The media-fueled controversy over ITV featuring former Chelsea Women’s manager Emma Hayes in a kitchen-like studio setup during Women’s World Cup coverage has been exploited by the upper-middle class to showcase their grievances publicly. This incident—quickly amplified into a “sexism row”—serves as a prime example of how identity politics are used to distract from the dire social issues affecting working-class communities. “The ‘sexism row’ is a conflict between wealthy media bosses and a well-paid pundit… a dispute in which the working class has no involvement.”
This sentence reveals the political deception entirely. Emma Hayes is not a victim of patriarchal oppression; she is a prominent and well-paid figure in women’s football. ITV, a corporate broadcaster worth billions, is involved. The dispute is an elite disagreement over how football commentary looks—an issue that has no impact on millions facing survival challenges due to failing public services, rising costs, and austerity.
Identity Politics and the Politics of Diversion
The episode follows a familiar pattern. In 2018, the BBC gender-pay dispute involved presenters earning £400,000–£500,000 annually, portraying themselves as victims of systemic discrimination. An article by Laura Tiernan showed that these privileged groups “are not remotely interested in the problems faced by most women in the workforce.”
Working-class women encounter real challenges like balancing work and family, limited maternity leave, low wages, poorly paid part-time jobs, inflexible shifts, and costly childcare. These problems are rooted not in “the patriarchy” but in capitalism itself. They are the consequences of decades of bipartisan austerity, privatization, and the erosion of social infrastructure.
The Hayes–ITV pseudo-controversy serves a similar political purpose. It sparks days of social-media outrage, opinion pieces, and performative outrage, giving the illusion that society is actively fighting for women’s liberation. However, the real issues faced by working-class women—such as collapsing hospitals, unaffordable childcare, stagnant wages, and the weakening of the NHS—are consistently ignored in public debate.
This is intentional. The goal of identity politics is to substitute class struggles with personal grievances, structural exploitation with symbolic gestures, and the battle against capitalism with efforts to increase diversity in corporate leadership.
The Reactionary Contempt Behind the “Kitchen” Outrage
A key aspect of the controversy is the argument that placing Hayes in a kitchen-themed set is inherently insulting. “The suggestion that a kitchen set is inherently ‘demeaning’ rests on a contemptuous attitude toward domestic labour.” This harshly criticizes the class dimension of modern feminism. For countless working-class women, domestic labour isn’t a form of oppression but an everyday, physically demanding task—done unpaid, unrecognized, and lacking social support. The wealthy elite involved in identity politics are not advocating for better recognition of domestic work or shared childcare. Instead, they aim to distance themselves from anything linked to ordinary women’s experiences.
Their anger isn’t about the exploitation of domestic work itself, but about its symbolic link to it. This reflects a politics of personal branding rather than a pursuit of social liberation.
A Conflict Among Elites, Irrelevant to the Working Class
The working class remains uninvolved in conflicts between millionaire pundits and billionaire broadcasters. The media’s intense focus on these trivial issues is a deliberate political move. It aims to keep the public distracted by symbolic debates while the ruling class speeds up its attack on living standards.
Readers’ conclusions should be clear-cut: “Achieving true equality for women requires not just more women in executive positions, but fundamentally overthrowing the capitalist system that sustains gender oppression.” This core view must steer the working class. As with all social inequalities, gender oppression originates from the capitalist mode of production. It cannot be solved through corporate diversity efforts, media outrage, or elevating a few privileged women to elite roles.
The Socialist Alternative
The sole progressive response to the social crisis affecting working-class women and men is the independent, international mobilization of the working class around a socialist program. This involves restoring public services dismantled by years of austerity, socialising childcare and domestic work, ensuring secure, well-paid employment for everyone, and expropriating the financial oligarchy that controls all aspects of social life.
The Hayes–ITV controversy serves as a distraction from critical issues, a fabricated spectacle designed to keep the population politically confused and socially fragmented. The working class should reject identity politics in all its forms and instead focus on the struggle for socialism—the only route to true equality and human liberation.
The American political system is showing signs of deep decay. The incident where Donald Trump circulated a post calling him “more dangerous than Hitler” is not just an isolated event but a reflection of the broader corruption affecting the entire capitalist system. The document emphasises that Trump’s authoritarian tendencies are fundamental, not accidental: as David North pointed out, Trump’s movement exhibits signs of fascism, with a distinct, troubling odour. Trump operates without regard for constitutional or legal constraints. These comments are serious assessments of a political trend that is emerging from the ongoing crisis of American capitalism.[1]
The Roman Circus on the South Lawn
Nothing highlights the brutality of the current administration more clearly than the grotesque cage match on the White House lawn—fighters fighting fiercely while Trump observed like a Roman emperor. Marketed cynically as part of the “semiquincentennial” of the Declaration of Independence, this event was a deliberate rejection of democratic values. It celebrated violence, hierarchy, and dominance—precisely the social relations the ruling class aims to enforce on the working class amidst preparations for increased repression domestically and war. This isn’t just Trump’s personal issue. It exemplifies a broader political culture among the ruling class that has exhausted all democratic means of managing social conflict. The shift to outright brutality indicates an oligarchy that can no longer govern through consent.
The Liberal Establishment’s Counterfeit Anti‑Fascism
However, the primary political threat isn’t just Trump’s theatrics. It stems from how the Democratic Party and its media allies are using the “Trump is worse than Hitler’ narrative as a weapon. As the document accurately notes, this portrayal “is not a genuine anti-fascist analysis.” Instead, it’s a strategic ideological tactic aimed at directing widespread opposition to Trump into the secure confines of a capitalist party that itself undermines democratic rights.
The Democrats’ reaction to the White House spectacle—a $330 celebrity concert with Jane Fonda, Julia Roberts, and Bette Midler—exposes the class basis of their politics. It exemplifies “the politics of affluent identity, not the mobilisation of the working class.” This approach is characterised by moral posturing, symbolic actions, and commodified dissent—in stark contrast to the mass, organised, internationalist movement needed to oppose fascism.
The liberal media’s comparisons to Hitler serve two main purposes. They first diminish the unique historical nature of fascism, turning it into a moralistic stereotype instead of recognising it as a specific outcome of capitalist crises. Second, these analogies turn the struggle against authoritarianism into a branding strategy for the Democratic Party, which aims to portray itself as the final defender of “democracy” even while backing mass surveillance, militarism, and social suppression.
The Historical Lessons the Democrats Seek to Bury
Referring to Hitler’s aims to obscure rather than clarify. The text stresses that “Fascism was not halted by liberals or by voting for the ‘lesser evil.’ It was halted—where it was—by the organised force of the working class, guided by a revolutionary Marxist plan.” This crucial historical fact is what the Democratic Party and its media outlets are eager to hide.
In Germany, the Social Democratic Party disarmed the working class politically, clearing the way for Hitler’s rise. Similarly, in Italy, the liberal bourgeoisie handed power to Mussolini to suppress the workers’ movement. In Spain, the Popular Front suppressed the revolution, allowing Franco to win. In all these instances, the liberal bourgeoisie was unable to oppose fascism because it feared the working class far more than it feared the fascists.
The current situation remains similar. Democrats’ main goal is not to combat authoritarianism but to stop the rise of a working-class movement that could challenge capitalism itself.
The Real Target of the Hitler Comparisons: The Working Class
Contemporary comparisons to Hitler are used to redirect genuine anger towards backing the Democratic Party and NATO’s growing militarism. The ruling elite aim to merge anti-Trump feelings with endorsement of imperialist conflicts, portraying them as parts of a unified “defence of democracy.” This is misleading. The working class has no stake in siding with any segment of the capitalist oligarchy, whether under MAGA nationalism or liberal humanitarianism.
“The working class must have its own party, program, and independent struggle.” This is essential. Combating fascism is inherently linked to opposing capitalism. It demands the formation of a revolutionary socialist movement connected to the global working class, informed by 20th-century lessons, and unwavering in its resistance to all aspects of the ruling elite.
Conclusion: The Path Forward
The threat of authoritarianism is real, but it cannot be tackled solely through the Democratic Party, mainstream media, or superficial liberal rituals. Instead, it requires a deliberate and organised global effort by the working class to oppose the capitalist system, which fosters fascism, war, and dictatorship. The goal is not to pick between different factions of the oligarchy but to create a political force strong enough to overthrow the oligarchic system entirely. This is the only way to achieve true democracy, social equality, and human liberation.
[1] Donald Trump proudly shares a post which says he is more dangerous than Hitler-www.dailystar.co.uk/news/latest-news/donald-trump-proudly-shares-post-37314895
Andy Beckett’s recent article in The Guardian highlights the political crisis facing Britain’s liberal intellectuals. It describes the growth of a reactionary movement opposed to immigration and equality, but fails to explain why it emerged or how to combat it. The article is a lament from a social class that has lost direction, still holding onto outdated beliefs about a political system that is no longer relevant.[1]
Beckett’s depiction of a “right-wing counter-revolution” actually reflects a capitalist system in deep crisis. However, since he refuses to recognise the class roots of this crisis, he replaces analytical understanding with moral outrage. The article considers the rise of the right wing primarily as a cultural anomaly rather than a class problem. Beckett explains that opposition from Reform UK, the Conservatives under Badenoch, and far-right street groups is driven by resistance to “multiculturalism” and “equality.” He references Nigel Farage’s claim that “anti-whiteness is institutionalised into every aspect of public life’ and notes the Conservatives’ pledge to abolish the public sector equality duty.
