D2. Socialism

Host: To start, we would like to invite Mr Shi to share his experiences with us.

Shi Yongqin: My journey toward understanding Trotsky was not a conscious one. In our era, there were starkly contrasting attitudes towards major historical figures such as [Josef] Stalin and Trotsky: while Stalin was praised, Trotsky was completely denounced. At that time, research in this area in China was neither permitted nor feasible due to various constraints.

Later, during my time as a sent-down youth1From the 1950s into the 1970s, the ruling Chinese Communist Party “sent down” many young urban residents to the countryside to work and study., I sought to enrich myself through learning alongside my farming work. When I began studying Russian, I had no specific goal in mind; I simply hoped that one day I might read Russian literature, such as novels, in Russian. Russia has produced many great writers and immortal literary works, and it was this simple aspiration that motivated me to teach myself Russian.

As my proficiency in Russian improved, I developed an interest in becoming a translator and I wanted to translate some great works. However, all the great works by renowned Russian novelists had already been translated by others, and as a beginner, I felt unqualified to retranslate these classics.

Eventually, I came across Trotsky’s autobiography. Although I had not had the opportunity to study this subject in depth before, my exposure to films such as Lenin in 1918 and my experiences under the Stalinist system—along with certain phenomena in Chinese society—made me feel that these were incompatible with true socialist ideals. Reading Trotsky’s autobiography answered many of my questions about Soviet Party history and clarified my doubts regarding certain actions carried out under the banner of socialism.

“This is not merely about ‘rehabilitating’ Trotsky, as some might narrowly interpret it. Rather, I aim to present a genuine proletarian revolutionary and demonstrate what true socialist revolution should look like”—Shi Yongquin. Trotsky at his desk in 1918. Image by unknown photographer.

From that moment on, I decided to dedicate my life to translating Trotsky’s works. Trotsky’s autobiography became my first translation and the first publicly published work by Trotsky in China.2Alongside publicly published books, there are books that are translated and distributed exclusively among mid- to high-level members of the Communist Party of China for internal purposes only. This is a product of the unique political culture in modern China. Back then, Trotsky’s works were published in China only for the purpose of critically or selectively appropriating their ideas. Although some of his works had been published previously, they were limited to internal circulation. The translator’s preface I wrote for this book became the first positive evaluation of Trotsky published in mainland China.

Trotsky’s autobiography only covers his life up until his exile to Turkey in 1929, since it was published in 1930. Recognising the need for a complete biography, I later connected with Zheng Chaolin 3Zheng Chaolin (鄭超麟, 1901-1998) was a prominent Chinese Trotskyist intellectual and revolutionary who played a significant role in the early Chinese Communist movement. Born in Fujian, he was an early member of the Communist Party of China who later aligned with the Trotskyist opposition, becoming a key figure in the Chinese Left Opposition during the 1920s and 1930s. Throughout his life, Zheng experienced extensive political persecution, spending a total of 40 years in prison under both Nationalist and Communist regimes. Despite harsh conditions, he remained committed to his revolutionary principles and continued to develop his critical analysis of the Stalinist bureaucracy and alternative socialist perspectives. The collection Zheng Chaolin, Selected Writings, 1942–1998, published in 2023, represents a crucial archival contribution to understanding Chinese Trotskyism, documenting his intellectual evolution during decades of political isolation. The volume includes his reflections on Chinese revolutionary history, critiques of Stalinist policies, and personal accounts of political resistance.and others in Shanghai to begin translating Isaac Deutscher’s trilogy [on Trotsky—The Prophet Armed, The Prophet Unarmed, and The Prophet Outcast]. I organised the translation of the third volume and proofread the first edition six times due to quality concerns.

After this book was published, I read it thoroughly six times, and each reading moved me deeply. I was particularly impressed by Trotsky’s analysis of the German Communist Party’s misguided policies during the anti-fascist struggle, as well as his sharp and profound criticism of the Third Period theory and social fascism theory. Each reading left me inspired and filled with admiration.

Through my experience translating The Prophet trilogy, I determined my translation priorities. Since Trotsky was primarily a revolutionary, I focused on his revolutionary practices and guidance. Although I was not capable of translating his works on the Spanish Revolution at the moment, I first translated his collection on the October Revolution. Subsequently, I translated Trotsky on the Chinese Revolution and Trotsky on Anti-Fascist Struggles.

