Pip: A Trumpet of Sedition asks a question most history coverage sidesteps entirely: when we talk about fascism, are we actually talking about fascism, or have we quietly swapped it out for something more comfortable?
Mara: freerein61 has a piece this week that takes that question seriously, working through how liberal memory culture handles the history of Nazism — and what it systematically leaves out. Let's start with the argument about Katja Hoyer, Daniel Goldhagen, and what the Marxist tradition says both of them get wrong.
Katja Hoyer, Goldhagen, and the Class Question
Pip: The setup here is a Financial Times article by Katja Hoyer on newly digitised Nazi Party membership records. The surface reading is: here is an opportunity for Germans to confront difficult family histories. The argument in this post is that the surface reading is the problem.
Mara: The post frames it precisely. A Marxist critic quoted in the piece puts it this way: "reduces the greatest crimes in human history to a matter of individual family shame and personal conscience, while leaving untouched the class forces that made fascism possible and that are re-emerging today."
Pip: So the archive becomes a mirror rather than a document. The question shifts from what structural forces enabled fascism to whether your grandfather was a good person — and that shift is not innocent, it is doing ideological work.
Mara: The post draws a direct comparison to Daniel Goldhagen's Hitler's Willing Executioners, and the pairing is pointed. Goldhagen nationalises guilt — fascism as a German cultural pathology. Hoyer privatises it — fascism as a family secret. The post argues both moves share the same blind spot: class conflict disappears entirely from the explanation.
Pip: Goldhagen says Germans killed because they wanted to. Hoyer says look inward at your grandfather. Neither asks who funded Hitler or why the organisations representing millions of German workers collapsed without a fight in 1933.
Mara: That collapse is where the post spends real time. The SPD clung to bourgeois legality. The KPD, following Stalin's line, called the SPD social fascists and wrecked any prospect of a united front. Trade union leaders marched workers into Nazi May Day celebrations on May 1, 1933 — one day before SA and SS units raided their offices and seized their assets. The post quotes directly: "These organisations… capitulated passively to Hitler."
Pip: That sequence — the deliberate political disarming of the only force capable of stopping fascism — is exactly what neither Hoyer's genealogical introspection nor Goldhagen's national-character thesis can accommodate, because admitting it would mean asking class questions about 1933 and about today.
Mara: The post brings in Trotsky's definition as the counter-framework: "Fascism is a particular method of rallying and organising the petty bourgeoisie to serve finance capital." That reframes the whole problem — fascism as a product of capitalist crisis and political betrayal, not psychology or culture.
Pip: And the post closes by connecting this to the present. Germany is rearming. Historical revisionism is climbing. The individualised-guilt framework is politically useful precisely because, as the post puts it, one can feel personal shame about a grandfather while supporting the deployment of German troops — the class question is never posed.
Mara: Which is why the post argues the digitised Nazi files matter most not as a therapeutic resource but as a historical archive of fascism's class nature — and why the working class needs a framework that can actually explain what happened, rather than one that stops at the family tree.
Pip: The throughline is that how we explain fascism determines what we think can stop it. Psychology and genealogy leave the structural causes intact.
Mara: That's the stakes the post keeps returning to. The next time this territory comes up, it will be worth watching which questions get asked and which get quietly set aside.
The ideological function of genealogical introspection
Katja Hoyer’s recent article in the Financial Times on the digitised Nazi Party membership records appears as a compassionate call to confront difficult family histories. However, it is actually a strategic move aimed at shaping public awareness of history. This approach shifts the atrocities of fascism into a personal narrative of genealogy, shame, and individual reflection, while deliberately overlooking the broader class struggles, political betrayals, and capitalist factors that facilitated fascism.
As one Marxist critic recently noted, this genre “reduces the greatest crimes in human history to a matter of individual family shame and personal conscience, while leaving untouched the class forces that made fascism possible and that are re-emerging today.”¹ The digitised Nazi files become not a historical archive but a therapeutic mirror. This is not an innocent mistake. It is an ideological operation.
The displacement of history by family mythology
Hoyer’s approach relies on a straightforward but powerful shift: instead of asking, “What class forces enabled fascism?” the subject is prompted to ask, “Was my grandfather a Nazi?” This transforms the historical disaster into a personal story. Political issues become psychological concerns, and social problems are viewed through a personal lens.
This example illustrates modern attitudes toward remembering German history. As the WSWS highlighted during the controversy over the Wehrmacht exhibition, even important documentation of Nazi atrocities tends to be presented without linking it to the broader class struggles in Germany and Europe, as if there was no opposition to the Nazis’ rise and their military ambitions. Hoyer’s article exemplifies this issue on a smaller scale, creating a story in which the grandfather becomes the central figure of history, the family serves as a space for reflection, and the working class is entirely overlooked. This approach does not depict true history but promotes a liberal myth.
The erasure of the working class and its betrayal
Any thorough analysis of fascism must start with the betrayal of the German working class by the SPD, KPD, and trade unions in 1933. These groups represented millions of workers. Their surrender enabled Hitler’s rise to power. The SPD clung to bourgeois legality as the state fell apart. The KPD, following Stalin, called the SPD “social fascists,” undermining a united front. The trade unions encouraged workers to take part in Nazi May Day celebrations.
Hoyer’s narrative cannot admit this, as it would mean confronting the ongoing class interests that connect the capitalist systems of 1933, 1945, and today. Instead, she shifts focus to family history, asking whether ‘my grandfather was good or bad,’ rather than examining what political forces weakened the working class and facilitated fascism. This amounts to a form of historical falsification.
Goldhagen in miniature: national character disguised as family psychology
At first glance, Katja Hoyer and Daniel Goldhagen seem to embody different facets of modern German memory culture. However, they may actually reflect two sides of the same ideological spectrum. Goldhagen’s tone is polemical, broad, and accusatory, while Hoyer adopts a therapeutic, intimate, and psychologically nuanced approach. Goldhagen criticises the German nation as a whole, whereas Hoyer focuses on examining the German family. Goldhagen discusses “eliminationist anti-Semitism,” whereas Hoyer explores “family myths” and the process of “reckoning.”
However, despite these stylistic variations, they serve a common ideological purpose: to depoliticise fascism, eliminate class conflict, and reframe the atrocities of the Third Reich as issues of psychology, culture, and personal identity. Both authors function within the same liberal perspective that downplays “the greatest crimes in human history to a matter of individual family shame and personal conscience. Goldhagen nationalises guilt. Hoyer privatises guilt. Both protect capitalism.
Goldhagen: National character as historical explanation
Daniel Goldhagen’s Hitler’s Willing Executioners (1996) argued that the Holocaust was the product of a uniquely German, centuries‑old “eliminationist anti‑Semitism.” The book was a publishing sensation precisely because it offered a morally satisfying yet historically bankrupt explanation: Germans killed Jews because they wanted to.
Goldhagen’s thesis has three key flaws: it deletes class relations by ignoring the bourgeoisie, the working class, and capitalism; it reduces the Holocaust to a cultural issue; and it dismisses political struggle, especially neglecting figures like Marx, Engels, Bebel, and Liebknecht, thus turning history into nationalist rhetoric. Moreover, it overlooks the betrayal of the working class, as Goldhagen cannot explain the surrender of the SPD, KPD, and trade unions in 1933, or why the working class— the only group capable of resisting fascism—was politically disarmed. His thesis is a dead end because it views fascism as a moral failing rather than a class-based phenomenon.
Hoyer: The privatisation of guilt
Katja Hoyer’s “family secrets” narrative mirrors Goldhagen’s approach on a smaller scale. While Goldhagen criticises the entire nation, Hoyer focuses on the household. Goldhagen discusses “German culture,” whereas Hoyer examines “family mythology.” Goldhagen universalises guilt, but Hoyer personalises it. The core argument is similar: fascism is explained through psychology rather than politics, history is viewed through identity instead of class, and the working class is completely omitted. The question becomes ‘was my grandfather a good or bad person?’ rather than ‘what class forces and political betrayals made fascism possible?” Hoyer’s narrative is more than just incomplete; it is essential on ideological grounds. It guarantees that the digitised Nazi Party files serve for therapeutic self-reflection rather than for historical study.
