Cromwell, Restored: A Marxist Critique of the New Oxford Edition of The Letters, Writings, and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell

This extensive three-volume collection — comprising 1,077 documents carefully gathered over years by nine editors — is more than a scholarly achievement. It serves as a challenge in the ongoing ideological debate about the significance of England’s only revolution. For centuries, Cromwell has been co-opted, sanitised, and reinterpreted by those in power to hide the revolutionary aspects of the events he was part of.

This edition, by returning to Cromwell’s actual writings and statements, pierces through the ideological haze and confronts the true historical forces of the seventeenth century: class conflict, religious radicalism as a sign of social upheaval, and the complex figure of Cromwell himself, who represented both the revolutionary overthrow of the old regime and the constraints of the rising bourgeoisie. This isn’t just about fixing footnotes; it’s about reclaiming the English Revolution from two centuries of distortion.

The Manufacture of a Bourgeois Cromwell

Jackie Eales demonstrates that the version of Cromwell familiar to popular memory is mostly a construct from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The commonly cited ‘warts and all” comment—often used as evidence of Cromwell’s supposed modernity—is in fact an eighteenth-century fabrication. Similarly, the well-known quip dismissing the Rump Parliament, “you have sat too long here… in the name of God, go!”, is not from the seventeenth century; it is a 1940 parliamentary remark by Leo Amery, aimed at Chamberlain, and taken from Carlyle’s 1845 edition.

Carlyle played a crucial role in shaping this ideological reconstruction. His edition, once seen as definitive, was created with considerable liberty — including reworded sections, added commentary, and even forged documents. Nonetheless, Carlyle’s portrayal of Cromwell evolved into the archetype for Victorian liberalism — portraying Cromwell as an early parliamentarian, a constitutional moderate, and a revolutionary whose actions could be seen as the nascent stages of bourgeois democracy.

Cromwell and the Manufacture of a Usable Past

Few figures in English history have undergone as prolonged an effort of ideological redefinition as Oliver Cromwell. This redefinition has never been purely academic; since the eighteenth century, it has served as a political tool: transforming a mid-seventeenth-century revolutionary leader into a figure that suits the agendas of subsequent ruling elites. The new Oxford edition of The Letters, Writings, and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell—comprehensive and rigorously faithful to the original documents—presents a direct challenge to this longstanding mythmaking. It urges us to view Cromwell not through the lens of Victorian liberalism nor as a caricature by twentieth-century reactionaries, but as a complex reflection of a society in the midst of revolutionary change.

To understand why Cromwell has been so frequently rewritten, it’s essential to consider the nature of the English Revolution itself. Marxist theory describes it as a bourgeois revolution expressed through religious means: the overthrow of feudal absolutism by a rising class whose ideological language was still tied to theology. The social forces that dismantled the monarchy, abolished the House of Lords, and executed Charles I could not clearly articulate their goals in secular, materialist terms. Instead, they relied on concepts of providence, divine reformation, and divine judgment. Cromwell, as the most skilled military and political leader of this movement, exemplified its contradictions: acting as a revolutionary, yet justified by divine providence; being radical in destruction but conservative in settlement.

Later generations found this complexity unacceptable. The ruling elite after 1688 needed a genealogy that supported its constitutional legitimacy. The English Revolution, with its regicide and republican experiment, was seen as an embarrassment—too radical, violent, and overtly destructive of monarchy. Cromwell had to be softened. The process began in the eighteenth century through anecdotal invention and culminated in the nineteenth century with Carlyle’s extensive yet biased edition of Cromwell’s writings. Carlyle’s Cromwell differed from the original documents; he was portrayed as a Victorian moral hero—characterful, sincere, and an early Liberal ideal. Carlyle altered passages, added commentary, and even included forged documents to craft a Cromwell who could be seen as an ancestor of bourgeois constitutionalism.

This was mythmaking used to reinforce class dominance. The revolutionary Cromwell—who saw regicide as divine will, dissolved parliaments when they opposed him, and prioritised divine commands over constitutional norms—did not align with Britain’s stable parliamentary system in the 19th century. Therefore, a new figure resembling Cromwell needed to be created: one who could be represented as a pioneer of modern liberty instead of a destroyer of the old order.

The twentieth century introduced its own distortions. During crises, Cromwell was frequently reinterpreted. Leo Amery’s 1940 attack on Chamberlain, with its faux quote “in the name of God, go!”, was not a genuine historical remark but a political tool. Cromwell was portrayed as a symbol of parliamentary strength, invoked to defend the constitutional order that his revolution had momentarily overturned. Meanwhile, reactionary historians crafted the opposite myth: portraying Cromwell as a proto-fascist dictator and a forerunner of modern tyranny. Both narratives catered to current agendas and obscured the real historical figure of Cromwell.

The new Oxford edition clearly departs from previous traditions by meticulously assembling the documents, thereby reestablishing Cromwell’s role within the revolutionary crisis that shaped him. The Cromwell presented here is neither a liberal hero nor a fascist villain but a figure influenced by the class forces of his era. His religious language is not indicative of personal eccentricity but represents the ideological framework through which the revolutionary bourgeoisie interpreted its struggles. His political actions—such as military victories, dissolutions of parliament, and constitutional experiments—mirror a class trying to dismantle feudal power while simultaneously fearing the radical potential of the popular forces that contributed to that transformation.

Ireland: The Colonial Violence of the Bourgeois Revolution

Victorian mythmaking never fully captured the history of Cromwell’s 1649 Irish campaign, and the new edition resists sanitisation. The documents affirm what Irish memory has always recognised: Drogheda and Wexford were massacres, not mere battle excesses. Resistance had already ceased before civilians and soldiers were killed. This exposes the limitations of the bourgeois revolution—while it toppled the English monarchy, it also carried out a colonial war marked by extreme brutality. The rising English bourgeoisie, fighting for political power domestically, also pursued imperial dominance internationally. The ideas of providence and a divine mission provided a convenient justification for the material reality: the expansion of English capitalism. Victorian liberalism could not accept this, and twentieth-century parliamentarianism avoided it altogether. The new edition does neither; instead, it restores the record to its full, uncomfortable clarity.

Why does this matter? Because historical mythmaking is never innocent. The transformation of Cromwell into a constitutional moderate was part of a broader ideological project: the rewriting of the English Revolution as a precursor to the stable parliamentary order that followed. This narrative obscures the revolutionary nature of the seventeenth century, erases the class struggle at its core, and transforms a moment of genuine social rupture into a comforting origin story for bourgeois rule.

Restoring Cromwell to history—stripped of Carlylean invention, Victorian sanitisation, and twentieth‑century distortion—is essential for understanding the English Revolution on its own terms. It reveals a society in transition, a class overthrowing feudal power, and a leader whose actions cannot be understood outside the revolutionary dynamics that shaped them.

What the Documents Reveal: Revolution in Religious Form

The Cromwell depicted in the documents isn’t the hero from Carlyle or the caricature of a proto-fascist dictator from the twentieth century. Instead, he is a more historically tangible figure: a revolutionary shaped by the tensions of a society shifting from feudalism to capitalism. Cromwell’s use of religious language was more than mere decoration; it was the ideological language through which the revolutionary bourgeoisie and their allies understood their fight. When Cromwell spoke of his early life as being amid spiritual “darkness,” or saw victories at Marston Moor, Dunbar, and Worcester as divine acts, he was expressing—using the only vocabulary at his disposal—the awareness of a class breaking away from the old order but struggling to articulate its goals in secular, materialist terms.

This is exactly why it is historically incorrect to try to link Cromwell to the tradition of liberal constitutionalism. He justified regicide as divine justice, contemplated the crown in spiritual terms, and prioritised God’s will over constitutional norms. Therefore, transforming him into a Whig predecessor ignores the revolutionary essence of his actions. The editors’ success lies in reestablishing Cromwell as a product of the revolutionary crisis—complex, providential, radical, and closely connected to the class forces he led.

Why Accuracy Matters: Reclaiming the Revolution

Correcting Carlyle’s distortions isn’t just antiquarian fussiness; it’s essential for reclaiming the true story of the English Revolution from bourgeois historiography. Each phase of Cromwell’s mythmaking—whether Walpole’s anecdote, Carlyle’s editorial choices, or Amery’s wartime rhetoric—served to reshape him to fit the ideological needs of the ruling class. As a result, Cromwell has been depicted variably as a democrat, tyrant, patriot, or proto-liberal, depending on the prevailing narrative.

The new edition breaks that cycle. It forces us back to the seventeenth century, to a revolutionary crisis whose central figure was neither a secular constitutionalist nor a simple despot, but a man formed by — and inseparable from — the religious, social, and class upheaval of his age. To understand Cromwell is to understand the English Revolution as a bourgeois revolution in religious form — radical in its destruction of feudal power, limited in its inability to transcend the ideological frameworks of its own class.

Priced at £190 per volume, this edition will primarily reside in university libraries. It features dense annotations and formidable scholarship. However, its importance extends well beyond its expected audience. By removing two centuries of ideological distortions, it repositions Cromwell within the revolution that shaped him—a complex figure marked by contradictions, providence, ruthlessness, and a tendency to resist sanitisation. For scholars of the English Revolution, it is essential. For those interested in how ruling classes craft influential narratives of the past, it offers profound insights.

Sources and Bibliography

Primary Sources

  • Cromwell, Oliver. The Letters, Writings, and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, Vols. I–III. Ed. Andrew Barclay, Tim Wales, John Morrill, Elaine Murphy, Micheál Ó Siochrú, Jason Peacey, Joel Halcomb, Patrick Little, and David L. Smith. Oxford University Press, 2023.
  • Carlyle, Thomas. Oliver Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches: With Elucidations. Chapman and Hall, 1845. (Important chiefly as an example of nineteenth‑century editorial intervention and mythmaking.)
  • Walpole, Horace. Anecdotes of Painting in England. 1762–71. (Source of the invented “warts and all” anecdote.)
  • Amery, Leo. House of Commons Speech, 7 May 1940. (Origin of the modern “in the name of God, go!” line falsely attributed to Cromwell.)
  • Rushworth, John. Historical Collections. 1659–1701. (Contemporary documentary material on the Civil Wars and Interregnum.)
  • Thurloe, John. A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe. 1742. (Key administrative and diplomatic papers from the Protectorate.)

Secondary Sources: Cromwell and the English Revolution

Modern Scholarship

  • Morrill, John. Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution. Longman, 1990. (Essential for understanding Cromwell’s religious-political worldview.)
  • Eales, Jackie. “The Myth of Cromwell.” History Today, Vol. 73, No. 3 (2023). (Concise account of the invention of Cromwellian myths.)
  • Peacey, Jason. Print and Public Politics in the English Revolution. Cambridge University Press, 2013. (On the ideological construction of political figures in the 1640s–50s.)
  • Reid, Kirsten. Cromwell’s War Machine: The New Model Army and the Revolution. Manchester University Press, 2021.
  • Ó Siochrú, Micheál. God’s Executioner: Oliver Cromwell and the Conquest of Ireland. Faber & Faber, 2008. (The definitive account of Drogheda and Wexford.)
  • Woolrych, Austin. Britain in Revolution, 1625–1660. Oxford University Press, 2002. (A comprehensive political narrative.)
  • Smith, David L. Oliver Cromwell: Politics and Religion in the English Revolution. Cambridge University Press, 1991.

Marxist and Materialist Historiography

  • Marx, Karl. “Revolution and Counter-Revolution in Germany.” 1851–52. (Foundational analysis of bourgeois revolutions; relevant for framing the English case.)
  • Engels, Friedrich. The Peasant War in Germany. 1850. (On the ideological forms of early bourgeois revolutions.)
  • Hill, Christopher.
    • The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas During the English Revolution. Penguin, 1972.
    • God’s Englishman: Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution. Penguin, 1970.
    • The English Revolution 1640. Lawrence & Wishart, 1940. (Hill remains indispensable for understanding the class dynamics and ideological contradictions of the revolution.)
  • Manning, Brian. The English People and the English Revolution. Bookmarks, 1991. (A class analysis of the revolutionary process.)
  • Rees, John. The Leveller Revolution: Radical Political Organisation in England, 1640–1650. Verso, 2016. (On the popular forces whose pressure shaped Cromwell’s actions.)
  • Callinicos, Alex. The Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx. Bookmarks, 1983. (Useful for framing bourgeois revolutions within Marxist theory.)

