Anna Keay’s The Restless Republic offers a lively account of Britain from 1649 to 1660. Still, beneath its refined language, it reveals a strong ideological stance: the suppression of the revolutionary aspects of the English Civil War and Interregnum. Keay writes not as an independent scholar but as a longstanding member of Britain’s heritage sector—“she writes from within the institutions that exist to manage and curate Britain’s official historical memory”—and her book aligns closely with the political goals of those institutions.

Her framing reveals a clear bias. The title, The Restless Republic, depicts the Interregnum as a pathological deviation — a nation unable to “settle” — suggesting it was a temporary disruption in the natural order. The subtitle, Britain Without a Crown, emphasises absence, implying that monarchy is the default state of political life and that its absence is a cosmic mistake. This approach is not objective history but ideological signalling.

The Revisionist Orthodoxy Repackaged for a Popular Audience

Keay’s work aligns well with the post-revisionist consensus that has dominated academic history since the 1970s. Revisionists like Conrad Russell, John Morrill, and Kevin Sharpe systematically challenged the Marxist interpretation put forward by Christopher Hill. Their core argument, now widely accepted, is that “there was no bourgeois revolution because there was no rising bourgeoisie” and that the Civil War was mainly an avoidable mistake, resulting from Charles I’s political errors.

Keay presents this orthodoxy confidently, as if she has never needed to defend it. Her story focuses on elite figures — Cromwell, Lambert, Monck, and the Rump — whose actions are seen as the main causes of history. The mass movements from below — the Levellers, Diggers, Fifth Monarchists — are shown only as interesting side notes or annoying disruptions. The class forces behind the revolution are ignored. This is intentional. It serves the ideological purpose of revisionism: to diminish the English Revolution’s revolutionary significance and portray it as merely a constitutional debate among aristocrats.

Keay vs Hill: Two Histories of the English Revolution, Two Visions of Britain

Anna Keay and Christopher Hill differ not just in their academic specialities but also in their perspectives on history: one emphasises Britain’s heritage institutions, while the other aligns with Marxist and revolutionary ideas. Comparing Keay and Hill illustrates that discussions about the English Revolution also reflect broader debates on Britain’s political identity and future.

Keay functions within Britain’s official historical memory framework; she writes from within the institutions that exist to manage and curate Britain’s official historical memory.” Her positions at English Heritage and the Landmark Trust place her directly in the system responsible for preserving, interpreting, and showcasing the national history to the public.

Hill was a Marxist historian influenced by the mid-twentieth-century intellectual movements, including the workers’ movement, anti-imperialist struggles, and global revolutions. He viewed the seventeenth century not as a mere heritage but as a conflict zone of class interests. In contrast, Keay’s perspective is conservative, focused on institutions, and seeks to restore traditions. Meanwhile, Hill’s outlook is revolutionary, grounded in materialist analysis, and internationalist.

Keay’s framing is notably negative. Her title, The Restless Republic, depicts the Interregnum as a period of instability, unrest, and a nation out of sync. The subtitle, Britain Without a Crown, highlights what is missing — the monarchy — suggesting that the natural order has been temporarily halted. In contrast, Hill’s framing is more positive. He views the 1640s–1650s as the first significant bourgeois revolution in European history. The execution of Charles I is seen not as an accident but as a pivotal historical event that marks a fundamental break.  “When the people execute their king… it has a profound revolutionary significance entailing a complete break with the feudal past.” While Keay perceives absence, Hill perceives emergence. Where Keay sees chaos, Hill recognises transformation. What Keay considers an interlude, Hill interprets as a revolution.

Keay’s narrative centres on elite figures—Cromwell, Lambert, Monck, and the Rump—while the common people are hardly more than background noise. The Levellers and Diggers are seen as curiosities rather than main actors. This approach exemplifies the revisionist view: history is shaped mainly by elite misjudgments, constitutional crises, and personal conflicts.

Hill’s work reestablishes agency among the masses, illustrating how the rising bourgeoisie, agrarian capitalists, and the “middling sort” challenged the feudal nobility. He highlights the Levellers, Diggers, Fifth Monarchists, and radical sects as manifestations of broader social forces unleashed during the revolution. Hill emphasises that understanding the English Revolution requires recognising the central role of class struggle. While Keay depicts England ruled from above, Hill depicts an England transformed from below. Keay inherits the revisionist dogma that the Civil War was essentially avoidable — a tragic accident caused by Charles I’s political incompetence and the breakdown of the “ancient constitution.”

Hill completely rejects this view. He sees the Civil War as the inevitable result of a deep social change: the emergence of capitalist relations within a collapsing feudal system. For him, the conflict was not accidental but a fundamental clash between two incompatible modes of production. While Keay views the Civil War as a constitutional failure, Hill considers it a necessary revolution.

Keay views the Restoration of 1660 as a return to rationality — a re-establishment of the natural order following a period of risky experimentation. This aligns with the classic Whig perspective: Britain’s strength lies in moderation, continuity, and steering clear of continental extremes. Conversely, Hill considers the Restoration a political compromise. The monarchy was reinstated, but only on conditions that maintained the core achievements of the revolution — primarily safeguarding bourgeois property. The old regime was not simply restored; it was made subordinate. Keay’s Restoration symbolises a homecoming, whereas Hill’s version is a settlement enforced by victorious social forces.