He sees these shifts as the result of bad ideas spreading or a small elite manipulating public discourse. This is a common misconception among liberals. The growth of the far right is not mainly due to “culture wars.” Instead, it’s fuelled by years of austerity that have impoverished millions, caused real wages to fall, hollowed out public services, intensified imperialist conflicts, and a political elite—Labour included—that fails to provide progressive solutions to the capitalist crisis.
Under these conditions, the ruling class resorts to authoritarianism, nationalism, and xenophobia to redirect social unrest away from itself. The far right is not an external menace but a weapon used by the political establishment. Beckett cannot recognise this because doing so would amount to criticising the entire political system he endorses.
When addressing Becket’s assertion, it’s important to see that Labour isn’t ignoring the right; instead, it’s actively backing it. Becket portrays Labour under Keir Starmer as hesitant, misguided, or excessively cautious. He claims that Labour’s sporadic opposition and overall appeasement have been ineffective, and points out that the party has shown Union flags and adopted stricter immigration policies.
This is a significant distortion. Labour isn’t merely trying to appease the right; it is actively part of the right-wing agenda. Starmer has adopted nationalism and militarism, promised to strengthen borders, supported austerity measures, endorsed the government’s foreign policies—including its alignment with US militarism—and has overseen crackdowns on protests and dissent. Labour even considers reactionary grievances, such as the false notion of a surge in immigration, as legitimate. This isn’t just a strategic mistake—it reflects the party’s fundamental political stance.
Labour’s purpose is to diminish left-wing ideas among the working class and direct dissatisfaction into safe, nationalist, pro-capitalist outlets. The far right advances because Labour has disconnected from the working class. Beckett cannot admit this, as it would mean recognising that Labour is not a defender against reaction but one of its creators.
Beckett’s suggested approach is to revive the spirit of Ken Livingstone’s Greater London Council (1981–86) and imitate Sadiq Khan’s rhetorical stance on diversity. His nostalgia for the GLC and Khan reflects a liberal fantasy and leans toward political escapism. The GLC’s campaigns—like the poster stating “Black people do not cause slums… They are forced to live in them”—were rhetorically striking but primarily focused on municipal reform. They did not challenge the underlying capitalist property relations. Thatcher’s swift abolition of the GLC was because it posed no real threat to the ruling class. Livingstone himself later became a loyal Labour figure, presiding over a London transformed into a playground for finance capital.
Today, Khan’s London stands as one of the most unequal cities globally. While he lauds diversity, the city is primarily driven by global finance, leading to the displacement of working-class areas, the demolition of public housing, and rising social inequality. Reform UK’s poor performance in London does not signify Khan’s success; rather, it highlights the city’s social stratification—its professional-managerial class is deeply connected to global capitalism and shows limited concern for Farage’s economic nationalism. Beckett’s narrow view of London reflects a liberal middle-class perspective that mistakes its social reality for a political strategy.
Certainly, the so-called “right-wing counter-revolution” exists, but Beckett misidentifies what it targets. He cautions that the backlash “rarely stops,” which is true. However, he misunderstands what is being reversed. The actual counter-revolution isn’t directed at “multiculturalism” or the 2010 Equality Act. Instead, it opposes the social advancements achieved by the working class after the war, including the NHS, social housing, free education, secure jobs, trade union rights, and the welfare state.
Both Conservative and Labour administrations have consistently eroded these advances. The Equality Act, lauded by Beckett as a major achievement, was enacted under a Labour government that also engaged in imperialist wars and broadened surveillance. The liberal emphasis on “diversity” masks the underlying class issues: the working class—regardless of ethnicity—is being pushed into poverty, instability, and political exclusion.
Britain is not facing a sudden “backlash” against equality or multiculturalism. Instead, it is experiencing the deliberate creation of reaction by a ruling class that has exhausted all democratic and reformist options for addressing the capitalist crisis. The far right is not an outsider insurgent threatening the political system; rather, it is a distorted mirror of the establishment, created to divert public anger away from the true causes of social suffering.
For over ten years, since the Brexit referendum exposed the contradictions within British capitalism, the political elite has increasingly turned to nationalism, xenophobia, and authoritarian measures. Reform UK, the Conservative right, the billionaire media, and various online reactionaries are not separate entities. They serve as the ideological fighters for a system that no longer maintains power through consent.
Nigel Farage’s claim that Britain is a “two-tier state against white people” goes beyond fringe rhetoric and illustrates a wider political strategy: directing anger over declining living standards, overburdened public services, and ongoing conflicts towards minority groups like immigrants, Muslims, and the idea of “wokeness.” The Conservatives’ plans to abolish even the modest public sector equality duty support this approach. Overall, the ruling elite is systematically removing legal and ideological barriers to openly adopt racialised nationalism as official policy.
The small number of Britons holding these opinions is not important. Historically, reactionary minorities have often influenced a fearful bourgeoisie, supported by the media, and they dominate the national debate. Meanwhile, the liberal middle class becomes passive, and the working class faces political marginalisation.
The liberal perspective argues that Labour under Keir Starmer is too timid, too cautious, and excessively eager to appease the right. However, this is a comforting illusion. Labour’s embrace of Union-flag nationalism, tough immigration policies, condemnations of protests, and its proximity to the security forces are not just mistakes but fundamental elements of the party’s identity.
Labour functions as the party representing the interests of the capitalist state. Its main purpose is to quash left-wing movements within the working class and channel social discontent into socially acceptable channels, such as nationalism and pro-imperialist policies. Starmer’s emphasis on “strong borders” and “restoring order” isn’t a right-wing concession but rather the core ideological basis of his administration. This leads to a foreseeable outcome: socially conservative voters, who favour genuine right-wing nationalism, dislike Labour, and liberals, sensing the party’s superficiality, abandon it—meanwhile, the far right gains influence because Labour has inadvertently validated its fundamental ideas.
The right-wing counter-revolution primarily targets the social advances secured by the working class in the 20th century, such as the NHS, social housing, free education, secure jobs, trade union rights, and the welfare state. These achievements have been gradually weakened over decades by both Conservative and Labour governments. The reactionary push now aims to finalise this process by dismantling the political and social structures that have allowed the working class to resist.
Beckett’s optimistic view—that Labour, possibly allied with other “progressive” parties, might stop the right-wing surge—is the last illusion of a political trend that has run its course. The right-wing counter-revolution cannot be halted through better messaging, more confident liberal leaders, or a resurgence of 1980s municipal radicalism.
It requires independent political action by the working class, united internationally around an anti-capitalist, anti-system platform aimed at overthrowing capitalism itself. This crisis is systemic. The far right is merely a symptom, Labour is complicit, and liberalism has run its course. The goal now is to develop revolutionary leadership capable of uniting workers from diverse backgrounds in the fight for socialism.
“Give me liberty, or give me death!” – Patrick Henry, speaking at the Second Virginia Convention (1775)
“These are the times that try men’s souls.” – Thomas Paine, The American Crisis (1776)
“We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.” –
Attributed to Benjamin Franklin at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (1776)
“Join, or Die” – A famous political cartoon and slogan created by Benjamin Franklin to promote colonial unity against the French and their Native American allies, which later became a symbol of unity against British rule.
Introduction: Propaganda, Class, and the American Revolution
George Goodwin’s Propaganda Wars of the American Revolution comes at a time
of deep crisis in American and global capitalism. As the 1776 semiquincentennial approaches, it coincides with widespread social inequality, imperialist conflicts, and a rapid decline of democratic institutions in the US. It’s no surprise that debates over the meaning of the American Revolution—its origins, class implications, and legacy—have become central in current political discussions. Published by Yale University Press, Goodwin’s book aims to contribute to this debate by exploring how the Patriot movement used pamphlets, sermons, newspapers, broadsides, and political theatre to shape public opinion.
Goodwin is a talented historian and lucid writer. His book makes a significant contribution to a field traditionally dominated by Bernard Bailyn and Gordon S. Wood’s “ideological school.” However, Propaganda Wars also reveals a main weakness of that perspective by isolating ideas from the material class interests that influence them. Consequently, it presents a polished but somewhat idealist view of the Revolution—focusing on persuasion techniques while underplaying the social forces that made those techniques successful.
The Ideological School and Its Strengths
Goodwin’s intellectual legacy is clearly visible. His emphasis on propaganda as a key element places him mainly in the ‘ideological’ school of Revolutionary historiography, established by Bernard Bailyn. This approach, starting with Bailyn’s The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (1967), argues that the colonists were driven by a unified worldview rooted in radical Whig ideas. Bailyn and Wood carefully analysed pamphlets, sermons, and political debates from that period, opposing the dismissive view that all declarations of principle are driven solely by self-interest.
From a Marxist perspective, this emphasis on ideas is a notable strength. “It was a school that approached the record of human thought with great seriousness.” This is a welcome corrective to the postmodernist trivialisation of intellectual history and to the racialist distortions of the 1619 Project. Goodwin’s book continues this tradition by showing how the Patriot cause deliberately shaped public opinion—how Thomas Paine energised the colonies, how the Boston Tea Party was used as political theatre, and how Washington actively promoted the image of republican virtue.
Goodwin rightly emphasises that propaganda played a crucial role. Revolutions depend not just on economic factors but also on mobilising large groups, expressing grievances, and envisioning a new political future. The real question is: which forces were being mobilised, and for what purpose?
The Ideological School and Its Afterlives: Bailyn, Wood, and Goodwin in Comparative Perspective
Any Marxist critique of George Goodwin’s Propaganda Wars of the American Revolution must place the work within the wider historiographical context from which it originates. Goodwin is part of a broader intellectual tradition. His book represents the latest version of the “ideological school,” originally established by Bernard Bailyn and further expanded with sharper analysis by Gordon S. Wood. The advantages and drawbacks of Goodwin’s research are linked to those of this entire tradition.
