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The Social History of Eviction and the Political Bankruptcy of Reformism

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Eviction as a Window into the Class Nature of Society

The eviction of seventy households—including pensioners, disabled residents, and low-income families—from a working-class estate, as detailed in Jessica Fields’ book Eviction: A Social History of Rent, exemplifies a broader pattern in British capitalism. It highlights that heritage rights do not take precedence over property rights, and community bonds do not outweigh financial interests. These two statements clearly summarise the core rationale behind eviction policies and their role in the political economy.

This article doesn’t merely recount families’ suffering. Instead, it places that suffering within the broader context of capitalist urban growth, the decline of Labourism, and Engels’ ideas in The Housing Question. Evictions serve as a lens through which the working class can examine the system they oppose and identify the political steps necessary to dismantle it.

The Social History of Rent: From Industrial Slums to Financialised Landlordism

In 1872, Engels challenged the Proudhonists, who believed that rent-to-buy schemes could resolve the housing crisis. He emphasised that the housing shortage is not merely due to poor policies but is an inherent aspect of capitalism. Capitalism requires concentrating labour in cities, which inflates land prices, results in overcrowding, and causes periodic population displacement. The bourgeoisie “resolves” these issues by demolishing working-class housing and relocating workers outward. The destruction of council estates exemplifies this ongoing process.

Following the Second World War, municipal housing initiatives somewhat diluted Engels’ idea. However, these were not socialist endeavours; rather, they were concessions obtained by a militant working class during the expansion of capitalism. Housing remained a commodity, as councils built homes without challenging private land ownership. The core contradiction remained, only shifting to different aspects.

After 2008, the conflict intensified dramatically. Housing became a global financial asset, attracting heavy investments from private equity firms, REITs, offshore entities, and pension funds. Landlords shifted from individual owners to financial institutions, turning rent into a securitised income. Evictions began to serve as a means of capital growth.

Councils like the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea (RBKC) are subject to this trend. While the extent of malice within councils like RBKC is uncertain, they are now integrated into a global system of financialised landlordism. The council’s plans to demolish estates and replace them with developments for the private rental market are not merely local issues but reflect a broader, historic global pattern.

Financialised Landlordism: The Globalisation of Rent and the New Mechanisms of Capital Accumulation

Evictions from council estates reflect more than just the actions of a social landlord. They signify a new phase in capitalism’s evolution: financialised landlordism, where housing shifts from being mainly a home to serving as a financial asset, facilitating the flow and increase of capital.

Tracking the evolution of financialised landlordism from the 1970s crisis through the neoliberal counter-revolution, the decline of social democracy, and the post-2008 transformation of global capitalism reveals that eviction, demolition, and displacement are not anomalies but essential tools for capital accumulation in this era. The post-war economic boom depended on industrial production, rising wages, and regulated finance. However, by the late 1960s, this model faced a crisis: profit margins dropped, inflation surged, and labor unrest increased, prompting capital to seek new ways to accumulate wealth. The neoliberal shift dismantled the post-war regulatory system—liberalising finance, increasing capital mobility, weakening the welfare state, and opening housing, once protected by municipal regulation, to market forces.

The Thatcher government’s “Right to Buy” was more than just a policy; it represented a fundamental shift. It shifted millions of homes from public to private ownership, established a new petty-bourgeois class of homeowners, reduced municipal housing stock, and set the stage for land commodification. Labour governments continued this trend, with councils demolishing estates and transferring properties to housing associations increasingly connected to financial markets.

The collapse of Lehman Brothers sparked a worldwide crisis of excess capital. Trillions of dollars were sought for secure, profitable investments, with housing emerging as a preferred asset due to its stable returns, physical collateral, rising land values, and state-backed rent enforcement. Private equity firms, REITs, sovereign wealth funds, and pension funds all invested heavily in residential real estate. As a result, landlords shifted from individual property owners to financial institutions. Companies such as Pemberstone participated in this global trend.

Financialised landlordism goes beyond just “big landlords.” It involves specific accumulation mechanisms: rent is no longer just payment for land use but is securitised, bundled, sold to investors, and used as collateral, integrating housing into global financial markets. The tenant becomes a revenue source, and the home becomes a bond.

Eviction is not a flaw in the system; rather, it serves as a tool for capital accumulation. It enables landlords to clear “underperforming” tenants, redevelop land for greater profits, turn low-yield housing into high-yield assets, and discipline tenants through precarity. Evictions from social housing are part of this process and not exceptions; they reflect the system functioning as intended.

Demolition of estates is not about destruction; it’s about creating value. It allows for densification, luxury redevelopment, conversion of social housing into private properties, extraction of planning gains, and increases in land values. However, this process often displaces the working class, allowing capital to intensify the exploitation of urban space.

Financialised landlordism relies heavily on debt, with tenants accumulating rent arrears, landlords handling leveraged buyouts, councils participating in PFI schemes, and housing associations issuing bonds. Debt interconnects all parties within the financial market system, which depends on state support such as enforcement of eviction laws, policing authority, planning policies, tax incentives, deregulation, and eviction powers related to immigration. Labour’s role includes expanding Section 8 eviction powers, implementing the digital possession process, and applying Ground 7B regulations.

This is not a deviation; it represents the state performing its typical function. The state is inherently not neutral but acts as the guarantor of rent extraction. Financialised landlordism is supported by an ideological framework that masks its class interests.

Regeneration frequently conceals demolition and displacement, portraying capital growth as progress, modernisation, and renewal. The term ‘affordable housing’ is misleading, as it refers to market-rate rents rather than a social right, thereby embedding working-class housing in financial markets. Consultation often seems superficial, merely legitimising predetermined decisions and turning democratic language into bureaucratic procedures. The idea of mixed communities is a euphemism for social cleansing, replacing working-class residents with wealthier populations to boost land values.

The Emotional Power and Political Weakness of Local Campaigns

The main contradiction in localist housing campaigns is that, despite stirring strong emotions, they lack a clear strategy. While community, heritage, and shared suffering foster solidarity, these feelings do not translate into political power. They remain in the moral sphere, appealing to a system that lacks consciousness. Local campaigns are easily bypassed as councils “consult,” “engage,’ and “listen,” only to proceed with demolition or evictions. The moral appeal becomes part of bureaucratic formalities, reducing the campaign to a mere mention in planning documents. This underscores the ideological link between localism and Labourism.

Localism is inherently ideological and not politically neutral. It aligns with Labourism, which claims to protect community and heritage but ultimately serves financial interests. As mentioned, Labour councillors “deploy police to bar residents from town hall meetings.” Local campaigns often appeal to the same institutions that are evicting residents—the Dialectical Critique: Localism as Economism. Localist housing initiatives resemble trade-union economism by tackling symptoms rather than addressing the root social relations. They stay at a pre-class-conscious stage of struggle and cannot move beyond reformism without breaking away from Labourism’s political framework.

Labour isn’t genuinely a workers’ party but rather a bourgeois party supporting capitalism. Its aim is to manage capitalism’s contradictions, not eliminate them. This isn’t a flaw; it’s central to who it is. Labour’s Post-2024 Housing Strategy reveals increased Section 8 eviction powers and easier digital procedures for possessions. Ground 7B evictions over immigration led Labour MPs to be booed at the 2026 housing rally. This isn’t a failure to forget history but a reaffirmation of property rights.

The New Left Review, Verso Books, and the Ideology of Housing Reformism

The New Left Review (NLR) and Verso Books position themselves as prominent voices of radical thought in Britain. Over time, they have regularly published books, essays, and monographs on issues such as housing, urbanism, gentrification, and “neoliberalism.” Their contributors—such as Stuart Hodkinson, Anne Power, John Boughton, Loretta Lees, and Danny Dorling—are committed to portraying tenant struggles with sincerity and in detail.

However, documentation does not equate to politics. The stance of the NLR/Verso environment is more of a refined, scholarly Labourism than a genuinely radical position. It emphasises capitalism’s violence but suggests solutions like “better policy,” “more democratic planning,” and “politicians listening to historical narratives.” This part of the article contends that the NLR/Verso housing discourse is not only inadequate but also an ideological barrier hindering the development of revolutionary consciousness.  