Keay’s work, like much of established historiography, plays a political role: to erase Britain’s revolutionary roots and promote the myth of peaceful, gradual change. As your document highlights, this tradition spans from the late seventeenth century through Macaulay to the present day. Trotsky’s critique of Macaulay also applies to Keay: “vulgarises the social drama… with platitudes that are sometimes interesting but always superficial.” Hill’s work takes a different stance: to emphasise the revolutionary nature of the English Revolution, to bring class struggle back to the forefront, and to link the bourgeois revolution of the seventeenth century with the socialist revolution of the future. Keay’s history offers comfort; Hill’s history invites challenge.

What Keay Cannot Admit: The Revolution Was Real.

The Marxist analysis, shaped by Marx, Engels, Trotsky, and Hill, views the 1640–1660 events as Europe’s first major bourgeois revolution. Keay cannot accept this because it would mean recognising that Britain’s modern state emerged not gradually but through a break—marked by civil war, regicide, and the overthrow of feudal absolutism.

Charles I’s execution was not merely a mistake but a historic act: “when the people execute their king after a solemn trial… it has a profound revolutionary significance entailing a complete break with the feudal past.” Consequently, no monarch remained securely on the throne until the late 19th century.

This act was driven by deep social forces. The growing bourgeoisie—merchants, capitalist farmers, and the “middling sort”—faced a feudal nobility whose economic base was deteriorating. The Civil War wasn’t just an internal elite dispute but a class struggle, with emerging economic forces dismantling the old political power.

The revolution sparked mass movements whose demands exceeded the cautious goals of the gentry. The Levellers called for democratic rights and the end of aristocratic privileges. The Diggers claimed the earth as a “common treasury.” Radical sects foresaw a complete overhaul of the social order. Cromwell harshly suppressed these movements—not because they lacked relevance, but because they threatened to push the revolution beyond the boundaries needed for capitalist property relations. This is the true drama of the English Revolution. Keay’s narrative fails to include it.

The Restoration Myth and the Sanitisation of Britain’s Past

Keay’s book continues a long tradition of sanitising Britain’s revolutionary origins. Since the late seventeenth century, the ruling class has preferred to frame its legitimacy around the “Glorious Revolution” of 1688—a peaceful palace coup—rather than the turbulent events of the 1640s. Macaulay, a prominent Whig historian, turned the revolution into a comforting myth of steady, peaceful progress. As Trotsky noted, “Macaulay vulgarises the social drama of the seventeenth century by obscuring the inner struggle of forces with platitudes.”

Keay modernises this tradition for the twenty-first century. The Interregnum is depicted as a tumultuous, unsuccessful experiment and a cautionary tale against radical shifts. The Restoration is seen more as a return to rationality rather than merely a political compromise that safeguarded the core achievements of the revolution, especially the preservation of bourgeois property. Her book isn’t mere crude propaganda; rather, it functions more subtly as an institutionally embedded narrative that renders revolution unthinkable by concealing it.

Why This Matters Today

The debate over how to interpret the English Revolution is more than just academic; it reflects a wider ideological campaign against the very idea of revolution. The revisionist shift of the 1970s happened alongside the suppression of workers’ struggles, the rise of postmodernism, and a move away from class analysis. Disputing the occurrence of a bourgeois revolution in seventeenth-century England is akin to denying the proletarian nature of 1917—it essentially removes revolution from history.

Keay’s book is a well-crafted addition to this topic. It reassures readers that radical breaks are deviations, that it is elites who shape history, and that overthrowing oppressive systems is neither essential nor beneficial. The goal isn’t to dismiss Keay’s work but to uncover its ideological underpinnings. The English Revolution should be recognised as a crucial moment in global history—a bourgeois revolution whose contradictions and successes highlight the route toward the socialist revolution, an ongoing goal of our era.

Margaret Willes’s The Curious World of Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn exemplifies more than just a flawed book; it highlights a broader intellectual decline in modern historiography. A retreat from social analysis characterises this decline, the abandonment of class as a key historical category, and the transformation of history into a refined part of the heritage industry. Willes’s work serves as yet another instance of a widespread trend in academia and publishing—portraying history as a lifestyle rather than an analytical discipline.¹

The book’s premise is simple: Pepys and Evelyn were curious individuals and keen observers of Restoration England, with diaries that provide charming glimpses into a vibrant era. While this follows the typical bourgeois-antiquarian pattern, it is also historically unjustifiable.

Pepys and Evelyn lived “through and after the greatest social upheaval England had ever experienced.”² They were not mere floating personalities in a timeless Restoration scene. Instead, they were actors—though minor—who revealed much in the aftermath of the English bourgeois revolution. To dismiss them as eccentric hobbyists, as Willes does, undermines their historical significance and reduces the Restoration to a depoliticised space of wigs, gardens, coffee houses, and domestic trivia. This shift is more than an interpretive mistake; it is an act of ideological shaping.

The Academic Abdication: Class Removed, Revolution Denied

Modern historians have mostly set aside the Marxist ideas that once fuelled serious research on the 17th century. Today, Christopher Hill’s work—often seen as outdated by many scholars—still stands as the only comprehensive framework for understanding that era. Hill showed that the mid-17th-century crisis dismantled one social class’s dominance and installed another.³ This is not a matter of opinion; it is a matter of historical fact.

Yet Willes, like her peers, writes as though the English Revolution never occurred. The Civil War becomes background noise. The Commonwealth is reduced to a curiosity. The Restoration is treated as a return to normality rather than a class compromise forced upon a frightened bourgeoisie. The Glorious Revolution is barely acknowledged as the culmination of capitalist consolidation.⁴ This is not ignorance. It is avoidance.

Pepys and Evelyn: Not Curiosities, but Class Representatives

Pepys was not a gossiping flâneur. He was a bureaucrat of the capitalist state. His diary is saturated with the machinery of empire—shipbuilding, naval contracts, colonial administration. As the accompanying document notes, this was “the apparatus of a nascent capitalist state projecting its power across the globe.”⁵ Pepys’s rise through the Admiralty reflects the increasing importance of administrative competence in a society transitioning from feudal personal rule to capitalist state rationality.