The shared erasure of the working class
Both Hoyer and Goldhagen consistently overlook a critical historical fact: fascism’s rise was facilitated by the betrayal of their own base by German working-class organisations. As the state disintegrated, the SPD maintained bourgeois legality, while the KPD, following Stalin’s directives, sabotaged the unity front. The Trade union leaders collaborated with the Nazi propaganda event on May 1, 1933. This orchestrated spectacle was intended to lull German trade unions into complacency just a day before their complete suppression on May 2, 1933, when SA, SS, and NSBO units raided union offices, detained leaders, and seized assets. All these organisations… passively capitulated to Hitler.”
Goldhagen cannot acknowledge this because it would weaken his claim about national pathology. Likewise, Hoyer cannot accept it as it would contradict her narrative of personal self-reflection. Consequently, both authors depict a version of history that omits class struggle, suggesting fascism emerges from cultural, identity, or family factors rather than from the crisis of capitalism.
Trotsky’s method: The Marxist demolition of both narratives
Leon Trotsky’s critique of fascism reveals flaws in Hoyer’s and Goldhagen’s perspectives. Trotsky argued that fascism is not merely a cultural issue but a tool used by a class: “Fascism is a particular method of rallying and organising the petty bourgeoisie to serve finance capital.”
This single sentence challenges the entire ideological foundation of Hoyer and Goldhagen. Trotsky’s perspective shows that Fascism stems from the capitalist crisis, not from national character. It is propelled by the political betrayal of workers rather than family myths. Additionally, Fascism is fundamentally a class issue, not a psychological one. Goldhagen’s argument falters because it ignores why the bourgeoisie supported Hitler. Similarly, Hoyer’s argument is incomplete because it overlooks why the working class was disarmed. Trotsky reestablishes the comprehensive social relations that both authors overlook.
The political function of Hoyer and Goldhagen
The ideological significance of both writers becomes evident when viewed in the context of modern German politics. Germany is rearming, the Bundeswehr is active internationally, and historical revisionism is on the rise. The political leaders openly discuss “normalising” Germany’s military strength. In this environment, Hoyer and Goldhagen serve crucial ideological functions: They shift fascism from a class-based issue to a psychological one, promote guilt without fostering political awareness, hide the role of German capitalism in funding Hitler, and prevent the working class from developing revolutionary insights. “One can feel personal shame about one’s grandfather while supporting the deployment of German troops. The class question is never posed.” Both writers use their political role to prevent past crimes from endangering current interests.
The political utility of individualised guilt
The German elite prefers to shift historical accountability onto individual and psychological levels. As the WSWS observed in their review of the 2011 “Hitler and the Germans” exhibition, the official narrative usually attributes blame to the German populace while hiding the role of German capitalism in the rise of Hitler.”
Hoyer’s article aligns well with this pattern. It prompts Germans to feel shame about their grandparents while ignoring the banks that funded Hitler, the companies that benefited from slave labour, and the state institutions that remained unchanged after 1945. This is why the “family secrets” genre is so politically effective: it fosters guilt without involving politics, memory without addressing class, and reckoning without calling for revolution.
The Marxist view contrasts with Hoyer’s liberal-psychological explanation, which holds that fascism emerges from capitalism in crisis. Its rise is due to the working class’s betrayal. Fascism’s crimes are best understood by examining its class roots, not genealogy or psychology. The digitised Nazi files are useful primarily for revealing fascism’s class nature.
The working class needs to reject the entire ideology of individual guilt. Fascism’s crimes were not caused by flawed personalities or national traits but stemmed from a social system—capitalism—driven into barbarism by crises and betrayal. The only force that can stop another descent into disaster is an organised, conscious working class, equipped with a revolutionary socialist agenda.
Notes
Family Secrets and the Class Question: A Marxist Response to the “Nazi Grandfather” Phenomenon, p. 1.
Ibid., p. 2.
Ibid., p. 3.
WSWS, “The Goldhagen Debate,” 1996.
Leon Trotsky, The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany (New York: Pathfinder, 1971), 247.
The Guardian’s recent undercover investigation by Harry Shukman, which depicts his personal efforts to infiltrate far-right groups, highlights the political emptiness of the liberal middle class. The piece functions more as a performative act, portraying the journalist as a solitary guardian defending “democracy” against an external threat. However, this entire story is built on a fundamentally flawed premise. The far right is not an outsider threatening the mainstream; rather, it is a harmful outgrowth of the very mainstream itself.[1]
As the Socialist Equality Party (UK) stated during the 2024 anti-immigrant riots, the rise of fascist tendencies reflects the core struggles of imperialist politics and capitalist decline. Faced with worsening economic crises, intensifying geopolitical tensions, and growing opposition from the working class, the ruling class increasingly adopts nationalism, xenophobia, and authoritarian measures. These are not isolated incidents but intentional ideological strategies of a capitalist system in deepening crisis.
The Guardian’s framing—highlighting Shakman’s personal choice to “fight,” the perceived “encroachment” of the far right, and portraying the political centre as a steady democratic stronghold—only masks the true situation. This is a political myth, and a risky one.
The far right is incubated by the political mainstream, not external to it.
The core message of the SEP’s document is clear: “The far right does not ‘encroach’ on the mainstream; it is incubated by it.” This is not just a rhetorical device but a factual statement. For years, successive Labour and Conservative governments have created the conditions that allow fascist movements to flourish—through austerity, militarism, anti-immigrant scapegoating, and the systematic deterioration of working-class living standards.
Instead of changing this course, Starmer’s Labour government has actually worsened it. It came into power promising to “stop the boats,” deport “illegal” migrants, and uphold the fiscal constraints set by financial markets. Yvette Cooper’s summer police raids on immigrants were not a concession to the far right but a manifestation of their agenda executed from the top down. The fascists did not need to “encroach.” The state was already doing their work.
The liberal press: oscillating between exposure and legitimisation
The Guardian’s role here is fundamental, not accidental. It fluctuates between shocking exposés of the far right and sympathetic broadcasting of the ideas that support it. As noted, the Guardian gave lenient coverage to men imprisoned for setting fire to a hotel with 200 asylum seekers in Rotherham, portraying their “feelings of injustice” as deserving attention.
This isn’t hypocrisy; it’s class politics. The liberal media tries to keep its credibility with the middle class by condemning fascism, while also endorsing anti-immigrant narratives that support Labour and Conservative policies. Both roles benefit the ruling class by redirecting social anger away from capitalism and onto the most vulnerable.
The “infiltration” model: individualising fascism, obscuring capitalism
The undercover journalist method is not only inadequate but also creates political confusion. It portrays fascism as a matter of individual morality—focusing on “particularly nasty individuals,” secret Telegram channels, and covert networks—rather than understanding it as a social problem caused by the crisis of capitalism. It turns a political and social phenomenon rooted in the crisis of the capitalist system into a problem of especially malicious individuals.”
This individualisation aligns closely with the state’s law-and-order approach. Starmer’s response to the 2024 riots—featuring mass arrests, rapid courts, and a new national police force of 6,000—was praised by the liberal media as essential for maintaining “public order.” However, these repressive tactics are actually being set up to target the working class: striking workers, anti-war protesters, and anyone opposing capital’s influence.
The infiltration model, supported by NGOs like Hope Not Hate, suggests that police, courts, and security agencies are allies in combating fascism. However, this is a political trap. The capitalist state does not serve as a safeguard against fascism; instead, it functions as the tool through which the ruling class creates the circumstances for fascism to develop.
HOPE not hate exemplifies what Trotskyism recognises as the core political dead end of liberal anti-fascism. Despite its sincere self-description, it reveals an organisation whose class stance, political approach, and strategic outlook position it not as a remedy to the far-right threat but as a component of the structural issue.
HOPE not hate is not a grassroots group. It is a professional NGO, run by “researchers, educators, community activists and policy experts”—essentially, the upper-middle class. Its funding, charitable status, and strategic focus on “building skills and resilience across communities and civil society organisations” reflect the language of the non-profit sector rather than class activism. The working class doesn’t require middle-class experts to “build its resilience.” It needs an independent political party with a revolutionary socialist agenda.