The ideological school has significantly influenced modern interpretations of the American Revolution. It has also been the main opposition to postmodernist and racial-essentialist critiques, which culminated in the New York Times’ 1619 Project. The International Committee of the Fourth International, through its collaboration with Wood and its support for Enlightenment universalism, has actively engaged in this historiographical debate. As such, a clear, materialist evaluation of the ideological school is essential.
Bernard Bailyn: Ideology as Prime Mover
Bernard Bailyn’s The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (1967) marked a major turning point in the study of Revolutionary history. Moving away from the Progressive focus on economic grievances and class struggles, Bailyn proposed that the colonists’ motivations were rooted in a consistent worldview inspired by radical Whig ideas. According to this view, the Revolution was primarily an ideological uprising—a fight to defend liberty against a perceived British plot to wield arbitrary authority.
Bailyn’s contribution was significant. He brought rigour back to the analysis of ideas, elevating Revolutionary pamphlets from scholars’ dismissive view of them as simple rationalisations of self-interest. “It was a school that approached the record of human thought with great seriousness.”
Bailyn’s framework was highly idealistic, portraying ideas as independent forces separate from the material conditions and class dynamics that generate them. The Revolution is depicted as a conflict of political ideas rather than a fight shaped by the contradictions within colonial society. Class conflict is scarcely mentioned; slavery is seen as a minor issue; and the economic and social changes following the Revolution are viewed as minor outcomes rather than fundamental causes. Consequently, Bailyn’s approach is both a significant advance and a limitation—it expanded the scope of intellectual history but also restricted understanding to a non-materialist perspective.
Gordon S. Wood: Ideology as Social Transformation
Gordon S. Wood, Bailyn’s top student, maintained the ideological school’s focus on ideas while expanding its view to include a more vibrant and comprehensive understanding of social change. In his works, The Creation of the American Republic (1969) and The Radicalism of the American Revolution (1992), Wood showed that republican ideology was more than just abstract principles; it was a powerful force that transformed political culture, social structures, and daily life.
Wood’s work represents the most materialist analysis within the ideological school. He demonstrates that the Revolution dismantled monarchical and hierarchical social relationships, empowered the “middling sort,’ and unleashed democratic forces that even the Founders could not fully control. Additionally, he addressed the Revolution’s core contradiction with remarkable clarity: the coexistence of liberty and slavery. Wood argued that the Civil War was an inevitable culmination of a tragedy that originated in the Revolution itself.
Wood’s accomplishment lies in recognising that ideas are rooted in society rather than existing in isolation. However, he avoids adopting a Marxist perspective. He does not view the Revolution as a bourgeois-democratic event, nor does he see slavery as a fundamental aspect of capitalist growth. His approach stays within the ideological tradition, despite pushing against its boundaries.
George Goodwin: Ideology Reduced to Technique
George Goodwin’s Propaganda Wars adopts the strengths of the ideological school but lacks its deeper analytical depth. While Bailyn explored the origins of ideology and Wood examined societal transformations, Goodwin focuses on the
mechanics of persuasion. His emphasis is not on the internal logic of Revolutionary ideas but on how they circulated, were performed, and emotionally resonated.
The book thoroughly explores printers, pamphleteers, preachers, and political leaders, illustrating how the Patriot movement intentionally influenced public opinion. It shows how Paine’s writings inspired the colonies, how the destruction of the tea served as a political spectacle, and how Washington fostered an image of republican virtue. However, Goodwin’s approach is more limited than that of earlier scholars. It’s important to remember that propaganda is grounded in tangible social forces, not just ideas—it is the ideological expression of actual social dynamics.
Goodwin views propaganda primarily as a technological feat rather than a reflection of class-based ideology. He describes how the Patriots succeeded in convincing the public, but does not explore why their messages connected with various social groups. Consequently, the Revolution is seen more as a success of strategic communication than as a bourgeois-democratic upheaval driven by colonial societal conflicts. In this way, Goodwin exemplifies the continuation of the ideological school. This tradition has lost its core intellectual focus and now persists through cultural history, communication analysis, and political technique.
The Marxist Position: Ideas as the Expression of Class Forces
A Marxist analysis acknowledges the valuable contributions of Bailyn, Wood, and Goodwin. It values their honest engagement with ideas and their opposition to the cynical reductionism often seen in modern academia. Nonetheless, it emphasises that ideas gain historical significance only when they align with material interests and social needs.
The American Revolution was a bourgeois-democratic uprising. Its propaganda functioned as the ideological voice of a rising bourgeois class opposing monarchical authority. The contradictions within that system—especially the tension between liberty and slavery—were evident in its language, silences, and evasive tactics. Bailyn studied the key ideas of Revolutionary ideology, while Wood investigated its social effects. Goodwin analysed how these ideas were disseminated.
The ideological school is essential for understanding the intellectual landscape of the American Revolution, but its focus on idealism limits its ability to fully interpret the Revolution’s significance. Goodwin’s Propaganda Wars offers meaningful insight into this tradition, yet it also reveals its inherent limitations, which are amplified here. “Propaganda does not float free of the material world… They were the ideological expression of real social forces.”
This is the core issue. The American Revolution was primarily a bourgeoisdemocratic movement, influenced by the conflicts within colonial society. The pamphlets from Boston radicals, sermons from New England clergy, and Paine’s fiery speeches were not independent forces shaping history but rather ideological expressions of various social classes: a rising colonial bourgeoisie limited by imperial mercantilism, artisans and mechanics opposing British economic policies, small farmers fighting taxation and landlordism, and Southern planters wanting westward expansion but hindered by the Crown.
Goodwin’s emphasis on technique—the “how” of persuasion—shields the underlying reasons. Why did Paine’s Common Sense strike such a chord? Why did conspiracy and liberty rhetoric energise urban crowds, frontier farmers, and some enslaved individuals fleeing to British forces? These questions cannot be answered solely by examining propaganda. Instead, they demand a class-based Analysis of colonial society. The ideological school has always faced challenges despite its achievements. It views ideas as the main drivers of history, rather than as expressions of material interests. Goodwin’s book, despite its merits, still operates within this idealist perspective.
The Revolution “From Above”
The subtitle—From the Boston Patriots to George Washington—reveals a further limitation. It moves from discussing Boston’s radical protests to emphasising Washington, the Virginia planter who represents the Revolution’s consolidation through elite leadership. “The propaganda wars were not just Patriots versus
Loyalists; they were also… a struggle over what kind of republic would emerge.”
This is a pivotal moment. The American Revolution, similar to all bourgeois revolutions, involved a deep tension between the democratic hopes it sparked and the class interests that ultimately constrained it. The urban crowds who brought down the George III statue, the workers who enforced non-importation agreements, and the farmers who later participated in Shays’ Rebellion—these groups drove the Revolution beyond what the colonial elite found acceptable.
Goodwin describes this trajectory but doesn’t question it. The Revolution is portrayed as a story of growing propaganda rather than as a conflict in which different class forces competed to influence the new republic. The ideological perspective often views the Founders as natural leaders of the Revolution, rather than as representatives of a particular class whose interests lay in rallying and controlling popular support.
The Silence at the Heart of Revolutionary Rhetoric: Slavery
No analysis of Revolutionary propaganda can ignore the core contradiction of 1776: the simultaneous fight for liberty and the perpetuation of chattel slavery. This was not accidental but a fundamental aspect of a revolution led by a class that included slaveholders. Revolutionary language used the metaphor of “slavery” to describe the colonists’ relationship with Britain, largely ignoring the reality of actual slavery. Jefferson’s initial objection to the slave trade was removed from the Declaration. Patriot propaganda aimed to preserve unity among both slaveholders and non-slaveholders across North and South.
Goodwin recognises this contradiction but does not incorporate it into his analysis of propaganda. However, the silences, evasions, and metaphors used in Revolutionary rhetoric were not accidental; they were crucial for maintaining the ideological unity of a movement led by a class whose material interests relied on human bondage. As Wood stated in Empire of Liberty, the tragedy was “preordained from the time of the Revolution.” The Civil War was the inevitable outcome of the contradiction that the Revolution could not resolve.
What Goodwin Achieves—and What He Cannot
Goodwin’s book is insightful and well-researched, offering an engaging look at the mechanics of persuasion. It highlights the roles of pamphleteers, printers, preachers, and political figures who influenced public opinion before independence. The book treats the intellectual environment of the Revolution with seriousness, pushing back against modern academic cynicism. However, its focus on an idealist framework limits its ability to explain events fully.
Propaganda was significant because it reflected the material interests and democratic hopes of large sections of colonial society. It was effective because, even if imperfectly, it conveyed the emerging bourgeois order’s challenge to monarchical authority. Seeing propaganda as an independent force is a mistake; it conflates the form with the underlying social content and reality.
Conclusion: Toward a Marxist Understanding of Revolutionary Propaganda
A Marxist view of the American Revolution recognises the influence of ideas but emphasises that ideas only gain power when linked to material interests and historical needs. The Revolution was a bourgeois-democratic uprising that laid the groundwork for capitalist growth, with its propaganda serving as the ideological expression of this change.
While Goodwin’s Propaganda Wars explores persuasion techniques, it does not address the class forces behind their effectiveness. Although a serious work, it remains rooted in the idealist tradition of the ideological school. To fully understand revolutionary propaganda, one must consider it within the context of colonial American social structure, the contradictions of slavery, and the global rise of capitalism. Only then can we comprehend the Revolution’s true historical logic—and its ongoing significance in a time when the crisis in American democracy raises questions about social revolution.