Pepys exemplifies what Ellen Meiksins Wood has described as the “political form of capitalist social relations,” in which the early modern state becomes increasingly central to the organisation of economic life.⁶ His diary reveals the emergence of bureaucratic rationality, contract management, and logistical planning—key features of the developing capitalist state.

Evelyn was more than just a gentleman gardener; he was an innovative scientist whose Sylva was created to fulfil the navy’s timber needs. His interests in pollution, architecture, and horticulture mirrored the bourgeoisie’s rationalist ideals. As a Royal Society member, he played a key role in shaping bourgeois science. Engels recognised this well: contemporary science arose from the breakdown of the medieval worldview under the pressure of capitalist progress.⁷ Willes perceives the Royal Society as a charming assembly of inquisitive individuals, reflecting the commonplace liberal view. However, in actuality, the Society served as a tool for maintaining class dominance. Its focus on empirical research, experimentation, measurement, and progress aligned with the interests of a growing capitalist elite. Fields such as navigation, metallurgy, ballistics, forestry, and colonial mapping were not merely genteel hobbies but the technical backbone of capitalist growth.⁸ To present the Royal Society as an apolitical intellectual salon is to falsify its historical function.

Bourgeois Antiquarianism: The Ideology of Contemporary History Writing

Willes’s book exemplifies “bourgeois antiquarianism.”⁹ This is not simply a methodological flaw; it is an ideological stance. It is the refusal to acknowledge that history is shaped by class struggle. It is the displacement of social conflict by personality, of revolution by anecdote, of material forces by domestic interiors.

The World Socialist Website (WSWS) has criticised this trend repeatedly, most recently in its appraisal of Lucy Worsley, whose work “consistently displaces class antagonism, economic crisis, and mass political struggle, fixating on monarchs, courtiers, domestic interiors and historical cosplay.”¹⁰ Willes belongs to the same school: history as entertainment, history as escapism, history as depoliticised spectacle. This is not accidental. It reflects the ideological needs of the present bourgeois order, which seeks to naturalise itself by erasing the revolutionary processes that created it.

The Academic and Media Establishment: A Catalogue of Evasion

Let us speak plainly. The contemporary historical establishment has abandoned the English Revolution. It has abandoned class analysis. It has abandoned materialism. It has abandoned the very concept of historical causality. Worsley’s output—generously funded, heavily promoted, and ever-present—embodies the essence of bourgeois-antiquarian kitsch. As the WSWS pointed out, her work repeatedly shifts focus away from class conflict, economic crises, and large-scale political struggles, instead emphasising monarchs, courtiers, domestic settings, and historical cosplay.¹¹ Willes’s book belongs to precisely this tradition: history as costume drama. Other historians follow a similar path. One being David Starky.

Starkey’s extensive career has centred on the idea that history is primarily shaped by monarchs, courtiers, and individual personalities. He is widely known for his disdain for social history. His impact has been damaging, as he contributed to fostering an intellectual climate where a book like Willes’s could be published without shame.¹² Antonia Fraser’s Restoration biographies are elegant but politically vacuous. They treat the 17th century as a theatre of personalities rather than a battleground of classes. Her approach has shaped public expectations of the period, encouraging precisely the depoliticised reading Willes reproduces.¹³ Simon Schama stands out as the most polished in the group, but his work ultimately portrays a liberal-bourgeois narrative that highlights continuity, compromise, and national identity. His perspective on the English Revolution is somewhat vague and sentimental, and it sidesteps class analysis.¹⁴ He has helped normalise the idea that the Revolution was a cultural moment rather than a social rupture.

These historians are not purely neutral chroniclers but ideological architects. Their influence has cultivated a cultural setting in which the English Revolution is either minimised or overlooked, thereby enabling Pepys and Evelyn to be seen as charming eccentricities rather than as representatives of a burgeoning class consolidating its authority.

The shift from viewing history as heritage is more than a cultural trend; it’s a political move. When historians avoid addressing class issues, they make the past incomprehensible and the present fixed. This creates a world where social conflicts vanish, revolutions are unthinkable, and the bourgeoisie seems timeless. Pepys and Evelyn become mere charming curiosities instead of symbols of a class whose victory transformed England and established modern capitalism. Willes’s book isn’t just lacking; it reflects a wider intellectual surrender.

Restoring History to History

It is time to say openly what many historians privately acknowledge: the field has been intellectually captured by a bourgeois‑antiquarian sensibility that is hostile to social analysis and allergic to class. The English Revolution has been domesticated. Pepys and Evelyn have been trivialised. The Restoration has been aestheticised.

A Marxist critique restores what Willes and her peers omit: class, revolution, contradiction, and the emergence of the capitalist state. Pepys and Evelyn were not eccentric diarists. They were functionaries and intellectuals of a class consolidating its power after a revolutionary upheaval.

Their diaries are not curiosities. They are instruments of history. Contemporary historians who refuse to confront this reality are not writing history. They are producing ideology.