Founded in 1960, the New Left Review emerged from the merger of The New Reasoner and Universities and Left Review. It faced a fundamental contradiction: while it opposed Stalinist bureaucratic authoritarianism and Labourism’s parliamentary gradualism, it did not endorse a Marxist revolutionary platform. Instead, it presented itself as a “radical” intellectual journal that critiques capitalism from within the bourgeois democratic framework.

This inherent contradiction has influenced its political perspective since then. Starting from the 1970s, scholars linked to NLR became key analysts of Britain’s housing issues, producing detailed ethnographies of council estates, examining “regeneration” projects, critiquing gentrification, documenting the history of social housing, and proposing policies for “democratic planning.” Although these works are often rich in empirical detail, they generally remain politically passive, describing capitalism’s violence without explicitly pointing to its fundamental cause: private ownership of land and housing.

Verso Books: The Publishing House of Academic Reformism

Verso Books describes itself as a “radical publishing” house. Nonetheless, it operates more like the literary wing of the academic left, a community that has long documented social crises without directly challenging Labourism.

Their housing titles, such as Safe as Houses, Estate Regeneration and Its Discontents, Municipal Dreams, The New Urban Crisis, and Eviction: The Social History of Rent, exhibit three key ideological traits: 1. They view housing mainly as a policy issue rather than a class struggle, describing it as a “crisis,” “failure,” or “challenge,” but not as an intrinsic aspect of capitalism. 2. They focus on politicians instead of the working class, assuming policymakers can be convinced to counter capitalist interests. 3. They minimise Labour’s role, criticising Conservative governments while often depicting Labour as a potential reformer—even though Labour-led councils have historically been responsible for mass evictions, estate demolitions, and social cleansing.

The NLR/Verso milieu is not politically neutral; it is structurally linked to universities, research grants, policy institutes, Labour councils, think tanks, and NGOs. Its authors rely on these institutions, which also oversee eviction processes. Consequently, they cannot promote revolutionary politics without risking their careers. Their reformism is grounded in material realities, not just ideology.

Verso housing books frequently promote ideas like “stronger regulation,” “community involvement,” “democratic planning,” “ethical regeneration,” and “fairer development models.” These notions are illusions, presuming that the capitalist state can be reformed to oppose capitalism.

Verso authors romanticise community campaigns, highlighting successes such as Focus E15, Newham mothers, West Hendon, and local fights. However, they never address the political reality: these campaigns failed because they relied solely on moral appeals. “Community does not defeat the rate of return.” Regarding “Heritage,” Verso books often reference estate histories, community dignity, and working-class culture, but heritage lacks legal weight against property rights. It remains sentiment, not a strategic tool.

Engels dispelled reformist illusions in 1872, highlighting that housing shortages stem from systemic issues. He stated that eviction serves as a means of capital accumulation and emphasised that reform alone cannot eliminate the commodity nature of housing. The only solution, according to him, is the abolition of private land ownership to resolve the housing problem.

The NLR/Verso milieu has overlooked this analysis for fifty years. They reference Engels but ignore his insights, considering his revolutionary conclusions as mere historical curiosities rather than urgent political calls. The book’s call is for politicians to heed the stories of history… But which politicians?”

The NLR/Verso environment provides no route to victory as its political approach is a dead end. The working class cannot secure housing through heritage, community efforts, moral appeals, Labour councils, academic research, or policy changes. The fight for housing is a fight against the capitalist class… transforming housing from a commodity into a social right.”

On The Financial Times Editorial on the 2026 World Cup

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A recent Financial Times editorial, “Football will eclipse politics at this World Cup,” exemplifies the complacent, upper-middle-class liberalism that has long provided ideological cover for the abuses of global capitalism. Its main argument—that the 2026 World Cup’s “goals, talent and diversity are set to drown out controversy off the pitch”—is not just naïve; it’s a reactionary move to suppress public awareness amid the growing tensions of world capitalism, which are now affecting every aspect of social life, including sports.

The editorial board’s stance is based on a flawed and strongly ideological divide between “politics” and “the beautiful game.” The authors briefly admit that the tournament has been “tainted by events off the pitch,” mentioning the troubling scene of FIFA giving a “peace prize” to Donald Trump, the exorbitant ticket prices that make supporters pay nearly $7,000 just to watch their team, and the blatantly discriminatory visa policies excluding fans from non-European countries and even “a match referee from Somalia.” Despite these issues, they are dismissed as minor problems—mere background distractions that do not detract from the overall spectacle of goals and celebration.

This is a common ideological tactic of the bourgeois media. While the FT notes the symptoms, it avoids examining the underlying issue. The World Cup is not corrupted by politics; rather, it exposes itself as a large commercial and geopolitical venture, where football acts as a front for the interests of governments, corporations, and oligarchic elites.

The FT’s depoliticisation of sport is itself a political act.

The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” exemplifies ideological mystification. Because the World Cup is a worldwide media spectacle watched by billions, ruling classes aim to manipulate it. The FT’s suggestion to concentrate on “goals” and “serendipity” is not harmless; it urges the public to ignore the harsh realities of the global system.

The editorial downplays the extraordinary fact that “this is the first World Cup where a host nation is at war with one of the participating countries,” viewing Trump’s decision to deny the Iranian team overnight stay in the US as a minor curiosity instead of a stark example of how militarism and xenophobia are now openly influencing international sports.

The FT’s lack of coverage on the wider issues—the escalating US–Iran conflict, the growing trade war between the host countries, the global surge of authoritarian regimes, and the worsening crisis of global capitalism—is deliberate. It mirrors the class interests of the publication, which represents the financial oligarchy that benefits from commodifying sport and militarizing geopolitics.

The editorial celebrates the very inequalities it pretends to lament.

The FT criticizes the “extortionate pricing” of tickets but celebrates the expansion to 48 teams as a sign of “worldwide representation.” This presents a cynical contradiction. What does “representation’ truly mean when the working-class populations cannot afford to attend? When the editorial mentions that Curaçaoans, Cape Verdeans, Uzbeks, and Jordanians will “watch from home with pride,” it unintentionally exposes the class divide: the global poor may provide the players, but the stadiums are owned by the wealthy.

Likewise, the editorial highlights the “vibrancy of international cultures” that will be showcased as fans move between 16 North American cities—yet it concedes that only those “who can afford it” will be able to participate. This is not true diversity; it amounts to luxury multiculturalism catered to the wealthy.

The fetishisation of individual stars masks the structural rot.

The FT devotes significant space to Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Lamine Yamal, suggesting that the star power of individual players can compensate for corruption in the sport’s governance. This focus on personal charisma illustrates bourgeois ideology by transforming systemic issues into a spectacle of individual achievement. Additionally, the editorial characterises Roberto Lopes’ recruitment to Cape Verde via a ‘LinkedIn message’ as charming, disregarding its indication of the chaotic, unregulated, and exploitative global labour market that shapes modern football.

The World Cup cannot “eclipse politics” because it is a product of politics.

The FT’s conclusion that the tournament’s “enduring power” is rooted in its ability to “entertain” regardless of politics essentially accepts the logic of spectacle. It suggests that the audience should be kept distracted, pacified, and depoliticized by sport’s spectacle while the ruling elite pursues its predatory interests unnoticed. In reality, the opposite is true. The 2026 World Cup is not an escape from the global capitalist crisis but a vivid reflection of it. The militarized borders, corporate profiteering, sky-high ticket prices, geopolitical tensions, exploitation of migrant workers, and authoritarian displays by host governments are not external to the event—they are integral to its nature.

Claiming that football will “eclipse politics” demands the public accept a world that’s unequal, violent, and ruled by oligarchic interests. Socialists must reveal this falsehood, expose the material forces behind global sport, and insist that the working class—whose labor, passion, and creativity make football possible—should not be passive spectators in a spectacle that hides their exploitation.

Obituary for the Beautiful Game:

Once, football was a pastime of the working class, not just a game but a shared expression of solidarity and human creativity. Played in factory yards, slag heaps, crowded streets, and muddy fields, it only needed a ball, a small space, and the imagination of its players. That era has passed.