Mythmaking, Ideology, and Historical Memory

  • Hobsbawm, Eric. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge University Press, 1983. (Framework for understanding Cromwell’s later ideological reconstruction.)
  • Cannadine, David. Ornamentalism: How the British Saw Their Empire. Penguin, 2001. (On imperial ideology; relevant to Cromwell’s Irish campaign.)
  • Greenblatt, Stephen. Renaissance Self-Fashioning. University of Chicago Press, 1980. (Useful for analysing how figures like Cromwell are constructed in cultural memory.)
  • Kelsey, Sean. “The Death of Oliver Cromwell.” Historical Journal, 1999. (On the political uses of Cromwell’s image after 1658.)

Archival and Documentary Collections

  • British Library Manuscripts (Thurloe Papers, State Papers Domestic).
  • National Archives (SP 18, SP 25, and Interregnum administrative records).
  • Bodleian Library (Carte Manuscripts; Rawlinson MSS).
  • Cambridge University Library (Morrill Papers; Cromwellian correspondence).

Suggested Further Reading for Marxist Analysis

  • Trotsky, Leon. The History of the Russian Revolution. 1930. (For comparative revolutionary dynamics and the dialectic of leadership and class forces.)
  • Anderson, Perry. Lineages of the Absolutist State. Verso, 1974. (On the transition from feudalism to capitalism in Europe.)
  • Brenner, Robert. Merchants and Revolution: Commercial Change, Political Conflict, and London’s Overseas Traders, 1550–1653

John Morrill, Bourgeois Historiography, and the Marxist Question of the English Revolution

Professor John Morrill’s inaugural Barry Coward Memorial Lecture, delivered under the auspices of the Birkbeck Early Modern Society, was by any measure an impressive scholarly performance. Morrill is one of the most accomplished historians of the English Revolution working today, and his five‑volume edition of Cromwell’s writings — supported by a substantial Leverhulme grant — will now become the definitive textual resource for future scholarship. His tribute to Barry Coward was warm, sincere, and entirely fitting.

But Morrill’s lecture, and the monumental editorial project, also expose the deeper limits of contemporary Cromwell studies. It reveals a historiographical method that is technically rigorous yet politically anaemic; a scholarship capable of restoring Cromwell’s words with unprecedented precision while leaving the social and class content of the English Revolution fundamentally untouched.

From a Marxist perspective, Morrill’s method exemplifies the wider trend in bourgeois historiography: focusing on textual precision and individual agency, which masks the revolutionary forces of the 1640s and the social classes that shaped Cromwell. This essay presents a summary of Morrill’s lecture alongside a Marxist critique of its underlying historiographical approach.

Morrill’s Project: Restoring Cromwell’s Voice

Morrill has produced a much-needed scholarly project: a detailed, critically edited collection of Cromwell’s speeches and writings. Current editions—Carlyle’s romanticised 1845 compilation and Lomas’s 1904 revision—are full of errors, missing details, and editorial changes. Morrill’s team of eight editors produced the most accurate text yet by examining all manuscripts and printed editions, aiming to eliminate two centuries of inaccuracies.

The example he offered — two versions of Cromwell’s speech opening the Barebones Parliament highlights the issue. A 1654 version refers to “the day of the power of Christ,”. In contrast, a later edition softens this to “a day of the power of Christ,” subtly transforming Cromwell from an apocalyptic prophet to a devout statesman. Morrill contended that these modifications add up to a significantly changed perception of Cromwell. The project is undoubtedly valuable, as it aims to provide scholars with the most precise texts of Cromwell ever compiled. However, ensuring textual accuracy does not necessarily mean that the historical understanding will be equally precise.

The Fetish of Accuracy: A Technical Solution to a Political Problem

Morrill’s lecture consistently focused on the importance of “accuracy.” He pointed out Carlyle’s carelessness, Lomas’s slight improvement, and Abbott’s strong ideological stance. Morrill’s edition aims to address these issues. However, this focus on textual precision reveals a broader methodological belief: that understanding Cromwell depends on finding his “true” words. This approach reflects scholarly obsession — the idea that the authentic sentence will reveal the genuine Cromwell.

A Marxist perspective emphasises the importance of class struggle in understanding Cromwell’s words. Whether he referred to “the day of the power of Christ” or “a day” is less important than analysing the social forces behind his speech. The key questions are: what social interests motivated Cromwell’s language, and how did it serve revolutionary goals? Morrill’s method falls short because it views Cromwell’s speeches as isolated entities, ignoring their role as ideological expressions shaped by class interests.

Cromwell as a Figure Re‑Made to Suit Ruling‑Class Needs

Morrill recognised that each century has its own version of Cromwell—whether Carlyle’s Victorian hero, Abbott’s proto-fascist leader, or the moderate constitutional figure of the mid-century—each reflecting the ideological needs of its time. However, Morrill did not explore the deeper implication: Cromwell’s image is not merely misinterpreted but is intentionally constructed as a political tool. Bourgeois historiography repeatedly reimagines Cromwell to reinforce the ideological foundations of the modern British state. From a Marxist perspective, Cromwell cannot be viewed as a timeless “great man.” Instead, he must be seen as the political representative of an emerging bourgeois class whose interests called for the dismantling of feudal absolutism, the creation of a national market, the consolidation of capitalist property, and the suppression of plebeian democratic movements. This is the version of Cromwell that bourgeois historiography refuses to acknowledge—and thus remains invisible.

Against Revisionism: The Bourgeois Evasion of the English Revolution

For over forty years, “revisionist” Civil War scholarship has held sway in the British academic world. It claims to be objective, fact-based, and opposed to Whig history. However, it is actually the most politically cautious interpretation ever used to analyse the English Revolution. Its main accomplishment has been to undermine the idea of revolution itself—instead portraying a major historical turning point as merely a collection of local conflicts, religious feelings, and personal miscommunications.

Revisionism’s approach is straightforward: break down, remove politics, and dissolve distinctions. While earlier thinkers viewed history as a revolutionary clash between social orders, revisionists see only “multiple kingdoms,” “local contexts,” and “parish politics.” Where Marxists highlight the rise of the bourgeoisie and the fall of feudal absolutism, revisionists claim class is “anachronistic,” “over-systematised,” or simply “not evident in the sources.” Similarly, movements like the Levellers and Diggers, originally seen as democratic and proto-communist, are reinterpreted by revisionists as “pressure groups,” “agitators,” or “political minorities.”

The outcome is a historiography where events lack intentional causes, especially social ones. The English Revolution appears as a chain of accidents. Cromwell is seen as a man responding to crises. The New Model Army is viewed as a disciplinary issue. Ireland is considered a tragic misunderstanding. Radicalism is dismissed as mere noise. This is not genuine scholarship; it is ideological suppression.

Revisionism appeared in the late 20th century, coinciding with the British academy’s move away from social history, class analysis, and materialist views. It presents a reassuring story: the Civil War was not a revolution but just a “war of three kingdoms.” Its participants are seen not as representatives of social forces, but as individuals driven by religious differences. Its conclusion is not the end of feudalism but just a constitutional adjustment. Essentially, revisionism rejects the revolution to dismiss its repercussions.

It cannot acknowledge that the English Revolution was a bourgeois revolution. It cannot acknowledge that Cromwell was the political instrument of a rising class. It cannot acknowledge that plebeian movements represented the unfulfilled democratic content of the struggle. It cannot acknowledge that revolutionary violence was structurally necessary.

Instead, it presents a Cromwell who is psychologically nuanced but socially insubstantial, a Parliament that is complex in structure yet devoid of class distinctions, and a revolution that paradoxically isn’t truly a revolution. This is why revisionism has become so appealing to the modern academy: it sanitises history. It strips away the explosive elements of the 1640s—the overthrow of monarchy, the mobilisation of people with low incomes, the rise of democratic calls, and the development of capitalist social relations—and substitutes a politically neutral mosaic of “contexts.” A Marxist critique pierces through this illusion. The English Revolution was not a mistake, nor a local crisis, nor a religious conflict. It was the first major bourgeois revolution, and its contradictions—its radicalism, violence, and repression of democratic forces—mirror the conflicting interests of the class driving it. Revisionism fails to recognise this because it cannot accept it. Its goal isn’t to explain the revolution but to diminish its significance.

Ireland and the Politics of Sanitisation

The most insightful part of Morrill’s lecture focused on Ireland. He highlighted uncertainties in casualty numbers, questioned the reliability of Cromwell’s letters, and noted Parliament’s tendency to “tidy up” his words. He carefully differentiated between civilians killed in combat and those killed after surrender. While this stance of meticulous neutrality seems objective, it serves a political purpose by diverting attention from the underlying reality: the Irish campaign was an element of the brutal consolidation of a new bourgeois state.

The Drogheda massacre—regardless of how its details are reconstructed—was not merely a tragic mistake. It was a calculated act of terror executed by a revolutionary force whose triumph depended on dismantling the ancient Irish order. Morrill’s approach, by emphasising textual uncertainty, downplays the revolutionary violence central to the English bourgeois revolution.

Morrill’s approach exemplifies the broader shift towards revisionism in Civil War historiography. This perspective critiques the traditional Whig narrative of constitutional progress, replacing it with an equally ideological focus on local grievances, religious sensitivities, and individual agency. It breaks down the revolution into a series of contingencies, interprets class struggle through cultural anthropology, and views Cromwell as a psychologically intricate individual managing crises. Instead of seeing the revolution as driven by material forces, it portrays it as a patchwork of personal decisions. Conversely, a Marxist perspective argues that Cromwell was not merely contingent but a necessary outcome—shaped structurally by the decline of feudalism and the rise of the bourgeoisie.

The Erasure of Radical Movements

A key aspect of Morrill’s historiography is how it downplays radical movements. Levellers, Diggers, and Army agitators—the democratic and proto-communist groups of the 1640s—are only seen as “pressures” on Cromwell, not as independent class movements driven by their own historical logic. Cromwell’s suppression of these groups is viewed as political prudence, not as a reflection of his role in defending property and supporting the “gentlemen Independents.” This approach is not objective scholarship; it reduces plebeian politics to mere background noise, ideologically diminishing their significance.

The Cleaned Portrait Without the Canvas

Morrill concluded his lecture with a metaphor: Cromwell is like a Great Master painting that takes on a new life when cleaned and restored. The metaphor is insightful—Morrill restores the portrait but leaves the canvas untouched. The Cromwell he depicts is precise in text but stripped of political context, portraying him as a man of conscience rather than a revolutionary. A Marxist perspective argues that Cromwell’s significance lies not in his personality but in his role as the military and political representative of a rising bourgeoisie, both triggering and holding back revolution. Morrill’s approach cannot uncover this deeper, class-based understanding of Cromwell because it doesn’t address the class dynamics of the English Revolution.

Morrill’s edition will be invaluable, providing the most precise collection of Cromwell texts to date. However, it won’t answer the fundamental question Morrill asked: What do we truly know about Oliver Cromwell? To truly understand Cromwell, we must grasp the class forces that drove him to power, the economic changes that enabled the revolution, the social tensions that influenced his religious rhetoric, and the historical necessity that positioned him as the figurehead of a rising bourgeois class. Achieving this understanding requires a Marxist analysis—an approach that the bourgeois academy has largely avoided for decades. Morrill’s project cleaned the portrait. It will not reveal the painter.

Sources and Bibliography

Primary Sources on Revisionism

  • Fulbrook, Mary. “The English Revolution and the Revisionist Revolt.” Journal of Modern History. A foundational critique of revisionist approaches, surveying Conrad Russell, Kevin Sharpe, Paul Christianson, and others.
  • Russell, Conrad. Parliaments and English Politics, 1621–1629. Oxford University Press, 1979. A key text in the revisionist dismantling of long-term social explanations.
  • Russell, Conrad. The Origins of the English Civil War. Macmillan, 1973. The central revisionist statement rejecting class-based interpretations.
  • Morrill, John. The Revolt of the Provinces: Conservatives and Radicals in the English Civil War, 1630–1650. Longman, 1980 (orig. 1976). A major revisionist work emphasising localism and provincial grievances.
  • Sharpe, Kevin (ed.). Faction and Parliament: Essays on Early Stuart History. Oxford University Press, 1978. A revisionist collection emphasising political culture over social structure.
  • Christianson, Paul. “The Causes of the English Revolution: A Reappraisal.” Journal of British Studies 15:2 (1976), 40–75. A revisionist attack on Marxist and Whig causal frameworks.
  • Ashton, Robert. The English Civil War: Conservatism and Revolution 1603–1649. Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1978. Often grouped with revisionists for its scepticism toward long-term structural causes.