Footnotes

1. For the concept of “heritage history,” see Robert Hewison, The Heritage Industry (London: Methuen, 1987).
2. Previous Draft, p. 2.
3. Christopher Hill, The English Revolution 1640 (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1940), 7.
4. J. H. Plumb, The Growth of Political Stability in England 1675–1725 (London: Macmillan, 1967).
5. Previous Draft p. 3.
6. Ellen Meiksins Wood, The Origin of Capitalism (London: Verso, 1999).
7. Friedrich Engels, Dialectics of Nature (1883).
8. Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).
9. Previous Draft p. 4.
10. WSWS, “Lucy Worsley and the Politics of Heritage History,” accessed 2024.
11. Ibid.
12. See David Starkey, The Reign of Henry VIII (London: Vintage, 2002).
13. Antonia Fraser, King Charles II (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1979).
14. Simon Schama, A History of Britain: The British Wars 1603–1776 (London: BBC Books, 2001).

Anne Frank’s diary stands as one of the most widely read human records of the twentieth century, yet its historical importance has often been misrepresented. It is frequently depicted as a universal moral symbol—symbolising innocence lost to “evil” and serving as a beacon of hope during dark times. This sentimental view is intentionally crafted to align with the ideological interests of the postwar capitalist system, transforming the Holocaust into an abstract moral lesson that disconnects from the social and political factors behind it. As a result, this leads to a significant distortion of history.

A Marxist analysis starts from a different perspective. Anne Frank’s fate is not separable from the crisis of global capitalism from 1914 to 1945. The First World War broke down the old European order and sparked a period of revolutionary upheaval. The German working class, Europe’s most potent and politically advanced, entered history with remarkable revolutionary potential. However, the betrayal by the Social Democratic Party—especially its support for the Kaiser’s war in 1914 and its suppression of the Spartacist uprising in 1919—left the working class disoriented and demoralised. The later decline of the Communist Party under Stalinism, marked by the disastrous “social fascist” line of the late 1920s, further deepened political paralysis. During this time, the working class was divided precisely when unity was most needed.

Trotsky examined this disaster with exceptional clarity. In his writings about Germany from 1930 to 1933, he argued that fascism was more than just a reaction; it was a counter-revolution—the mobilisation of the furious petty bourgeoisie as a battering ram against the proletariat. He described fascism as “the most savage expression of the decay of capitalism,” a movement that emerged when the bourgeoisie could no longer uphold its rule via parliamentary methods. Trotsky explained that Hitler’s anti-Semitism was closely linked to his hatred of the working class. The Jew was used as a symbol representing Marxists, Bolsheviks, and revolutionaries. Anti-Semitism was called  “the socialism of fools”—a fake explanation for social crises that misdirected anger away from capitalists and toward a vulnerable minority.

Trotsky’s insights into the Jewish question are crucial for grasping Anne Frank’s story. He dismissed both Zionism and assimilationism as ineffective solutions. According to him, Jews are a “people-class” dispersed by capitalism and made vulnerable during its crises. In a 1938 appeal to American Jews, Trotsky forewarned: “It is possible to imagine without difficulty what awaits the Jews at the mere outbreak of the future world war.” He stressed that only a victory for the international working class could avert disaster. The tragedy of Anne Frank’s life is that Trotsky’s warnings went unheeded—not for lack of clarity, but because the working-class organisations that claimed allegiance to them refused to act.

Fascism did not originate from metaphysical ideas, cultural illnesses, or the longstanding German anti-Semitic tradition. Instead, it was a deliberate counter-revolutionary tool used by the bourgeoisie to suppress the working class and uphold capitalist property systems. The Holocaust represents the extreme manifestation of this logic, involving the mass extermination of millions during a war of colonization against the Soviet Union and a social counter-revolution aimed at erasing the impact of 1917. Anne Frank’s diary, written inside the cramped Secret Annex, is a human record created amid this tumult of historical forces. Her thoughts on war, inequality, and societal irrationality—such as “Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?”—are not accidental. They reflect, in raw form, the awareness of a young person living at the heart of capitalism’s slide into barbarism.

After World War II, the way Anne Frank’s legacy was managed was influenced by Cold War ideology. The same nations that denied Jewish refugees in the 1930s later celebrated Anne Frank as a moral figure—since icons like her do not threaten capitalist interests. Her diary was decontextualized, serving as a symbol of broad “tolerance,” while ex-Nazis found roles within West Germany’s government agencies, including the CIA-controlled Gehlen Organisation and the BND. Karl Josef Silberbauer, the Gestapo officer who arrested the Franks, was never convicted and lived out his days unpunished. In this way, memory was sanitized and historical truth was distorted.

Trotsky foresaw this distortion. He cautioned that the bourgeoisie would attempt to turn the crimes of fascism into abstract metaphysical concepts, disconnected from the class struggle. He emphasised that truly honouring fascism’s victims requires understanding the social forces behind it and developing a revolutionary movement to prevent its future rise.

Ignoring Trotsky’s analysis has clear consequences today. Across Europe and the U.S., far-right groups are resurging. These fascist movements are actively supported by parts of the ruling class, with funding, weapons, and political backing. The rise of fascism isn’t due to “extremism” or “populism,” but reflects capitalism’s failure to resolve its internal conflicts through democratic processes. The diary’s importance now is strategic, not just commemorative. Anne Frank’s story is not just history; it’s a warning for the future.

Honouring Anne Frank means facing the reality of the world that led to her death. It involves recognizing, as Trotsky argued, that fascism arises when capitalism fails to sustain its dominance through parliamentary systems. It also requires understanding that the Holocaust was not an accident but a direct consequence of imperialism and counter-revolution. Furthermore, it demands acknowledging that preventing such tragedies again calls for the deliberate, coordinated action of the global working class against capitalism.

Anne Frank once said, “I want to go on living after my death.” She has achieved this, but the significance of her survival hinges on current political struggles. Her diary endures not merely as a symbol of despair but as a powerful call for historical awareness and revolutionary effort. The ongoing struggle for human emancipation—halted by fascism, compromised by reformist approaches, and distorted by Stalinism—continues to be the most critical challenge of our era.