Today, what remains of “football” is a distorted imitation: a worldwide commodity, a tool for marketing, a pawn in geopolitics, a means to clean oligarchic wealth, and an entertainment designed to pacify a population losing political influence. The “beautiful game” has been embalmed, packaged, and sold to the public at a cost they can no longer bear. This isn’t an obituary for a sport that has merely evolved; it’s for a sport that has been completely extinguished.

The Expropriation of a Working‑Class Inheritance

Football originated among the industrial working class, whose labour established the very time and social environment for collective leisure. Clubs were established by railway workers, dockers, miners, and textile workers. The terraces served as the one space where the working class could emerge as a unified social force, expressing their collective voice and purpose. However, late capitalism has undermined this foundational aspect.

Stadiums have transformed into luxury zones, with even the cheapest tickets exceeding the financial reach of the original community that built the sport. As the FT editorial notes, tickets for the 2026 World Cup will start at nearly $7,000 before travel costs—an extraordinary figure a generation ago. This change has pushed the working class out of the stands, making room for corporate sponsors, tourists, and wealthier elites. The vibrant, spontaneous atmosphere has been replaced by curated fan experiences, and the organic culture of the game has been replaced by branded content. Overall, football has become privatized, financialized, and disconnected from its social roots.

The Oligarchic Capture of the Global Game

The modern football economy highlights the stark inequalities of today. Clubs serve as investment tools for petro-monarchies, hedge funds, and billionaire investors. FIFA and UEFA act as transnational corporations mainly focused on generating profit.

The World Cup, originally a showcase of international sporting spirit, has now transformed into a spectacle marred by corruption, authoritarianism, and geopolitical drama. The editorial highlights FIFA’s decision to give a “peace prize” to a sitting US president, a move so ridiculous it might be funny, if not for revealing the organisation’s complete submission to state influence.

Visa bans, militarised borders, and political vendettas now determine who can attend, participate, or even enter host countries. For example, a Somali referee was refused entry; entire national fan groups are excluded; and a nation participating in an event is prevented from staying overnight in the host country. These are no longer exceptions but reflect a broader world order where sport is manipulated to serve the interests of powerful nations. Football has evolved into a diplomatic tool, a means of propaganda, and a way to legitimize political agendas.

The Commodification of the Player

Players—originally local heroes developed through community clubs and youth initiatives—have transformed into commodities in the international market. Their bodies are traded like financial derivatives, and they are pushed to perform at higher levels to accommodate a growing number of matches designed to increase revenue.

The editorial emphasizes Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Yamal, yet this concentration on star players signals a decline in the sport. The fixation on superstars masks harder truths: the exhaustion, injuries, and exploitation faced by young players from Africa, South America, and Eastern Europe, who are trafficked through academies and often discarded if they fail to meet commercial expectations. The so-called “beautiful game” now functions as a labor market where human beings are reduced to mere brand assets.

The Spectacle as Social Pacification

The ruling class recognizes the political role of football. In a time marked by increasing inequality, declining living standards, and rising geopolitical tensions, sports serve as a pressure release. The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the pitch” is not just a statement but a demand: urging the masses to divert their attention from global crises and become absorbed in entertainment.

The World Cup is promoted as a celebration of “diversity,” “vibrancy,” and “international culture”—but only accessible to those who can afford it. The working class is left watching from home, passively absorbing the spectacle and cheering for a world they are becoming more excluded from. Football has shifted from a shared act of solidarity to a tool for distraction.

The Death of the Beautiful Game

What made football beautiful was not its commercial spectacle but its simplicity, accessibility, and universality. It was a game that belonged to everyone because it required almost nothing and reflected the creativity, spontaneity, and collective spirit of ordinary people. Under late capitalism, that world has been dismantled.

The “beautiful game” is not dead because people no longer love it, but because capitalism has consumed it. It was destroyed through privatisation, financialisation, militarised borders, oligarchic ownership, and the transformation of sport into a commodity, turning fans into consumers. What is left is a shell driven by marketing, broadcast rights, and geopolitical agendas.

However, the obituary concludes with a contradiction: while the game is considered dead, the desire that birthed it remains alive. The working class that originally invented football continues to exist, along with its ability to reshape the world—and the sport—on a new basis. The revival of the beautiful game will not originate from FIFA, billionaires, or corporate media, but from the same force that created it initially: the collective strength of the working class.

Identity Politics and the Manufactured Spectacle of the 2026 World Cup

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The BBC’s focus on a VAR official’s hand gesture during the 2026 World Cup isn’t a rare mistake or journalistic error. Instead, it reflects a corrupt political culture where those in power, facing growing social issues and increasing imperialist violence, depend increasingly on divisive identity politics. This strategy aims to split the working class and steer collective dissent into meaningless, symbolic conflicts. The so-called “OK sign” controversy is just the most recent example of this reactionary approach.

While the media was breathlessly speculating about “a VAR official’s fingers,” the United States, as the host of the tournament, was engaged in violent actions: prosecuting a war of aggression against Iran, preparing military operations against Cuba, sustaining the Gaza genocide, and conducting mass deportations unseen in modern American history. The World Cup itself has become a militarized spectacle: ICE agents patrolling stadiums, entire national teams denied entry, African nations subjected to degrading “quarantine” procedures, and ticket prices soaring to $32,970 for the final—turning a sport originally created by the working class into an event reserved for the global elite.

However, the BBC and the broader media industry focus their attention not on these crimes but on the supposed racial significance of a referee’s hand gesture. This is intentional. It is a political move.

The Function of Identity Politics Under Capitalism

Identity politics is not an uprising from the grassroots nor an opposition to oppression. Instead, it functions as a tool of dominance, engineered and exploited by the bourgeoisie to divert social rage from the capitalist system toward ongoing, unresolved symbolic disputes. The ruling class has realized that nothing better suppresses class awareness than fostering the idea that workers see each other as racial enemies, potential racists, or carriers of concealed “dog whistles.”

The VAR controversy serves as a clear example. Whether the gesture was meant to be innocent doesn’t matter. What matters is that the media focused on it because it is harmless, symbolic, and divisive. This encourages the public to engage in a moral policing ritual instead of challenging the underlying structures of exploitation.

The “OK sign” controversy started as a hoax on 4chan—deliberately designed to trick the liberal media into believing a harmless gesture was a white supremacist symbol. The media bought into it, and the Anti-Defamation League added it to their database. Consequently, a gesture used by millions worldwide was transformed into a racialized symbol, fueling suspicion, accusations, and performative outrage. This exemplifies identity politics at its most superficial: a focus on symbols without real substance, morality divorced from materialism, and vigilance disconnected from actual struggle.

The Real Conditions of the 2026 World Cup

While the media focuses on racist hand gestures, the real aspects of the tournament expose the harsh realities of modern capitalism. A host country engaged in several imperialist wars, with police-state security present throughout stadiums, mass deportations disrupting immigrant communities, and entire national teams barred from entry. African nations face racist humiliation disguised as “public health,” and FIFA’s president awards Donald Trump an “inaugural FIFA Peace Prize”—a disturbing mockery of diplomacy.

This is the truth the BBC avoids addressing. The World Cup now serves as a worldwide showcase for authoritarianism, militarism, and the commercialisation of human life. It is a celebration of oligarchic wealth, built on excluding the working class—whose labour created the sport and whose enthusiasm keeps it alive. The media’s responsibility is to prevent any of this from becoming a source of public anger.

Why the Ruling Class Needs Identity Politics

The capitalist class faces a world in chaos: economic stagnation, geopolitical conflicts, declining living standards, and increasing working-class resistance. In such times, the ruling elite cannot allow the rise of a unified, class-aware movement of workers—whether American, Iranian, Congolese, Mexican, European, African, or Asian—who identify their shared adversary in the capitalist system.

Identity politics counters unity by prompting workers to view each other not as allies in a common struggle but as racialized suspects, potential bigots, or members of hostile identity groups. It shifts focus from the universalism of class to the particularism of identity, turning the battle against oppression into a rivalry for symbolic acknowledgment.