It is worth noting that The Prophet trilogy has received widespread acclaim in mainland China, with its third edition published [in 2023]. The three books I mentioned earlier—Trotsky on the October Revolution, Trotsky on the Chinese Revolution, and Trotsky on Anti-Fascist Struggles—were all published by Shaanxi People’s Publishing House. The latter two books have received particularly high ratings on Douban [A Chinese version of Goodreads], with Trotsky on the Chinese Revolution scoring 8.9 out of 10 and Trotsky on Anti-Fascist Struggles achieving an impressive 9.7 out of 10.

I believe that the internal party struggles within the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) during the 1920s marked a turning point in the history of the international Communist movement. These struggles led to the formation of the Stalinist system and laid the groundwork for bureaucratism in socialist states. In fact, expelling Trotsky out of the Soviet Union symbolically represented expelling Marxism itself. Additionally, I have translated the three-volume English edition of The Left Opposition, Trotsky on Culture in the Transition Period, and Trotsky on Socialist Economic Construction. Currently, I am working on translating a fourteen-volume collection of Trotsky’s writings from his final period of exile.

My ability to dedicate my life to translating Trotsky’s works is associated with the socialist education we experience during the red era. This led us to believe that a communist society was the inevitable direction of human development and the most ideal form of human society. Although I also write articles, these are merely byproducts of my translation work—translation has always been my primary focus.

Host: Thank you, Mr Shi, for sharing your experiences. Now we would like to invite Paul Le Blanc to share his experiences and insights.

Paul Le Blanc: I am honored to be part of this discussion, and I want to salute the activists who have organised this event, which I think is potentially the beginning of important interchanges and sharing across the borders of our countries and other countries as well.

As for my journey: I was born in 1947. My parents were left-wing labor activists who had been members of the Communist Party of the United States in the ’30s and ’40s. I grew up in the U.S. at a time of relative affluence of our capitalist system. The political atmosphere was permeated by Cold War anti-communism. That was certainly the case in the small Pennsylvania town where I grew up.

At that time, I was inspired by the ideals of what was supposed to be a democratic republic with liberty and justice for all in the U.S., but I discovered that it was far less free, far less just and far less democratic than we had been led to believe. The initial influences on me as I tried to understand the realities around me included social struggles and social movements, such as the labor movement that my parents had devoted their lives to, and in particular, trade unions. Also quite important in my developing consciousness were the growing anti-racist struggles and the civil rights movement in the U.S.

Then there were the anti-war stirrings and growing movements on that issue. There was the danger of nuclear war and protests against that. There was U.S. government support for right-wing dictators, and U.S. military interventions in Latin America, the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. Most significantly, there was the Vietnam War, which I saw growing and developing even as a teenager. I became active in the anti-war movement.

Later, I became aware of dissident poets and writers and intellectuals in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. I was influenced by the Chinese Revolution and felt the impact of Maoism. I was influenced and inspired by the Cuban Revolution.

More specific intellectual influences on me. There was a book by Victor Serge, who had been a Russian revolutionary and part of the Left Opposition led by Trotsky. He wrote a book that came out in 1937 called Russia Twenty Years After. My mother had bought that book as a teenager, but then, because of Stalinist influences, set it aside at her mother’s house. I discovered it at my grandmother’s house, and that became an important book for me.

I was influenced by C Wright Mills, a radical sociologist who wrote about the U.S. power elite and other things. He wrote a book called The Marxists, which introduced me to various Marxists and Marxist writings and ideas. Through that, I became aware of Deutscher, and I began to read Deutscher’s biography of Stalin, and then his biography of Trotsky and various other writings.

My parents brought various left-wing publications into the house. There was a subscription to a magazine called Monthly Review, edited by Paul Sweezy and Leo Huberman and then Harry Magdoff. That was an independent Marxist magazine influenced by Maoism to some extent, but it was an important influence for me. Another periodical that came into my house was called The Progressive, a left-liberal magazine. Another was The National Guardian, which was a left-wing weekly that influenced me. And then, on my own, I subscribed to a magazine called New Politics, which was a left-wing socialist magazine. These were some of the influences on me as I was going through my later teenage years.

Later, I was influenced by Ernest Mandel, who was a great Marxist economist and writer from Belgium, and a Trotskyist. And then George Breitman, who edited writings by Malcolm X and Trotsky. I came to know both Mandel and Breitman personally, and they became mentors of mine. I was also influenced by various other Marxist writings.