This article situates The Diary of a Young Girl within the historical context that produced it. Anne Frank’s voice endures because it is inseparable from the crisis of capitalism. To honour that voice is to confront the system that silenced it—and to build the socialist movement capable of ensuring that such crimes never recur.

Anne Frank’s voice persists because it is fundamentally linked to the crisis of capitalism. Honouring her voice means confronting the system that silenced her and creating a socialist movement that prevents such crimes from happening again.

Christopher Thompson’s recent writing offers a sober critique of Marxist views on the English Revolution. However, it essentially follows a familiar revisionist pattern: pulling away from structural analysis, refusing to consider the socio-economic changes of the 16th and 17th centuries, and portraying the Civil Wars as merely “un grand soulevement” instead of a crucial turning point in the shift from feudalism to capitalism. The author’s stance is not just anti-Marxist; it’s anti-historical, as it dismisses the long-term processes that contributed to the crisis of the 1640s. This counter-essay aims to outline the dialectical framework of the English Revolution and show why the revisionist view fails under close examination.

The Revisionist Premise: Politics Without Structure

Jonathan Healey’s main assertion is definitive: “There was no ‘bourgeois revolution’, no preceding ‘class conflict’, and certainly no ‘feudal/absolutist state’.” This statement is more of a negation than an argument; it claims that there is no structural conflict by highlighting the lack of explicit anti-commercial policies. However, Marxist historiography does not rely on the idea that the Tudors or early Stuarts deliberately aimed to suppress capitalism. The shift from feudalism to capitalism results from inherent contradictions within the relations of production, rather than royal intent.

The revisionist position collapses because it equates structure with policy. It assumes that if monarchs encouraged trade, then no structural impediment existed. This is a category error. Absolutism was not defined by hostility to commerce; it was defined by the attempt to preserve the political supremacy of a landed ruling class in conditions where market relations were expanding beneath them. The author’s argument is therefore premised on a misunderstanding of what Marxists mean by “feudal” and “absolutist.”

The Long Transition: Agrarian Capitalism and Class Formation

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, significant socio-economic changes occurred: Enclosure increased, leading to a landless rural proletariat. Tenant farming evolved towards competitive leasing and market-driven production. London’s rapid expansion fostered a national market and a rise in commercial bourgeoisie. The gentry grew, shifting from static feudal landlords to capitalist farmers and investors. Meanwhile, the state’s fiscal crisis worsened as traditional feudal revenues proved insufficient for a modernizing government.

These developments are well-documented in manorial records, court rolls, probate inventories, and by historians ranging from R.H. Tawney to Robert Brenner. However, the author of the document overlooks all this evidence. Instead, they claim that population growth up to 1630 happened “without major conflicts,” suggesting that the lack of peasant revolts indicates social harmony. Yet, class conflict doesn’t always manifest as open rebellion. It can be seen in litigation over enclosure, disputes over customary rights, wage struggles, religious polarization, and political alliances driven by economic interests. A single spark did not cause the English Revolution; it was the culmination of a century of structural transformation. 

The State as a Site of Contradiction

Thompson dismisses the idea of a “feudal/absolutist state,” but in reality, the early Stuart monarchy embodied that very form. It aimed to uphold the dominance of a landowning elite while increasingly relying on capitalist economic activities. This created a sharp contradiction: the Crown needed revenue, yet its traditional sources were insufficient. Since Parliament controlled taxation, the monarchy tried to impose extra-parliamentary levies such as ship money and monopolies. These actions alienated both gentry and merchants. Additionally, religious conflicts intensified political divides, and the issue of multiple kingdoms deepened the crisis. This wasn’t just a random “great uprising”—it was the political manifestation of systemic tensions in a society in transition. The author’s refusal to recognize this isn’t humility but a form of theoretical blindness.

Supporters of King and Parliament were present at every societal level. This fact is accurate but not relevant, as class is defined by one’s relationship to the means of production, not political loyalty. The fact that individuals with similar class backgrounds chose different sides shows that class conflict persists, with ideology, religion, and political culture acting as mediators. Marxists have never claimed the Civil Wars were fought by purely self-aware bourgeois armies waving banners of capitalism. Instead, they see the political crisis as revealing deeper socio-economic contradictions. Revisionism fails because it insists on a simplistic, mechanistic class alignment that no Marxist historian has ever endorsed.

Christopher Hill and the Straw Man

Thompson seeks to undermine Marxist historiography by highlighting changes in Christopher Hill’s work. However, Hill’s development was not a repudiation of Marxism; rather, it was an evolution. His initial focus was on class conflict, while his later work highlighted the bourgeois outcomes of the revolution. This shift is not inconsistency but dialectical progress. Hill recognized that: the revolution did not immediately establish capitalism but destroyed political barriers to its development, created a state structure compatible with market relations, and hastened the emergence of a bourgeois political culture. Therefore, the author’s dismissive view of Hill is superficial, as it misinterprets both Hill’s intellectual evolution and the Marxist approach.

The Restoration Was Not a Royalist Victory

“A great uprising … which ended in a Royalist victory in and after 1660.” This characterization is historically inaccurate. The Restoration was a negotiated compromise that retained many of the revolution’s gains: the monarchy was restored, but absolutism was not. Parliament’s dominance was maintained, the fiscal-military state grew, agrarian capitalism advanced, and the bourgeoisie gained influence. The Glorious Revolution finalized this process. If this is considered a “Royalist victory,” it is a peculiar one—one that undermines the very foundations of Royalist power. The author’s assertion appears rhetorical rather than analytical.