The recent rise in Anti-Stratfordian theories—like Graham Phillips’ claim that there were “two William Shakespeares,” one an actor-playwright in London and the other a wealthy grain merchant in Stratford—is less about new knowledge and more a social phenomenon. It exemplifies a recurring ideological pattern: some middle-class groups refusing to accept that England’s greatest writer came from their perceived lower social classes. As the document rightly observes, this is “simply a new coat of paint on a very old piece of class snobbery.”
The continued existence of these theories isn’t backed by evidence—there is none—but by the social anxieties of their supporters. The anti-Stratfordian movement started in the late Victorian era, a time when the bourgeoisie, having achieved its historic rise, became fearful of the social forces that had helped it reach power. The idea that a glover’s son from a small provincial town could have authored Hamlet or King Lear was unacceptable to a class increasingly focused on controlling cultural boundaries and shielding “high culture” from the masses.
The Historical Record and the Bourgeois Artist
The evidence supporting Shakespeare of Stratford as the author of the works is strong and has been affirmed by numerous scholars over time. The dedications of Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece, signed “William Shakespeare,” are written in a modest tone typical of a commoner addressing a noble sponsor—an unlikely style for an aristocrat like the Earl of Oxford. Furthermore, Ben Jonson’s tribute in the First Folio refers to him as the “Sweet Swan of Avon,” with no associations to any aristocratic estate or London riverbank. Additionally, the plays reference events after 1604, the year of Oxford’s death, such as the 1609 Bermuda shipwreck that inspired The Tempest.
However, anti-Stratfordians are not genuinely investigating history; instead, they are erasing it. Their argument rests on a completely ahistorical assumption: that someone who bought property, lent money, or traded grain could not also be a playwright. This idea is incorrect. Shakespeare was a shareholder in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, a part-owner of the Globe, and a savvy investor. He was not a starving artist living a bohemian lifestyle but a prosperous bourgeois during a time when the bourgeoisie was a revolutionary class. To deny this is to deny the social conditions that made Shakespeare possible.
The Class Roots of Anti‑Stratfordianism
The anti-Stratfordian tendency fundamentally reflects a class bias. Jonathan Bate noted that this movement arose as the Victorian middle classes grew more sensitive to perceived threats from lower social groups. Christmas Humphreys, an Oxfordian, candidly expressed this sentiment by calling it “offensive” to credit a “petty-minded tradesman” as the playwright. The quoted statement highlights this bias clearly: the disdain is obvious, and the underlying ideology is unmistakable. This is not genuine scholarship but merely class prejudice disguised as scholarly pursuit.
The “two Shakespeares” theory is just the latest effort to justify this bias by creating unnecessary divisions. It offers no real explanation. It fails to resolve any contradictions. Its only purpose is to uphold the idea that genius must be aristocratic, that culture belongs to the elite, and that the greatest works of human imagination could not have been written by someone who also knew the cost of barley.
Why These Theories Persist
The real question isn’t about who authored the plays but rather why some people doubt that Shakespeare did. The answer is tied to the social role of anti-Stratfordianism. These theories reveal a deep-seated hostility towards the notion that human creativity is universal, meaning that artistic brilliance isn’t limited to individuals of noble birth or privileged education.
Shakespeare’s greatness is tied to the historical context of his era: the ascent of the bourgeoisie, the decline of feudal stability, and the emergence of new intellectual and emotional perspectives. The Elizabethan stage reflected this societal upheaval and a world in flux. His background in the “middling sort” and his deep ties to early modern England’s complex, evolving society enabled him to understand and depict human life comprehensively.
Denying Shakespeare’s authorship is dismissing this history. It also dismisses the revolutionary nature of the bourgeois era and the ability of ordinary individuals to produce extraordinary art.
The Political Meaning of the Attack on Shakespeare
Ultimately, the anti-Stratfordian myth challenges the democratic and egalitarian values reflected in Shakespeare’s life and work. It aims to reassert a feudal view of culture, suggesting that true genius belongs only to the elite. This reactionary idea seeks to deny the historical fact that the greatest English writer was the son of a tradesman. That a ‘petty-minded tradesman’ could have written Hamlet and King Lear is not a problem to be explained away by conspiracy theories—it is a fact to be celebrated.” Indeed. Shakespeare’s life exemplifies humanity’s creative potential. The anti-Stratfordian movement, in all its forms, reveals the insecurity and decline of a ruling class that no longer trusts in that potential..
Katja Hoyer’s column in The Washington Post, warning that comparing Trump to Hitler is “bad politics,” is not just a neutral academic opinion. It is a deliberate political act by a main ideological tool of the American ruling class. The core message—calm down, stop panicking, trust the institutions—aims to serve a specific class interest: to lull the population into complacency during escalating political unrest and to steer mass opposition away from independent working-class political action.
The Post falsely presents itself as a strict guardian of historical accuracy. However, it is “a central organ of the Democratic Party and the intelligence agencies,” whose role is to redirect public anger into the controlled space of the Democratic Party. The true purpose of the column isn’t to correct misconceptions about history but to pacify the public. The Post is telling its readers: “calm down, things aren’t that bad, stop making hysterical comparisons.” This isn’t scholarship; it’s political soothing.
I. Liberal Historical Revisionism as a Weapon of Class Rule
A desire for historical accuracy doesn’t drive the liberal establishment’s quick rejection of Weimar comparisons. For years, these same groups frequently used Hitler and fascism as references whenever it benefited their foreign policy aims. However, when such an analogy highlights the deep problems within American capitalism—specifically, by pointing to the corruption of the American ruling class rather than a foreign dictator—it is dismissed as “hysterical,” “irresponsible,” and a poor political strategy.
The question isn’t whether crude analogies exist; they do. However, the Post’s intervention aims to hide the true lessons of Weimar: the class struggles that led to fascism and the political betrayals that facilitated it. The liberal narrative claims that fascism arises from ‘institutional failure,’ ‘fragile democracy,’ or ‘eroding norms.’ This viewpoint is a middle-class fairy tale. In reality, fascism stems from a ruling class facing an insoluble capitalist crisis, which pushes them to authoritarian measures to protect their wealth and power.
The German edition of David North’s Where Is America Going? makes this point with clarity: Trump is not an invader of a healthy democracy but “the political embodiment of a degenerated, bestial ruling class that expresses the historical crisis of the capitalist system.” This is the truth the Post cannot allow to surface.
II. The Marxist Analysis: What Is and Is Not Fascism Today
As David North pointed out in a key interview on fascism and history, Trump’s movement “smells of fascism”—it has “that particular odour, or, I might say, stink”—but it isn’t yet a widespread fascist movement in the traditional sense. The petty-bourgeois mobs of 1933 are not present in the United States in a similar form.[1]
However, the lack of a perfect analogy does not imply that the danger is imaginary. Studying Weimar aims not for an exact comparison but to grasp the patterns of capitalist crises: the ruling class’s shift toward authoritarianism, the promotion of far-right groups, the intensification of nationalism, and the buildup to war.
These trends are clearly evident. The US faces rising international conflicts, its political systems are breaking down, and the ruling class depends more on the military, intelligence, and courts to stay in power. Meanwhile, the working class is shifting left, as North observed—exactly the kind of change that historically pushes the bourgeoisie toward fascist measures. The Post’s advice—“don’t panic”—is not about avoiding fear but about cautioning against rushing into action.
III. The Lesson Liberals Fear Most: The Betrayal of the Working Class
The key lesson from Weimar, which the liberal establishment desperately tries to conceal, is not about the weakness of democratic institutions but about how the working class was betrayed by its own organisations. “Hitler gained power not due to flaws in Weimar’s constitution, but because the Social Democratic Party and the Stalinist Communist Party failed to unite against fascism.”
The SPD defended the bourgeois state, suppressed workers’ uprisings, and collaborated with the military and police. During Stalin’s harmful “Third Period” policy, the KPD labelled the SPD as “social fascists,” equating them with the Nazis and splitting the working class at a crucial time. This serves as a lesson the Post refuses to learn, as it exposes the failure of the Democratic Party’s current approach. Today, the Democrats and their pseudo-left allies—such as DSA and Jacobin—urge the working class to submit to the Democratic Party, the CIA, and the national security forces in a “popular front” against Trump. This is not a tactic to defeat fascism; it is the very strategy that enabled fascism.
Trotsky’s writings from 1931–33—’ For a Workers’ United Front Against Fascism’ and ‘The United Front for Defence’—continue to serve as essential guides. Trotsky emphasised that workers should unite in action against fascist violence while remaining politically independent from reformist leaders. The Stalinist rejection of this approach led to disastrous consequences. Today’s refusal by the Democrats is equally perilous.
IV. The Political Function of “Don’t Panic” History
Hoyer’s column clearly plays an ideological role. It reassures readers that their concerns are exaggerated, claiming that institutions will stay stable. The Weimar comparison is dismissed as “bad politics.” It promotes trust in the courts, upcoming elections, and the Democratic Party. Most importantly, it recommends doing nothing.
This mirrors the Democrats’ real political strategy: a passive dependence on state institutions, legal tactics, and electoral processes, combined with strong opposition to any independent working-class mobilisation. The true ‘bad politics’ isn’t the historical analogy. Still, the systematic effort… to disarm the population, persuade them their eyes deceive them, and redirect legitimate fear and anger into the dead-end of the Democratic Party. The working class does not need reassurance. It needs revolutionary leadership.
V. The Real Lesson of Weimar: Independent Working‑Class Mobilisation
The United States faces a crisis not of “norms” or “institutions,” but of capitalism itself. The question posed by the title “Where is America Going? Fascism or Socialism” is genuine and not rhetorical. Its answer isn’t found within the Democratic Party, the courts, or the mythologised “guardrails” of American democracy. The sole force that can prevent the slide toward authoritarianism and conflict is the independent, international mobilisation of the working class, guided by a socialist program.