The VAR controversy exemplifies a situation where a trivial gesture becomes a national scandal, serving as a distraction that deepens racial divisions among workers while the state continues its war effort, deports millions, and benefits the oligarchy.

The Task of the Working Class

The remedy to this spectacle isn’t increased vigilant policing of symbols, but rather cultivating revolutionary class consciousness. Workers need to reject the entire framework of identity politics, which mainly hides the material roots of oppression and causes division among the exploited majority. The core issue isn’t what a referee did with his fingers; it’s why workers should accept a system that sends them to fight and die in imperialist wars, deport their neighbours, humiliates entire nations, makes them unable to afford the sport they helped create, and then demands they focus on media-fuelled symbolic disputes. The working class must respond to this not with outrage over small gestures, but through a united fight against capitalism itself.

Mexico’s Azteca Stadium Protests Expose the Social Fault Lines Beneath the 2026 World Cup

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 “Inside the stadium: a carefully curated spectacle of nationalism and corporate branding… Outside the stadium: the real Mexico.”

12 June 2026

The intense scenes outside Mexico City’s Estadio Azteca on the opening day of the 2026 World Cup exposed the fragile illusion of ‘unity” and “celebration” promoted by FIFA, the Mexican government, and corporate sponsors, who dominate every aspect of the event. The incident at Gate Eight—where striking CNTE teachers and the families of Mexico’s disappeared forced past heavily armed security—was not an isolated event but a reflection of deep social tensions that have long been overlooked. “The scenes outside the Azteca Stadium are the eruption of social contradictions that the 2026 World Cup’s corporate and governmental organizers have tried desperately to suppress.” The ruling class has failed.

A confrontation long in the making

For weeks, the CNTE teachers’ union warned they would confront the World Cup with their fight for wages, pensions, and democratic rights. Their slogan—sin solución, no rodará el balón (“without a solution, the ball will not roll”)—was a clear political statement, not just a rhetorical flourish. As some of the most militant members of the Mexican working class, the teachers have declined to accept the austerity measures imposed by the Sheinbaum government.

Their arrival at the Azteca was accompanied by another persistent force: the mothers of Mexico’s disappeared. For over a decade, these women have taken on the work the government refuses to do—searching for their children, uncovering mass graves, and challenging the military and political powers behind the disappearances. “These mothers have become their own investigators… because the same state that took their children is now deploying riot police with shields to defend FIFA’s branding.”

The symbolism is unmistakable. The Mexican government, which has long blocked justice for the 43 Ayotzinapa students missing since 2014, now deploys its repressive forces to protect FIFA’s commercial interests.

Inside and outside the stadium: two irreconcilable realities

The Azteca Stadium became a physical and political border separating two incompatible worlds.

Inside:

  • $2,500 tickets sold through “dynamic pricing”
  • corporate hospitality suites
  • FIFA executives projecting $11 billion in revenue
  • a nationalist spectacle choreographed for global television

Outside:

  • teachers fighting for pensions
  • mothers searching for their disappeared children
  • riot police with shields and batons
  • the working class confronting the violence of the state

The World Cup, far from uniting the nation, has exposed the depth of social inequality and the brutality required to maintain it.

The international dimension: a tournament under the shadow of repression

The 2026 World Cup marks the first time the United States, Mexico, and Canada co-host it. Rather than displaying “North American unity,” the event has exposed the common authoritarian direction of all three governments. In the U.S., ICE agents are present at every venue, transforming stadiums into militarised zones. Migrant workers—who often work in kitchens, cleaning, and security—face risks of detention and deportation, despite their essential roles in making the tournament happen.

In Mexico, the Sheinbaum administration has responded to the CNTE strike with the same disdain as previous governments. The report states that the government “refuses even to meet with striking teachers while dispatching security forces against them.” Canada, on the other hand, has increased intelligence sharing and border enforcement in collaboration with US agencies, ensuring the tournament is protected within a continental security framework. This repression is deliberate; it is the necessary response to a tournament whose profits rely on silencing working-class opposition.

Historical parallels: Argentina 1978 and the politics of spectacle

The comparison to the 1978 World Cup under the Argentine military regime is accurate. Back then, as now, the ruling class aimed to use football to conceal a legitimacy crisis. The stadium served as a venue where the government showcased unity while secretly repressing dissent beyond public view. “The 1978 comparison Uco made in his article is fitting.” Although Mexico is not a military dictatorship, it shares the same fundamental pattern: employing sport as a political tool to hide societal issues.

The World Cup as a battlefield of class interests

The events at Azteca Stadium highlight a key reality of the 2026 World Cup: it’s not about worldwide unity, but a contest between class forces. The workers outside—teachers, precarious labourers, mothers of the disappeared—align their interests with those inside, including stadium cooks threatened by ICE, cleaners working long shifts, and migrant workers who built the infrastructure under risky conditions.

The nationalist spectacle aims to divide them, but the class struggle brings them together. As the document states, “The game will continue, but the social contradictions erupting at Gate Eight will not be settled on a football field.”

The political task ahead

The protests at the Azteca serve as a warning: the ruling class will deploy every tool—police repression, nationalist propaganda, and corporate media—to protect their profits and silence dissent. However, the working class, both in Mexico and globally, is beginning to resist. The goal is to turn these spontaneous outbursts of anger into a deliberate political movement, grounded in a socialist program and focused on international worker solidarity. The World Cup has exposed a vital truth: the fight for justice for the disappeared, fair wages, democratic rights, and an end to state violence is intrinsically linked to the broader struggle against capitalism that creates these injustices. The protest at Gate Eight marks only the start.

There Is No Place For Us: Capitalism, Homelessness, And The Political Economy Of Misery

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I. Introduction: A Portrait of a System in Collapse

Brian Goldstone’s There Is No Place for Us comes at a time when the United States—the wealthiest capitalist country in history—is facing social suffering on a scale that would have been unimaginable a generation ago. Homelessness has reached historic highs, rent prices are climbing much faster than wages, and many workers, even with one or two jobs, are on the verge of eviction, displacement, and poverty.

Goldstone’s book, awarded the 2026 Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction, is a compelling piece of investigative journalism. It explores five working-class families in Atlanta who are caught in the cycle of homelessness. The strength of the book comes from its detailed, personal portrayal of how a system that views housing as a commodity—rather than a social right—acts as a tool for speculation and profits off the most vulnerable. “The book’s most devastating revelation is that homelessness is not a breakdown of the system — it is a business model.”

Goldstone reveals a fundamental truth, even if he doesn’t fully articulate its political implications. The suffering of homeless people isn’t accidental, due to personal failings, or merely because of bureaucratic errors. Instead, it is an expected consequence of a capitalist system where all human needs are sacrificed for the profit goals of the financial elite.

Goldstone’s report offers significant insights, though it is limited by modern liberal ideology. This essay aims to be twofold: to analyse the compelling critique of American capitalism in Goldstone’s work and to situate its political limitations within the broader crisis of liberal reformism and the urgent necessity for socialist transformation.

II. The Human Face of Structural Violence

Goldstone’s story highlights families that don’t fit the typical “homeless’ stereotype. These are workers—warehouse staff, caregivers, service industry employees—whose labor keeps society running. Despite their essential roles, they cannot access the basic human need of stable housing. “In America right now, a low-wage job … is homelessness waiting to happen.” This is not an exaggeration but an accurate reflection of the structural challenges faced by millions of workers. The families featured are not rare cases; they represent a large and growing segment of the working population where the line between housed and unhoused is extremely thin.

Extended‑Stay Hotels: The New Tenements

One of Goldstone’s key contributions is his expose of the extended-stay hotel industry. These hotels—often dirty, cramped, and unsafe—serve as the last resort for families evicted or unable to afford traditional rentals. They impose high weekly rates that usually exceed the monthly rent of a modest apartment. In 2020, Blackstone and Starwood Capital Group acquired Extended Stay America for $6 billion, the same year the chain earned $96 million in profit while housing families with nowhere else to go.