The Necessity of Structural Explanation

The revisionist view outlined in the document is not only incorrect but also insufficient. It fails to account for key developments such as England’s long-term socio-economic changes, the state’s fiscal crisis, political polarization in the 1630s and 1640s, the ideological radicalization of the New Model Army, the abolition of the monarchy and House of Lords, and the rise of a state aligned with capitalist growth. Marxist historiography can explain these phenomena, as it doesn’t reduce the revolution solely to class conflict but places political events within societal contradictions during structural change. The English Revolution was not merely a “great uprising”; it was a pivotal break in the shift from feudalism to capitalism. Denying this is to deny the course of history itself.

“Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?

Anne Frank, Diary of a Young Girl, entry of 3 May 1944.

“I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

 — Elie Wiesel

“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist… Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” — Martin Niemöller

“It is possible to imagine without difficulty what awaits the Jews at the mere outbreak of the future world war. But even without war the next development of world reaction signifies with certainty the physical extermination of the Jews.

Leon Trotsky

In 2022, Rosemary Sullivan’s The Betrayal of Anne Frank was withdrawn by its Dutch publisher after its main claim was proven unfounded. This wasn’t just a correction of an academic error but also a revealing sign of how Holocaust historiography is progressively degrading under modern capitalism. The book falsely claimed there was a “Jewish betrayer” responsible for the Frank family’s arrest—an allegation based on guesswork, misinterpretation, and pseudo-forensic showmanship. Despite its flaws, major media outlets endorsed and heavily promoted the book, only retracting it after experts showed its claims fell apart under minimal examination.

The Sullivan affair exemplifies a wider trend: the shift of the Holocaust from a historical event tied to capitalism, imperialism, and class conflict into a depoliticized morality story, a detective mystery, and ultimately a tool used by the ruling class for ideological purposes.

The Individualization of Fascist Crime

Sullivan’s core argument in “Who betrayed Anne Frank?” is flawed. It suggests that the moral failure of a single person is the key to understanding Anne Frank’s death, which resembles crime fiction more than historical analysis. Anne Frank was not betrayed by an informant; she was murdered by the Nazi regime—an instrument of German financial capital in its most brutal form. The relentless search for a single betrayer serves an ideological purpose: it simplifies a complex historical atrocity into a moral failure, shifting focus from social forces to finding a villain.

This pattern is now widespread. Popular Holocaust stories—memoirs, films, museum exhibits, and “cold case” investigations—mainly highlight personal accounts, moral conflicts, and psychological profiles. The Holocaust is seen as a platform for individual heroism or guilt, while the broader social, economic, and political factors that led to fascism are overlooked. This focus on individualisation is deliberate, aligned with modern bourgeois ideology, which struggles to recognise the link between fascism and capitalism without condemning itself.

From Historical Event to Cultural Commodity

The public perception of the Holocaust has significantly evolved over time. In the years right after World War II, its memory was influenced by survivors, scholars, and political groups who saw fascism as stemming from a crisis within capitalism. The genocide was closely linked to the fall of bourgeois democracy, the betrayal of the working class by Social Democracy and Stalinist regimes, and Germany’s imperialist ambitions for dominance.

By the late 20th century, the way Holocaust memory was presented changed significantly. Museums, films, memoirs, and educational programs multiplied, but their focus shifted mainly to personal stories, moral lessons, and emotional engagement. As a result, the Holocaust evolved into a universal symbol of “evil,” losing touch with its specific historical context.

This commodification fulfills a specific ideological role by turning the Holocaust from a political incident into a commercial commodity. It replaces critical analysis with emotional appeal, factual history with storytelling, and class conflict with individual tragedy. As a result, the Holocaust is transformed into a brand—one that is referenced, consumed, and marketed—rather than a cautionary tale about risks associated with capitalist crises.

The Reactionary Function of the “Jewish Betrayer” Narrative

Sullivan’s book specifically aimed to identify a Jewish betrayer, not just any traitor. This choice is deliberate and significant. The image of the Jewish collaborator—such as a Judenrat official, kapo, or informant—has historically been employed to blur the moral distinctions of the Holocaust and suggest a false “shared responsibility” between victims and perpetrators. In reality, these individuals operated under extreme coercion and degradation, and their actions, though morally complex, were driven by the totalitarian system of extermination. However, the political implications of emphasising these figures depend entirely on the surrounding context.

Currently, promoting a “Jewish betrayer” narrative serves reactionary goals: it downplays fascist crimes by implying Jews were partly responsible for their own fate. It fuels far-right ideas that aim to diminish accountability for German imperialism. Additionally, it supports the German state’s cynical use of Holocaust remembrance to justify its backing of Israel’s actions in Gaza and its wider militarist goals. institutions like the Buchenwald memorial have prohibited criticising Israel under the pretence of fighting antisemitism, thus exploiting Holocaust memory for modern imperialist aims. In this environment, seeking a Jewish betrayer is not just misguided but also politically perilous.

The Pseudo‑Science of the Cold Case Method

Historians like Johannes Houwink ten Cate, Bart van der Boom, and others challenged Sullivan’s claims by showing that the book’s main accusation was based on speculation, misinterpretation, and a lack of understanding of historical context. The so-called “smoking gun,” an anonymous note from after the war, lacked any real evidence. The supposed betrayer, Arnold van den Bergh, was already in hiding by 1944. When examined critically by scholars, the entire case fell apart immediately.

The core problem is methodological. The cold-case approach views history as a solvable puzzle using forensic clues, rather than recognizing it as a complex social process influenced by class forces. This pseudo-scientific method, borrowed from criminal investigation and the true-crime genre, appeals to the desire for narrative closure and a definitive villain.