The Liberal Misuse of Weimar: A Historiographical Critique
Liberal scholarship on the Weimar Republic has long served as an ideological mirror reflecting the anxieties of the contemporary bourgeoisie. Unsurprisingly, during times of crisis, liberal historians tend to isolate Weimar not to shed light on the present but to obscure it. The latest wave of commentary—like Katja Hoyer’s column in The Washington Post—represents just the most recent phase in a longstanding historiographical effort: turning Weimar into a morality tale about “fragile democracy,” “institutional failure,” and the risks of “polarisation,” while actively ignoring the class struggles and political betrayals that paved the way for fascism.
This critique examines the dominant liberal interpretations of Weimar, their political function, and how they distort the historical record to serve the needs of the contemporary ruling class.
I. The Liberal Narrative: Weimar as a Parable of Institutional Fragility
The common liberal view of Weimar simplifies the republic’s fall to a series of institutional issues: a flawed constitution, too much presidential power, proportional representation, fragile parties, and a lack of a truly “democratic’ political culture. This explanation has been repeated so often that it has become the accepted orthodoxy. Its main points are: the Weimar Republic failed due to weak institutions; the German populace lacked a democratic spirit; and extremism from both ends contributed to its collapse. The takeaway is to protect the current liberal system at all costs.
This framework is politically convenient because it absolves the ruling class from responsibility for the capitalist crisis that led to fascism. It portrays Hitler’s rise as a technical failure rather than a result of class-driven resistance. Additionally, it enables modern liberals to see themselves as heroes defending “democracy” from irrational threats. However, this perspective is historically inaccurate.
II. The Suppression of Class: Liberal Historiography’s Foundational Evasion
The core fact of Weimar history is that fascism arose in response to a deep crisis in German capitalism. The ruling class, frightened by the revolutionary rise of the working class, used Hitler as a tool for counterrevolution. This is not just an interpretation; it is a documented fact.
Liberal scholars frequently overlook this reality. The crisis is depoliticised, viewed just as a vague “loss of faith in democracy,” a “breakdown of consensus,” or a “failure of moderation.” The class struggle is often neglected, portraying the working class as passive and the bourgeoisie as an abstract entity. Political parties such as the SPD and KPD are labelled as polarising forces rather than recognised as actors with defined class strategies.
This deliberate avoidance aligns with current political priorities. To understand Weimar’s class dynamics, one must also recognise similar class struggles in today’s capitalism and see that the crisis of liberal democracy—marked by rising inequality, militarism, and authoritarianism—is rooted in the inherent contradictions of the capitalist system, not just polarisation. Liberal historiography, however, cannot acknowledge this, which prevents it from telling the full truth about Weimar.
III. The SPD and the KPD: Liberalism’s Most Dangerous Silence
The most politically provocative lesson of Weimar history is the part played by the Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the Stalinized Communist Party (KPD) in disarming the working class. “Hitler came to power not because Weimar’s constitution was flawed, but because the Social Democratic Party and the Stalinist Communist Party refused to unite against fascism.” This is the historical truth that liberal scholarship is most eager to conceal.
1. The SPD’s role
The SPD: defended the bourgeois state, suppressed revolutionary workers, collaborated with the military and police, and ultimately supported Hitler’s appointment. However, in liberal historiography, the SPD is portrayed as a tragic defender of democracy—an honourable but doomed force overwhelmed by irrational extremism. This portrayal is a gross misrepresentation.
2. The KPD’s role
The Stalin-era KPD’s labelling of the SPD as ‘social fascism’—equating it with the Nazis—was a harmful betrayal. Yet liberal historians rarely analyse this from a class perspective. Instead, they tend to see it as “extremism on both sides,” which maintains the misleading idea of equivalence that reinforces their broader narrative.
3. Why this silence matters
Acknowledging the SPD’s betrayal would reveal the failure of current liberal strategies, which urge the working class to submit to the Democratic Party, intelligence agencies, and the national security state in a “popular front” against the far right. Liberal historians try to prevent this comparison and, as a result, suppress the truth.
IV. The Myth of the “Strongman”: Liberalism’s Psychological Reductionism
A key feature of liberal Weimar scholarship is its focus on the psychology of authoritarian leaders. Hitler is portrayed as a charismatic demagogue who deceived a naive populace. The dictator’s personality overshadows the broader economic crisis of capitalism. This perspective has two main aims: it personalises fascism, framing it as a pathology in one individual; and it reassures liberals that authoritarianism can be overcome through “better leadership,” “civic education,” or “restoring norms.”
Contemporary liberal commentators often focus on Trump’s personality, rhetoric, and “authoritarian style,” while overlooking the social forces that support him. This psychological reductionism, similar to Weimar historiography, transforms into a political strategy: it depoliticises the crisis, personalises the threat, and sidesteps any challenge to the capitalist system.
V. The Weaponisation of Weimar: Liberalism’s Present‑Day Agenda
Liberal invocations of Weimar are not academic exercises. They serve a political function.
1. To defend the existing order
By depicting Weimar as a delicate experiment shattered by extremism, liberals portray the current capitalist system as the sole defence against authoritarianism. The underlying message is straightforward: any opposition to the system—particularly from the left—is considered a threat.
2. To delegitimise working-class struggle
Strikes, protests, and socialist movements are depicted as indicators of “polarisation” and “instability.” The working class is viewed as a threat to democracy rather than its supporter.
3. To justify alliances with the state and the right
Similarly, the SPD justified working with the military and police by claiming it was protecting democracy, while liberals now defend alliances with the CIA, FBI, and Pentagon as essential to curb the far right.
4. To suppress the real lessons of history
The core lesson of Weimar—that the working class needs to stay politically independent and struggle for socialism—is exactly what liberal historiography tries to erase.
VI. Toward a Marxist Historiography of Weimar
A Marxist analysis unveils what liberal scholarship often overlooks: the importance of class struggle, the capitalist crisis as the root of fascism, the roles of the SPD and KPD leaders in disarming workers, the need for an independent socialist movement, and the global nature of the crisis. This approach is not outdated; it is the only framework that truly comprehends the present. The working class requires revolutionary leadership, not reassurance. That is the essential lesson of Weimar. This forms the basis of a genuinely historical, political, and emancipatory understanding of the past.
[1] An interview with David North on fascism, Trump and the lessons of history-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2025/04/17/ttml-a17.html
Today’s interest in Nostradamus, astrology, and mystical prophecies isn’t just innocent fascination. It reflects a deep intellectual decline in bourgeois society. Trying to explain Hitler’s rise with 16th-century cryptic verses isn’t just foolish; it’s a reactionary act. The document notes, “The framing of this question… is itself an expression of the irrationalism that pervades bourgeois culture in decay.” This irrationalism isn’t marginal; it acts as an ideological shield for capitalism during its final crisis.
The ruling elite, troubled by the disastrous consequences of their system, seeks comfort through mystification. The petty-bourgeois classes, bewildered by social upheaval, rely on supernatural explanations. Meanwhile, the academic community, having moved away from the Enlightenment’s emphasis on reason, now promotes the idea that history is driven by fate, myth, or “dark forces,” rather than by class struggle. Hitler’s rise was not predicted by Nostradamus nor written in the stars; it resulted from specific, identifiable, and preventable political betrayals by the leaders of the German workers’ movement.
The Material Foundations of Fascism
The rise of Nazism can only be understood through the Marxist lens of historical materialism. In the early 1930s, Germany was Europe’s most developed industrial economy, yet it was constrained by the Versailles Treaty and the global capitalist crisis. The productive forces had surpassed the limits of the nation-state. German imperialism aimed for expansion, but before fighting abroad, it needed to suppress the working class domestically.
The Nazis were not a supernatural anomaly. As Trotsky described, they were “a party of national despair,” gaining backing from the devastated petty bourgeoisie—“the small artisans and shopkeepers of the cities, petty officials, employees, technical staff, the intelligentsia, and impoverished peasants.” These groups, shattered by the crisis, were whipped into a rage of hatred toward the proletariat, whom they blamed for their social downfall.
However, fascism in power was not merely the rule of these devastated classes. As Trotsky aptly states, “fascism in power is least of all the rule of the petty bourgeoisie. On the contrary, it is the most ruthless dictatorship of monopoly capital.” German industrialists, bankers, and military leaders saw Hitler as the tool they needed to break down workers’ organizations and gear up for imperialist conflict. The Düsseldorf meeting of January 1932, where leading industrialists pledged their support to Hitler, was not a mystical convergence of destiny. It was a class decision.
The Working Class Wanted No Part of Fascism
Contrary to the myth—propagated by both fascists and liberals—that Hitler rose to power on widespread popular support, the German working class largely opposed him. The document clearly states: “The working class did not want fascism.” In the November 1932 elections, the combined votes for the Social Democrats and Communists exceeded those for the Nazis. Furthermore, in the factories, the Nazis were held in contempt.
The decisive factor was not the will of the masses but the treachery of their leaders.
The Stalinist and Social Democratic Betrayals
The Stalinist leadership of the Communist Party, following Moscow’s orders, embraced the harmful theory of “social fascism,” labeling the Social Democrats as the primary enemy. This strategy—one of the worst crimes in workers’ movement history—blocked the creation of a united front for the working class when such unity could have defeated the Nazis. Meanwhile, Social Democratic leaders failed to mobilize their workers, fearing revolution. They surrendered to the bourgeois state, disarming the working class and enabling Hitler to become chancellor in January 1933.