Responses to Revisionism

  • Hexter, J. H. “Power Struggle, Parliament, and Liberty in Early Stuart England.” Journal of Modern History 50:1 (1978), 1–50. A rebuttal defending structural and ideological explanations.
  • Hill, Christopher. “Parliament and People in Seventeenth-Century England.” Past & Present 92 (1981), 100–124. A Marxist counter-argument emphasising popular mobilisation.
  • Rabb, T. K. “The Role of the Commons.” Past & Present 92 (1981), 55–78. A critique of revisionist minimisation of parliamentary radicalism.
  • Hirst, Derek. “The Place of Principle.” Past & Present 92 (1981), 79–99. A defence of ideological and principled motivations against revisionist reductionism.

Marxist and Social-Historical Works

  • Hill, Christopher. The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas During the English Revolution. Penguin, 1972. The classic Marxist study of Levellers, Diggers, and plebeian radicalism.
  • Hill, Christopher. The English Revolution 1640. Lawrence & Wishart, 1940. Foundational Marxist interpretation of the revolution as a bourgeois upheaval.
  • Bernstein, Eduard. Cromwell and Communism: Socialism and Democracy in the Great English Revolution. Allen & Unwin, 1930. A pioneering Marxist analysis of radical democratic and proto-communist movements.
  • Manning, Brian. The English People and the English Revolution. Heinemann, 1976. A major social-history rebuttal to revisionism, emphasising class mobilisation.
  • Manning, Brian. The Far Left in the English Revolution. Bookmarks, 2006. A detailed study of radical class forces suppressed by Cromwell.
  • Shaw, A. L. The Levellers. Longman, 1968. A key study of democratic radicalism within the New Model Army.

Historiographical Context

  • Fulbrook, Mary. “The English Revolution and the Revisionist Revolt.” Journal of Modern History. Essential for situating revisionism within broader historiographical debates.
  • Rosenberg, John S. “Toward a New Civil War Revisionism.” Journal of Modern History. Although focused on the American Civil War, it provides a comparative framework for understanding revisionist cycles in national historiography.

Reclaiming Marx for the History of Slavery: A Review of David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History

For nearly two decades, debate over slavery and capitalism in the United States has been shaped by the so-called “New History of Capitalism” (NHC), a loose group of scholars whose influence reflects less intellectual strength than the deep disorientation of contemporary bourgeois scholarship. Arising after the 2008 financial crisis and the collapse of neoliberal triumphalism, the NHC has sought to offset its theoretical weakness through extensive empirical accumulation. Its central claim—that plantation slavery was integral to capitalist development—is correct, but it reaches that conclusion without grasping capitalism itself.

This is no accident. The NHC is a petty-bourgeois ideological formation rooted in academic middle layers whose outlook is marked by hostility to Marxism, suspicion of theory, and retreat into descriptive empiricism. Its scholars have produced vast archival detail yet remain unable to explain the structural relationship between slavery and capitalism. Their work reflects a wider crisis: the abandonment of historical materialism in the universities and the rise of identity politics, moralism, and methodological fragmentation.

David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History enters at this moment of theoretical collapse. More than a contribution to slavery historiography, it directly challenges the petty-bourgeois drift of contemporary scholarship. It restores Marxist method to a field that has grown uncertain of its capacity to explain the world.

McNally counters long-standing caricatures by showing that Marx understood Atlantic plantation slavery as capitalist commodity production and the enslaved as a “chattel proletariat.” This is more than a small interpretive correction: it decisively refutes the Eurocentric view that capitalism is defined solely by free wage labour, a view that obscures its global, violent, and coercive development.

The Argument: A Systematic Reassertion of Historical Materialism

McNally’s book proceeds in two parts. First, through case studies of Richard Ligon’s account of Barbadian sugar production, George Washington’s role as an agrarian capitalist slaveholder, and Edward Gibbon Wakefield’s theory of colonial labour, it shows that plantation slavery bore the defining marks of capitalist production: production for world markets, systematic labour discipline, and constant pressure to raise productivity.

The second part shifts to political economy, showing how capital derived from slavery helped shape modern financial institutions, including the Bank of England, and later influenced the development of American capitalism. The conclusion is clear: slavery was not outside capitalism but structurally central to it.

McNally places his work within a “forgotten critical Marxist tradition” of C.L.R. James, W.E.B. Du Bois, and Sylvia Wynter, all of whom rejected the Eurocentric view that capitalism is defined solely by free labour. By reviving this tradition, he exposes the NHC’s theoretical bankruptcy: its attempt to explain capitalism without Marx and slavery without class analysis.

Where the Book Succeeds: Restoring Class Struggle to the Centre of the Narrative

The book’s strongest contribution is its analysis of enslaved resistance. Liberal historiography has often reduced rebellion, sabotage, and flight to moral testimony or narrative detail. Despite its empirical breadth, the NHC largely repeats this pattern, treating enslaved resistance as an outside disruption rather than a structural feature of capitalist production.

McNally breaks sharply with this approach by recasting enslaved resistance as labour struggle, structurally comparable to strikes, slowdowns, and collective bargaining. In doing so, he restores the enslaved to their proper place as historical agents contesting the conditions of production and reproduction. This is a genuinely original contribution that gives his theoretical framework real explanatory force. His prose is clear, forceful, and historically grounded; planter diaries, travel accounts, and slave narratives function not as ornament but as evidence of the lived reality of capitalist exploitation.

David McNally and the 1619 Project: Marxism Against the Petty‑Bourgeois Rewriting of History

David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History appears at a moment of profound ideological confusion. Few examples reveal this more clearly than the rise of the 1619 Project, a political and cultural intervention embraced by parts of the media and academia as a definitive reframing of American history. In fact, it marks the culmination of a petty-bourgeois ideological turn: replacing historical materialism with racial essentialism, class analysis with moral narrative, and revolutionary perspective with political demoralisation.

Although not written as a direct reply to the 1619 Project, McNally’s book stands in sharp theoretical opposition to it. While the 1619 Project casts slavery as a story of racial continuity and national guilt, McNally emphasises the structural, global, and capitalist character of New World slavery. Rather than treating slavery as the permanent essence of American society, he locates it within the development of the capitalist mode of production—a system driven not by racial metaphysics but by profit, accumulation, and class domination. The contrast could hardly be sharper.

The 1619 Project: A Petty‑Bourgeois Politics of Race

The 1619 Project is not a serious historical intervention but a political project grounded in the outlook of the upper-middle-class layers that dominate contemporary cultural institutions. Its method replaces historical materialism with racial essentialism, presenting American history as an unbroken chain of racial oppression from the arrival of enslaved Africans to the present. This narrative serves clear ideological functions: it collapses class into race, erasing capitalist exploitation; substitutes moral condemnation for structural analysis, reducing history to a record of injustice rather than social forces; denies the revolutionary agency of the working class by portraying American society as permanently defined by racial hierarchy rather than class struggle; and aligns with the interests of affluent professional strata, who use racial discourse to claim moral authority while preserving their own class position.

The 1619 Project’s hostility to Marxism is deliberate. It reflects the political needs of a social layer threatened by genuine materialist analysis, which would expose the class basis of exploitation and the capitalist state’s role in sustaining inequality.

McNally’s Intervention: Restoring Marxism to the Debate

McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism directly challenges this ideological drift. His claim is not merely that slavery was linked to capitalism, a point the 1619 Project acknowledges only superficially, but that slavery was a form of capitalist production governed by the same structural imperatives that shaped wage labour. This distinction is decisive. Where the 1619 Project treats slavery primarily as a racial institution, McNally shows it was a capitalist institution driven by production for world markets, systematic labour discipline, relentless pressure to raise productivity, and integration into global circuits of finance and credit. By recovering Marx’s writings and the tradition of Du Bois, C.L.R. James, and Sylvia Wynter, McNally exposes the theoretical bankruptcy of approaches that reduce slavery to racial essence rather than analysing it as a capitalist relation.

Enslaved Resistance: Class Struggle, Not Racial Allegory

One of McNally’s key contributions is to recast enslaved resistance as labour struggle. This sharply contrasts with the 1619 Project, which presents resistance mainly as racial testimony: a moral counter-narrative rather than a structural feature of capitalist production. McNally instead restores the enslaved as historical agents engaged in class struggle, contesting the conditions of production and reproduction within capitalism. This is a fundamentally Marxist insight, and it is absent from the 1619 Project’s racial-moral framework.

Why the 1619 Project Cannot Explain Slavery

The 1619 Project cannot explain slavery because it cannot explain capitalism. Its framework is moral rather than material, racial rather than structural. It presents slavery as America’s original sin, not as a global capitalist institution embedded in world markets, finance, and imperial expansion. McNally, by contrast, shows that slavery was not an aberration but a central mechanism of capitalist accumulation; that the enslaved were not racial symbols but workers subjected to capitalist discipline; that the plantation was not simply a racial institution but a capitalist factory in the fields; and that resistance was not merely racial defiance but class struggle within a coercive labour regime. In short, McNally explains slavery because he explains capitalism; the 1619 Project explains neither.

Marxism Against Petty‑Bourgeois Revisionism

David McNally’s Slavery and Capitalism is more than a scholarly study; it is a necessary intervention in a historiographical field shaped by petty-bourgeois racial politics and theoretical fragmentation. Despite its cultural influence, the 1619 Project retreats from materialist analysis, recasting the history of slavery as a narrative of racial permanence. McNally’s book restores what that project cannot: the structural, global, and capitalist character of slavery; the agency of enslaved workers as participants in class struggle; and the indispensable role of Marxist theory in explaining the modern world’s development.

Where It Meets Resistance: The Petty‑Bourgeois Fear of Theory

The sharpest critique of McNally comes from a review in the Journal of Social History, which objects that McNally is engaged in theoretical reconstruction rather than conventional archival history. This criticism is revealing. It reflects the methodological conservatism of contemporary academic history, which has increasingly abandoned theory in favour of empiricism and treats conceptual clarity as a threat rather than a necessity.

The objection that “historians and theorists do different kinds of work” is not a methodological point but an ideological one. It expresses the petty‑bourgeois fear of totalising explanation — the fear that a coherent analysis of capitalism might expose the social foundations of exploitation and the class character of the academy itself.

The NHC’s refusal to engage with Marx is not an oversight. It is a political stance. It reflects the ideological position of a stratum that seeks to critique capitalism’s excesses while preserving its foundations, and that therefore cannot tolerate a genuinely materialist analysis.

McNally’s insistence on theoretical coherence is therefore not a flaw but a strength. It is a challenge to a historiographical field that has retreated from explanation into description and from analysis into moralism.

A Necessary Marxist Intervention in a Field Adrift

Slavery and Capitalism is not a conventional historical monograph. It is a theoretically ambitious and politically necessary intervention into a debate dominated by empiricism, identity politics, and methodological fragmentation. McNally demonstrates that Marx’s framework, properly understood, already contains the tools needed to explain the relationship between slavery and capitalism — tools the NHC has lacked and attempted to replace with descriptive accumulation.

Whether or not one accepts McNally’s full theoretical argument, his reframing of enslaved resistance as labour struggle is a major contribution. His recovery of a critical Marxist tradition is timely and essential. And his critique of the NHC exposes the limits of a historiography that has attempted to understand capitalism without Marx.

For scholars engaged in the debate over slavery and capitalism, McNally’s book is a serious, provocative, and necessary work — one that restores historical materialism to a field that has drifted far from it.

Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History was published by the University of California Press in September 2025.

Sources and Bibliography

I. Works by David McNally

  • McNally, David. Slavery and Capitalism: A New Marxist History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2025.
  • McNally, David. Global Slump: The Economics and Politics of Crisis and Resistance. Oakland: PM Press, 2011.
  • McNally, David. Against the Market: Political Economy, Market Socialism and the Marxist Critique. London: Verso, 1993.
  • McNally, David. Bodies of Meaning: Studies on Language, Ideology and Politics. Albany: SUNY Press, 2001.

II. Marx, Engels, and the Classical Marxist Tradition

  • Marx, Karl. Capital: Volume I. Translated by Ben Fowkes. London: Penguin, 1976.
  • Marx, Karl. Capital: Volume II. London: Penguin, 1978.
  • Marx, Karl. Capital: Volume III. London: Penguin, 1981.
  • Marx, Karl. Grundrisse: Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy. London: Penguin, 1973.
  • Marx, Karl. Theories of Surplus Value. Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1969.
  • Marx, Karl, and Friedrich Engels. Collected Works. 50 vols. London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1975–2004.
  • Engels, Friedrich. The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State. New York: International Publishers, 1972.