This method is fundamentally anti-historical. It fails to recognize the Holocaust as a result of capitalism in crisis, imperialism, and the collapse of the working-class movement. Instead of providing analysis, it resorts to speculation; instead of offering context, it leans on conjecture; and rather than presenting history, it seeks entertainment. The appeal of these approaches mirrors the ideological demands of bourgeois culture, which favours soothing stories over confronting uncomfortable realities.

The Real Betrayal: The Collapse of Working‑Class Leadership

From a Marxist perspective, the key betrayal enabling Anne Frank’s death was not carried out by any single informant, but rather by the organisations professing to represent the working class, which ultimately betrayed them.

The Social Democratic parties surrendered to their national bourgeoisies well before Hitler rose to power. Meanwhile, the Stalinist bureaucracy placed the fight against fascism behind its diplomatic tactics, resulting in the 1939 Hitler–Stalin Pact. The Communist Party of the Netherlands, which had organised the brave February 1941 strike—the first large-scale protest against the Nazis in Europe—was politically rendered powerless by Stalinism and unable to lead a revolutionary movement. Without a revolutionary socialist movement, the working class was left vulnerable to fascism.

This is the true historical lesson of the Holocaust. It is also the lesson that bourgeois historiography tries to hide by focusing on individual morality and betrayal stories.

The Contemporary Stakes: Memory as Ideology

The Sullivan affair must be seen within a larger crisis in our understanding of history today. As capitalism encounters new difficulties—such as war, authoritarian states, and economic recessions—the ruling class often manipulates historical memory for its

Three key trends are apparent: firstly, the commercialisation of Holocaust remembrance, turning it into a product disconnected from its political significance and aimed at consumerism; secondly, the depoliticisation of fascism, viewed as a moral flaw or anomaly rather than a result of capitalist crises; and thirdly, the exploitation of Holocaust memory to justify modern militarism, nationalism, and imperialism. Within this context, the Sullivan affair exemplifies how Holocaust history is being ideologically compromised in a capitalist system.

Conclusion: The Necessity of Revolutionary Leadership

Anne Frank’s words from May 3, 1944—“Why do governments give millions each day for war, when they spend nothing on medicine or poor people?”—challenge decades of ideological distortion. Her question isn’t a moral dilemma; it’s a political critique of a capitalist system that fosters war, poverty, and genocide.

Her death teaches us that the real lesson isn’t to pursue informants after eighty years, but that the working class must create its own revolutionary party—free from capitalist, nationalist, Stalinist, and social-democratic influences—to stop the barbarism that took her life from returning. This barbarism isn’t just history; it’s an active threat, nurtured by the same capitalist system that is pushing the world toward a third world war.

The current political crisis in the U.S., marked by Trump’s authoritarian cultural push, the Democratic Party’s emphasis on racial narratives, and increasing attacks on democratic rights, must be viewed through a precise and analytical understanding of the American Revolution. The debate over “America’s story” extends beyond museum displays or school lessons; it is fundamentally a conflict over the historical roots of political awareness among the working class.

The ruling class recognises history as a powerful tool. The distortion of the American Revolution—whether via right-wing chauvinist myths or the racialist narratives of identity-politics factions—is crucial for preserving capitalist dominance. To counter these distortions, it is important to re-examine the American Revolution using historical materialism, exposing its true nature as a bourgeois-democratic rebellion with lingering contradictions that still influence American society.

The Material Roots of Revolution

The American Revolution didn’t simply arise as a pure expression of “liberty.” Instead, it developed from the concrete growth of capitalism in the Atlantic world during the eighteenth century. By 1770, the colonies had grown into dynamic, expanding societies, with their economic progress often conflicting with the limitations imposed by British imperial authority.

A growing colonial bourgeoisie—comprising merchants, planters, and land speculators—pushed for unrestricted access to markets and land. Small farmers and artisans, burdened with debt and facing imperial taxes, also fought in this movement. These class interests, rather than ideals, drove the Revolution. As Marx noted about bourgeois revolutions, they “storm heaven” only because material circumstances force them to.

The Revolution was considered progressive for its era because it challenged monarchy and aristocratic privileges, paving the way for the growth of capitalism and the rise of the modern working class.

The Contradictions of a Bourgeois-Democratic Uprising

The Revolution’s claim that ‘all men are created equal’ was genuine in its democratic rhetoric, reflecting a bourgeois revolutionary ideal. However, the revolution was inherently contradictory.

 It maintained slavery, further dispossessed Indigenous peoples, and limited political rights to propertied white men. These contradictions weren’t incidental; they stemmed from the class nature of the revolutionary leaders, who sought to expand capitalism while preserving the social structures that sustained their wealth.

The enslaved population clearly understood the risks. Tens of thousands escaped to British lines in pursuit of freedom. Indigenous nations acknowledged that independence would hasten settler expansion. While the Revolution promised liberty, it resulted in a republic where democratic rights were heavily restricted by class and race.

The Constitution and the Consolidation of Bourgeois Rule

From 1783 to 1787, the contradictions of the Revolution persisted. Shays’ Rebellion, driven by indebted farmers, raised concerns among the propertied classes. The Constitutional Convention was convened not to expand democracy but to limit it. The resulting Constitution established a strong federal government designed to safeguard private property, quell popular rebellions, maintain slavery, and promote capitalist development.

The new republic was not a modern democracy; instead, it was a bourgeois republic designed to keep political power largely in the hands of the propertied classes.

