shaped her art and tragedy. Both her personal life and her fiction originate from the same source: the political defeat of the working class and the ideological collapse of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia.

A polemical review must do more than reject; it needs to establish clear standards. What sets progressive science fiction apart is not its optimism but its awareness of history. It portrays humans as active participants within a social whole, capable of changing their circumstances. It acknowledges that alienation stems from social class rather than being a metaphysical constant. Writers like Dick, Lem, and certain aspects of New Wave SF understood this. Their work, despite certain flaws, engages with the social and historical forces influencing human life. Suzuki, however, does not. Her fiction reflects paralysis rather than potential. A Marxist critique should explicitly define this criterion.

Why Suzuki, and Why Now? The Ideological Function of Her Revival

This is the key question. Suzuki’s resurgence is motivated more by ideological usefulness than literary quality. Bourgeois publishers—including Verso—have adopted identity politics as a replacement for true social critique. They favour stories of personal trauma, gender conflict, and apolitical melancholy because these types of “dissent” do not challenge capitalist property systems.

Suzuki’s fiction resonates now because it lets readers feel “radical” without having to take political action. It diverts social frustration from capitalism to personal relationships. By framing the crisis of bourgeois society as a gender conflict, it shields the ruling class from criticism. Her revival functions as a cultural strategy: elevating a petty-bourgeois perspective exactly when many are mobilising against capitalism.

Conclusion: A Literature of Political Defeat

Suzuki’s fiction is neither revolutionary, feminist, nor progressive. It represents the artistic voice of political defeat. Verso's revival is a concession to the ruling class's ideological needs, aiming to redirect social anger into identity-based dead ends. A Marxist review must critically expose this process. The goal is not to mourn Suzuki but to understand her: to situate her work within the broader historical crisis that shaped it and to oppose the ideological forces seeking to weaponise it against the working class.

Her fiction is a thing of the past. The future will be shaped by a working class that refuses to accept the petty-bourgeois despair that Suzuki mistakenly took as truth.