I considered joining the youth groups of the Socialist Party and of the Communist Party, but I did not. Instead, I became part of the New Left and joined an organisation called Students for a Democratic Society, which was much more open and vague in its ideology. At a certain point I concluded it was inadequate.

I then found my way to an organization called the Socialist Workers Party, which was affiliated with the Fourth International, a network of Trotskyist parties around the world. These provided a certain coherent thinking and disciplined activism, and a Trotskyist understanding of Marxism that was internationalist, that was committed to revolutionary democracy, revolutionary socialism, and that was critical minded. So these were the influences on me as I made my journey to Trotskyism.

H: Thank you for your sharing, Paul. Would you like to add anything, Mr Shi?

SY: I see significant differences between Professor Le Blanc and myself. He had the opportunity to be influenced by various events in his social environment, including social, historical, and organizational influences. I, however, only began engaging with Trotsky’s works and translation when I was nearly 40 (37 or 38). Professor Le Blanc has a much broader perspective, having personally participated in social movements, while I am merely a late-starting translator. I believe my most valuable contribution has been translating Trotsky’s works. Although some have encouraged me to write, I feel I cannot write as well as Trotsky did.

PLB: I am immensely impressed by what Mr Shi presented in his discussion of his journey, and I am very impressed with the accomplishments that he has been part of. It is extremely important what he has been able to do. Our journeys are different and have involved different aspects, different qualities, which is to be expected given that we grew up in very different cultures and very different contexts.

When I was in Wuhan for a conference on Rosa Luxemburg and then another international conference on Lenin, I was able to connect with a number of scholars, especially younger scholars, and people who were searching and asking critical questions. This struck me as extremely exciting and important. The resources that Mr. Shi is making available to this rising layer of people in China are incredibly important. So I am very pleased to know him, and I admire and respect the work that he is doing very much.

H: There is an interesting point that we discovered as young students in Hong Kong. In our education, we have engaged deeply with various works, from both West and East, that shape our understanding of society and history. Chinese history is a fundamental part of our curriculum. Additionally, the method from the West also influenced us a lot, for example, The Power Elite by C. Wright Mills is regarded as a classic in our sociology program, offering critical insights into the structures of power within society.

Sociologist C. Wright Mills (left) with writer, filmmaker, and activist Saul Landau. Image by Institute for Policy Studies.

Despite this structured learning, many of us often feel dissatisfied with the educational content. This discontent has led some students to explore leftist ideas and its interpretations of Chinese history. The works of scholars like Mr. Shi have been instrumental in helping us grasp the complexities of the current socio-political landscape in Hong Kong and mainland China. We therefore could view Hong Kong as a product of China’s unfinished revolution, which adds a significant historical dimension to our studies. This perspective enables us to draw interesting comparisons between China and the U.S., highlighting the various influences that shape both societies, from a methodological comparison perspective.

SY: Trotsky’s method of argumentation is extremely rigorous. Through translating his works, I have adopted this rigorous approach to argumentation, which has significantly influenced my own writing style. As a result, my articles exhibit a similar logical framework.

In the field of party history research in China, scholars seem to accept only views up to [Nikolai] Bukharin, while completely dismissing Trotsky’s perspectives. At first, I believed that my translations could not be published due to censorship from the General Administration of Press and Publication. However, I later discovered that the reviewers at the Compilation and Translation Bureau4In the realm of Chinese academic publishing, the censorship process for scholarly works involves multiple layers of institutional review. Typically, manuscripts undergo rigorous screening by institutional review boards, which are often ideologically aligned with prevailing state narratives. For politically sensitive topics, such as party history, manuscripts must pass through the Compilation and Translation Bureau, a key state organ responsible for vetting historical and theoretical publications. The review process is characterized by opaque decision-making mechanisms where reviewers can reject works without providing substantive explanations. These reviewers, often representing specific academic factions or ideological camps (such as the Bukharinist perspective mentioned), wield significant power in determining which historical interpretations become publicly accessible. Their decisions are rarely challenged, creating a systemic barrier to alternative historical narratives that might deviate from officially sanctioned interpretations. were Bukharinists who fundamentally rejected Trotsky’s ideas. More regrettably, they neither explained their reasons for rejection nor were willing to engage in public debate.