Trotsky’s warnings proved to be prophetic in the true sense: they were based on scientific analysis. He stated that a Nazi victory would lead to “the extermination of the best of the German proletariat, the destruction of its organizations, and the eradication of its self-belief and hope for the future.” He also predicted that Italian fascism would seem “pale” in comparison. Every prediction was confirmed.
Mysticism as a Weapon Against the Working Class
The shift towards Nostradamus and astrology is not impartial. It fulfills specific ideological roles: depicting fascism as unavoidable rather than stoppable; excusing the responsibilities of the ruling class and leaderships like reformist and Stalinist; replacing class analysis with fatalism; and discouraging the working class by implying that supernatural forces shape history. The pursuit of prophecies and astrological justifications for Hitler is not only unserious but also politically reactionary. This type of irrationalism echoes the postwar pessimism of the Frankfurt School, which blamed “the Enlightenment” for fascism, thus diverting attention from capitalism and the failures of the workers’ movement.
The Lessons for Today
The worldwide rise of fascist movements, increasing irrationalism, and the decline of bourgeois democracy are not just predictions but stem from capitalism’s fundamental contradictions. These include economic crises, imperialist competition, and the ruling class’s failure to resolve these issues democratically. The focus shouldn’t be on deciphering old astrological texts, but on cultivating the revolutionary leadership that Germany lacked in 1933.
Introduction: A “Gaffe” That Reveals the Social Order
The controversy over Rafael van der Vaart’s televised comment that Japanese footballers “look alike” has been dismissed by the media as just another case of personal bias. However, this statement actually exemplifies the racial dehumanisation that capitalism fosters. It is “a textbook expression of the racial dehumanisation that capitalism systematically produces and reproduces.” The importance of this incident is not in the personal beliefs of a former football player but in the social conditions that normalise and even trivialise such thinking.
The phrase “they all look alike” has a dark history, used for centuries to overlook individual differences and lump entire groups together. It’s not surprising that a former international player—who has played with teammates and opponents from around the world—would repeat this cliché on air. This reflects a broader culture rife with racial stereotypes, one whose core beliefs are deeply intertwined with the capitalist system supporting it.
The Media’s Ritual of Containment
The media response adhered to a familiar pattern. Outrage was aimed at the individual, with commentators calling for an apology, which Van der Vaart provided. The cycle then continued. As noted in the document, capitalist society tends to “individualize the offense, focus outrage on one person, demand an apology, and then move on.” This ritual has a clear political purpose: it treats racism as a personal moral failing rather than a structural issue rooted in class society.
The sports-media complex, which benefits financially from the worldwide movement of athletic labour, is especially skilled at this kind of ideological control. It can criticise a pundit’s comment while still running an industry that views players—particularly from Africa, Asia, and Latin America—as commodities. This industry is “more than willing to publicly condemn racist remarks while continuing to operate the commercial system that treats those same players as commodities.” The hypocrisy is glaring. The media condemns van der Vaart while reproducing the very conditions that make such remarks inevitable.
Identity Politics and the Politics of Evasion
Liberal commentators and identity-politics advocates respond in a similarly insufficient manner. They concentrate on personal responsibility, diversity training, and public ‘calling out,’ but these actions fail to address the fundamental social structures. Such initiatives do nothing to challenge the capitalist system that generates racial oppression. “
Identity politics views racism as stemming from individual attitudes, cultural insensitivity, or representational issues. It advocates for moral education, corporate training, and symbolic actions. However, racism is not merely a psychological flaw. It is “a product of class society, deliberately cultivated by the ruling class to divide workers who share a common interest in abolishing capitalism.”
Reducing racism to an interpersonal offense masks its material foundations, turning a structural class domination mechanism into a question of etiquette. It replaces political struggle with moralism, thus diluting its political significance.
Racism as a Tool of Class Rule
The persistence of racialised thinking in sport is intentional. Modern professional sports are part of a global industry that generates profit by exploiting workers, who are mostly from the most oppressed parts of the world. The commercialisation of athletic labour cannot be separated from the broader patterns of imperialism and global inequality.
Racism is central to this process, as it normalizes inequality, justifies exploitation, and divides workers with similar material interests. It is not just a relic of history but an active tool used in modern class domination. The claim that racism is “deliberately cultivated by the ruling class” is supported by the entire history of capitalism, from colonialism to today’s global supply chains. Van der Vaart’s comment is not just an anomaly; it reveals the ideological forces supporting the global sports industry and, more generally, capitalist society.
The International Working Class and the Fight Against Racism
The only effective way to fight racism is through the independent political mobilisation of the global working class. This is not a moral appeal but a strategic move. Racism cannot be eradicated with apologies, media outrage, or corporate diversity efforts. It can only be eliminated by dismantling the social system that sustains it.
The genuine fight against racism requires the building of an independent political movement of the working class, internationally united, that can abolish the material foundation of all racial and national oppression.” This view sharply contrasts with the narrow focus of identity politics and the cynicism often seen in the media.
The global working class—comprising diverse races and nations and becoming more interconnected—has no stake in racial divisions. Its quest for emancipation is inherently linked to the fight against all oppression. Consequently, the struggle against racism is inherently connected to the pursuit of socialism.
Conclusion: Beyond Outrage, Toward Emancipation
The van der Vaart incident is not solely about an individual’s bias. Instead, it highlights the social system that fosters such prejudice and leverages media spectacles to mask its roots. Publicly condemning individuals merely sustains the illusion that racism is a personal flaw, rather than a fundamental component of capitalist dominance.
Introduction: Reclaiming Antiquity for Historical Materialism
G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s 1982 publication, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World, marked a pivotal moment in twentieth-century historiography. During a period when structuralism, Weberian sociology, and the “cultural turn” were weakening the explanatory role of class analysis, de Ste. Croix presented a comprehensive 700-page argument showing that the ancient world was fundamentally organised around relations of exploitation. This book is regarded as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography,’ applying historical materialism across the entire span of Greco-Roman antiquity.
This review places de Ste. Croix within the wider historiographical context, outlines his key arguments, and evaluates his impact on Marxist theory and ancient studies. It emphasises that his main contribution was not just his impressive knowledge—though his mastery of sources was remarkable—but also his revival of class struggle as the driving force in ancient history. Challenging the dominant Weberian view held by Moses Finley and others, de Ste. Croix argued that the crucial issue in any mode of production is how surplus value is extracted, asserting that the ancient world was primarily characterised by the exploitation of unfree labour, especially enslaved people.
I. The Finley–Weber Paradigm: Status, Not Class
By the middle of the 20th century, the exploration of the ancient world was mainly influenced by a Weberian approach emphasising status groups, legal categories, and political institutions. Moses Finley, a prominent ancient historian, argued that Greek and Roman societies were structured around status rather than class divisions. He explicitly stated that ancient societies organised themselves into various political statuses, including citizen, metic, freedman, and enslaved person, thereby rendering the idea of class an unnecessary classification.
Finley’s argument was based on two main points: first, that social status hierarchy outweighed economic position, as a wealthy metic in Athens did not have the political rights of a poor citizen; second, that ancient ideology was mainly political rather than economic, since ancient writers portrayed social conflict through citizenship, honour, and legal privileges. Consequently, modern historians should consider this perspective.
This approach seemed sophisticated, rejecting simple economic determinism and emphasising the independence of politics. It also aligned with the mid-20th-century trend toward sociological pluralism. However, its impact was to eliminate the idea of class struggle in the ancient world, turning it into a realm of fixed hierarchies rather than active conflict.
De Ste. Croix understood that this issue was not just a methodological mistake but also an ideological one. Accordingly, he viewed Finley’s criticism as identical to the opposition Marx encountered: the assertion that ancient society was centred on politics, much as medieval society was centred on religion. In both instances, the ideological appearance was confused with the actual social structure.
II. De Ste. Croix’s Reconstruction of Class: Surplus Extraction as the Key
De Ste. Croix’s main contribution was redefining class as the key analytical category in ancient history. He revisited Marx’s original view of class as a relation of exploitation rather than merely a sociological group. The crucial question shifts from the legal status of individuals to how the dominant property-owning classes extract surplus value from direct producers. This idea is summarised thus: “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus…”
This formulation is fundamental to de Ste. Croix’s approach. It helps him pierce the ideological haze in ancient political discourse to reveal the underlying mechanisms of exploitation: slavery as the main means of surplus extraction, with rent, debt, and taxation serving as secondary tools applied to free producers. State coercion acts as the enforcement of elite dominance. In contrast to Finley, de Ste. Croix argued that the ancient world was not “pre-economic” but pre-capitalist, with an economy not driven by markets or profit motives. Nonetheless, it was an economy where the propertied classes derived their wealth from the surplus generated by enslaved people, peasants, and dependent workers.
This method enabled de Ste. Croix to incorporate the full scope of Greco-Roman history into a unified materialist framework, spanning from the Archaic Age to the Arab conquests. It also helped him interpret the political crises of antiquity—such as stasis, civil war, and revolution—not as anomalies but as manifestations of fundamental class conflicts.
III. Aristotle as a Witness to Class Antagonism
One of de Ste. Croix’s most insightful historiographical strategies was to view ancient authors not just as sources of information but as commentators on their own social contexts. Aristotle, specifically, can be seen as an early thinker resembling a proto-Marxist in his analysis of class struggle. He believed that a man’s economic status is the key factor shaping his political actions. Although he recognises the existence of middle groups, Aristotle often simplifies political conflict into a division between property owners and non-owners.