This is the harsh reality of modern capitalism. The same private equity firms that purchase single-family homes, increase rent costs, and automate evictions also benefit financially from the suffering they cause. The extended-stay hotel turns into the last step in a cycle of exploitation, starting with wage suppression and culminating in turning homelessness into a source of profit.

Eviction as a Mechanised Process

Goldstone highlights the growth of automated eviction systems—software owned by private equity firms that enable landlords to start eviction processes with just a few clicks. This automation of displacement is a natural progression of a system that views housing mainly as a financial investment instead of a fundamental human need. As a result, families are being evicted by algorithms—without human oversight, discretion, or compassion—creating a Kafkaesque situation.

The State as an Instrument of Exclusion

One of the most striking examples in the book is Celeste’s story: a mother fighting cancer while residing with her children in a run-down extended-stay hotel. When she reaches out to the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) for help, they inform her she isn’t considered “homeless” since she’s not sleeping on the street. Goldstone notes, “The system is designed to exclude, to exhaust, to wear people down until they stop asking.”

This isn’t just bureaucratic incompetence; it’s a deliberate policy. The system is intentionally designed to withhold aid from those in greatest need, in order to conserve resources for the wealthy and uphold the myth that homelessness is a personal failure, rather than acknowledging it as a structural issue.

III. Homelessness as a Business Model: The Political Economy of Displacement

Goldstone’s key analysis shows that homelessness isn’t a flaw of capitalism but rather a lucrative part of it. The displacement of low-income individuals isn’t just a side effect of urban growth; it’s a systematic way of extracting wealth.

The book references the LA Tenants Union’s definition of gentrification: “The displacement and replacement of the poor for profit.” This is more than a metaphor; it directly describes how capital accumulates in today’s urban settings.

Private Equity and the Financialization of Housing

The transformation of housing into a global asset class is a significant element of 21st-century capitalism. Major private equity firms like Blackstone, Starwood, and Cerberus have bought hundreds of thousands of homes to rent out profitably. They have also heavily invested in mobile home parks, student housing, and extended-stay hotels, which mainly cater to the most vulnerable and unstable parts of the working class. The logic is clear: evictions boost income, displacement increases property values, and homelessness drives demand for costly, low-quality “temporary” housing. Consequently, the hardships faced by the working class become a source of profit.

The State as Partner, Not Regulator

Contrary to popular liberal beliefs, the state is not separate from this process; it actively participates. Zoning laws, tax incentives, deregulation, and the dismantling of public housing all work to enable profit extraction from housing. HUD’s choice not to classify families in extended-stay hotels as “homeless” is a deliberate political decision, not an administrative error, intended to restrict access to aid and cut public spending. The state’s role is to manage homelessness in a way that maintains the housing market’s profitability, rather than alleviating it.

IV. The Liberal Limitation: The Ideology of “We”

Despite the strength of his reporting, Goldstone ultimately describes the crisis in a way that obscures its class nature. He states that homelessness is something “we have collectively made as a society.” As your document rightly points out, this language blurs the line between those who suffer and those who profit. Goldstone comments, “No one chose this epidemic of homelessness except the financial parasites who benefit from it.”

This is the main political flaw in Goldstone’s analysis. By using a universal “we,” he eliminates the distinction between the working class and the capitalist class. He recasts a class conflict as a moral failing of society overall. This reflects a key feature of modern liberalism: the tendency to deny the existence of class struggle, despite clear evidence.

The Reformist Horizon: Social Housing

Goldstone suggests establishing a “public option” for housing, inspired by systems in Vienna and Finland. Although such initiatives have historically offered substantial benefits to workers, they arose from particular historical contexts: the postwar class power dynamics, strong labour movements, and Cold War geopolitical pressures. The book notes, “Finland and Vienna are invoked as models, but these are small, wealthy social formations whose welfare states were products of a specific postwar balance of class forces — a balance that is now being dismantled across Europe.”

This is a key point. The social-democratic reforms of the mid-20th century weren’t gifts from progressive governments; they were concessions gained by a militant working class during a time of exceptional economic expansion. These conditions no longer apply. Currently, the global capitalist system faces a profound crisis, and the ruling class is countering with austerity measures, militarism, and repression rather than reforms. Proposing social housing within the current American capitalist framework is asking for something that the ruling class will neither grant nor support.

V. Race, Class, and the Historical Roots of Dispossession

Goldstone highlights that in Atlanta, 93 percent of families facing homelessness are Black. This startling statistic underscores the extensive history of racial oppression in the U.S.: slavery, Jim Crow laws, redlining, urban renewal policies, mass incarceration, and the deliberate exclusion of Black workers from wealth-building opportunities.

Goldstone correctly states that “Homelessness is not a ‘racial’ question.” This does not deny racial oppression but emphasizes that the primary cause of homelessness is class, not race. The higher impact on Black workers highlights how racism has historically been employed as a means of capitalist control, dividing the working class, justifying exploitation, and maintaining a hyper-exploited labor force.

The homelessness crisis impacts all parts of the working class. Hundreds of thousands of white, Latino, and Native American workers are also experiencing homelessness. The solution should not be a policy targeting specific races, but rather uniting the working class across racial boundaries in a shared fight against capitalism.

VI. The Historical Tradition of Muckraking and Its Limitsituates

Goldstone’s book belongs to the tradition of American investigative journalism, from Ida Tarbell to Upton Sinclair. This comparison fits well. Similar to Sinclair’s The Jungle, Goldstone’s work reveals the harsh truths of a system that prioritizes profit over human life. However, Sinclair famously said he aimed for the public’s heart but hit its stomach. His exposure of the meatpacking industry spurred regulatory reforms but did not challenge the fundamental capitalist structures behind the horrors he detailed.

Goldstone’s book risks the same destiny. While it may spark demands for reform, without connecting those efforts to a larger fight against the capitalist system, they will fall short. “The evidence Goldstone provides makes a compelling case against capitalism itself — even if Goldstone does not explicitly state that.” This is the core truth. Goldstone’s work is a powerful critique of capitalism, even if he does not explicitly label it.

VII. The Political Tasks of the Working Class

The homelessness crisis cannot be resolved within a capitalist framework. Housing cannot serve as both a commodity and a human right. When housing is regarded solely as an asset, millions are barred from access. “The solution is not social housing within capitalism, but the expropriation of the financial oligarchy and the socialist reorganization of society based on human need.” This statement is grounded in the evidence Goldstone presents, not mere rhetoric. The working class must gain control over the housing system, seize private equity firms profiting from homelessness, and reconstruct society around human needs instead of private profit.

This calls for a political movement separate from the Democratic Party, which is heavily intertwined with the real estate and financial industries. It also involves creating a socialist movement rooted in the working class, dedicated to overthrowing capitalism and establishing a government led by workers.

VIII. Conclusion: Thinking the Implications Through to the End

‘There Is No Place for Us’ stands as one of the most significant investigative journalism works of the decade. It reveals the harsh reality of homelessness in America and the exploitative system that sustains it. However, its political conclusions are confined to liberal reformism. The document calls on readers to “think through the implications to the end,” a core aspect of Marxism: to uncover the objective logic behind social processes and identify political forces able to transform society. Goldstone has demonstrated that homelessness is not a failure of capitalism but a fundamental aspect of its functioning. The urgent task is to build a movement capable of abolishing the system that generates such suffering.

The Housing Crisis in Kensington and Chelsea

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One rule I have regarding this website is that I never talk about my personal situation or problems. That changed yesterday when we received an email that our attempt to stay in our parents’ council flat had been turned down for the third time. Our story is that in 2008, we moved back into the family rental flat to look after our ailing parents. The flat had been in the family since 1976. When my father passed, we stayed in the flat to look after my mother, who was in no fit state to be left on her own.

Our first attempt to stay in the property was unsuccessful. Due to Kensington and Chelsea’s archaic and discriminatory housing policy, we were unable to succeed in the property. So insensitive were the council that when my dad passed in 2016, he had not yet been buried before they sent a notice to quit the property to my mother, who was not even on the tenancy. This was challenged by us and rectified.