The organisation’s mission centres on moral concepts such as “hope,” “hate,” “togetherness,” and “unity,” which deliberately conceal the class roots of both fascism and its opposition. Fascism is not merely a psychological flaw or a set of corrupt values. It is “a concentrated expression of imperialist politics and capitalist decay.” The ruling classes foster extreme nationalism and xenophobia to divert social tensions toward the right, support imperialist wars, and undermine the democratic and social rights of workers. An organisation that fails to identify capitalism as the root cause of the far-right threat cannot effectively lead the fight against it.
Defending the state that breeds fascism
HOPE not hate’s self-description reveals a strong commitment to “defend, champion and promote democracy and the rule of law; speaking out against anti-democratic and authoritarian forces and policies.” This statement signifies loyalty to the British capitalist state — the same state whose policies consistently foster conditions for far-right expansion.
This ongoing state, maintained through successive Labour and Conservative governments, has led to imperialist wars, decades of austerity, anti-immigrant nationalism, and the systematic erosion of the working class’s social standing. The far-right riots in Britain in August 2024 occurred less than a month after the Starmer Labour government assumed power on a platform of militarism, austerity, and promises to “stop the boats.” Home Secretary Yvette Cooper announced a “summer blitz” of police raids on immigrants just days before the violence broke out. The far right thrives on the toxic environment created by the very parties that shape public life.
An anti-fascism committed to defending the state apparatus is politically ineffective. It views fascism merely as an outside threat to a supposedly healthy democracy — a false belief that disarmed the German working class in the 1930s. The working class cannot overcome fascism by simply defending the bourgeois state; it must be ready to dismantle it and establish institutions of workers’ power.
The NGO trap: policing opposition into safe channels
HOPE not hate’s approach — “creating a platform for ordinary people to do the extraordinary,” “supporting the wider sector to have greater impact,” “effective collaboration and sharing of skills” — exemplifies how anti-fascism can shift from a political fight to a structured, grant-supported sector. The organisation channels public frustration over racism and the far right into activities compatible with the capitalist system: community workshops, educational programs, policy advocacy, and “alternative narratives.”
This is not a failure of execution but a function. Such NGOs are tasked with absorbing, containing, and neutralising the social opposition created by capitalism, preventing it from evolving into an independent political threat to the system. HOPE not hate’s researchers may infiltrate far-right groups. Still, the organisation will never advocate for the political mobilisation of the working class against the Labour Party, trade union bureaucracy, or the capitalist state, which are the primary enablers of the far right.
The Searchlight lineage
HOPE not hate originates from Searchlight magazine, a British anti-fascist publication known for its collaboration with intelligence and police agencies, and for its persistent criticism of the revolutionary left. Searchlight established the model of anti-fascism as an intelligence operation focused on the state, viewing fascists as a criminal-psychological issue for authorities to manage rather than a political force to be challenged by the organised working class. HOPE not hate has adapted this approach for the modern NGO landscape—more refined, emphasising community engagement, yet maintaining the same political stance: supporting the state, marginalising revolutionaries, and keeping the working class politically passive.
What genuine anti-fascism requires
The fight against the far right can’t rely solely on ‘togetherness and unity’ across classes. It demands independent political action by the working class—the vast majority—against capitalism. This involves politically breaking away from the Labour Party, whose anti-immigrant nationalism and austerity policies foster far-right growth. It also means establishing rank-and-file committees to challenge the trade union bureaucracy, which collaborates with the state and corporations to suppress class struggle. An international effort is necessary to oppose imperialist wars—such as leaving NATO, ending the Ukraine conflict, and opposing the Gaza genocide—since militarism and fascism are interconnected. The goal is to fight for a socialist program that unites British and immigrant workers against their exploiters, rather than supporting liberal ‘multiculturalism’ that preserves capitalist class relations.
HOPE not hate hinders all these efforts. Its “hope” is that capitalism can become fairer. However, the working class requires a different hope — the revolutionary overthrow of the system that generates fascism. The struggle against the far right is inherently linked to the fight against capitalism. Any effort to treat fascism as an external threat instead of a result of the capitalist system only weakens the working class.
Shukman’s personal bravery is unquestioned. However, his narrative serves a clear political purpose: it replaces the collective struggle of the working class with the actions of a courageous middle-class individual. It fosters illusions about the state, downplays Labour and union roles, and shifts the focus away from the root cause of the problem—the capitalist system itself.
The working class should reject this version of anti-fascism. Its role isn’t to cheer on journalistic infiltrations but to create its own struggle organisations, unite across nations, and fight for a socialist solution to the capitalist crisis that fuels fascism. Only through such a movement can the far right be truly defeated—not just exposed or infiltrated, but rooted out.
[1] A year of hate: what I learned when I went undercover with the far right-www.theguardian.com
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
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
Brian Reade’s comparison of the 2026 World Cup to Hitler’s 1936 Olympics has triggered the usual hand-wringing in liberal circles. Despite its rhetorical flair, Reade’s argument—like all moralistic complaints from the declining Labour-aligned press—falls apart due to political evasions. The comparison with 1936 is not incorrect; what is flawed is the conclusion he draws from it.[1]
The United States, hosting the 2026 World Cup, is not just “controversial”; it embodies global imperialism through its illegal war against Iran, supporting the Gaza genocide, and conducting mass arrests and deportations of immigrant workers, unprecedented in recent American history. As has been reported, ICE agents will be present at every stadium. The Iranian team has been denied visas and faced what can only be seen as a veiled death threat from Trump. Meanwhile, the Congolese team has been targeted with a racist quarantine order that reflects the imperial disdain typical of the US-NATO war efforts.
Comparing these events to 1936 is more than an exaggeration; it’s an understatement. The Nazi regime used the Berlin Olympics to project an image of a peaceful, cultured Germany while secretly preparing for genocide. Likewise, the Trump administration exploits the World Cup to spread a message of “unity,” even as ICE functions as an anti-immigrant force similar to the Gestapo, and the Pentagon conducts widespread destruction in the Middle East. Yet, beyond these parallels, the comparison quickly falls apart—and it exposes the political shortcomings of Reade’s framework.
The Liberal Myth of 1936
Reade, like all liberal moralists, references 1936 as a moral story: Jesse Owens humbling Hitler, representing individual bravery overcoming bigotry, and suggesting that sport can “shame” authoritarian regimes. This narrative serves as the mythology of a ruling class eager to hide its own complicity.
The stark truth is that by 1936, the German working class was crushed. The Communist Party and Social Democrats had betrayed the proletariat, paving the way for Hitler’s rise. Western democracies, especially Britain and the United States, did not boycott Berlin; instead, they collaborated. The American Olympic Committee, led by fascist-sympathizer Avery Brundage, fiercely resisted any boycott efforts. Meanwhile, US companies like IBM and Ford gained significant profits through their association with the Nazi regime.
The lesson from 1936 is not that sport can be corrupted by bad governments, but that the capitalist elites worldwide will cooperate with fascism when it benefits their interests. Only the unified effort of the global working class could have prevented Hitler’s rise, and only such collective action can now prevent our slide into war and dictatorship.
The Liberal Illusion of Boycotts and Moral Appeals
Reade’s strategies—such as boycotts, moral condemnations, and appeals to FIFA or the “international community”—are typical of a political tendency that has detached itself from the working class. These approaches rely on the false belief that the capitalist state and its institutions can be coerced into ethical actions.
However, FIFA is not an impartial judge corrupted by Trump; rather, it functions as a tool of global capitalism. Its president, Gianni Infantino, awarded Trump the bizarre “FIFA Peace Prize.” The tournament’s design—opening match in Mexico City with the later rounds held in the United States—reflects the geography of imperial power.
What about the governments Reade suggests might “take a stand”? Starmer’s Labour largely supports US imperialist wars as a loyal junior partner. The Democratic Party managed the same deportation system and imperialist machinery before Trump came back into office. Appealing to these forces means aligning with those responsible for the disaster.
Sport as a Weapon of the Capitalist State
Reade’s framework embraces the nationalist idea that the key issue in modern sport is determining which nation is “fit” to host. However, every capitalist country employs sport as a means of nationalist mobilization. The 2012 London Olympics, the 2014 Sochi Games, and the 2018 World Cup in Russia—each was used to cloak social inequality and imperial ambitions with patriotic symbolism.