This divide becomes more pronounced during crises when the fundamental opposition between the rich and the poor becomes evident. Aristotle’s concern about stasis—civil unrest caused by class struggles—shows his keen understanding of the built-in tensions within the polis. De Ste. Croix points out that Aristotle’s approach closely resembles Marx’s methodology. This is not an anachronistic misinterpretation but an acknowledgement that ancient thinkers also saw politics as driven by material interests.
By emphasising Aristotle’s class analysis, de Ste. Croix challenges the Weberian idea that class is a modern concept unrelated to antiquity. Instead, he shows that the ancients had a distinct, although ideologically influenced, awareness of their own social classes.
IV. Democracy and Slavery: The Political Economy of the Polis
One of the most debated points in de Ste. Croix’s work is his claim that the structure of Athenian democracy relied on slavery. This challenges both idealised views of ancient democracy and revisionist theories tracing its origins to the free peasantry. “He understood that it was based on slavery… [the propertied class] intensified their exploitation of those who could not defend themselves: the slaves.” This is not a moral judgment but a materialist analysis. The reforms by Solon and Cleisthenes reduced elite exploitation of citizens, compelling the propertied classes to shift their oppression onto enslaved individuals. Therefore, the democratic rights of citizens were fundamentally linked to the subjugation of the enslaved.
De Ste. Croix also dismisses the idea that internal contradictions caused democracy to decline. Instead, it was toppled by the propertied classes, particularly after the Peloponnesian War, when oligarchic coups—supported by Sparta—aimed to re-establish elite control. Over time, citizens’ rights were gradually reduced until, by the third century CE, “a poor Roman citizen could legally be flogged and tortured—penalties once reserved for slaves.” This extended decline of democracy can only be understood through a class analysis: the propertied classes dismantled democratic institutions because those institutions limited their ability to extract surplus.
V. The Decline of Rome: Exploitation and the Collapse of Social Reproduction
De Ste. Croix offers a compelling materialist interpretation of the Roman Empire’s decline. He dismisses cultural, moral, and military reasons, asserting that Rome’s fall resulted from the ruling classes escalating exploitation, ultimately dismantling the empire’s social foundation. The propertied class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation…”
The oppressed populations, burdened by heavy taxes, military demands, and later by the parasitic Christian clergy, lacked motivation to protect the empire from barbarian invasions. The ruling elite, focusing on their immediate gains, weakened the long-term stability of the social system—an example of Marx’s concept of the “fetishism of private property.” This interpretation emphasises the role of the exploited classes: Rome’s fall was not solely due to external factors but also to internal exploitation, which rendered the empire unsustainable.
VI. The Peasantry Debate: Numbers vs Structure
A major debate in historiography focuses on the role of the peasantry. Ellen Meiksins Wood argued that Greek democracy relied on the free labour of independent smallholders, rather than slavery. In contrast, Ann Talbot criticises Wood’s view, describing it as “purely arithmetical and formal.”
The core issue is structural: the numerical majority of peasants does not influence the dynamics of the class struggle. Instead, what matters are the conflicts between rich and poor citizens, and between citizens and enslaved individuals. These contradictions, rather than demographic proportions, fuelled the political crises of antiquity. Therefore, De Ste. Croix’s analysis remains valid, even amidst revisionist efforts to downplay slavery’s importance.
Conclusion: De Ste. Croix’s Enduring Significance
De Ste. Croix’s intellectual and moral stature has remained strong over time. He “did not view the ancient world merely as a collection of dead structures; he engaged with its political struggles as if they were his own.” His work reflects the finest traditions of twentieth-century Marxism, influenced by the Russian Revolution and opposition to fascism.
De Ste. Croix proved that historical materialism extends beyond capitalism, shedding light on the entire class-based society. His contributions continue to be essential to understanding not only antiquity but also the ongoing mechanisms of exploitation and resistance across eras.
Historiographical Appendix: Finley, Wood, de Ste. Croix, and the WSWS Tradition
I. Introduction
Over the past fifty years, the study of the ancient world has been influenced by markedly different methodological approaches. These debates are not just about how to interpret Greek and Roman history but also concern the status of concepts like class, surplus extraction, and historical materialism as analytical tools. This appendix reviews four key perspectives: Moses Finley’s Weberian focus on status; Ellen Meiksins Wood’s ‘political Marxism’; G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s traditional Marxism; and Trotskyist historiography.
This appendix sets a clear interpretive framework for the latter two, describing de Ste. Croix’s “Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World” as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography” and highlighting his claim that “the most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is… how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus.”¹
II. Moses Finley and the Weberian Displacement of Class
Finley’s work is the most significant effort to omit class as an explanatory factor in ancient history. Influenced by Max Weber, he contended that the ancient Mediterranean was mainly organised around status groups—such as citizens, metics, freedmen, and enslaved individuals—rather than economic classes.² Finley argued that “ancient Greece and Rome were societies structured around a range of political statuses, making class an unsuitable category.”³
Finley’s argument was based on two key ideas: that social status took precedence over economic wealth. For example, a wealthy metic did not have the political rights of a poor citizen, and an imperial freedman could be wealthier than a senator but still hold a lower social status.⁴ Ancient ideology primarily focused on political issues rather than economic ones. Since ancient writers depicted conflict through themes of citizenship and honour, modern historians ought to approach it in a similar way.
Finley reshaped the ancient world into a realm of fixed social hierarchies, in which the processes of surplus extraction became less visible. His method was praised for its elegance but effectively blocked the use of historical materialism. As the referenced document mentions, de Ste. Croix saw this as similar to what Marx faced: the argument that ancient society was “based on politics” because its ideology expressed political ideas.⁵
III. Ellen Meiksins Wood and the Peasant‑Citizen Thesis
Ellen Meiksins Wood aimed to reposition class at the heart of ancient history. She achieved this by shifting the focus from slavery to the autonomous labour of smallholder farmers as the basis of Greek democracy. In her work Peasant-Citizen and Enslaved Person, she contended that the polis was a community of free producers whose political equality depended on their economic independence.⁶ Slavery existed, but it was not structurally constitutive of democracy.
In reference to Ann Talbot’s discussion in the WSWS, Wood’s method is characterised as “purely arithmetical and formal,” treating “peasant” as a generic label that overlooks the diversity among the numerous peasant societies throughout history.⁷ The issue is not about numbers but about structure: the key question is how surplus is extracted, rather than the number of peasants. Wood’s concept of ‘political Marxism” therefore tends to emphasise free labour and civic community as the main categories, often overlooking the slave mode of production as the fundamental basis of Athenian democracy.
IV. G.E.M. de Ste. Croix: Class as Surplus Extraction
De Ste. Croix’s intervention was to reexamine Marx’s initial idea of class as a relation of exploitation, focusing on the mode of surplus extraction rather than viewing class as just a sociological category. It is this process of surplus extraction that characterises class.⁸ “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus…”⁹
De Ste. Croix argued against Finley, asserting that the ancient world was not “status-based,” but instead a slave-based system where the propertied class gained surplus through the exploitation of unfree labour, mainly enslaved people. Regarding Wood, he contended that Athens’ democratic structure was fundamentally rooted in the organic link between citizen rights and the unfree status of slaves. The reforms introduced by Solon and Cleisthenes aimed to curb elite exploitation of citizens, which led the propertied classes to increase their exploitation of enslaved individuals.¹¹
De Ste. Croix’s approach also included a radical reinterpretation of ancient writers. For instance, Aristotle is seen not merely as a theorist of social hierarchies but as an analyst of class conflict shaped by ideological influences. He consistently simplifies political disputes into a dichotomy between hoi tas ousias echontes (property owners) and hoi aporoi (those without). As the uploaded document points out, Aristotle’s analysis closely resembles the approach used by Marx.”¹³
V. The Trotskyist Tradition: De Ste. Croix as a Model of Historical Materialism
The Trotskyist tradition regards de Ste. Croix as an example of authentic Marxist historiography. It commends him for dismissing “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’” and for showing “a true understanding of Marx and a dedication to the class struggle as essential to comprehending all human history.”¹⁴
This tradition’s reading is characterised by three features: historical materialism as a universal approach and recognition of the ancient world not as a pre-economic period but as a unique historical setting of exploitation and resistance. It also views democracy as a form of class rule, noting that Athenian democracy “was based on slavery,” and its fall was due to deliberate actions by the elite rather than internal decline.¹⁵ Elite self-destruction as a historical process: The Roman ruling class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”¹⁶
VI. Comparative Synthesis
The four positions can be outlined as follows: Finley emphasises status-centrism, with a marginalised view of class, analysing democracy through political structures; slavery is acknowledged but not viewed as structurally central. Wood reintroduces class, focusing on free smallholders, considers slavery as secondary, and sees democracy rooted in peasant-citizenship.
De Ste. Croix characterises class as the extraction of surplus, with slavery being fundamentally embedded in this process. He sees democracy as a form of rule based on slave exploitation. Trotskyists regard De Ste. Croix, as a key model, universalises the concept of class struggle and interprets ancient history through the framework of exploitation and resistance. His work is considered an essential resource for Marxists, showing that historical materialism explains the full scope of class society.”¹⁷
Notes
Appx. Doc., “G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World… stands as one of the great works of Marxist historiography,” and “The most significant distinguishing feature… is how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus.”
Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973).
Appx. Doc., “Finley argued that ancient Greece and Rome were societies organised around a spectrum of political statuses… and that class was therefore an inappropriate category.”
Ibid.
Appx. Doc., “De Ste. Croix recognised this as the same objection Marx himself had faced…”
Ellen Meiksins Wood, Peasant-Citizen and enslaved person: The Foundations of Athenian Democracy (London: Verso, 1988).