H: Here we could find that for Chinese scholars, argument is not an end in itself; rather, it serves as a practical methodology to determine the direction China should take. It is not merely a debate; it is almost a governance and revolutionary pathway approach. When certain historical events are discussed, they often transcend mere history in China and take on a methodological significance. The question becomes: Which school of thought (which means what to do) do we actually align with? This perspective can make it difficult for writers like Mr. Shi to publish their work in China.

SY: Therefore, a thoroughly developed theory can be highly convincing. When an article is well-supported by historical evidence, demonstrates rigorous logical reasoning, and reveals the truth, it becomes irrefutably persuasive.

Reflecting on the reasons for Trotsky’s defeat in the party struggle highlights a stark contrast: While Trotsky engaged in ideological and theoretical debates, Stalin relied on party discipline and state machinery to suppress opposition. In such circumstances—where one side wields significant political power and state resources, while the other depends solely on theoretical discourse—the outcome is almost predetermined.

These are my thoughts on this matter. Now, I would pass to professor Le Blanc to share his perspectives.

PLB: I will add some thoughts to this. First of all, I very much agree with Mr. Shi and others on Trotsky’s brilliance and his qualities as a Marxist and as a revolutionary, which have been distorted; but we must be able to understand and incorporate them into our own understanding and thinking in order to be adequate activists and scholars of Russian history and world history. One of the things that impressed me greatly about Mr. Shi’s work translated into English was a long interview giving a panoramic view of Trotsky’s life and thought; I am hoping that this can be circulated widely because it is incredibly valuable.

At the same time, I would argue—and I assume we have agreement, but in any event I think it is worth emphasizing—that Trotsky was not simply a godlike genius; he was part of a revolutionary collective. He could not have been effective if he was not part of a very broad revolutionary collective in the Communist movements leading up to the 1917 revolution and then in the 1920s.

Trotsky was not simply a godlike genius; he was part of a revolutionary collective—Paul Le Blanc.

In Trotsky’s mature thinking, Lenin was central; he had committed himself to this collective so there are Trotsky’s ideas but also Lenin’s ideas—and not simply Lenin’s ideas but also those of other comrades that must be looked at—in some cases critiqued and rejected. Trotsky was part of a revolutionary collective; that is one aspect of his strength that we must seek to replicate—to develop more of a revolutionary collective that is not dependent on one person’s ideas but is part of an ongoing collective revolutionary process of thinking and carrying out activities.

In this context, Trotsky has been expelled from the CPSU—from the Soviet Union itself—from life. From the consideration of Marxist activists and other activists it is essential to bring him back in, to help people find their way—as some of us have—to the brilliance and qualities that Trotsky represents regarding revolution—the struggle for socialism—and what socialism really is. He represents this but he was not alone; there were others we must also look at in the revolutionary collective. We must commit ourselves not simply to Mao or Stalin or Trotsky but to something better than that.

I hope my meaning is clear; that is what I wanted to offer in this important discussion.

H: Professor Shi, would you like to share your opinion on professor Le Blanc’s comments?

SY: Revolution is a collective endeavor involving all of humanity. Marx identified the proletariat as the primary force for social transformation because it represents the interests of the majority and the liberation of all people. While many assert that China’s proletariat is weak dating back to the 1920s, the reality is that the working class occupies a disadvantaged position in both developed and developing countries. The capital power lies with the bourgeois ruling class, which controls cultural and state apparatus.

In a proletarian revolution, the role of revolutionary leadership is particularly crucial. For instance, the CPSU, initially founded by Lenin as a proletarian party, gradually became an instrument of Stalin’s dictatorship after Lenin’s death and Trotsky’s defeat. Marxists have long debated the role of individuals in historical processes. While individuals can indeed exert decisive influence at times, for a revolution to succeed, we must return to Marx’s assertion: Theory becomes convincing when it is comprehensive, and when theory convinces people, it transforms into a powerful material force.

PLB: Yes, I think we are in basic agreement. I basically agree with what Mr. Shi has just expressed.

H: I would like to add a few points here. In China, serving as a double-edged legacy, Maoist ideology is profoundly influential, which compels some individuals to voice alternative perspectives in capitalist China. In a sense, these alternative voices are necessary given Mao’s enduring impact. When we critique Maoism, Trotsky often emerges as a figure who is positioned in competition with both Mao and Lenin. This creates a complex and contradictory situation, which potentially led to an icon cult of personality.