However, the nationalist story is beginning to weaken. During the Milan Winter Olympics, thousands demonstrated against Trump and ICE, booing Vice President Vance. US athletes openly expressed their disapproval of the regime. Freestyle skier Chris Lillis said he was “heartbroken” over ICE’s actions and emphasized that athletes represent a different America than the one involved in mass repression.
Even in the United States, the nationalist event is faltering. While 75% of Americans are aware that the US is hosting the World Cup, almost a third intend to support a different country. This significant statistic highlights the immigrant heritage and globalist sentiments of millions—sentiments that the ruling elite cannot eliminate.
The Working Class and the Real Lesson of 2026
Modern football was built by the working class, shaping its culture, passion, and worldwide popularity— all rooted in working-class life. Instead of a moral boycott by liberal columnists, the solution to the nationalist spectacle of the 2026 World Cup is promoting awareness among the political class. The 1936 Olympics happened after the German working class was politically defeated and betrayed by Stalinism and social democracy. Similarly, the 2026 World Cup unfolds at a time when the international working class has yet to develop the revolutionary leadership needed to stop the progression toward war and dictatorship.
The lesson is not that sport should be considered ‘pure” or “apolitical.” Throughout history, sport has always had political implications. The real lesson is that combating fascism, war, and authoritarianism cannot be delegated to FIFA, bourgeois governments, or the conscience of the ruling class. Instead, it must be done by the international working class.
Antonio Scurati’s M: Il figlio del secolo (2018) has been celebrated by Italy’s cultural elite as a major achievement: winning the Premio Strega, becoming a publishing sensation, and inspiring a lavish Sky TV adaptation. Its success is closely linked to the political context of its release. The novel appeared in 2018, a year when the Five Star–Lega coalition brought far-right politics into government, and just four years before Giorgia Meloni’s Fratelli d’Italia—descendants of Mussolini’s movement—came to power.
The celebration of Scurati’s Mussolini novel isn’t just a cultural event; it reflects a broader ideological trend. It contributes to normalising, trivialising, and aesthetically sanitising fascism within bourgeois society. As Peter Schwarz noted during the centenary of the March on Rome, the anniversary was “not only of historical interest but of urgent political relevance. Just a week prior, his political successors had taken control of the Italian government.” The support for M by the Italian intellectuals should be understood within this framework.
The Novel’s Method: Biography as Historical Obfuscation
Scurati’s main idea—that Mussolini is the “son of the century’ and embodies the spirit of his time—exposes a key ideological flaw in the novel. The text rightly points out that this is a methodological mistake: “Fascism is explained not as a product of the crisis of capitalism… but rather as the expression of a historical Zeitgeist incarnated in a single personality.” This is more than just an artistic decision; it constitutes a political misrepresentation.
By focusing on Mussolini’s psychology, charisma, sexual appetites, and opportunism, Scurati echoes typical bourgeois historical narratives. The underlying issues, such as the crisis of Italian capitalism, betrayals by the PSI reformist leadership, the trade-union bureaucracy’s cowardice, and Stalinist sabotage of revolutionary potential, are overshadowed by the novelist’s obsession with the dictator’s personality.
Trotsky’s analysis, referenced in the document, begins with a different assumption: “When the ‘normal’ police and military forces of the bourgeois dictatorship… fail to uphold social stability, the fascist regime seizes power.” Fascism is not a result of a “century spirit,’ but a tool of the ruling class created by finance capital to oppose the revolutionary working class. Scurati’s biographical approach consistently conceals this reality.
The Disappearance of the Working Class
M’s most revealing aspect is how it systematically removes the working class’s presence. The Biennio Rosso—the period marked by factory occupations, workers’ councils, and a near-revolutionary upheaval in 1919–1920—acts only as a faint backdrop to Mussolini’s actions. As the document states: “The true tragedy of Italian fascism is not Mussolini’s charisma or monstrosity; it is that a significant revolutionary working-class movement was crushed for lack of a truly Marxist leadership.”
This is the history Scurati cannot disclose. His narrative, focused on the dictator as the central figure, makes it impossible. The working class appears as a faceless crowd, serving only as a backdrop for Mussolini’s actions. The revolutionary potential of the Italian proletariat—once a source of concern for the bourgeoisie and an inspiration for workers across Europe—is now reduced to mere atmospheric detail. This issue goes beyond literature and has political implications. Omitting the working class from the history of fascism becomes a necessary step toward its political rehabilitation.
Aestheticisation and the Seductions of Reaction
The novel’s use of documentary elements—such as archival excerpts, letters, and newspaper clippings—has been widely recognised as a mark of seriousness. However, this approach does not prevent fascism from being aestheticised; in fact, it sometimes promotes it. The document itself warns that “the line between critical representation and aesthetic complicity is thin,” and Scurati often crosses this boundary. By centring Mussolini in a sweeping narrative, the novel makes him inherently compelling. Readers are encouraged to view things from his perspective, follow his rise, and see the consolidation of fascist power as a compelling story arc. This reflects the long-standing danger in bourgeois portrayals of fascism: the tendency to turn political tragedy into a visual or artistic spectacle.
David Walsh’s critique of The March on Rome is relevant here too: the work “includes much intriguing imagery… but is confused and, in the end, quite wrong-headed.” Scurati compiles a comprehensive documentary record, but the framework—Mussolini as the “son of the century”—fails to create an accurate portrayal of fascism.
The Political Function of M: Fascism as Cultural Spectacle
The widespread popularity of M serves a clear ideological purpose in modern Italy. As was said before, the novel enables middle-class readers to explore fascism as a historical event, while those connected to fascism strengthen their political influence today. The core of the novel’s political significance lies in its transformation of fascism from a present threat into a literary relic. It allows intellectuals to feel morally superior without confronting the rise of the far right today. It aestheticises the bourgeoisie’s historical crimes, making them seem safe for consumption. Additionally, it conceals the class forces that gave rise to fascism and are behind its recent revival. This is no coincidence; it reflects the cultural shift parallel to the political reintegration of the far right.
Conclusion: What the Working Class Requires
The working class does not require another grand novel about Mussolini. Instead, it needs a scientific Marxist analysis of fascism as a particular form of bourgeois dominance, rooted in the capitalist crisis and only preventable through the autonomous political mobilisation of the working class. The document ends with justified sternness: “On that score, Scurati’s novel offers nothing.” This is the core judgment. M: Il figlio del secolo is not a valuable contribution to understanding fascism. Rather, it stands as a monument to the ideological evasions of today’s bourgeois intellectuals—a literary expression of the very crisis that is once again elevating the far right to power.
The scene on Rutland Gate—a homeless man sleeping outside a £210 million empty mansion—is not just eccentric London lore. It represents the entire social system: a society in which the wealth of the global elite is fiercely guarded. At the same time, the basic needs of millions of people are viewed as an unacceptable burden on the “market.”
The Guardian’s report on 2–8A Rutland Gate unintentionally reveals what the ruling class and its media often try to hide: the housing crisis is not simply a technical issue or the result of a lack of construction. Instead, it is a consequence of capitalism turning housing into a speculative asset for the world’s wealthiest.[1]
The article highlights the stark contrast: “a homeless man with no money sleeping on the doorstep of a £200m house with 45 rooms that has been empty for years.” This is not an anomaly; it reflects the system’s inherent logic.
The Mansion as Financial Instrument: London’s Role in the Global Oligarchy
Rutland Gate is more than just a residence; it’s a vault, a safety deposit box, and a tradable asset within the portfolios of billionaires whose wealth stems from corruption, exploitation, and financial speculation. The ownership lineage—comprising Saudi royalty, Lebanese oligarchs, and Chinese property magnates—resembles a who’s who of global capitalist misconduct. The mansion’s acquisition was carried out via shell companies in the British Virgin Islands, a common method for laundering money and avoiding scrutiny. As noted, “Often, companies in tax or secrecy havens are used as the vehicle for these investments.”
London is the epicentre of this global network, known as the Alpha City, attracting the ultra-wealthy who regard it as both a playground and a refuge. Every British government, whether Tory or Labour, actively courts their presence. Yet the city’s housing stock is not primarily for residents; instead, it serves mainly as a speculative asset for international elites.