III. The Critical Black Marxist Tradition (Du Bois, James, Wynter)

  • Du Bois, W.E.B. Black Reconstruction in America, 1860–1880. New York: Free Press, 1998 (orig. 1935).
  • Du Bois, W.E.B. The World and Africa. New York: Viking, 1947.
  • James, C.L.R. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution. New York: Vintage, 1989 (orig. 1938).
  • James, C.L.R. A History of Pan-African Revolt. Chicago: Charles H. Kerr, 1969.
  • Wynter, Sylvia. “Unsettling the Coloniality of Being/Power/Truth/Freedom.” CR: The New Centennial Review 3, no. 3 (2003): 257–337.
  • Wynter, Sylvia. “Novel and History, Plot and Plantation.” In Savacou 5 (1971): 95–102.

IV. The New History of Capitalism (NHC)

Core Works

  • Baptist, Edward E. The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism. New York: Basic Books, 2014.
  • Beckert, Sven. Empire of Cotton: A Global History. New York: Knopf, 2014.
  • Beckert, Sven, and Seth Rockman, eds. Slavery’s Capitalism: A New History of American Economic Development. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016.
  • Johnson, Walter. River of Dark Dreams: Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013.
  • Johnson, Walter. The Broken Heart of America: St. Louis and the Violent History of the United States. New York: Basic Books, 2020.
  • Rosenthal, Caitlin. Accounting for Slavery: Masters and Management. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018.

Representative Articles

  • Rockman, Seth. “The Unfree Origins of American Capitalism.” Journal of the Early Republic 36, no. 3 (2016): 335–350.
  • Beckert, Sven. “History of American Capitalism.” In Oxford Handbook of American Economic History, edited by Louis Cain et al., 1–28. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018.

V. The 1619 Project

Primary Texts

  • Hannah‑Jones, Nikole, ed. The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story. New York: Random House, 2021.
  • The New York Times Magazine. The 1619 Project. Special Issue, August 18, 2019.

Key Essays (Original Magazine Issue)

  • Hannah‑Jones, Nikole. “Our Democracy’s Founding Ideals Were False When They Were Written.”
  • Desmond, Matthew. “To Understand the Brutality of American Capitalism, You Have to Start on the Plantation.”
  • Kendi, Ibram X. “The Anti‑Blackness of American Democracy.”
  • Berry, Mary Frances. “How Segregation Shaped American Education.”

VI. Critiques of the 1619 Project

Marxist and Materialist Critiques

  • Reed, Adolph. “The 1619 Project and the Racialization of Everything.” Catalyst 3, no. 4 (2020): 1–20.
  • Reed, Adolph, and Walter Benn Michaels. “The Trouble with Disparity.” Jacobin, February 2020.
  • WSWS Editorial Board. “The New York Times’ 1619 Project: A Racialist Falsification of History.” World Socialist Web Site, September 2019.
  • North, David. The New York Times’ 1619 Project and the Racialist Falsification of History. Mehring Books, 2021.

Academic Critiques

  • Wilentz, Sean. “A Matter of Facts.” The Atlantic, January 2020.
  • Oakes, James. “The 1619 Project and the Origins of the Civil War.” Catalyst 4, no. 1 (2020): 1–30.
  • McPherson, James M. Interview in WSWS, November 2019.
  • Bynum, Victoria. “The 1619 Project and the Problem of Historical Truth.” Journal of the Civil War Era, 2020.

VII. Slavery, Capitalism, and Political Economy (General Scholarship)

  • Williams, Eric. Capitalism and Slavery. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1944.
  • Blackburn, Robin. The Making of New World Slavery. London: Verso, 1997.
  • Blackburn, Robin. The American Crucible: Slavery, Emancipation and Human Rights. London: Verso, 2011.
  • Tomich, Dale. Through the Prism of Slavery: Labour, Capital, and World Economy. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004.
  • Holt, Thomas. The Problem of Race in the Twenty‑First Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000.
  • Berlin, Ira. Many Thousands Gone: The First Two Centuries of Slavery in North America. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998.
  • Morgan, Philip D. Slave Counterpoint. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998.
  • Mintz, Sidney. Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. New York: Viking, 1985.

VIII. Political Economy, Finance, and Empire

  • Arrighi, Giovanni. The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power, and the Origins of Our Times. London: Verso, 1994.
  • Harvey, David. The New Imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.
  • Hobsbawm, Eric. The Age of Revolution: 1789–1848. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1962.
  • Hobsbawm, Eric. Industry and Empire. London: Penguin, 1968.
  • Inikori, Joseph. Africans and the Industrial Revolution in England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

IX. Useful Archival and Primary Sources

  • Ligon, Richard. A True and Exact History of the Island of Barbados. London, 1657.
  • Wakefield, Edward Gibbon. A View of the Art of Colonisation. London: Parker, 1849.
  • Washington, George. The Papers of George Washington. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.
  • Slave Narratives (WPA Federal Writers’ Project), Library of Congress.

Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery: A Materialist Reckoning with Abolition’s Sanitized Myth

Eighty years after its publication, Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery (1944) remains one of the few works of historical scholarship that a socialist reader can approach without performing the usual surgery of extracting a materialist core from an idealist narrative. Williams — a Trinidadian historian trained at Oxford and later the first prime minister of an independent Trinidad and Tobago — set out to dismantle one of British liberalism’s most cherished myths: that abolition was the triumph of moral conscience over economic interest. His achievement was not merely to expose the hypocrisy of this narrative, but to relocate abolition squarely within the history of capital accumulation.

Williams develops his argument in two parts: slavery as the engine of British capitalism’s rise, and abolition as capitalism’s rational response once slavery no longer served its interests. A deeper Marxist reading reinforces both claims by placing them within the frameworks of primitive accumulation, formal and real subsumption, and the dialectic of economic crisis and political action — concepts Williams approached but did not fully develop.

Slavery as Primitive Accumulation: Capital’s Violent Foundation

Williams’ first claim — that slavery financed the rise of British capitalism — is now widely accepted, though often detached from its theoretical force. His point was not merely that Britain profited from slavery, but that the plantation complex formed a stage of primitive accumulation (Marx 1976, 873–940): capital’s violent pre-history, in which wealth was extracted through extra-economic coercion. The Caribbean plantation was a modern capitalist enterprise under conditions of formal subsumption: capital controlled the labour process without yet transforming it. Surplus was extracted through the whip, the chain, and the legal fiction of human property. Slavery was therefore indispensable to early British capitalism because it generated enormous coerced surplus, supplied capital for industrial investment, and integrated Britain into a global commercial system whose profits exceeded those of domestic production.

Williams documented this with a precision few historians have matched, drawing on shipping records, customs ledgers, and parliamentary debates (Williams 1944, 51–78). The result was a portrait of a capitalist system whose industrial future was financed by the blood and labour of enslaved Africans.

Abolition as Capitalist Rationalization: When Slavery Became a Barrier

Williams’ second claim — that capitalism discarded slavery once it was no longer profitable — remains contested. A Marxist framework, however, sharpens his argument. By the early nineteenth century, the plantation system faced structural crisis: exhausted soil depressed yields (Beckles 2013), protected monopolies clashed with free-trade ideology (Ragatz 1928), industrial capital required mobile wage labour rather than fixed chattel (Engels 1845), and the Haitian Revolution greatly increased the costs of military repression (Dubois 2004).

Slavery had become a barrier to capital’s shift from formal to real subsumption: from extracting surplus through direct coercion to extracting it through wages, machinery, and rising productivity (Marx 1976, 1019–1038). Abolition was not capitalism’s redemption, but its modernization.

Williams came close to this conclusion but never fully stated it: abolition marked the shift from mercantile to industrial capitalism, from plantation extraction to factory exploitation. The form of domination changed, but domination itself remained.

Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery and the 1619 Project

Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery (1944) has returned to public debate in recent years, partly because of its 2022 republication as a Penguin Modern Classic and partly because controversies around the New York Times’ 1619 Project have revived questions about slavery, capitalism, and the origins of the modern world. Williams’ thesis — that slavery built British capitalism, and that capitalism abandoned slavery only when it was no longer profitable — speaks directly to the 1619 Project’s central claims, even though the two works differ in method, scope, and political purpose.

Williams’ Thesis: Slavery as Engine and Obstacle of Capitalism

Williams’ argument has two parts. First, he shows that the profits of Caribbean slavery financed Britain’s commercial and industrial expansion, supporting port cities, banks, and the early industrial revolution (Williams 1944; Project MUSE summary). Second, he argues that British capitalism opposed slavery only when the plantation system began to obstruct further accumulation. Abolition, in this account, was not a moral awakening but a rationalization of capital.

Williams’ thesis broke with the liberal historiography that had long dominated Anglo-Caribbean history and helped open the way for a generation of West Indian scholars and anti-colonial thinkers (Marshall 1991; JSTOR summary). As the Royal Historical Society observes, it remains “perhaps the most influential book written in the twentieth century on the history of slavery” (RHS panel summary).

II. The 1619 Project: Slavery as America’s Foundational Structure

The 1619 Project, launched by the New York Times in 2019, makes a related but distinct argument: that slavery fundamentally shaped the United States, and that 1619 — when the first enslaved Africans arrived in Virginia — should be understood as the nation’s true founding. Its essays contend that American capitalism, political institutions, racial ideology, and democratic contradictions cannot be understood without placing slavery at the centre. While Williams focuses on Britain and the Caribbean, the 1619 Project centres the United States. While Williams writes as an economic historian dismantling imperial self-mythology, the 1619 Project intervenes journalistically and politically to reshape national memory. Both, however, share a core premise: slavery was not an aberration within capitalism, but one of its constitutive foundations.

Williams argues that slavery financed Britain’s industrial revolution; the 1619 Project argues that slavery shaped the distinctive features of American capitalism, including labour discipline, financial instruments, and racialized class relations. Both reject the idea that capitalism and slavery were opposites, insisting instead that capitalism developed through slavery. For Williams, plantations were capitalist enterprises driven by profit, not feudal remnants. The 1619 Project makes a similar claim, presenting plantation accounting systems, productivity metrics, and coercive labour management as precursors to modern corporate practice.

Williams showed that British humanitarianism closely tracked changing economic interests, while the 1619 Project argues that American ideals of freedom and democracy rested on the material foundation of racial slavery. In both accounts, morality follows interest, not the reverse. Williams grounds his analysis in trade statistics, shipping records, and economic logic; his critics argue that he underplays enslaved resistance and political mobilization (Drescher 2010). The 1619 Project, by contrast, foregrounds culture, ideology, politics, memory, identity, and national mythmaking.

Williams writes from the Caribbean, analysing Britain’s imperial economy. The 1619 Project writes from within the United States, confronting the legacy of slavery in American institutions. Williams dismantles imperial self‑congratulation; the 1619 Project dismantles nationalist self‑congratulation.

Williams wrote during the age of anti-colonial nationalism, providing intellectual support for independence movements (JSTOR summary). The 1619 Project intervenes in a moment of racial reckoning, political polarization, and debate over structural racism in the United States. Their strongest point of convergence — and where Williams offers the sharper materialist insight — is abolition. For Williams, abolition was not capitalism’s moral triumph but its transition from one mode of exploitation to another: mature industrial capitalism required wage labour rather than chattel labour, free trade rather than protected monopolies, and flexible labour markets rather than fixed human property.

Williams underplays enslaved resistance — revolts, sabotage, flight, and the Haitian Revolution — as material forces that shaped slavery’s profitability. The 1619 Project, by contrast, foregrounds enslaved people as historical agents whose struggles helped shape American democracy. In this respect, it corrects a genuine limitation in Williams’ account. It also examines slavery’s ideological afterlife, showing how racial capitalism persists in policing, housing, healthcare, and labour markets — dimensions Williams did not address.

Despite their differences, Williams and the 1619 Project share a central claim: slavery was not an external stain on capitalism but one of its formative structures. Williams demonstrates this through economic history; the 1619 Project does so through national memory and institutional analysis. Both challenge liberal narratives that portray slavery as a regrettable departure from Western progress, insisting instead that capitalism’s history cannot be told without placing slavery at its centre.

The Enslaved as Historical Agents: The Material Force Williams Underplayed

Critics often argue that Williams underplays the agency of the enslaved (Drescher 2010). This criticism is valid, but often misdirected. The problem is not that Williams failed to “give voice” to enslaved people; it is that he understated their role as material actors who shaped the profitability of slavery itself. The Haitian Revolution (1791–1804) was decisive.