SY: I am clear about my objective: to restore Trotsky’s true history through translation and writing. This is not merely about “rehabilitating” Trotsky, as some might narrowly interpret it. Rather, I aim to present a genuine proletarian revolutionary and demonstrate what true socialist revolution should look like.

H: I believe Mr. Shi has highlighted the importance of examining Trotsky’s role. One key aspect is understanding how his figure is perceived within the U.S. context? As Mr. Shi has pointed out, it is crucial to identify a significant figure that illustrates the original phase of the working-class movement and Marx’s critique. Could you elaborate on this? Specifically, during your experiences in the Cold War or under capitalist ideology, what significance did discovering figures such as Lenin or Trotsky hold for you then, and how does that relevance continue today?

PLB: For understanding reality, including my own reality, in a way that seeks to change that reality for the better, that seeks to bring about rule by the people as opposed to rule by the rich over society. So, for many activists—not all—but many activists, Lenin and Trotsky have become symbols that can be valuable; their ideas are invaluable and essential for many of us as we seek to understand and change reality.

We must challenge distorted notions of what socialism is in the minds of many people. What Stalin did and represented was a dictatorship—a terrible dictatorship. Many people in the U.S. think that is what socialism is. Also, the struggle is not to say, “no, here are the words of Trotsky,” but rather to point to the oppressive realities of U.S. capitalism that must be overcome. This is what revolutionaries in Russia were trying to accomplish, and they failed. Many of them conducted a struggle against this dictatorship of Stalin that was not socialism at all, and they showed how it was not socialism at all.

We have to rely on our own power—the collective power of the people and especially of the working class. There are struggles in the U.S. that have shown this: of the labour and civil rights movement, anti-racist struggles, women’s struggles, and so forth. That is the dynamic that I see.

It may be different in China in some ways since China made a revolution in the name of socialism and communism; large numbers of people were won to that and are committed to it in some form or another. Whereas in the U.S., that is very much not the case. So, it makes more sense to talk about not certain personalities but rather realities on the ground that people are facing and try to explain why those realities are so bad and what can be done to overcome that oppression. In doing that, some of us who are activists make use of Marx, Lenin, Luxemburg, Trotsky and so forth, to advance the struggle. That is the dynamic that I have been part of.

Some activists reject Marx or Lenin or Trotsky; others turn them into gods—talking about “Lenin said this” or “Trotsky said that”—and most people do not understand what they are talking about. Both tendencies should be avoided; Trotsky and Lenin would have completely agreed with that. Their method was not to find out who is the human god and follow that person but rather to organise. Organise more and more of the working class—the oppressed—and others to struggle against oppression, but use Marxism as a tool in that struggle.

I am not sure if this completely answers your question, but your question has elicited this response from me. I hope it is helpful.

H: It is quite interesting because I think what Mr. Shi is trying to convey is that he believes socialism is the path for China’s development pathway, therefore the question is: If this is not the true pathway to socialism, then what is the alternative way to socialism? From the U.S. perspective, however, the situation is somewhat different; it’s more about questioning capitalism, stating that it is not working.

This raises a different question: If capitalism is not working, how can we abolish it? This is a concern for the United States. In contrast, the situation in China is entirely different. I find this particularly intriguing because both scenarios are interconnected, as they both address what is genuinely necessary for a socialist revolution.

SY: The difference between professor Le Blanc and me lies not so much in our analytical perspectives but rather in the different stages of our work. I am primarily focused on enlightenment efforts, while professor Le Blanc employs Marxist, Leninist, and Trotskyist methods as an activist aiming for social transformation.

Although theory and practice are interconnected, my current priority is to introduce representative content to the Chinese audience, whereas professor Le Blanc emphasises practical activism. In the U.S., there is a wealth of translations available, not only of Trotsky’s works but also those by Luxemburg and others; unfortunately, such resources are lacking in China.

As for me, I am now 75 years old—two years younger than Professor Le Blanc—so I can only engage in activities that are within my capabilities.

H: I find it fascinating to see the different ways in which you engage with Marxism. For instance, Mr. Shi was introduced to Marxism through Soviet Russia, where literature played a significant role in shaping his understanding. In contrast, professor Le Blanc approaches Marxism from a different perspective, focusing on addressing the analytical crisis within capitalism.