When my mother passed away at the beginning of this year, we again asked for succession. Again, we were turned down, so we asked for a discretionary tenancy based on the fact that this was the family home for over 50 years, and that we had not only lived in the property for over 15 years, but we had also contributed to rent and council tax, both accounts were in our name. We spent a significant amount of money on decorating the flat. We fed, clothed, and cared for her even when she had her stroke that led to her passing. Yesterday, we received a letter stating that the council has refused our discretionary tenancy request, giving no reason, and that we must leave the property within two weeks, or they will take legal action to remove us. Aside from the cruel and unjust decision, the council never visited or spoke to us about our needs at any stage. No alternative housing arrangement has been made or discussed.

Having researched the housing crisis in the borough, I somehow doubt that ours is an isolated case. Kensington and Chelsea is one of the wealthiest boroughs in the United Kingdom. At the moment, there is a massive housing boom, but it is only catered for the mega-rich. Next door in the borough of Hammersmith is the former BBC Television Centre in White City, which has been redeveloped into high-end, exclusive residential apartments and luxury lifestyle areas. These areas now feature private clubs, high-end fitness facilities, restaurants and high-security residences, leading to descriptions of them as “playgrounds for the rich.”

In Kensington and Chelsea, there is a severe shortage of affordable housing, with over 2,900 households waiting for social housing. It has the second-highest rate of use of temporary accommodation in the capital. The borough has a high rate of households with children in temporary accommodation, with nearly 30 per 1,000 households. There are calls for the council to take action against over 600 homes that have been left empty for more than two years.

The housing crisis is not confined to London; it is a national crisis of huge proportions. A recent article shows that “Across the UK, rents have increased by 40 per cent since the COVID pandemic began in 2020, and mortgage repayments by 40-60 per cent. Housing stress affects 67 per cent of the population—45 million people, struggling to pay rents or mortgages, cutting back on food and heating, or facing eviction and foreclosure. Up to 4 million people are on the waiting list for social housing, with 1.3 million of these waiting more than a decade. 400,000 people are homeless, sleeping on the streets, in hostels and shelters or sofa surfing. Up to 2 million children live in substandard and unsafe accommodation, including 1.5 million in England (one in six children). One million children live in homes with a Category 1 hazard, defined as “serious risk to health or safety”.Multi-occupancy accommodation with renters crammed together, and young people forced to lodge with their parents into their late 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s, is the new normal. Older adults in the private rental market face a nightmarish future.[1]

As I said in the opening paragraph, I am loath to go public with this. However, this council has given me no choice but to. My MP Joe Powell has been contacted about this case. We will seek advice from the Citizens Advice Bureau and will take legal action to prepare for the Council’s impending court action.

[1] The socialist answer to the housing crisis in Britain- http://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2026/04/16/mpru-a16.html

The twilight of the physical letter — a class issue

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A few months ago, the Financial Times in the United Kingdom published an article entitled “The Twilight of the Physical Letter”[1], writing: “Less than two weeks before Christmas, Danes are sending their last Christmas cards.” Not their last for this year, but the last ever to be delivered by the national postal service. As of the year-end, PostNord — which traces its history in Denmark back to 1624 — will cease carrying letters and will handle only packages. Denmark will surely not be the last country to end home letter deliveries by a national carrier. It is a step that portends something bigger: the twilight of the physical letter itself. Letters will not disappear entirely from Denmark; private companies will offer services, though PostNord’s 1,500 red mailboxes are being removed. PostNord, formed from a 2009 merger of the Danish and Swedish postal services, will for now continue letter services in Sweden, where letter volumes have declined by less than the 90 per cent slump since 2000 in its super-digitalised neighbour.”

The Financial Times’ account of the “twilight” of the physical letter frames the decline of letter mail as both a technological inevitability and a managerial problem to be solved by “efficiency” measures, price rises, and market-style restructuring. From a socialist perspective, however, the crisis is not a neutral consequence of digitisation: it is the political outcome of decades of capitalist restructuring that subordinated a public service to the demands of private profit and the interests of the financial oligarchy.

The postal crisis is rooted in the 1970s turn away from public provision and the conversion of national post services into self-funding, marketised bodies. In the US, this was formalised in 1971 and has since been used to impose a profit logic on the USPS. The result is not a natural “decline” but a targeted programme of austerity, precarious staffing and asset stripping that converts a lifeline public service into an exploitable logistics node for private capital.

What the FT calls “adaptation” is, in practice, the Amazonification of postal labour: intensified workloads, expanded part-time and on-call rosters, surveillance technologies, and the reorientation of operations to low-margin parcel volumes while letter delivery is downgraded or reduced. Across countries, the same pattern repeats: Royal Mail’s conversion under private owners, Canada Post’s shift to weekend parcel models, Australia Post’s “alternative” delivery schemes. These are not isolated managerial mistakes but an international offensive against the working class and public services.

Denmark’s decision to end regular mail delivery is not an isolated administrative rearrangement or a neutral response to “digitalisation.” It is the latest episode in a coordinated, international offensive to subordinate public services to the logic of profit, reduce labour costs and concentrate logistics in the hands of private and financial interests. Across Britain, Canada, the United States, Germany, and elsewhere, the same dynamic is playing out: universal services are downgraded, workloads are intensified, and precarious and low-paid labour is expanded to maximise returns for investors.

The collapse of everyday letter delivery in Britain is not an accident of logistics or “market forces.” It is the result of a political decision driven by private capital, the regulator and a union apparatus that has surrendered workers’ interests to corporate management. The Communication Workers Union (CWU) has been an active participant in the processes that have enabled the downgrading and dismantling of the Universal Service Obligation (USO), not its defender. The CWU too often acts as a manager’s partner, negotiating frameworks that legitimise restructuring rather than mobilising workers to defend public services. The CWU’s role in the Royal Mail sell‑off shows how this bureaucracy neutralises resistance and imposes pro‑employer “solutions”

The time is not for moralising nostalgia, but for struggle to orient our response. The decline of first‑class mail volumes since 2007 has been used politically as evidence that “there is no money” for universal service. But billions are mobilised for war and corporate bailouts while postal budgets are hollowed out. The crisis exposes a class choice: fund universal public services and decent wages, or funnel social wealth into military spending and private return on capital.

For postal workers, the implications are immediate and stark. Management and pro‑company union bureaucracies are implementing cuts that threaten pensions, jobs and safety. The CWU’s Framework Agreement in Britain and the CUPW deals in Canada show how union leaderships can act as junior partners in restructuring, demobilising members and legitimising attacks. Rank‑and‑file resistance is therefore not optional; it is the only path to defend wages, safety and a universal public service. The rank-and-file committees forming in the US, UK, Canada, and elsewhere show workers reclaiming control on the shop floor.

The twilight of the physical letter is not an inevitability to be mourned in isolation. It is a political question—who controls the communication infrastructure, who gets paid, and whose needs are prioritised: the working class or the billionaire owners. The answer lies in workers’ independent organisation, international solidarity, and a struggle to put public services under democratic, worker‑led control.

Denmark’s ending of mail delivery is a warning: without organised, independent worker resistance and international solidarity, universal services can be dismantled everywhere. The response must be rank‑and‑file organisation, coordinated international action and a political fight for worker control of public services and for socialism.

[1] The twilight of the physical letter-End of deliveries by Denmark’s mail service bodes ill for the epistolary form-www.ft.com/content/fecad9e1-5b32-420c-83ef-1c261241b352?syn-25a6b1a6=1

1996: Reflections on the year that changed my life by Tony Adams with Ian Ridley was published by Floodlit Dreams in paperback, £11.99

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Tony Adams, the ex-Arsenal and England footballer, has just turned 60 and published his third book. Adams, along with his writer Ian Ridley, has now produced what could be termed a trilogy. All books deal in one way or another with Adams previous addictions. In line with his new sobriety, Adams has turned down a big birthday; instead, he has opted for a night with twelve people who have played different roles in his road to recovery from alcoholism. It has been 30 years since he became sober.

Adams’ book is as brutally honest as the previous two. He talks bluntly about the carnage his addictions caused to his relationships and his body, saying, ‘I’m really proud that I’ve not pissed the bed for 30 years, guys,’ he says. ‘I’m incredibly proud.’