The numbers are striking: 47,000 homes owned by foreigners in London, over 300,000 long-term empty homes across England, and 268,000 second homes taken out of residential use. In Kensington & Chelsea, one in nine homes is unoccupied. This isn’t a mistake but the deliberate result of a system in which societal needs are subordinated to the pursuit of profit.
The Human Being on the Porch: A Life Made Precarious by Capitalist Disintegration
The story of Anders Fernstedt, the man living on the porch, serves not just as a personal misfortune but also as a reflection of the systemic dismantling of social supports, the erosion of the welfare state, and the harshening of the working class.
Fernstedt’s experience—marked by unstable jobs, no-fault evictions, unsafe temporary housing, and rough sleeping—mirrors that of hundreds of thousands. His homelessness isn’t due to addiction or mental health problems; he insists he is “healthy… physically and mentally, with no addictions.”
His descent into homelessness was driven by the collapse of stable employment, the commodification of housing, the reduction of social services, and the violence and insecurity of Britain’s privatised rental market. His presence on the porch isn’t just symbolic—it’s diagnostic, exposing a society where the working class is pushed to the edge while the oligarchy enjoys luxury in empty mansions.
The Political Economy of Emptiness
The Guardian quotes a housing expert calling the situation “bizarre and perverse.” However, nothing about it is truly strange. It reflects a logical consequence of a system in which: housing is treated as a commodity rather than a right; the government prioritises capital over society; the wealthy are protected from scrutiny and taxes; local authorities lack sufficient funds and powers; and the market determines who has a home and who ends up homeless.
The article points out that “the places building the most housing have mysteriously managed to produce the highest level of vacancy.” This is not puzzling—developers tend to build what is profitable, not what is needed. Luxury towers are constructed because they serve as channels for global capital flows, not because Londoners need penthouses.
The ruling class claims that taxing or regulating the super-rich would “scare them away.” This argument has been repeatedly used to justify every form of social vandalism since the 1980s. It reflects an ideological stance of a political system entirely dominated by finance capital.
The State’s Role: Enabler, Not Regulator
The British government is not a neutral mediator; instead, it actively facilitates the accumulation of oligarchic wealth. It offers a legal system that maintains secrecy jurisdictions, a deregulated property market, police protection for elite enclaves, austerity measures that erode social housing, and political rhetoric that blames the poor for their poverty. The Levelling Up Act’s “empty homes premiums” are superficial solutions, as councils lack both the authority and funds to seize vacant properties. Meanwhile, billions of dollars’ worth of public land have been sold to private developers, who construct luxury flats that remain unoccupied. Overall, the government’s priorities are evident: safeguarding capital and penalizing low-income individuals.
A Social Order in Decay
The image of Rutland Gate is not just obscene; it is historically provocative. It brings to mind the final phases of collapsing social systems: aristocrats of the ancien régime, robber barons of the Gilded Age, and oligarchs of late Tsarist Russia. In each scenario, the ruling classes isolated themselves from the people’s hardships, retreating into luxury while society fell apart. This process led not to stability but to revolution.
The Socialist Perspective: Housing as a Social Right
The housing crisis cannot be addressed within a capitalist framework. Essential actions involve expropriating luxury properties left empty, abolishing offshore ownership arrangements, making substantial public investments in high-quality social housing, ensuring democratic control of urban planning by the working class, and reorganizing the economy along socialist lines focused on human needs.
Rutland Gate should not be a palace for billionaires. It should serve as a public asset, transformed into housing, community spaces, or social infrastructure. The resources are available, but what is missing is the political strength of the working class, organized independently from capitalist parties and advocating for a socialist agenda.
Conclusion: A System That Cannot Be Reformed
The Guardian article states the mansion will never become social housing, which is accurate—under capitalism. However, the stark inequality it illustrates is the key reason to challenge and overthrow the system that creates such disparities. The man on the porch and the mansion in the background are interconnected; they represent different facets of the same social structure. Addressing one without resolving the other is impossible.
[1] It was Britain’s most expensive house. Why is its only resident a homeless man who lives on the porch? Sam Wollaston-www theguardian.com
Pip: The Weimar Republic: a republic so thoroughly betrayed by its own defenders that historians are still arguing about whose fault it was — which is, in a way, the whole point.
Mara: That tension is exactly what freerein61 puts at the center of this episode — a close reading of Katja Hoyer's new Weimar history, and what its methodological choices reveal about how we understand fascism, class, and the limits of liberal historiography.
Pip: Let's start with the history itself, and the argument about who the "ordinary Germans" really were.
Weimar: Life on the Edge of Catastrophe — Who Were the Ordinary Germans?
Pip: The central question here is methodological: when historians write about "ordinary Germans" under Weimar and Nazism, what does that category actually contain — and what does it quietly erase?
Mara: The post opens with Trotsky's 1933 analysis as its spine. Here is the line: "The pauperisation of the petty bourgeoisie, barely concealed by their ties and socks of artificial silk, eroded all official creeds and, above all, the doctrine of democratic parliamentarism."
Pip: So Trotsky is not describing a nation with a shared psychology. He is describing a specific class fragment — the petty bourgeoisie — under specific material pressure, and asking who benefits from their desperation.
Mara: That contrast is what drives the critique of Daniel Goldhagen's 1996 Hitler's Willing Executioners, where the Holocaust is explained by a centuries-old "eliminationist antisemitism" unique to German culture. David North's 1997 response, The Myth of "Ordinary Germans," identifies the structural flaw: the category is, as North puts it, "a vacuous generalisation from which all internal social antagonisms and conflicts have been extracted."
Pip: And the tell is the omission. In six hundred and twenty-two pages about Germans and the Holocaust, Goldhagen does not mention Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, August Bebel, or the Social Democratic Party — which by 1912 was the largest party in the Reichstag, drawing its support overwhelmingly from German workers.
Mara: That omission is described here as structurally necessary: acknowledging a mass socialist workers' movement directly contradicts the claim that all Germans shared a uniform antisemitic worldview.
Mara: Götz Aly's Hitler's Beneficiaries offers a more materialist frame — Germans supported Hitler because they materially benefited from expropriated Jewish property — but the post argues it still treats the working class as passive recipients and still flattens class differences in who actually gained from the Nazi economy.
Pip: The third position is the one most relevant to Hoyer: the Volksgemeinschaft school, associated with scholars like Michael Wildt and Frank Bajohr. The focus shifts to how the Nazi national community was actively built, consented to, and experienced — participation, social belonging, integration of the Mittelstand.
Mara: Hoyer's Weimar book explicitly challenges what she calls the "Weimar syndrome" — reading the republic purely as a prelude to catastrophe. The post grants that vulgar retrospective determinism is genuinely bad history. But it argues her correction overshoots, and in a specific direction.
Pip: When you dissolve class into "ordinary people experiencing the republic," the German working class — which nearly took power in November 1918, consistently backed the SPD and KPD throughout Weimar, and maintained underground resistance networks in Berlin, Hamburg, and the Ruhr after Hitler's rise — disappears into the general population.
Mara: The archival evidence is concrete. Hans-Rainer Sandvoss's research using Gestapo files opened after 1989 showed sustained working-class resistance. A Gestapo report from March 1936 recorded that in Berlin one could go days without hearing the Hitler salute, except from officials, uniformed personnel, or out-of-town visitors.
Pip: That detail does a lot of work. It is not romanticization — it is a data point that the dominant historiography structurally cannot accommodate.
Mara: The post connects this to the post-Soviet intellectual climate. Since the 1990s, abandoning class as the primary analytical lens has been framed as a neutral methodological update. The argument here is that it is not neutral — it is a politically motivated choice that obscures how fascism actually functioned: as the capitalist ruling class's response to the revolutionary threat of an organised working class.
Pip: Hoyer's earlier book Beyond the Wall, on the GDR, gets a brief but pointed mention — the same move, the post argues: foregrounding ordinary experience to soften and contextualise a regime defined by bureaucratic dictatorship over the working class.