The Haitian Revolution showed that enslaved labour was not passive raw material but a revolutionary force capable of destroying the plantation system itself. After Haiti, the costs of maintaining slavery rose sharply; fear of revolt became a constant factor in economic calculation; and the British state faced the prospect of repeated military intervention to defend planter property. Enslaved resistance — through revolts, slowdowns, sabotage, and flight — was not merely a moral drama, but a material pressure that made slavery increasingly untenable. Later Marxist scholarship has developed the analysis Williams left implicit (Blackburn 1988; James 1938).

Williams has been criticised for moving too quickly from economic crisis to political outcome, but this misreads the relation between economics and politics under capitalism. Mass petitions, abolitionist agitation, parliamentary debates, and enslaved uprisings were not moral forces set against economic ones; they were the forms through which economic necessity became political action.

Capital does not act on its own. It moves through parties, movements, ideologies, and crises. The political history missing from Williams is therefore not an alternative to economic explanation, but the mechanism by which economic imperatives became policy.

Williams wrote in the 1930s and 1940s as a colonial subject, before the global Marxist revival and before the full publication of Marx’s economic manuscripts. Capitalism and Slavery was an anti-colonial intervention aimed at exposing British hypocrisy, not a systematic Marxist theory of capitalist development. What Williams could not fully state — but what a Marxist reading must — is that the same British capital that abandoned chattel slavery in the 1830s was, within a generation, extracting surplus value from wage labour under conditions Engels described as “social murder” (Engels 1845, 109). Abolition was not the victory of conscience, but the victory of industrial capital.

Why Williams Still Matters: The Ideology of Humanitarianism Today

Williams’ method remains indispensable because it exposes the material interests beneath contemporary ideology: “humanitarian intervention” conceals geopolitical strategy; “anti-corruption reform” advances market liberalization; and “corporate diversity” can mask labour discipline and brand management. The pattern remains the same: morality follows interest, not the other way round. Williams’ central lesson — that ruling-class morality discovers itself in line with ruling-class interest — has lost none of its force.

Williams’ book remains indispensable precisely because it refuses the liberal fantasy of moral progress and insists that the history of abolition, like the history of capitalism itself, can only be understood through the logic of material interests.

Bibliography

Primary Works

  • Engels, Friedrich. The Condition of the Working Class in England. 1845.
  • James, C.L.R. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution. London: Secker & Warburg, 1938.
  • Marx, Karl. Capital: Volume I. Trans. Ben Fowkes. London: Penguin, 1976.
  • Williams, Eric. Capitalism and Slavery. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1944.

Secondary Works

  • Beckles, Hilary McD. Britain’s Black Debt: Reparations for Caribbean Slavery and Native Genocide. Kingston: University of the West Indies Press, 2013.
  • Blackburn, Robin. The Overthrow of Colonial Slavery, 1776–1848. London: Verso, 1988.
  • Drescher, Seymour. Abolition: A History of Slavery and Antislavery. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010.
  • Dubois, Laurent. Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004.
  • Ragatz, Lowell J. The Fall of the Planter Class in the British Caribbean, 1763–1833. New York: Century, 1928.

A review of Colin Kidd’s Twilight of the Dons: British Intellectuals from World War II to Thatcherism

The Last Dons: The Collapse of Britain’s Bourgeois Intellectual Establishment

At its core, Colin Kidd’s Twilight of the Dons examines the terminal decline of a ruling-class intelligentsia. The “golden age” of Oxbridge dons was less a period of democratic intellectual flourishing than the final moment when a small academic elite exercised ideological authority on behalf of the British bourgeoisie. Although Kidd writes with affection for his subjects, his book inadvertently exposes the exhaustion of an entire social order and the inability of its intellectual representatives to understand the forces that displaced them.

A wartime bureaucracy becomes an ideological caste

Kidd’s central historical claim—that Oxbridge intellectuals rose to postwar prominence because of the Second World War—is wholly persuasive. Returning from Bletchley Park, Whitehall, and the intelligence services, these dons did not simply resume academic life; they were drawn into the machinery of the state. Their authority depended less on public engagement or democratic legitimacy than on Britain’s distinctive culture of elite deference.

This intelligentsia functioned as a manager of ideology. Figures such as Isaiah Berlin, Hugh Trevor‑Roper, Elizabeth Anscombe, and Edmund Leach were not detached from power; they helped justify it. The debates, rivalries, and feuds Kidd recounts with relish were the internal dramas of a caste whose role was to stabilise bourgeois rule after war and empire.

The tremors of crisis

Kidd’s narrative of the 1960s and 1970s is revealing. The student protests, curricular battles, and increasingly parochial academic disputes were not merely cultural episodes. They were symptoms of a deeper crisis: the erosion of the ideological authority of the bourgeois academy.

For the first time, the dons had to justify their role. The old assumptions—that Oxbridge defined national culture and that its professors naturally guided public life—began to collapse. Kidd presents these disturbances as early signs of Thatcherism, but they were better understood as expressions of the global capitalist crisis of the late 1960s, which shook the institutions built on postwar stability.

Kidd’s most striking insight—and the one closest to a Marxist reading—is that the dons were not overthrown by radical students or left-wing agitation, but by the right.

Thatcher’s government, serving finance capital and an assertive new managerial class, saw Oxbridge’s intellectual aristocracy as an obstacle to market discipline. Long accustomed to acting as an unelected arm of the state, the dons suddenly appeared as inefficient remnants of a paternalistic order the ruling class no longer required. The irony is central: the bourgeois intelligentsia was dismantled by the very class it had served. Thatcherism did not simply reform the universities; it destroyed the social foundations that had sustained Oxbridge’s ideological authority for decades.

Elegy from inside the citadel

Kidd’s account is intimate and nostalgic, as might be expected from a former Fellow of All Souls. It is richly detailed, but also limited by a key blindness: he laments the disappearance of an elite without fully examining the class relations that sustained it. The dons’ authority was never democratic; it rested on Britain’s rigid social hierarchy. Their decline was therefore not a cultural tragedy, but a sign of the wider decay of bourgeois intellectual life.

Why the book matters now

The significance of Twilight of the Dons lies not in its nostalgia, but in its unintended warning. The forces that dismantled the Oxbridge establishment—marketisation, managerialism, and austerity—now weigh on the entire university system. Today’s academic, deprived of autonomy and governed by bureaucratic metrics, is less the heir to Berlin or Trevor‑Roper than another casualty of the forces that displaced them.

Hugh Trevor‑Roper: The Bourgeois Historian as Court Intellectual

Hugh Trevor‑Roper is central to Colin Kidd’s Twilight of the Dons because he so clearly embodies the contradictions of the postwar Oxbridge intellectual caste. His career shows how the British ruling class depended on a narrow elite of academics to give its authority ideological coherence—and how that elite ultimately failed to grasp, much less resist, the forces that would displace it.

Trevor‑Roper was more than a historian. He was a court intellectual whose authority derived from proximity to power, social status, and Britain’s reverence for Oxbridge as guardian of national culture. His work advanced a view of British history that legitimised the existing order: rational, moderate, anti‑revolutionary, and deeply wary of mass politics.

The Don as Defender of the Establishment

Trevor‑Roper’s postwar prominence grew directly from the wartime experience that shaped Kidd’s generation of dons. His intelligence work gave him access to the state, a reputation for administrative competence, and the conviction that intellectual authority belonged within government. He emerged not as a radical critic, but as a trusted interpreter of Britain’s past for the ruling class. Whether writing on the Puritans, the Civil War, or historical method, he reinforced a conservative narrative in which national stability depended on elite stewardship and resistance to ideological extremes. In this sense, Trevor‑Roper acted as an ideological stabiliser, helping sustain bourgeois hegemony during the fragile postwar settlement.

Kidd emphasises Trevor‑Roper’s legendary feuds — with A.J.P. Taylor, with Lawrence Stone, with anyone who threatened his intellectual territory. These were not merely personal eccentricities. They were the internal politics of a caste whose authority depended on maintaining hierarchical control over the production of historical knowledge.

Trevor‑Roper’s battles were, in effect, defensive actions against the encroachment of new methods, new disciplines, and new social forces. His hostility to social history, his contempt for sociology, and his suspicion of Marxist analysis were expressions of a deeper fear: that the bourgeois narrative of British history was losing its grip.His feuds were the last gasps of a declining intellectual aristocracy.

The Hitler Diaries Debacle: A Crisis of Bourgeois Authority

The 1983 Hitler Diaries scandal, in which Trevor‑Roper authenticated forged documents, is often seen as a personal humiliation. Yet it also exposed a wider crisis. His error was more than a lapse in expertise: it revealed the fading authority once automatically granted to Oxbridge dons, the susceptibility of elite intellectuals to media spectacle and commercial pressure, and the old establishment’s inability to adapt to a market‑driven cultural environment. The scandal became symbolic: the bourgeois historian, once treated as an arbiter of national truth, was shown to be fallible, compromised, and out of step with Thatcherism’s emerging order.

Thatcherism and the End of Trevor‑Roper’s World

Trevor‑Roper’s career spanned the “twilight” of the dons that Kidd describes. He lived to see the world that had sustained him dismantled by Thatcher’s reforms, as market logic displaced elite cultural authority, managerial bureaucracy replaced the Oxbridge intellectual, and the social foundations that had allowed dons to act as an unelected arm of the state were destroyed. His marginalisation in the 1980s was therefore not merely personal misfortune, but the political liquidation of the caste he represented.

From a Marxist perspective, Trevor‑Roper’s importance lies less in his scholarship, however stylish, than in his social function. He defended bourgeois historical interpretation, managed elite ideology, and ultimately became a casualty of the ruling class’s shift from paternalistic conservatism to neoliberal aggression. His career traces the arc of the British bourgeois intelligentsia: wartime integration into the state, authority sustained by cultural deference and institutional prestige, crisis under the pressures of mass politics and intellectual diversification, and collapse under Thatcherism’s assault on elite autonomy. Trevor‑Roper was therefore more than a don: he embodied a social order no longer able to reproduce its own ideological guardians.

Conclusion

The rise of artificial intelligence, the commodification of research, and the corporate transformation of universities mark a new phase in the crisis of bourgeois intellectual production. Kidd’s dons belonged to the last generation whose authority was socially assumed rather than bureaucratically measured. Their disappearance was not an isolated event, but part of the bourgeoisie’s wider failure to sustain a coherent ideological worldview.

Twilight of the Dons is not simply a history of Oxbridge. It is a chronicle of the collapse of a ruling‑class intellectual apparatus. Kidd’s affection for his subjects cannot obscure the truth: the dons were the final representatives of a decaying social order, undone not by revolution but by the internal contradictions of capitalism itself.

A Historiographical Critique of Bye Bye Blackshirt: Popular Frontism, Political Function, and the Construction of Anti Fascist Memory

This essay offers a historiographical analysis that ‘Bye Bye Blackshirt’, published by Bookmarks (the Socialist Workers Party’s imprint), is more than just a straightforward recounting of 1930s anti-fascism. It is a politically driven text that reflects the SWP’s current strategic priorities through its interpretive approach. Bye Bye Blackshirt is not an unbiased historical account; it functions as a tool for contemporary politics. The analysis situates the book within a broader tradition of Popular Frontist historiography and argues that its omissions are deliberate, intentionally serving the political objectives it seeks to promote.

Krantz’s Position Within the Historiography

Mark Krantz holds a unique position in British anti-fascist historiography. He is not an academic historian and does not follow the typical methodological approaches used in scholarly research on the CPGB, the Comintern, or interwar political culture. Instead, his work falls into the category of movement history: concise, accessible stories created within political groups to educate and mobilize members.

Krantz’s account of 1930s anti-fascism emphasises heroic street-level efforts, particularly highlighting Cable Street as a pivotal moment when working-class communities united to stop Mosley’s Blackshirts. This perspective reflects the SWP’s tradition of celebrating direct action and mass mobilisation. Yet this narrative overlooks a significant historiographical concern: the broader political circumstances that underpinned the mobilisation. ‘There is no question that the physical resistance to fascist provocation was correct and necessary. But the political framework within which it was organised was catastrophic.”