1996 can be written about in many ways: as a personal turning point, as a moment in football and popular culture, or as a year when broader political and social forces made themselves felt in private lives. When a year “changes your life,” that change is never simply biographical. It is the intersection of individual experience with wider historical forces. As Plekhanov argued over a century ago, individual action matters—but only in and through the context of social and economic development: the individual can “secure” already-ripened historical opportunities and thereby shape future links in the chain of events. This analysis should frame any reflective study of 1996.

Thirty years is a long time. Adams was both the captain of Arsenal and England. However, since he retired from the game, it has undergone a fundamental transformation. Football today is not merely a sport or cultural pastime; under capitalism, it has been transformed into a web of commodities, markets and class relations.

This transformation is not accidental but rooted in capitalism’s imperatives. Clubs, leagues and governing bodies are subsumed into capitalist enterprises competing for revenues, profit and market share. The World Cup and major tournaments are staged as vast commercial spectacles: broadcasting rights, sponsorship deals, and merchandising are central revenue sources, not the “joy of the game” FIFA and the leagues behave as commercial cartels that allocate monopoly rents and tax‑advantaged income while shifting costs and social harms onto the working class and public budgets.

Before I continue, I should add a full disclosure that I have been an Arsenal fan for well over fifty years. I have witnessed first-hand the rise of the Premier League (1992) and the full commercialisation of English football, which transformed Arsenal’s position in the social division of labour and urban life. What had been a locally rooted mass cultural institution—closely linked to the lives, rhythms, and neighbourhoods of working-class supporters—was restructured into a globalised commodity. The club was rationalised as a profit-making enterprise: broadcast rights, international marketing, sponsorship, corporate hospitality, and real estate strategies became central to its operations. This was not merely a change of “image” but of the material bases of the club’s existence: sources of revenue, ownership structures, investment in stadia and training, and the social composition of matchday spectators.

Football clubs are social institutions rooted in working-class communities, yet increasingly integrated into global capitalist markets. The club’s governance shifted toward shareholders and investors whose aim is capital appreciation rather than local communal provision. Decisions are subordinated to profitability and brand growth rather than the everyday needs of local working people.

Arsenal’s move from Highbury to the Emirates (2006) exemplified the monetisation of space—larger capacity for premium seats, corporate boxes, and sponsorship revenue. Across London, public funds and planning regimes have been repurposed to facilitate such projects; the same logic that turned Olympic infrastructure into public subsidy for private gain can be instructive (stadium costs and public subsidy). Rising ticket prices, corporate hospitality, and the retrofitting of stadia have pushed many traditional local supporters to the margins (my season tickets cost a basic £ 1,400 per season). What was once mass working-class attendance becomes a segmented market: tourists, international supporters buying TV subscriptions, and local middle-class consumers with higher disposable income.

Tony Adams is best known as one of England’s most prominent football captains. A one-club man for much of his career, he embodied the kind of working-class sporting hero that English football cultivated and commercially commodified from the 1980s onward. When Arsène Wenger arrived in 1996, he introduced continental training methods, dietary regimes and a more technical style—an adaptation to new competitive demands in a market increasingly valuing global broadcasting appeal and athletic optimisation. Adams’ captaincy during this transition represented a bridging function: he was the internal authority who mediated modernising reforms while defending squad cohesion against the depersonalising forces of commercialisation.

Adams built his reputation as a tough, disciplined central defender and long-serving captain whose leadership was central to his club’s identity. His personal story, as told in this third book, examines his leadership and public struggles with alcoholism. The book offers rich material for political and sociological study: how sport mediates class identity, how institutions respond to personal crisis, and how celebrity can both challenge and reinforce ruling-class culture.

Adams’ commitment—to club, teammates and fans—stands against the logic of treating players as commodities. The expansion of TV revenues and sponsorships produced new pressures: wage inflation among top players, increased speculation in the transfer market, and managerial decisions shaped as much by brand value as by sporting need. The commercial conversion of stadiums and the matchday experience—VIP boxes, renaming, and restricted access—illustrated how working‑class fans were being marginalised even as their devotion fuelled corporate profits. 

Adams’ emphasis on responsibility and accountability—on and off the pitch—can be seen as an assertion of the human, social relations that capitalism erodes. At moments when ownership and market logic threatened club traditions, his public leadership reaffirmed the club as a social collective rather than merely a business vehicle.

Adams’s public struggles with alcoholism and his later roles as a manager and pundit are widely known. Increasingly, similar pressures—financial precarity, commodified sport, celebrity culture and the expansion of online betting—have produced a new social pathology: gambling addiction among athletes, ex-players and the broader working class. The expansion of online gambling platforms, intrusive advertising and algorithmic “VIP” marketing has converted sport into a pipeline for extracting working-class wealth. Club identity has been repackaged as a global brand. Local histories and working-class memory are distilled into merchandise and heritage products, often stripped of their political content.

The expansion of revenue streams creates enormous wealth within football, but also deep social estrangement: local fans are priced out; the working-class connection is weakened even as clubs claim traditional roots. This contradiction generates instability—fan protests, supporter organisations, and occasional political backlash against corporate owners. The Premier League’s commercial boom coexists with growing popular resentment and declining local democratic control.

Mark Goldbridge and Gary Neville

One indicator of the enormous wealth in football is Gary Neville’s buyout of Mark Goldbridge’s media empire. The  purchase of an influential fan-media voice by a wealthy former player and businessman is not a neutral “business decision.” It is an expression of the relations of class and property that shape modern culture and politics. When Gary Neville — representing the interests and capital of a propertied layer — buys out Mark Goldbridge, a popular, independent-working-class–rooted commentator, what is at stake is not merely editorial direction but the social power to define what millions of working people see as “their” club, their grievances, and their possible responses.

Concentrated media ownership determines which viewpoints are amplified and which are marginalised. The consolidation of media in the hands of a few corporate and billionaire actors produces a press that serves elite interests rather than those of ordinary people (the concentration of media ownership is driven by profit and vertical integration). A takeover by Neville fits this pattern exactly: it substitutes the uncertain political and commercial independence of a grassroots voice for the resources, networks, and class position of a former elite insider. That transaction creates an immediate incentive to manage, sanitise and monetise fan sentiment rather than to foster independent working-class perspectives.

Tony Adams’ captaincy embodied the social cohesion and moral authority of a club rooted in its community—qualities under pressure from the 1990s’ turn to marketised, global football. His struggles—and the growing epidemic of gambling harm—are not merely private misfortunes. They are symptomatic of a society where sport and leisure are subordinated to corporate profit.

The rise of fake academic essays: a Marxist analysis

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According to journalist Robin McKie, writing recently in the Guardian, over 10,000 fake research papers have been published in journals, and these are the ones that have been caught. He believes this figure is just the tip of the iceberg.[1]

“The situation has become appalling,” said Professor Dorothy Bishop of Oxford University. “The level of publishing of fraudulent papers is creating serious problems for science. In many fields, it is becoming difficult to build up a cumulative approach to a subject because we lack a solid foundation of trustworthy findings. And it’s getting worse and worse. People are building careers on the back of this tidal wave of fraudulent science.’ 

Professor Alison Avenell of Aberdeen University said, “ Editors are not fulfilling their roles properly, and peer reviewers are not doing their jobs. And some are being paid large sums of money. “It is deeply worrying.”

The majority of these fake essays are being produced on an industrial scale by large-scale paper mills. An academic paper mill is a commercial operation that produces and sells fraudulent academic work — essays, term papers, theses, cover letters, peer‑reviewed articles, or entire datasets — to students, researchers, or institutions for a fee. Paper mills range from individual ghostwriters offering single essays to large, organised firms that produce fabricated research, manipulate authorship and citations, and systematically target journals and evaluation systems for profit. They are a symptom of the marketisation and commodification of higher education under capitalism.

Ivan Oransky believes “Part of what’s happening is that there’s an entire industry now, one might say an illicit industry or at least a black market, of paper mills,” he said. “A paper mill, and I heard a really good definition recently, is an organisation, a for-profit company, really, set up to falsify the scientific record somehow.”