Mara: The collapse of Weimar is traced here not to democratic fragility or mass irrationality, but to two specific betrayals: the SPD's violent suppression of the 1918 revolution and its subsequent tolerance of emergency rule under Brüning and von Papen, and the Comintern's "social fascism" theory, which barred any united working-class front against Hitler. Trotsky's writings — What Next? and The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany — are described as essential, offering analysis that forecast the catastrophe while there was still time to prevent it.
Pip: And the contemporary parallel is drawn directly: the AfD's rise, and pseudo-left groups like Marx 21, the SAV, and RIO channelling working-class opposition into parliamentary and trade-union frameworks that have already accommodated the very policies they claim to oppose.
Mara: The closing argument is that Hoyer's rehabilitation of Weimar as democratic achievement is ultimately a liberal ideological exercise — extracting lessons about defending liberal democracy against populism, rather than the historical lesson that without revolutionary Marxist leadership, capitalism's crises produce fascism. Trotsky's framework, the post insists, remains the one that actually fits the evidence.
Pip: The question underneath all of this is what history is actually for — whether it explains outcomes or explains them away.
Mara: And that question does not stay in the archive. The same methodological choices that erase the German working class from Weimar reappear every time a contemporary crisis gets framed as a problem of culture or psychology rather than class.
“The pauperisation of the petty bourgeoisie, barely concealed by their ties and socks of artificial silk, eroded all official creeds and, above all, the doctrine of democratic parliamentarism… In the highly fevered atmosphere brought about by war, defeat, reparations, inflation, occupation of the Ruhr, crisis, need, and despair, the petty bourgeoisie rose against all the old parties that had cheated it.”
Leon Trotsky- What is National Socialism? (1933)
“The class struggle is a law of social development. For ages, that struggle has been between the poor and the rich, the exploited and the exploiters.”
Jack London: The Iron Heel
“The ‘ordinary German’ who populates Daniel Goldhagen’s book is a vacuous generalisation from which all internal social antagonisms and conflicts have been extracted.”
David North
“They can only maintain their position while they honestly believe that civilisation depends on themselves alone…”
Jack London On Oligarchy
To understand Katja Hoyer’s contributions to recent historiography, we need to consider the broader academic landscape in which they fit. The ‘Ordinary Germans’ historiography is central to her latest book’s introduction. Since the postwar era, this field has been shaped by ongoing tensions between Marxist class analysis and various idealist, culturalist, and nationalist perspectives. The question of ‘ordinary Germans’ extends beyond mere academic debate; it is key to understanding fascism and influences the working class’s readiness or inability to oppose it. Since the 1990s, discussions about ‘ordinary Germans’ have been dominated by three main positions, none of which fully align with a Marxist view. Hoyer’s work synthesises and, in some respects, integrates elements from all three.
The primary perspective linked to Daniel Goldhagen’s 1996 bestseller, Hitler’s Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust, is that the Holocaust was carried out by “ordinary Germans” driven by deeply rooted, centuries-old “eliminationist antisemitism” unique to German culture. Goldhagen argued this belief was so ingrained that it could be activated without coercion or specific circumstances; Germans killed Jews simply because they were Germans. David North’s 1997 critique, The Myth of “Ordinary Germans”, points out a key methodological flaw: the idea of “ordinary Germans” is an overly broad, abstract category with no internal differentiation, which makes it scientifically meaningless.
As North observes, questioning whether “ordinary Germans” refers to a factory worker, shopkeeper, lumpenproletarian, Junker landowner, or industrialist reveals that this category ignores class differences within German society, unintentionally reinforcing the Nazi myth of a unified Volk in a distorted way. Goldhagen’s notion of ewige Deutsche (eternal Germans) as enemies of Jews parallels the Nazi ewige Jude (eternal Jew) as enemies of Germans. Both are racial-nationalist abstractions that erase nuanced history and social class distinctions.
Furthermore, as North emphasises, the Goldhagen thesis relies on making the German socialist movement essentially invisible. In a 622-page book about Germans and the Holocaust, there’s not a single mention of Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, August Bebel, or the Social Democratic Party, which by 1912 was the largest party in the Reichstag, drawing most of its support from the German working class. This omission is intentional; it’s structurally necessary because recognising a large socialist workers’ movement with millions of Germans directly contradicts the idea that all Germans shared a uniform antisemitic worldview.
The second perspective is offered by Götz Aly’s ‘Hitler’s Beneficiaries’ (2005), which suggests that ordinary Germans mainly supported Hitler for economic reasons they gained from the confiscation of Jewish property, a Nazi welfare system funded through expropriation and war spoils. While this outlook is somewhat more materialist than Goldhagen’s, it remains problematic: it portrays the working class as passive recipients of stolen wealth, dismisses acts of resistance, and continues to use the broad category of “Germans” as beneficiaries, oversimplifying the significant class differences in who benefited from the Nazi economy.
The third major perspective most pertinent to Hoyer is the Volksgemeinschaft historiography. Since around the 2000s, this view has been dominant in German academic history and is linked with scholars like Michael Wildt, Frank Bajohr, and the broader ‘Nazi society’ social history movement. This approach examines how the Nazi idea of the national community was actively built, enacted, and accepted by significant segments of German society, rather than merely being imposed from above. It highlights the roles of participation, consent, social pleasures of belonging, and the integration of the Mittelstand (middle classes) and parts of the working class into a racially defined national identity.
Hoyer and the Volksgemeinschaft Turn
Hoyer’s ‘Weimar intentionally challenges the so-called “Weimar syndrome’ the common tendency to interpret the republic solely as a precursor to Nazism. She aims to analyse the republic on its own terms and emphasise the daily lives of ordinary people who did not anticipate the impending catastrophe. She highlights Weimar’s cultural vitality, genuine social reforms, the expansion of women’s rights and sexual freedoms, and the democratic activism of the working class through unions and political parties. A crucial point underlying this is that vulgar retrospective determinism, which views fascism as the inevitable outcome of all developments in Weimar, is indeed poor history. However, Hoyer’s correction veers too far in the opposite direction, a mistake tied directly to the Volksgemeinschaft historiography.
The core issue goes beyond mere emphasis and highlights what is fundamentally missing. When Hoyer and other Volksgemeinschaft historians analyse the daily lives of “ordinary people” during the Weimar Republic or Nazism, they often blur the distinctions among class, the nation, and the people. The German working class, which nearly achieved socialist power during the November Revolution of 1918, consistently supported the SPD and KPD throughout Weimar and maintained underground resistance networks in Berlin, Hamburg, and the Ruhr well after Hitler’s ascent to power.
These workers are frequently portrayed as simply part of the indistinct mass of “Germans” experiencing the republic, depression, and Nazi rise in largely uniform ways. Hoyer’s historiographical approach, though it varies in details from Goldhagen’s, reaches a similar conclusion through a different method: it minimises “the relationship between capitalism and fascism” and depicts “all workers, the petty bourgeoisie, industrialists, and bankers as ‘the Germans.'”
The evidence opposing the dominant narrative is strong but often overlooked in this historiography. Hans-Rainer Sandvoss’s detailed archival research into Berlin workers’ resistance to the Nazi regime, utilising Gestapo files that only became accessible after 1989, revealed that the working class in Berlin and other labour hubs largely remained resistant to Nazi propaganda for several years following Hitler’s rise to power.
A Gestapo report from March 1936 noted that in Berlin one could go days without hearing the Führer salute, except from officials, uniformed personnel, or provincial visitors. The Nazi party regularly encountered challenges in industrial areas such as mining regions, Hamburg’s docks, and factory zones. This is not romanticisation but a reflection of the historical record. Yet, this resistance vanishes completely in a historiography that depicts all Germans as uniformly “ordinary.”
Why does this historiography remain so influential? Its foundation lies in the political and intellectual climate established after the fall of the Soviet Union and the so-called “triumph of capitalism.” Since the 1990s, numerous historians have justified abandoning honest and objective analysis by pointing to the collapse of the Soviet Union and East Germany, as well as the apparent victory of capitalism. In doing so, they have replaced genuine scientific methods with subjective, postmodern ideologies.