Slavery, Capitalism, and the Road to Civil War

The Revolution did not resolve the contradiction between slavery and capitalism. It intensified it. Slavery in the American South was not a feudal relic but a highly profitable capitalist system integrated into global markets. The Southern slave‑owning class became a reactionary force determined to expand slavery westward.

In the North, industrial capitalism developed rapidly. The Northern bourgeoisie required free labour, national markets, and federal policies favourable to industrial growth. The conflict between these two ruling-class blocs—slave capital and industrial capital—became irreconcilable.

The Civil War was the second American Revolution. Under the pressure of events and mass struggle, the Union was driven towards abolition. The destruction of slavery was a revolutionary act, completing the unfinished tasks of 1776.

Reconstruction was betrayed when the Northern bourgeoisie, having achieved its economic and political goals, turned away from the freedmen. This led to the violent resurgence of planter dominance, the emergence of Jim Crow laws, and the restriction of Black political rights. Class interests, not moral failing, drove this betrayal.

The Struggle for Historical Truth and the Crisis of American Democracy

The political climate in the U.S. has reached a point where the ruling elite openly challenges historical truth. The Trump administration’s efforts—such as promoting “patriotic education,’ attacking museums and universities, and trying to enforce ideological uniformity in public institutions—reflect the desperation of a capitalist system facing a deep crisis. Meanwhile, the Democratic Party and its cultural allies, heavily influenced by race and identity politics, have significantly contributed to setting the stage for this confrontation.

The fight for historical truth is fundamentally political, not just academic. It involves a struggle over consciousness—whether the working class can grasp the true social forces shaping their lives and respond. Falsifying history serves as a tool for maintaining class dominance. To uphold democratic rights, oppose authoritarian regimes, and develop a socialist movement, the working class must reclaim and affirm the truth about its history.

History as a Battlefield of Class Interests

Every ruling class aims to shape the historical narrative, especially during crises when control becomes urgent. The American elite recognises that a populace educated in history—aware of revolutions, struggles, and democratic ideals—threatens its dominance. Consequently, the Trump administration has embarked on a campaign to “restore patriotism” in American history. This effort isn’t about factual accuracy but about enforcing conformity. Its goal is to diminish critical thinking and promote a mythology that elevates capitalism, downplays its crimes, and presents the current social order as part of a divine national destiny.

The Democratic Party’s racialist narrative, however, dismisses any progressive elements in American history. It frames the American Revolution and Civil War solely as moments of white supremacy, ignoring the democratic and revolutionary efforts that built the nation. This perspective benefits a privileged upper-middle class that aims to split workers by race and hide capitalism’s core class conflicts. Both this and alternative narratives distort the truth. Both support the interests of the ruling class. Therefore, both should be rejected.

The Revolutionary Content of American History

The American Revolution was neither a mythical battle of endless “freedom-loving patriots” nor a conspiracy rooted in white supremacy. It was a bourgeois-democratic revolution that challenged monarchy and aristocratic privilege. At the same time, it had real contradictions—particularly the preservation of slavery—; its progressive aspects cannot be denied.

The Revolution claimed the oppressor’s right to overthrow tyranny, establishing republicanism, expanding political participation (for white men), and paving the way for capitalism and the modern working class.

The Civil War is considered the second American Revolution, dismantling the slave power, ending chattel slavery, and briefly creating the chance for a multiracial democracy during Reconstruction. The Northern bourgeoisie’s betrayal of Reconstruction was not unavoidable but a deliberate class choice. After securing the interests of industrial capital, they abandoned the freedmen and allowed the planter class to reestablish its dominance.

These challenges are part of the global effort for human emancipation and are associated with the working class, not the oligarchy.

The Present Assault on Historical Consciousness

The Trump administration’s cultural campaign is not just defensive but authoritarian, aiming to enforce a specific patriotic narrative. This strategy seeks ideological uniformity, akin to the concept of Gleichschaltung—the alignment of cultural institutions with regime interests.

The Smithsonian, universities, and cultural bodies are being targeted because they host exhibitions and research on slavery, racism, labour movements, and social inequality. These topics challenge the core beliefs of capitalist governance, promote critical thinking, and expose societal contradictions.

The Democratic Party’s defence of identity politics as “inclusive” and “representative’ amounts to a bureaucratic evasion. Rather than opposing authoritarianism, identity politics serves as a distraction that divides the working class and conceals the true source of oppression—the capitalist system.

The quest for historical truth involves rejecting both the chauvinist mythology upheld by the right and the racialist distortions propagated by the liberal establishment. The ruling class fears history because it exposes several uncomfortable realities: that democratic rights were won through struggle, that revolutions can happen, that ordinary people have overthrown tyranny, that capitalism is not eternal, and that the working class has agency.

A population aware of these truths is a threat to the oligarchy, as it cannot be easily manipulated through nationalism, racism, or authoritarian rhetoric. Such an informed populace cannot be convinced that inequality is natural or that exploitation equates to freedom.

This is why the ruling class aims to erase or distort the revolutionary and democratic aspects of American history. It also explains why the fight for historical truth is intrinsically linked to the struggle for socialism.

The Working Class and the Revolutionary Legacy

The working class must reclaim key elements of American history that are truly progressive: the revolutionary assertion of the right to overthrow tyranny, the abolition of slavery, workers’ and immigrants’ struggles against exploitation, and the democratic principles found in the nation’s founding documents. These traditions belong to the working class, not the oligarchy, and they point beyond capitalism toward a socialist transformation of society. The fight for historical truth is intertwined with the fight against authoritarianism, nationalism, and identity politics. It also links to the broader goal of socialism. Like all major bourgeois revolutions, the American Revolution created possibilities it could not fully realise, and now, it is the working class’s task to fulfil those possibilities.