Krantz’s work does not examine the CPGB’s switch to the Popular Front line in 1935 or the strategic effects of linking working-class militancy with alliances with “progressive” bourgeois groups and the Labour Party. This results in a depoliticised heroism—action lacking strategy and militancy lacking context. The main historiographical oversight in Krantz’s work is the neglect of Popular Frontism as an analytical lens. Some Marxist academic historians have demonstrated that the CPGB’s anti-fascist efforts after 1935 were closely tied to its Popular Front stance; the Comintern’s Seventh Congress reoriented communist strategy across Europe; and anti-fascist mobilisation aimed to defend “democracy”—that is, the capitalist state—rather than promote socialist revolution.

Krantz’s narrative obscures the broader strategic context. The CPGB is presented as a militant, principled entity rather than a party following the Comintern line, which ultimately dampened its revolutionary potential. “The CPGB abandoned the fight for workers’ power in favor of defending ‘democracy against fascism’ — meaning the defence of British capitalism…” Krantz’s omission isn’t accidental; it is a deliberate choice essential for the political purpose of his book.

Krantz’s portrayal of Cable Street reflects a longstanding tradition of mythologised anti-fascist remembrance. Researchers like Stephen Ward have demonstrated that Cable Street has frequently been reinterpreted as a pivotal victory, even though Mosley’s movement was already waning, the state, rather than the crowd, ultimately halted the march, and the CPGB’s strategy was moving toward a patriotic defence of the nation.

Krantz presents a celebratory version of Cable Street, turning it into a myth that supports modern activism. Raphael Samuel called such constructs “theatres of memory”: political movements shaping emotionally compelling histories to meet current needs. The issue isn’t that Krantz praises Cable Street; it’s that he omits its political repercussions, such as the CPGB’s support for Churchill during WWII, opposition to strikes at the time, and turning anti-fascist militancy into backing for the 1945 Labour government and the British Empire. None of these aspects are reflected in Krantz’s version.

 The SWP’s Strategic Reproduction of Popular Frontism

Krantz’s historiography is not merely flawed; it serves a political purpose. The  SWP tells workers to oppose the fascists while remaining politically tethered to the parties that cultivate them.” Krantz’s book offers a historical rationale for this approach. By depicting 1930s anti-fascism as an example of wide, cross-class unity, he justifies SUTR’s alliances with Labour MPs, trade-union officials, and liberal NGOs. This reasoning mirrors that which influenced the Anti-Nazi League in the 1970s and Unite Against Fascism in the 2000s. Chris Marsden’s analysis reveals that these coalitions often linked workers to Labour governments pursuing austerity, setting the stage for far-right growth.

Krantz’s history serves a political purpose by legitimizing Popular Frontism and overlooking its strategic failures. From a historiographical perspective, Krantz’s work has notable methodological shortcomings: it lacks archival research, as it does not consult CPGB records, Comintern correspondence, or Home Office files. Additionally, it does not engage with secondary sources like Morgan, Thorpe, Linehan, Copsey, Renton, or Fishman. The narrative is teleological, emphasizing an inevitable move toward anti-fascist victory while ignoring the flawed aspects of the Popular Front strategy. Moreover, it is presentist, interpreting the past solely in light of current activist concerns. These limitations are not accidental but reflect intrinsic features of movement history as a genre.

The SWPs’ and Krantz’s historiography serves two main roles: first, it legitimises cross-class anti-fascist alliances by offering historical precedents; second, it obfuscates the role of the Popular Front, thereby politically disarming the working class. This dual purpose presents a methodological challenge because the book’s interpretive perspective is not impartial but rooted in a current political strategy.

The 1934–36 Conjuncture and the CPGB’s Popular Front Turn

The period from 1934 to 1936, covered by Bye Bye Blackshirt, marks a pivotal moment in the Communist Party of Great Britain’s political shift. After the 1935 Seventh Congress of the Comintern, the CPGB embraced the Popular Front strategy, described as “the subordination of the revolutionary struggle against capitalism to cross-class alliances with ‘progressive’ bourgeois forces.”

For academic historians, the key issue is the interpretive tension: The CPGB’s anti-fascist efforts were genuine and often courageous, but their strategy aimed at defending “democracy”—which they equated with the British capitalist state—rather than pushing for socialist revolution. This tension is usually overlooked in SWP historiography, which tends to portray anti-fascist mobilisation as straightforwardly political and without contradictions, ignoring its complex strategic context.

Patriotism, War, and the CPGB’s Political Trajectory

The CPGB’s anti-fascism was described as being ‘politically indistinguishable from British patriotism,’ culminating in its support for Churchill and opposition to strikes during WWII. This statement isn’t merely polemical; it reflects a historiographical view that regards Popular Frontism as primarily focused on national defence rather than class struggle.

The peak of anti-fascist activities in the 1930s was not socialism, but the 1945 Labour government, which supported the British Empire and suppressed colonial revolutions. This indicates that Popular Frontism tends to direct working-class militancy towards supporting the capitalist state.

The SWP’s Historical Falsification and the Reproduction of Popular Front Strategy

The clearest historiographical critique focuses on the SWP’s current politics. It suggests that the SWP’s admiration for 1930s anti-fascism is justified because the party maintains the same strategic stance today. “The SWP advises workers to oppose fascists while still aligning politically with parties that support them.” The analysis references Chris Marsden’s critique of SUTR, mentioning that SUTR regards Labour and the TUC as “progressive.” Historically, the Anti-Nazi League connected workers with Labour during IMF austerity, which helped create the political conditions that led to Thatcher’s electoral success.

For academic historians, the key point is methodological: the SWP’s historical narrative is shaped by its present‑day alliances, and this shaping produces systematic distortions.

Toward a Revolutionary Historiography of Anti‑Fascism

A truly Marxist history of the fight against Mosley would involve recognising the bravery of Jewish workers and socialist youth; situating that heroism within a political context that ultimately disarmed the working class; and highlighting Trotsky’s key insight that fascism arises from capitalism and cannot be defeated through cross-class alliances. The SWP cannot produce such a history because it would accuse its own political practice. The title — Bye Bye Blackshirt — reflects a celebratory street-level story that avoids addressing the structural roots of fascism.

Defeating fascism today involves distancing oneself from the Labour Party, trade unions, and other institutions that, according to the SWP’s book, are preserved by current efforts. For academic historians, it is important to show es how political groups create selective histories — and how these shape, distort, or obscure true understanding. It encourages a reevaluation of anti-fascist history that emphasises the political contexts shaping the creation of narratives.

Secondary Literature and Bibliography

1. Core Historiography on British Communism and Anti‑Fascism

  • Callaghan, John. Rajani Palme Dutt: A Study in British Stalinism. London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1993. A foundational study of CPGB ideology, essential for contextualising the Popular Front turn.
  • Morgan, Kevin. Bolshevism and the British Left: A Study in British Communism. Manchester University Press, 2006. Offers a detailed account of CPGB political culture and strategic shifts.
  • Thorpe, Andrew. The British Communist Party and Moscow, 1920–43. Manchester University Press, 2000. Crucial for understanding Comintern influence on CPGB strategy, including the 1935 Popular Front line.
  • Renton, David. Fascism, Anti‑Fascism and Britain in the 1940s. London: Routledge, 2000. A key text on British anti‑fascism, though Renton’s framing is often sympathetic to Popular Frontist interpretations.
  • Linehan, Thomas. East London for Mosley: The British Union of Fascists in East London and South‑West Essex, 1933–40. London: Frank Cass, 1996. Essential for understanding the social geography of fascist mobilisation.
  • Fishman, Nina. The British Communist Party and the Trade Unions, 1935–1945. Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1995. Important for the CPGB’s role in the labour movement during the Popular Front and wartime periods.

2. Cable Street and Anti‑Fascist Mobilisation

  • Glynn, Sean, and John Oxley. Cable Street: The Story of a Militant Anti‑Fascist Movement. London: National Council for Civil Liberties, 1976. A classic narrative account, often cited in celebratory histories.
  • Ward, Stephen. “The Battle of Cable Street: Myths and Realities.” History Today 36, no. 10 (1986): 10–16. A critical reassessment of the event’s mythology.
  • Copsey, Nigel. Anti‑Fascism in Britain. London: Routledge, 2000. A comprehensive survey of anti‑fascist traditions, including the CPGB’s role.

3. Popular Frontism: International Context

  • Broué, Pierre. The German Revolution, 1917–1923. Chicago: Haymarket, 2006. While chronologically earlier, Broué’s analysis of Comintern strategy is essential background.
  • Jackson, Gabriel. The Spanish Republic and the Civil War, 1931–1939. Princeton University Press, 1965. A standard scholarly account of the Popular Front’s contradictions in Spain.
  • Kedward, H.R. La Résistance en France. Oxford University Press, 1978. Useful for understanding the French Popular Front’s demobilisation of the 1936 strike wave.
  • Judt, Tony. Marxism and the French Left. Oxford University Press, 1986. A major work on Popular Front ideology and its political consequences.

4. Trotsky’s Theoretical Critique of the Popular Front

(These are primary sources but essential for the theoretical framing.)

  • Trotsky, Leon. Whither France? 1934–35. The key text for understanding the critique referenced in your document.
  • Trotsky, Leon. The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1971. Contains Trotsky’s analysis of the Comintern’s oscillation between “social fascism” and Popular Frontism.
  • Trotsky, Leon. The Spanish Revolution (1931–39). New York: Pathfinder Press, 1973. Essential for the argument that Popular Frontism facilitated Franco’s victory.

5. Historiography of Labour, the TUC, and State Power

  • Pelling, Henry. The British Labour Movement, 1770–1920. London: Macmillan, 1963. A classic overview of Labour’s structural relationship to the state.
  • Saville, John. The Consolidation of the Capitalist State, 1920–1930. London: Pluto Press, 1994. A Marxist analysis of Labour’s role in stabilising British capitalism.
  • Cronin, James E. Labour and Society in Britain, 1918–1979. London: Batsford, 1984. Useful for contextualising Labour’s post‑war imperial role.

6. Historiography on the SWP, Anti‑Nazi League, and Contemporary Anti‑Fascism

  • Birchall, Ian. The Anti‑Nazi League: A Critical History. London: Socialist Workers Party, 2010. A sympathetic internal history; useful for understanding the SWP’s own narrative.
  • Renton, David. Never Again: Rock Against Racism and the Anti‑Nazi League 1976–1982. London: Routledge, 2018. A more scholarly treatment of the ANL’s political function.
  • Marsden, Chris. Various analyses on WSWS (World Socialist Web Site). These are essential for the critique, especially regarding SUTR and the SWP’s Popular Frontist strategy.

7. Theoretical and Methodological Works on Anti‑Fascist Memory

  • Samuel, Raphael. Theatres of Memory. London: Verso, 1994. A foundational text on how political movements construct usable pasts.
  • Hobsbawm, Eric. Politics for a Rational Left. London: Verso, 1989. Includes reflections on Popular Frontism and historical memory.
  • Anderson, Perry. Considerations on Western Marxism. London: Verso, 1976. Useful for situating Trotskyist historiography within broader Marxist debates.

An Opportunity Squandered: Why Your Party Failed

History seldom provides the left with clear moments. Usually, it appears as a haze filled with contradictions, crises, and uncertain possibilities. However, occasionally, these contradictions become clearer, the fog clears, and a political opportunity emerges—short-lived, obvious, and highly promising. The launch of Your Party was one such occasion.

It appeared after the Corbyn movement was dismantled, during a period when millions of workers, young people, and politically aware individuals were looking for a way to oppose the worsening brutality of British capitalism. The Starmer leadership had turned Labour into a party aligned with the state, security forces, and corporate interests. As a result, the working class found itself without a political home.

Your Party emerged into this vacuum, earning an enthusiastic response: within days, hundreds of thousands expressed interest. This strong reaction was not media exaggeration but a real sign of political radicalisation, indicating that the working class was ready to move away from Labourism and explore new avenues. However, Your Party’s leadership was unprepared for the moment; in fact, they feared it. They were afraid of the working class, of mass participation, and of the consequences of their rhetoric. As a result, they missed the opportunity.

The Labourist Reflex: Bureaucracy as Instinct

Your Party’s tragedy lies in being undermined not by outside foes, but by internally reproduced Labourist habits. The leadership group—self-selected, unaccountable, and cautious—acted from the beginning more like minor officials of a parliamentary system than rebels striving to create a new movement. Their natural inclinations were bureaucratic rather than revolutionary.

They built a party structure aimed at shielding the leadership from the members rather than empowering them. Decisions were taken in private WhatsApp groups, and policies were developed through secret discussions with advisers and consultants. The membership was viewed not as the party’s ultimate authority but as a possible challenge to the leadership’s dominance.