Appx. Doc., “This is a purely arithmetical and formal approach… ‘peasant’ is an empty term…”
Karl Marx, Capital, vol. 3, ch. 47.
Appx. Doc., “The most significant distinguishing feature…”
Appx. Doc., “by the exploitation of unfree (especially slave) labour.”
Appx. Doc., “the constitutional measures… prevented the propertied class from exploiting the peasantry… [so] they intensified their exploitation of… slaves.”
Aristotle, Politics, 1279b–1281a.
Appx. Doc., “bears a remarkable resemblance to the method of approach adopted by Marx.”
Appx. Doc., “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’… genuine knowledge of Marx…”
Appx. Doc., “He understood that [democracy] was based on slavery.”
Appx. Doc., “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”
Appx. Doc., “His work remains an indispensable resource for Marxists…”
A recent Financial Times editorial, “Football will eclipse politics at this World Cup,” exemplifies the complacent, upper-middle-class liberalism that has long provided ideological cover for the abuses of global capitalism. Its main argument—that the 2026 World Cup’s “goals, talent and diversity are set to drown out controversy off the pitch”—is not just naïve; it’s a reactionary move to suppress public awareness amid the growing tensions of world capitalism, which are now affecting every aspect of social life, including sports.
The editorial board’s stance is based on a flawed and strongly ideological divide between “politics” and “the beautiful game.” The authors briefly admit that the tournament has been “tainted by events off the pitch,” mentioning the troubling scene of FIFA giving a “peace prize” to Donald Trump, the exorbitant ticket prices that make supporters pay nearly $7,000 just to watch their team, and the blatantly discriminatory visa policies excluding fans from non-European countries and even “a match referee from Somalia.” Despite these issues, they are dismissed as minor problems—mere background distractions that do not detract from the overall spectacle of goals and celebration.
This is a common ideological tactic of the bourgeois media. While the FT notes the symptoms, it avoids examining the underlying issue. The World Cup is not corrupted by politics; rather, it exposes itself as a large commercial and geopolitical venture, where football acts as a front for the interests of governments, corporations, and oligarchic elites.
The FT’s depoliticisation of sport is itself a political act.
The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” exemplifies ideological mystification. Because the World Cup is a worldwide media spectacle watched by billions, ruling classes aim to manipulate it. The FT’s suggestion to concentrate on “goals” and “serendipity” is not harmless; it urges the public to ignore the harsh realities of the global system.
The editorial downplays the extraordinary fact that “this is the first World Cup where a host nation is at war with one of the participating countries,” viewing Trump’s decision to deny the Iranian team overnight stay in the US as a minor curiosity instead of a stark example of how militarism and xenophobia are now openly influencing international sports.
The FT’s lack of coverage on the wider issues—the escalating US–Iran conflict, the growing trade war between the host countries, the global surge of authoritarian regimes, and the worsening crisis of global capitalism—is deliberate. It mirrors the class interests of the publication, which represents the financial oligarchy that benefits from commodifying sport and militarizing geopolitics.
The editorial celebrates the very inequalities it pretends to lament.
The FT criticizes the “extortionate pricing” of tickets but celebrates the expansion to 48 teams as a sign of “worldwide representation.” This presents a cynical contradiction. What does “representation’ truly mean when the working-class populations cannot afford to attend? When the editorial mentions that Curaçaoans, Cape Verdeans, Uzbeks, and Jordanians will “watch from home with pride,” it unintentionally exposes the class divide: the global poor may provide the players, but the stadiums are owned by the wealthy.
Likewise, the editorial highlights the “vibrancy of international cultures” that will be showcased as fans move between 16 North American cities—yet it concedes that only those “who can afford it” will be able to participate. This is not true diversity; it amounts to luxury multiculturalism catered to the wealthy.
The fetishisation of individual stars masks the structural rot.
The FT devotes significant space to Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Lamine Yamal, suggesting that the star power of individual players can compensate for corruption in the sport’s governance. This focus on personal charisma illustrates bourgeois ideology by transforming systemic issues into a spectacle of individual achievement. Additionally, the editorial characterises Roberto Lopes’ recruitment to Cape Verde via a ‘LinkedIn message’ as charming, disregarding its indication of the chaotic, unregulated, and exploitative global labour market that shapes modern football.
The World Cup cannot “eclipse politics” because it is a product of politics.
The FT’s conclusion that the tournament’s “enduring power” is rooted in its ability to “entertain” regardless of politics essentially accepts the logic of spectacle. It suggests that the audience should be kept distracted, pacified, and depoliticized by sport’s spectacle while the ruling elite pursues its predatory interests unnoticed. In reality, the opposite is true. The 2026 World Cup is not an escape from the global capitalist crisis but a vivid reflection of it. The militarized borders, corporate profiteering, sky-high ticket prices, geopolitical tensions, exploitation of migrant workers, and authoritarian displays by host governments are not external to the event—they are integral to its nature.
Claiming that football will “eclipse politics” demands the public accept a world that’s unequal, violent, and ruled by oligarchic interests. Socialists must reveal this falsehood, expose the material forces behind global sport, and insist that the working class—whose labor, passion, and creativity make football possible—should not be passive spectators in a spectacle that hides their exploitation.
Obituary for the Beautiful Game:
Once, football was a pastime of the working class, not just a game but a shared expression of solidarity and human creativity. Played in factory yards, slag heaps, crowded streets, and muddy fields, it only needed a ball, a small space, and the imagination of its players. That era has passed.
Today, what remains of “football” is a distorted imitation: a worldwide commodity, a tool for marketing, a pawn in geopolitics, a means to clean oligarchic wealth, and an entertainment designed to pacify a population losing political influence. The “beautiful game” has been embalmed, packaged, and sold to the public at a cost they can no longer bear. This isn’t an obituary for a sport that has merely evolved; it’s for a sport that has been completely extinguished.
The Expropriation of a Working‑Class Inheritance
Football originated among the industrial working class, whose labour established the very time and social environment for collective leisure. Clubs were established by railway workers, dockers, miners, and textile workers. The terraces served as the one space where the working class could emerge as a unified social force, expressing their collective voice and purpose. However, late capitalism has undermined this foundational aspect.
Stadiums have transformed into luxury zones, with even the cheapest tickets exceeding the financial reach of the original community that built the sport. As the FT editorial notes, tickets for the 2026 World Cup will start at nearly $7,000 before travel costs—an extraordinary figure a generation ago. This change has pushed the working class out of the stands, making room for corporate sponsors, tourists, and wealthier elites. The vibrant, spontaneous atmosphere has been replaced by curated fan experiences, and the organic culture of the game has been replaced by branded content. Overall, football has become privatized, financialized, and disconnected from its social roots.
The Oligarchic Capture of the Global Game
The modern football economy highlights the stark inequalities of today. Clubs serve as investment tools for petro-monarchies, hedge funds, and billionaire investors. FIFA and UEFA act as transnational corporations mainly focused on generating profit.
The World Cup, originally a showcase of international sporting spirit, has now transformed into a spectacle marred by corruption, authoritarianism, and geopolitical drama. The editorial highlights FIFA’s decision to give a “peace prize” to a sitting US president, a move so ridiculous it might be funny, if not for revealing the organisation’s complete submission to state influence.
Visa bans, militarised borders, and political vendettas now determine who can attend, participate, or even enter host countries. For example, a Somali referee was refused entry; entire national fan groups are excluded; and a nation participating in an event is prevented from staying overnight in the host country. These are no longer exceptions but reflect a broader world order where sport is manipulated to serve the interests of powerful nations. Football has evolved into a diplomatic tool, a means of propaganda, and a way to legitimize political agendas.
The Commodification of the Player
Players—originally local heroes developed through community clubs and youth initiatives—have transformed into commodities in the international market. Their bodies are traded like financial derivatives, and they are pushed to perform at higher levels to accommodate a growing number of matches designed to increase revenue.
The editorial emphasizes Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Yamal, yet this concentration on star players signals a decline in the sport. The fixation on superstars masks harder truths: the exhaustion, injuries, and exploitation faced by young players from Africa, South America, and Eastern Europe, who are trafficked through academies and often discarded if they fail to meet commercial expectations. The so-called “beautiful game” now functions as a labor market where human beings are reduced to mere brand assets.
The Spectacle as Social Pacification
The ruling class recognizes the political role of football. In a time marked by increasing inequality, declining living standards, and rising geopolitical tensions, sports serve as a pressure release. The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” is not just a statement but a demand: urging the masses to divert their attention from global crises and become absorbed in entertainment.
The World Cup is promoted as a celebration of “diversity,” “vibrancy,” and “international culture”—but only accessible to those who can afford it. The working class is left watching from home, passively absorbing the spectacle and cheering for a world they are becoming more excluded from. Football has shifted from a shared act of solidarity to a tool for distraction.
The Death of the Beautiful Game
What made football beautiful was not its commercial spectacle but its simplicity, accessibility, and universality. It was a game that belonged to everyone because it required almost nothing and reflected the creativity, spontaneity, and collective spirit of ordinary people. Under late capitalism, that world has been dismantled.
The “beautiful game” is not dead because people no longer love it, but because capitalism has consumed it. It was destroyed through privatisation, financialisation, militarised borders, oligarchic ownership, and the transformation of sport into a commodity, turning fans into consumers. What is left is a shell driven by marketing, broadcast rights, and geopolitical agendas.
However, the obituary concludes with a contradiction: while the game is considered dead, the desire that birthed it remains alive. The working class that originally invented football continues to exist, along with its ability to reshape the world—and the sport—on a new basis. The revival of the beautiful game will not originate from FIFA, billionaires, or corporate media, but from the same force that created it initially: the collective strength of the working class.