Abandoning class as the primary analytical focus is a politically motivated choice, not a neutral one. As David North notes in his critique of Goldhagen, during the postwar period, framing fascism’s class aspects through psychological, cultural, or national-identity lenses was linked to the Cold War objective of undermining Marxism. This also served to hide that fascism was essentially the capitalist ruling class’s response to revolutionary threats from the organised working class. Goldhagen attributes this entirely to German national psychology, while Volksgemeinschaft historians approach it more subtly by highlighting consent, participation, and everyday social integration. This indicates that “the Germans” collectively created fascism, instead of acknowledging that a particular class imposed it on a divided society—one in which millions were coerced, terrorised, and ultimately wiped out.
Focusing on Hoyer, there’s an additional point to consider. Her earlier book, Beyond the Wall (2023), depicts the GDR as a society with significant social achievements and broad support. This mirrors the strategy used for Stalinism: emphasising the daily lives of “ordinary people” to soften, contextualise, and ultimately justify a regime largely defined by bureaucratic dictatorship over the working class. In both Weimar/Nazi Germany and East Germany, highlighting “ordinary experience” aims to diminish political and class divisions and foster sociological empathy.
Leon Trotsky examined Weimar Germany and German fascism not from the standpoint of current social historians, but through his own contemporaneous writings, which remain unmatched in their analytical insight. He saw fascism not as stemming from German national character or broad social trends, but as a tactic used by the capitalist elite to unite the impoverished petty bourgeoisie—including shopkeepers, artisans, clerks, and disillusioned farmers—against the organised working class, especially when bourgeois democracy proved unable to resolve the social crisis.
This perspective is elaborated in his 1933 book, ‘What is National Socialism?’. He describes how the impoverishment of the petty bourgeoisie, barely hidden by their artificial silk ties and socks, undermined all official beliefs, especially democratic parliamentary doctrine. Amid the tense environment created by war, defeat, reparations, inflation, the Ruhr occupation, crisis, need, and despair, the petty bourgeoisie turned against all the old parties that had deceived them.
This analysis focused not on the cultural attitudes of “ordinary Germans” but on the class struggles within a society facing a severe capitalist crisis. Central to the discussion was the question of revolutionary leadership: whether the organised working class would seize power or whether the petty bourgeoisie, with no viable working-class alternative, would be pushed into the arms of a movement supported and financed by large capital interests. The outcome depended on the betrayals by the SPD and the Comintern, rather than on any intrinsic psychological traits of a uniform “German people.”
This framework is consistently rejected by “ordinary Germans’ historiography, from Goldhagen to Götz Aly, the Volksgemeinschaft school, and Katja Hoyer. This rejection is deliberate, as it precisely identifies the actual determinants of the outcome: class struggle, the crisis of revolutionary leadership, and the counterrevolutionary roles of Social Democracy and Stalinism. These lessons remain highly relevant today, with the rise of the AfD in Germany and the pseudo-left channelling working-class opposition into bourgeois safe havens. Rediscovering these truths requires not a softer or more empathetic history.
Katja Hoyer is a historian of German and British background, author of “Blood and Iron: The Rise and Fall of the German Empire” (2021) and, more recently, “Weimar Germany: Democracy on the Brink” (2024). She also wrote “Beyond the Wall” (2023), an alternative perspective on the GDR. Her Weimar book seeks to portray the republic not just as a precursor to Nazi disaster, a “Weimar syndrome” she explicitly aims to go beyond, but as a lively, authentic democratic experiment with notable achievements in culture, social policy, and politics. From a Marxist standpoint, there are serious methodological and political problems with this kind of liberal rehabilitation project.
Like many liberal histories, Hoyer emphasises Weimar’s lively cultural scene—covering the Bauhaus, Expressionism, Brecht, Grosz, cabaret, and sexual liberalism. Although these are important and genuine, highlighting them as the city’s main achievement shifts focus away from the crucial relationship between culture and politics. The innovative cultural output of Weimar arose from a revolutionary crisis in a drastically changed world. Many key figures, including Brecht, understood that this culture was closely linked to the revolutionary struggle. To focus too much on aesthetics risks neglecting Weimar’s political significance.
The Weimar Republic emerged from the German Revolution of November 1918 but was quickly thwarted by Social Democracy. Led by Ebert and Noske, the SPD violently suppressed the revolutionary movement, killed Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, and kept the capitalist institutions and the Junker military hierarchy unchanged. Any explanation of Weimar that ignores this foundational betrayal—the counterrevolutionary actions of Social Democracy—fails to truly account for subsequent events.
The so-called cultural boom of Weimar’s Goldene Zwanziger era was funded through repeated betrayals of the working class. Under pressure from the Comintern, the KPD called off a planned insurrection at a critical moment—an action that led to a catastrophic failure, enabling German capitalism to stabilise temporarily. These “golden” Weimar years were merely a brief, circumstantial pause rather than a genuine democratic achievement.
The collapse of the Weimar Republic was not mainly caused by weak democracy or mass irrationality. Instead, it resulted directly from the Stalinist “social fascism” theory, which falsely labelled the SPD as equivalent to the Nazis and prevented a united working-class front against Hitler. This was compounded by the SPD’s own policies of supporting Hindenburg and collaborating with emergency measures under Brüning and von Papen. Trotsky’s writings from that era, such as What Next? Vital Questions for the German Proletariat and The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany are essential resources, offering profound analysis that forecasted the catastrophe. Nevertheless, there was still time to avert it.
The Social Democratic Party (SPD) stepped in not to lead the revolution, but to suppress and then drown it in blood. Led by Friedrich Ebert and Gustav Noske, the SPD allied with the old imperial military officers to crush the revolutionary movement. They organised the Freikorps, early fascist-style paramilitary groups, to eliminate the revolution’s key leaders. Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, founders of the Communist Party of Germany (KPD), were pursued and killed in January 1919 under the orders of the SPD government. The traditional Junker military aristocracy, judiciary, civil service, major banks, and industrialists — all reactionary forces — remained untouched behind a newly formed democratic facade. This was the original sin. As the Historical and International Foundations of the Socialist Equality Party (Germany) states plainly: “In 1918, the SPD had strangled the proletarian revolution to save the bourgeois order. The result was the Weimar Republic, in which the old forces of reaction continued to live behind a democratic facade.”
The republic experienced continual crises during its short fourteen-year span. In 1923, it faced two major setbacks: the French occupation of the Ruhr and a severe hyperinflation that destroyed the savings of the middle and working classes, causing widespread despair. That year, the KPD, guided by the Comintern, planned a revolutionary uprising but cancelled it at the last moment, which Trotsky later called “a classic demonstration of how it is possible to miss a perfectly exceptional revolutionary situation of world-historic importance.” German capitalism temporarily stabilised thanks to American loans under the Dawes Plan, and the mid-1920s are often seen as the “golden years” of Weimar—brilliant in culture, fragile politically, and economically reliant on foreign capital.
Then came 1929. The Wall Street Crash cut off American credit, the German economy collapsed, and unemployment exploded to over six million, roughly a third of the workforce. The social crisis was catastrophic. The middle classes — small shopkeepers, artisans, farmers, white-collar employees — who had already been ruined by inflation and were now devastated by the depression, were thrown into a desperate search for a way out. Into this vacuum stepped Adolf Hitler and the National Socialist German Workers’ Party (NSDAP), offering an intoxicating brew of nationalist demagogy, antisemitism, and violent scapegoating aimed at the most desperate and disoriented petty-bourgeois layers.
As the crisis deepened, the SPD’s response was to retreat, capitulate, and appeal to the very institutions of the bourgeois state to save it. In 1930, when President Hindenburg appointed the Catholic conservative Heinrich Brüning as chancellor and began governing by emergency decree, bypassing parliament altogether, the SPD tolerated this, refusing to bring down the government. It feared revolution from below more than dictatorship from above. In 1932, the SPD supported the re-election of the arch-reactionary field marshal Paul von Hindenburg as president. This man would eventually appoint Hitler as the supposed “lesser evil” against the Nazis. When von Papen illegally deposed the SPD-led government of Prussia in a July 1932 coup, the SPD lodged a complaint with the Supreme Court rather than mobilising its millions of members to fight back. As the SGP historical document summarises, drawing directly on Trotsky’s analysis, the SPD’s attitude was that the fate of Germany depended “not on the fighting strength of the German proletariat… but on whether the pure spirit of the Weimar Constitution… shall be installed in the presidential palace.”