The problem has become so vast that a growing number of websites, such as Retraction Watch, have been established to monitor this alarming situation. According to a study published in the magazine Nature, there were just over 1,000 retractions in 2013. In 2022, the figure topped 4,000 before jumping to more than 10,000 last year.

Professor Marcus Munafo of Bristol University was quoted as saying, “If you have growing numbers of researchers who are being strongly incentivised to publish just for the sake of publishing, while we have a growing number of journals making money from publishing the resulting articles, you have a perfect storm. That is exactly what we have now.” The use of generative AI to produce fraudulent academic work is not merely an individual moral failing or a technical problem; it is a social and political issue rooted in the commodification of education, the erosion of serious study, and the pressures imposed by capitalist labour markets, rather than providing instructions for misusing technology.

Passing off machine-generated text as one’s own substitutes appearance for understanding. The cheapening of academic credentials serves employers and the market, not the working class. From a Marxist standpoint, the proliferation of machine‑generated “fake” academic essays is not primarily a technical or ethical quirk of individual students: it is an outgrowth of the deeper social relations of capitalist education. Under capitalism, higher education is progressively commodified—turned into a service to be bought and sold, a pipeline for profitable labour and, increasingly, a supplier of research and skills to the military‑industrial complex. The phenomenon of fake essays, therefore, expresses class relations, market pressures and the crisis of public education.

Degrees have been transformed into commodities that certify employability. Many students, under debt and time pressures, view essays as means to an end, not as instruments of critical thought. The unequal access to quality instruction further pushes those under the greatest economic strain toward any available shortcut.

The erosion of collective knowledge and democratic control. When learning is reduced to transactional credentialing, the broadening of independent critical thought—essential for democratic working‑class organisation—is weakened. The result is a depoliticised cohort more vulnerable to managerial control and right‑wing reaction.

Historically, education has been both a terrain of class struggle and a crucible for political radicalisation. The bourgeoisie once used schooling to consolidate its rule; today, capital uses education to reproduce labour power for profit and war. The current trajectory—marketised universities, casualised labour, and the deployment of AI for managerial ends—mirrors earlier phases of capitalist restructuring that required a political response rooted in class organisation rather than technocratic fixes.

Notes

1.   retractionwatch.com

2.   More than 10,000 research papers were retracted in 2023 — a new record-Richard Van Noorden-Nature 12 December 2023

[1] www.theguardian.com/science/2024/feb/03/the-situation-has-become-appalling-fake-scientific-papers-push-research-credibility-to-crisis-point

What The Rich Don’t Tell The Poor: Conversations with Guatemalan Oligarchs Roman Krznaric-Paperback – 16 Feb. 2022

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Krznaric’s book is a fascinating and valuable insight into the modern Guatemalan oligarchy. He examines the inner life of the oligarchy and how it has maintained its power and privilege for over three centuries. It is a groundbreaking work of political and sociological analysis based on wide-ranging personal interviews.

What The Rich Don’t Tell The Poor was written in 2006 and stems from Krznaric’s 2003 PhD thesis, The World View of the Oligarch in Guatemalan Politics.[1] However, due to political and literary differences with publishers, the book was not published in its original form until 2022. As Krznaric writes in the 2022 preface, although the book is ten years old and much has changed in Guatemala in the intervening years, the oligarchy remains in complete control of Guatemala’s political and economic life.

Guatemala is well known for its extreme wealth inequalities, which have been caused by centuries of economic and political domination by an oligarchy comprising around fifty families of European descent.  In this case, the term “oligarchs” usually refers to a small group of influential families (often called “las familias”) that have maintained economic and political dominance since colonial times. As of 2022, approximately 245 individuals in Guatemala held an accumulated wealth of US$30 billion. The oligarchs dominate crucial sectors of the Guatemalan economy, including export agriculture (sugar, coffee, bananas), finance and banking, construction materials (cement), and consumer goods. Families such as the Herrera Family: Owners of Ingenio Pantaleón, the largest sugar production estate in the country, with significant interests in banking (e.g., Banco Agromercantil), the Castillo Family: A historically substantial family involved in the production of beer and other industries and the Novella Family: Major players in the cement industry for generations. These families and others make Guatemala one of the most unequal countries on the planet.

As Krznaric relates:  “Getting the oligarchs to speak openly was a challenge. Using all I knew about ethnographic and oral history interviewing techniques, I tried to be courteous rather than confrontational – a strategy that created an atmosphere which felt relaxed, unthreatening and conversational. I quickly learned that accusing them of violating human rights or exploiting workers made them clam up. However, encouraging them to share stories about their lives and experiences lowered their guard and led them to reveal much more about themselves. Rather than offering critical comments on the spot during the interviews, I found that I could defer my critiques until I was writing about them and interpreting what they said, as I do in What The Rich Don’t Tell The Poor.”[2]

Global context: Global Oligarchy and local oligarchy

The global charity Oxfam has recently released several reports that document what every worker knows: an accelerating concentration of wealth and power in the hands of an oligarchy whose fortunes have exploded even as mass poverty, precarious work and state austerity deepen. The charity’s data shows that billionaire wealth surged to a record $18.3 trillion in 2025, and that the wealthiest handful of individuals now own more than the wealth of billions of people.  The number of global billionaires recently increased by 30% to approximately 2,750 individuals, who together control more wealth than the planet’s poorest 4.6 billion people.

As Krznarics correctly states in the book, Guatemala’s oligarchy functions as an extension of global imperialist interests. Multinational agribusiness, mining and energy firms rely on local oligarchs to secure land, labour, and concessions. Yankee capitalism has historically backed Guatemalan oligarchs and their militarisation of Guatemalan life and carried out numerous coups to protect these interests, from the 1954 CIA overthrow of Jacobo Árbenz to more recent economic and political interventions. The oligarchs’ rule requires a combination of legal-clientelist institutions and outright coercion. They co-opt political parties, control key state ministries, and use the judiciary to neutralise opponents. When that fails, repression and violence are employed against organisers, Indigenous communities and trade-union militants.

The struggles of the Guatemalan working class against the oligarchs are not documented in the book. But these struggles are not isolated: the working class has challenged the supply chains and profit zones of global capital. Resistance to extractivism (mining and hydroelectric dams), land grabs for agro-exports, and labour discipline in maquilas strike at imperialist accumulation. International solidarity can disrupt investments, cut off supply-chain legitimacy and expose the complicity of multinational corporations and imperialist states. The global working class has an interest in supporting these struggles because they weaken the power of an oligarchy that helps sustain the world capitalist order and its wars.

Summary

Roman Krznaric’s book is a vital piece of journalism and provides essential insight into the world of the Guatemalan oligarchs. Krznaric’s suggestions for countering these oligarchs have profound weaknesses.  While addressing the moral and psychological gaps between wealthy elites and the poor, he argues that, to reduce inequality, workers and youth should challenge the oligarchs to change habits, broaden empathy, cultivate longer time horizons, and reframe public narratives so that disadvantaged people can adopt attitudes and strategies associated with success.

Krznaric’s approach is fundamentally an appeal to moral persuasion. He asks the wealthy to change hearts and minds — to exercise empathy, mentor, and open networks — relying on their voluntary moral action rather than on structural compulsion. He treats inequality partly as a deficit of habits and imagination among low-income people that can be remedied by teaching the “right” psychology and practices. These elements make the argument attractive to readers who prefer non-confrontational, reformist routes: it promises measurable improvements through persuasion, education and moral example, without directly challenging property relations or class power.

As Marxists point out, inequality is rooted in property relations, the extraction of surplus value and state power. Teaching better habits or eliciting elite empathy cannot change the class relations that produce mass poverty. Moral appeals to elites presuppose goodwill and avoid building an independent working class  

[1] The World View of the Oligarch in Guatemalan Politics.A thesis submitted for the degree of PhD in the Government Department of the University of Essex, Colchester, UK 2003

[2] Want to Challenge the Elite? Then first Understand What Makes Them Tick. frompoverty.oxfam.org.uk/want-to-challenge-the-elite-then-first-understand-what-makes-them-tick/