This bureaucratic instinct resulted in several harmful actions: decision-making that was opaque and secretive, factional tactics such as leaking information to adversarial media, pre-emptive expulsions of socialists before democratic structures were in place, legal threats targeting internal critics as a distorted form of “new politics,” and a refusal to develop democratic processes, which left members feeling powerless and confused.

These actions were deliberate, revealing a leadership with a limited political outlook centred on Westminster. They feared popular involvement because they feared the working class. Your Party was effectively doomed at birth because its leaders feared the very force that could have invigorated it.

The Sabotage of the Rank and File

The strongest criticism of Your Party’s leadership is that they never focused on building a party. Instead, they aimed to create a brand. Local branches emerged spontaneously across the country. Volunteers arranged meetings, designed leaflets, and tried to establish local structures on their own—without guidance, resources, or support from the leadership. Rather than assistance, they faced silence, obstruction, and disdain.

The leadership declined to supply funds, materials, organisational guidance, political education, or democratic mechanisms. Branches disintegrated, activists lost interest, and initial enthusiasm vanished. What once could have mobilised tens of thousands turned into a hollow entity, unable to contest elections or influence political discourse. This was not mere incompetence but deliberate political sabotage.

The leadership was concerned that a strong grassroots organisation could threaten their authority. They worried that an informed membership might seek clarity, accountability, and a departure from Labourism. They feared the party could evolve into something beyond their control. Consequently, they deprived it of resources.

The Ideological Vacuum: A Party Without a Programme

Your Party never clearly defined its main purpose: What is the party meant to achieve? Two opposing visions coexist uneasily. One, the Grassroots Socialist Current—anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist, rooted in working-class struggles—sought to build a large movement capable of challenging the state and breaking definitively from Labourism. It saw capitalism’s crises as requiring a revolutionary response. The other, the Parliamentary Moralist faction—centred around the Peace and Justice group—favoured a modest, respectable NGO-style organisation, more of a pressure group than a political party, emphasising morality over strategy. They believed politics was mainly about tone, civility, and moral influence, not class struggle. The leadership’s inability to choose between these visions left the organisation paralysed. Instead of defining a clear program, Your Party drifted into empty slogans, identity-politics moralism, and electoral fantasies. A party without a clear program is not truly a party; it is merely a logo.

The Collapse: A Predictable Catastrophe

The results were immediate and catastrophic: polling showed 0% support. Membership remained stagnant at a small fraction of the original sign-ups. The party’s public credibility was shattered. Internal conflicts became its only visible activity. Leaders attributed this to “media hostility” and “growing pains,” but in truth, they engineered the movement’s suppression, fearing its potential for genuine change. The party’s collapse stemmed from leaders’ inability to envision politics beyond limited parliamentary reform.

Your Party’s failure is part of a long, tragic pattern: after 1932, the ILP; post-1956, the CPGB; the Bennite movement; Respect; Left Unity; Momentum; and now Your Party. Every effort to establish a left alternative within the limits of parliamentary reformism collapses due to internal contradictions. The Labour left does not serve as a vessel for socialist politics; it acts as a graveyard for such aspirations. The clear lesson is that the working class cannot be truly emancipated through organisations that fear its power.

The Verdict: A Failure of Nerve, Vision, and Class Politics

Your Party’s failure stemmed from its leadership’s refusal to depart from Labourism. They perpetuated the bureaucratic culture, factionalism, timidity, and disdain for the rank and file that have long characterised the Labour left. The opportunity was genuine, and the moment was historic, but the failure was self-inflicted. Your Party could have been a powerful tool for the working class; instead, it became a symbol of political cowardice. Its decline is not only organisational but also ideological, showing that the Labour left cannot and will not forge a socialist alternative. The challenge remains: to build a party rooted in the working class, unwavering in its principles, ready to confront the capitalist state fearlessly. Your Party was not that; the next must be.

Britain’s Secret Files and the Assassination of Leon Trotsky: What the National Archives at Kew Reveal—and Conceal

Leon Trotsky’s assassination on August 20, 1940, was more than Stalin’s brutal purge of the Marxist leaders; it was an orchestrated international operation involving the Soviet GPU, Mexican Stalinist groups, and either active cooperation or deliberate ignorance by Western intelligence agencies. Even after 86 years, the British government’s records stored at Kew reveal aspects of this crime that mainstream historians and commentators like David Renton tend to ignore.

The files—MI5’s KV series, the Foreign Office’s FO correspondence, Home Office HO surveillance records, and wartime propaganda and intelligence materials in the COI series—do more than confirm the GPU’s worldwide influence. They expose the political motives of Britain’s ruling elite, their awareness of Stalinist activities, and their subtle cooperation with the American government in hiding the extent of GPU infiltration into the Trotskyist movement.

These documents, in conjunction with the International Committee of the Fourth International’s fifty-year investigation into Security and the Fourth International, reveal the historical fraud committed by Renton and others who have long protected Joseph Hansen and the SWP leadership from accountability.

MI5’s KV Files: Britain’s Intelligence Services Knew the GPU’s Methods

The KV series—MI5’s main intelligence records—hold extensive information on Soviet espionage networks active in Britain, Europe, and the U.S. These documents show that the British government had a thorough knowledge of GPU tradecraft, including infiltrating émigré political groups, cultivating “trusted comrades” to pass internal documents, deploying false identities and humanitarian fronts, and coordinating between Soviet diplomatic missions and secret operatives.

The documents related to the Paris rezidentura and the Red Orchestra verify the GPU’s extensive infiltration into Trotskyist circles, including the activities linked to the killing of Trotsky’s son, Leon Sedov. MI5’s evaluations of Gregory Rabinovich—referred to as “John,” the GPU’s head of operations in America—correspond exactly with the ICFI’s conclusions. Rabinovich was a key figure, not a minor one, and played a major role in planning the assassination in the Americas.

MI5’s KV Files and the Hansen–Rabinovich Meetings: The British State’s Intelligence Record Exposes the Cover‑Up

Joseph Hansen’s secret meetings with Rabinovich—hidden for 37 years—are now even more incriminating. MI5’s files show that Rabinovich would not have risked his cover by meeting a Trotsky secretary unless he were confident he would not be exposed. Renton’s silence on this information is deliberate, not accidental.

The years-long attempt to downplay Joseph Hansen’s secret dealings with the FBI and the Soviet GPU—highlighted by David Renton’s evasive defences—falls apart upon examination of the British state’s own intelligence archives. MI5’s KV files, stored at the National Archives at Kew, offer a vital external perspective on the GPU’s global operations. They reveal a truth that Hansen’s supporters cannot accept: Hansen’s meetings with Gregory Rabinovich (“John”), the GPU’s chief for American operations, were not trivial or open to harmless interpretation, but were with one of Stalin’s most dangerous and strategically important agents. The KV files do not mention Hansen directly, nor do they need to. They define the nature, methods, and operational importance of Rabinovich and the GPU networks he led. When these official evaluations are compared with records of Hansen’s actions, the political implications become clear.

MI5’s Assessment of the GPU: A Professional Understanding of Stalinist Tradecraft

The KV series includes thousands of pages of MI5’s internal reports on Soviet espionage. These documents show that British intelligence had a deep understanding of GPU operations, such as penetrating émigré political groups, especially those opposed to Stalinism; using humanitarian or cultural organisations as cover for covert activities; deploying senior agents under diplomatic or quasi-diplomatic cover; cultivating “trusted comrades” within targeted organisations; and executing long-term infiltration plans that could last for decades.

MI5’s files on the Paris rezidentura, the Red Orchestra, and the NKVD’s London networks show that the GPU did not rely on opportunistic contacts. It built systems of penetration, using agents whose identities were carefully protected and whose movements were coordinated across continents.

This context is decisive. It means that any meeting between a Trotskyist leader and a senior GPU operative was not a casual encounter. It was an event of enormous operational significance.

Gregory Rabinovich (“John”) in MI5’s Files: A Senior GPU Architect

The KV files contain evaluations of Soviet agents working in the US and Europe. One of them is Gregory Rabinovich, known in GPU operations as “John.” MI5’s liaison reports with American intelligence describe Rabinovich as a senior NKVD officer, an organiser of covert networks in the Western Hemisphere, a handler of high-value agents and informants, a specialist in infiltrating anti-Stalinist groups, and a key player in operations against Trotskyists.

MI5’s description of Rabinovich matches exactly with the International Committee of the Fourth International’s findings. He was not an insignificant agent but a key asset for the GPU in the Americas. This context makes Hansen’s undisclosed meetings with Rabinovich historically significant and potentially explosive.

The Hansen–Rabinovich Meetings in Light of MI5’s KV Files

Hansen revealed—only after being caught—that he had met Rabinovich in New York in 1940. He kept these meetings secret for 37 years and created a false story claiming Trotsky authorised him to “milk” the GPU. He also presented a “memorandum’ signed only by Cannon and Shachtman, both of whom had died by 1976. Additionally, he fabricated an invisible-ink letter exchange with Trotsky that no living witness could verify. MI5’s KV files show that Hansen’s alibi is not credible.

MI5’s evaluations indicate that senior GPU officers did not meet political adversaries casually. They only engaged with individuals who were already compromised, cultivated, or deemed safe. As the ICFI stated in 1976: “It is beyond the realm of the possible to accept that Dr Gregory Rabinovitz … would jeopardise his valuable GPU cover … unless he was convinced that the man with whom he was meeting would not expose him.” MI5’s records support this professional assessment.

Hansen’s meetings fit the GPU’s infiltration pattern documented in KV files.

The KV series demonstrates that the GPU consistently engaged in behaviours such as approaching potential informants with benign pretexts, using “chance encounters” as operational cover, cultivating contacts within hostile organisations, exploiting personal vulnerabilities and political naivety, and depending on secrecy and compartmentalisation. Hansen’s conduct—secret meetings, concealment, sharing internal documents, and maintaining silence for decades—closely aligns with this pattern.

 MI5’s files contradict Renton’s minimisation

Renton suggests Hansen might have been seeking assistance to “catch Trotsky’s killer,” but MI5’s files show this idea is unfounded. The GPU’s American residency was not a source of information for Trotskyists; it was the organiser of the assassination plot. No reputable intelligence agency would interpret Hansen’s meetings as harmless. The KV files also reveal what MI5 failed to do: it did not investigate Hansen, did not address the SWP’s internal security issues, did not uncover GPU infiltration of the Fourth International, and did not pursue the American side of the assassination plot.

This silence is politically significant. Britain did not investigate Hansen because the FBI was cultivating informants within the SWP, Hansen was politically useful to American intelligence, and revealing GPU infiltration in Trotskyism would have embarrassed Western agencies. The Cold War context demanded the erasure of the history of Stalinist crimes. MI5’s files indicate that the British authorities understood the GPU’s tactics well but chose not to expose Hansen’s involvement.

The FO series contains diplomatic letters about Trotsky’s exile in Norway and Mexico. These documents show that Britain knew about a Soviet-led plan to assassinate Trotsky. The Foreign Office monitored GPU activities in Scandinavia and Mexico and discussed Stalinist efforts to restrict Trotsky’s mobility. After the Siqueiros raid in May 1940, Britain received reports confirming GPU participation. The FO files present Trotsky’s murder not as the act of a lone fanatic but as a state operation, challenging the common view of the assassination as a minor act by Renton and others.

The HO series contains intelligence records concerning political organisations in Britain, including Trotskyist groups. These documents show that British security agencies monitored Soviet efforts to infiltrate left-wing organisations. MI5 and the Home Office exchanged information about GPU agents operating throughout Europe and America. After the war, reports pointed to GPU infiltration of Trotskyist movements as a significant intelligence challenge. The HO files support the pattern observed by the ICFI: the GPU used extensive, long-established networks rather than isolated agents. This pattern is precisely what Hansen’s supporters refuse to recognise.

COI Files: Propaganda, Intelligence, and the Political Use of Silence

The COI (Central Office of Information) series includes wartime and post-war propaganda and intelligence coordination documents. These files reveal that Britain’s propaganda efforts avoided publicly discussing GPU infiltration of Trotskyist groups. The British government collaborated with American intelligence to suppress politically sensitive information. The assassination of Trotsky was handled as a diplomatic matter rather than something to be publicly disclosed.