Even more grotesque was the behaviour of the trade unions. The ADGB (the main trade union federation) actually dissociated itself from the SPD three and a half months before Hitler seized power, hoping to demonstrate its “reliability” to the new order. They marched under the swastika on May 1, 1933. The Nazis rewarded this servility on May 2 by storming union offices, arresting and murdering union leaders, and dissolving the ADGB entirely.
The Communist Party of Germany was founded in direct response to the SPD’s betrayal. It had millions of members and supporters, its own armed Red Front defence organisations, and a working class willing to fight. But under Stalin’s domination of the Communist International, the KPD pursued a line of suicidal ultra-leftism, the theory of “social fascism.” This theory held that Social Democracy and fascism were not opposites but “twins” — that the SPD was itself “social fascist,” and that the main enemy was not Hitler but the SPD. On this basis, the KPD refused any united action with SPD workers against the Nazis. It even made common cause with the Nazis on occasion, supporting a Nazi-initiated referendum in 1931 to bring down the SPD-led Prussian state government. All the while, it consoled its demoralised members with the slogan: “Nach Hitler, kommen wir” “After Hitler, it’s our turn” the grotesque fantasy that Hitler’s regime would quickly collapse and the Communist revolution would follow.
The Weimar Republic and the pseudo-lefts: Then and Now
To understand the pseudo-left’s stance towards the Weimar Republic, we first need to identify what truly led to its downfall. The Weimar Republic didn’t perish due to internal contradictions or the overwhelming rise of fascism. Instead, it was dismantled by the organised workers’ movement, specifically by its leadership. This is the key lesson that the pseudo-left today tries hard to conceal.
The SPD, representing the German working class, showed its true colours with its betrayal in November 1918. Instead of leading the revolutionary effort—which aimed to seize state power and expropriate capital—it chose to defend the existing bourgeois order. The party was responsible for the murders of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, suppressed workers’ councils, and upheld the Junker officer caste and state structure that, fifteen years later, helped facilitate Hitler’s rise. As noted, “the Social Democratic Party… sided with the bourgeois order in 1914 and became the main supporter of the bourgeois state in the Weimar Republic.” In the final years of the Weimar Republic, the SPD backed Brüning’s emergency decrees, which gradually dismantled democratic rights and undermined the working class, thereby paving the way for Hitler rather than resisting him.
The devastating role of Stalinism followed. The KPD, controlled by Stalin through the Comintern, dismissed Trotsky’s urgent plea for a united front of Communist and Social Democratic workers against the Nazis. Instead, it adopted the destructive “social fascism” thesis, claiming that the SPD was equivalent to fascism and that there was no real difference between bourgeois democracy and fascist dictatorship. This was not just a tactical error but a politically damaging disorientation that froze the German working class, separated Communist workers from Social Democratic workers, and at times even led the KPD to collaborate with the Nazis against the SPD, such as in the 1931 Prussian referendum. Hitler’s rise to power in January 1933 occurred without organised resistance from the German working class, despite the SPD and KPD each having millions of members and their own armed units. This catastrophe proved Trotsky’s view that the Communist International was no longer a revolutionary force and that the Fourth International needed to be established.
The Frankfurt School
This reveals the connection to the modern pseudo-left. The Frankfurt School—comprising Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse, and Benjamin—originated directly from the confusion following Germany’s defeat. Notably, “Horkheimer and Adorno do not mention [the role of Social Democracy and Stalinism] once and avoid discussing Stalinism in all their other works.” This silence was intentional. The Frankfurt School crafted a comprehensive theoretical framework—covering Critical Theory, the Dialectic of Enlightenment, and the theory of the “authoritarian personality”—which attributed fascism to mass psychology, the irrationality of the masses, and the failures of the “Enlightenment,” largely ignoring the political betrayals by the SPD and the Comintern.
Why is this important? By framing the crisis of revolutionary leadership as the main explanation, the Frankfurt School adopted a different political stance: moving away from building a revolutionary Marxist party rooted in the working class, and instead emphasising cultural criticism, identity politics, and pressure on bourgeois institutions. This shift lies at the heart of the modern pseudo-left, as David North details in ‘The Frankfurt School, Postmodernism, and the Politics of the Pseudo-Left.’ The Frankfurt School’s move away from viewing the working class as the revolutionary agent—to focusing on the “critical intellectual” and later prioritising racial, gender, and cultural issues—set the stage for all that now claims to be ‘left,’ but fails to challenge capitalism.
The Contemporary Pseudo-Left
The contrast between the 1930s and today is more than superficial; it’s structural. With the neo-fascist Alternative for Germany (AfD) now Germany’s second-largest party, pseudo-left groups like Marx 21, the SAV, and RIO are, in a modified form, repeating the political crimes that facilitated Hitler’s rise. Marx 21, influenced by Tony Cliff’s International Socialist Tendency, cynically invokes Trotsky’s “revolver-poison” analogy to justify demanding that the bourgeois state ban the AfD, directly contradicting Trotsky’s actual stance. Trotsky opposed the SPD’s reliance on the Weimar state and police to fight fascism, understanding that the state was not neutral but filled with reactionary elements. History confirmed this: it was Hindenburg, the Reichswehr, big business, and the judiciary—all institutions the SPD appealed to for protection—that implemented Hitler’s appointment. Germany’s domestic intelligence agency (the Office for the Protection of the Constitution) was, until recently, led by fascist Hans-Georg Maassen, who secretly met with AfD representatives. Calling on this agency to defend democracy from fascism is the twenty-first-century equivalent of the SPD crying “Help! Intervene!” to the Weimar state.
The SAV, descended from the British Militant Tendency, tends to praise the trade union bureaucracy as a defender against the right and envisions a Left Party–SPD–Green coalition as a “democratic alternative” to the AfD. Yet, as Germany’s ruling coalition, the SPD and Greens have carried out the AfD’s refugee deportation policies, approved the largest war budget since WWII, and frequently collaborated with the AfD to normalise its presence in parliament. At the same time, trade unions have agreed to austerity measures with the government and corporations. The SAV’s approach isn’t aimed at “pushing them left” but at aligning working-class frustration with the very forces responsible for it.
RIO, associated with the Morenoite Trotskyist Fraction-Fourth International, claims to support a “united front” and “anti-capitalism from below.” In reality, it partners with the SPD, Greens, trade unions, and Fridays for Future. This strategy conflicts with Trotsky’s original concept of the united front, which was meant to awaken workers from Social Democratic stagnation and rally them around a revolutionary program. Conversely, RIO’s “front” seems designed to align workers with bourgeois parties, often employing radical rhetoric.
What unites these trends, both historically and socially, is their class origin. The Frankfurt School consisted of segments of the bourgeois intelligentsia that had forsaken the working class. Currently, the pseudo-left champions privileged middle-class groups—such as academics, NGO workers, and trade union bureaucrats—who benefit from the current system enough to be wary of a genuine socialist revolution. Their emphasis on identity politics, state intervention, and parliamentary tactics reflects their social standing. Just as the KPD’s “social fascism” idea was driven more by the needs of Moscow’s bureaucracy than the interests of German workers, today’s pseudo-left ideology mirrors the interests of a social class with a very different relationship to capital than that of the working class.
Why Does a Marxist historiography Matter Today
The fall of the Weimar Republic was not due to democracy being fragile, mass irrationality, or fascism being an inevitable historical force. Instead, it collapsed because the organised workers’ movement was led by parties — one reformist, one Stalinist — that, for their own class-based reasons, refused to unite the working class in a revolutionary fight against capitalism. The key takeaway is not “defend liberal democracy” or “vote for the lesser evil,” but that capitalism’s crises lead to fascism.
Only revolutionary working-class mobilisation under genuine Marxist leadership can prevent this. This is the core task of the Fourth International — both then and now. In short, Hoyer’s attempt to portray Weimar as a democratic success is ultimately a liberal ideological exercise. It aims to extract lessons about defending “liberal democracy” against modern populism, rather than the true historical lesson that, without a revolutionary Marxist party leading the working class to power, capitalism’s crises breed fascism. Trotsky’s lesson remains highly relevant today.
A Trumpet of Sedition 