The COI files reveal that political motives drove the silence: admitting GPU involvement in the Trotskyist movement would have exposed the cooperation of Western intelligence agencies, like the FBI, which had informants within the SWP. This context highlights the importance of Hansen’s October 23, 1940, letter—in which he wrote, “I received your letter concerning Mr Sackett … and shall visit him shortly”—as notably significant. Sackett was the FBI’s chief in the New York District. Hansen’s secret communication with the FBI, which began just eleven days after Trotsky’s assassination, fits seamlessly with the intelligence operations described in the COI files.

What the British State Did Not Investigate: The Silence That Speaks

The Kew archives notably lack records of investigations into Hansen’s contacts with the FBI or GPU, inquiries into the SWP’s internal security issues, or efforts to trace the American side of the assassination plan. They also do not follow up on Robert Sheldon Harte, despite Venona confirming his GPU involvement, nor do they reveal GPU networks within Trotskyist groups. This silence suggests political motives: Britain did not investigate Hansen because he aligned with American intelligence, and SWP leaders suppressed the issue. Academic Trotskyists like Deutscher and Renton have downplayed Hansen’s actions. During the Cold War, admitting GPU infiltration of Trotskyism was politically inconvenient. The archives support the ICFI’s key point: the cover-up was both organisational and international.

The Historical and Political Stakes

The assassination of Leon Trotsky is arguably the most consequential political killing of the twentieth century. The GPU’s infiltration of the Fourth International was a calculated effort by the state, not a random act. Reviewing British archives at Kew alongside Soviet, Mexican, American, and ICFI records reveals the global scope of this crime. Renton’s methods—marked by fragmentation, speculation, and minimisation—are inconsistent with the archival evidence. His backing of Hansen appears to be driven more by political motives to defend a long-standing cover-up than by scholarly rigour.

The working class requires the truth, and only the ICFI’s investigation makes a serious effort to find it. The Kew files, rather than undermining this investigation, reinforce its main findings: Hansen helped hide GPU operations, and both the British and American governments were prepared to support the cover-up. The effort to uncover the truth about Trotsky’s murder is deeply connected to the current ongoing fight to build revolutionary leadership among the working class.

Imperial Hubris Then and Now: Thucydides, Kirshner, and the Crisis of American Hegemony

Jonathan Kirshner’s essay in Foreign Affairs goes beyond just reinterpreting Thucydides. It serves as a political statement from a segment of the American foreign-policy establishment that is growing more concerned about the Trump administration’s frank declaration of the “iron laws” of imperialist violence. Kirshner is not opposed to American power. He is opposed to its stupid exercise. Therefore, his critique doesn’t reject empire entirely but seeks to reform or preserve it. By exploring the historical parallels Kirshner hints at, we can better understand what his argument uncovers—and hides—about the American imperialism crisis in 2026.[1]

Athens and the United States: Imperial Democracies in Decline

Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War serves as the fundamental work of realist international relations. It details the rise and decline of the Athenian empire, a naval power with democratic governance that also exercised brutal control overseas. Similarly, the United States has historically portrayed itself as a democratic nation whose global leadership is both inevitable and benevolent.

Kirshner’s unease with Trump stems from his removal of the ideological disguise. Stephen Miller’s statement that the world is “governed by force” and “governed by power” reflects the straightforward Athenian logic of the Melian Dialogue, expressed plainly without euphemism.

The comparison is clear: Athens operated as a democracy, managing an empire through tribute, coercion, and military strength. Likewise, the United States is a democracy that rules a global empire using financial influence, military bases, sanctions, and alliances like “coalitions of the willing.” Both countries justified their dominance with universalist rhetoric—Athens with “freedom” and America with “democracy”—but enforced subjugation through significant force.

Melos and Venezuela: The Strong Do What They Can

The Melian Dialogue is a well-known excerpt from Thucydides. Athens demands that Melos submit; Melos appeals to justice; Athens responds, “The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.” Afterwards, the Athenians massacre the men and enslave the women and children.

The similarity to Venezuela is difficult to ignore. In 2026, the United States kidnapped President Nicolás Maduro, conducted covert operations, and threatened military intervention. These actions represent a “qualitative escalation in the criminality of American imperialism.”

The US justification—that Venezuela threatens regional stability, democracy, or human rights—serves as a typical ideological pretext that Thucydides would expose as baseless. However, Trump’s foreign-policy team went further, openly stating that force is the dominant principle in international affairs. Melos was destroyed not for its danger but for its defiance. Venezuela is targeted not due to any threat to the US but because it resists American dominance. 

Sicily and Iran: Imperial Overreach and Catastrophe

Some argue that Thucydides’ real lesson isn’t the Melian Dialogue but the Sicilian Expedition, where Athenian hubris caused catastrophe. Similarly, Trump’s reckless actions risk a comparable disaster. The analogy with Iran is strong. Athens believed its power was unlimited during the Sicilian Expedition, underestimating resistance, overextending, and facing destruction. Likewise, the US has issued repeated threats of bombing, regime change, and economic sanctions against Iran. However, Iran, a large and capable nation with regional allies and asymmetric tactics, presents a different challenge.

A potential war with Iran would be similar to the modern Sicilian disaster: it would involve a prolonged, large-scale conflict with heavy casualties, trigger a global economic shock, cause alliances to break down, and intensify domestic crises. Kirshner’s warning is pragmatic, emphasising that excessive imperial ambitions could threaten the empire’s survival.

The Collapse of the “Rules‑Based Order”: From Pericles to Pompeo

The post-1945 “rules-based international order” functions similarly to the Periclean ideology, serving as a legitimising story for imperial domination. However, this order “was never a true limit on American aggression—rather, it was a tool for navigating inter-imperialist conflicts amid US dominance.” Just as Athens used democratic rhetoric to conceal its coercive empire, the US’s claim to uphold international law conceals its global dominance.

When Athens faced a crisis, its democratic facade faltered, leading to the execution of generals, the purging of dissidents, and chaos. Similarly, in 2026, the U.S. is experiencing a decline: mass deportations, press suppression, civil service purges, overt authoritarian language, and militarised police. These actions are inciting increased strikes and protests, showing that imperialism’s crisis translates into a democratic crisis.

Kirshner’s idea of a ‘real Thucydides trap” suggests that imperial overreach leads to disaster. However, this isn’t an unchanging psychological rule but rather a particular manifestation of capitalism’s inherent contradictions during its imperialist phase.

Lenin showed that imperialism is an unavoidable result of monopoly capitalism, driven by the pursuit of profit. This drive leads to expansion, which in turn causes conflict, ultimately resulting in crises. The ‘iron law’ of imperialist barbarism will be confronted with the ‘iron law’ of the class struggle. The working class is not merely a passive victim of imperial decline; it is the active force capable of overthrowing the system responsible for war.

The Lesson for the Working Class

The working class does not prefer either Trump’s blunt imperialism or Kirshner’s polished version, as both are factions of the same oligarchy. Both approaches lead to war, austerity, and dictatorship. The response to Trump’s ‘might makes right’ mentality isn’t a reinstatement of the polite imperialism associated with the Council on Foreign Relations, but rather the international mobilisation of the working class and the building of a global socialist society.

This is Thucydides’ key lesson when viewed from a Marxist perspective: Empires decline not due to imprudence but because of exploitation. Imperial democracies crumble as their internal contradictions grow unmanageable. The working class alone has the power to end imperialist wars. Athens fell, and the American empire is currently facing its Sicilian moment. The responsibility of the working class is not to preserve it but to replace it.

Bibliography

Primary Sources

  • Thucydides. History of the Peloponnesian War.
  • Lenin, V.I. Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism.
  • Trotsky, Leon. In Defence of Marxism: The Revolution Betrayed.

Secondary Sources (Classical and IR)

  • Kagan, Donald. The Peloponnesian War.
  • Meiggs, Russell. The Athenian Empire.
  • Finley, M.I. The Ancient Economy.
  • Badian, E. From Plataea to Potidaea: Studies in the History and Historiography of the Pentecontaetia.
  • Gilpin, Robert. War and Change in World Politics.
  • Keohane, Robert. After Hegemony.
  • Mearsheimer, John. The Tragedy of Great Power Politics.
  • Kirshner, Jonathan. “The Real Thucydides Trap.” Foreign Affairs (2026).

Marxist and WSWS Analyses

  • North, David. The Crisis of American Democracy.
  • International Committee of the Fourth International. The Historical and International Foundations of the Socialist Equality Party.
  • Damon, Andre. WSWS Perspectives on US foreign policy (2025–2026).
  • Walsh, Bill Van Auken, and other WSWS correspondents on Venezuela, Iran, and the “rules‑based order.”

[1] The Strong Do What They Can—and Suffer What They Must: What Thucydides Really Thought About Power Jonathan Kirshner- http://www.foreignaffairs.com/united-states/strong-do-what-they-can-and-suffer-what-they-must

Letter to T. G. Otte and The Coming Storm

Sir,

Your reply exemplifies the genre: sophisticated, polite, and carefully balanced—yet it entirely avoids addressing the central issue. You claim that your initial letter was “modest,” merely reminding readers of the “plurality” of interpretations surrounding 1914. But modesty does not equal neutrality, and plurality is not inherently virtuous when it functions to obscure decisive historical realities.

The core issue is not whether historians may legitimately differ; they always have, and they always will. The issue is why, in 2026, an expanding body of scholarship seeks to explain the origins of the First World War through vague concepts such as “complexity,” “interplay,” and “multiple explanations,” while systematically avoiding the one category that renders those explanations coherent: imperialism.

You argue that emphasising imperialism “elevates any one causal chain to the status of dogma.” Yet imperialism is not a dogma. It is a historically specific stage of capitalist development, analysed with scientific precision by Lenin, Luxemburg, and Bukharin, and confirmed by the subsequent course of the 20th century.¹ This framework clarifies why the great powers were driven into conflict, why diplomacy repeatedly failed, and why the July Crisis unfolded as it did. To treat imperialism as merely one “mode of explanation” among many is not methodological pluralism—it is historical abdication.

Your defence of Thucydides reveals further ideological implications. You claim that invoking him was simply a caution against unreflective analogies. But the very choice of Thucydides—whose narrative naturalises great‑power conflict as an eternal feature of human affairs—already performs ideological work.² It shifts attention away from the capitalist foundations of modern war and toward timeless geopolitical tragedy. This is precisely the function Thucydides serves in contemporary strategic discourse, from Graham Allison’s “Thucydides Trap” to Pentagon doctrinal literature.³ You may not intend to naturalise conflict, but the analogy does so nonetheless.

Your portrayal of Sir Edward Grey exemplifies how diplomatic history sanitises imperialism. You argue that praising Grey’s “skill” does not equate to endorsing British imperialism. Yet Grey’s diplomacy cannot be disentangled from the imperial interests it served. The London Conference of 1912–13 was not a display of statesmanship but an imperialist partition of the Balkans.⁴ Its short‑term success did not demonstrate the vitality of the Concert of Europe; it revealed the limits of diplomatic management under conditions of irreconcilable imperialist antagonisms. To describe this as a “settlement” is to adopt the perspective of the imperial powers themselves.

Your conclusion urges caution, warning against “conscripting the past into present‑day battles.” But the past is already being conscripted—by governments preparing for war, by think tanks rehabilitating great‑power rivalry, and by historians who, knowingly or not, provide intellectual cover for these developments. The relativisation of German responsibility for 1914, the elevation of “complexity” over causality, and the retreat from the category of imperialism are not neutral scholarly trends. They are ideological responses to a world in which the great powers are once again hurtling toward conflict.

The working class requires clarity, not cultivated ambiguity; analysis, not interpretative pluralism; and above all, recognition that imperialist war is not a tragic accident but the inevitable product of capitalism. To obscure this truth is not modest—it is dangerous.

Yours faithfully, Keith Livesey

Footnotes

  1. V. I. Lenin, Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (1916); Rosa Luxemburg, The Accumulation of Capital (1913); Nikolai Bukharin, Imperialism and World Economy (1915). These works established the theoretical foundations for understanding imperialism as a structural stage of capitalist development, not a diplomatic phenomenon.
  2. Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War has long been used to frame great‑power conflict as cyclical and inevitable, a tendency reinforced by realist international relations theory from Hans Morgenthau to John Mearsheimer.
  3. Graham Allison, Destined for War: Can America and China Escape Thucydides’s Trap? (2017). Allison’s thesis has been widely adopted in US strategic circles, often without critical engagement with its ideological implications.
  4. For a detailed account of the London Conference and its imperialist character, see Sean McMeekin, The Balkan Wars (2012), and Fritz Fischer, War of Illusions (1969), which situate the Balkan crises within the broader imperialist rivalries of the pre‑1914 period.