This brings us to another important question: Given the diverse contexts of Chinese and U.S. perspectives, what defines a Marxist? What does it mean to identify as a Marxist? What characteristics should a Marxist possess? I believe this is a valuable topic for exploration, as Marxism can encompass a wide range of interpretations.

PLB: I am interested in exploring this question of what should the standards be for a Marxist. But I want to say one additional thing about this last phase of our discussion.

When I was the age of the activists I see in Hong Kong, I was immersing myself in the writings of Deutscher and Trotsky that Mr. Shi has been translating for Chinese activists. I was immersing myself in these things. They were incredibly important to me, the various volumes that Trotsky wrote, including the fourteen volumes of his later writings that Mr. Shi is in the process of translating and the Deutscher trilogy — these were part of the process that formed me. And so I think it’s incredibly important that Mr. Shi is making these resources available to many thousands of activists in China and elsewhere.

So we are at different stages in some ways. One of the things that also is highlighted in my mind, as I am listening to and participating in this discussion, is the incredibly practical importance of internationalism. It is not just a slogan and a nice idea, but it is vital for us if we want to develop as revolutionaries and help advance the revolutionary struggle in our different contexts, in our different cultures.

I made some notes for myself [regarding your question], and since I am still talking I can present these as part of opening this phase of the discussion. These are the six notes I took down on the standards of a Marxist.

One, for me, and I think for Marx, is commitment to struggle against oppression in all of its forms, for a better society, with freedom for all, and for the most thoroughgoing democracy, rule by the people. So, commitment to the struggle for those things.

Two, critical-mindedness. Marx once emphasised that we must doubt everything. That does not mean reject everything, but doubt everything, be critical-minded and, at the same time, be open to new realities and understanding them, be open to the ideas of others, including others with whom we disagree and who may be wrong on one thing but may have an insight on something else.

A third aspect of Marxism must be to understand the centrality of the economy and economic development to the development of history and society. And to understand that for the past several thousand years, society has been divided into classes. We stand with the laboring classes, with the oppressed majority, and today with the working class. So, that is important. Also to understand the global nature of capitalism, which also means the global nature of its alternatives—socialism must be global in order to realize its various aspects.

A fourth essential for me and for many Marxists is dialectics: an understanding that everything is changing all the time, and reality is full of contradictions that are interacting with each other in all kinds of ways. We must understand this about ourselves, about our movement, our struggles, our society, our economy and so forth. We must try to understand things in their complexity, their dialectical nature and their evolution, seeing cause and effect and so forth.

Everything that I have been saying so far is part of number five, which is historical materialism, the materialist conception of history.

And all of this blended together leads to number six: a commitment to socialism. Socialism would involve the most thoroughgoing democracy: rule by the people with freedom and justice for all.

So, for me, these are the standards of a Marxist. There are other things that could be said, but these are the notes that I made as I was trying to think through what are the standards of a Marxist.

H: Thank you for sharing; then we can move on to Mr. Shi.

SY: Professor Le Blanc has thoroughly outlined the standards of a Marxist. I would like to add one important point: the most significant measure of a Marxist is their commitment to the liberation of all humanity. This requires a broad vision. As Marx stated: “The proletariat can only liberate itself by liberating all humanity.” This statement encapsulates the spirit that Marxists should embody. In this context, Lenin and Trotsky serve as exemplary figures who effectively applied Marxist theory in practice.

Only truly strong individuals can exhibit tolerance and magnanimity—qualities we now refer to as the democratic spirit. This includes the ability to accommodate differing opinions, accept diverse types of people, and unite them into a collective strength. In contrast, Stalin demonstrated weakness. The weak often lack tolerance; like a dwarf who, despite great effort, defeats a giant but would never spare its life. This illustrates that certain qualities are intrinsically linked to personal character; Only genuinely strong individuals possess the confidence to embrace different voices.

Examining the history of the CPSU reveals a fundamental distinction between Lenin and Stalin’s leadership styles. Lenin emphasised mobilising people’s initiative, while Stalin focused on control. As [Vyacheslav] Molotov noted in over a hundred interviews, during Lenin’s era everything was vigorously debated within the party; under Stalin, silence prevailed. This difference underscores that only truly strong leaders can foster party democracy and fully unleash individual initiative.

The Bolshevik Party under Lenin was highly democratic; it is entirely incorrect to assert that all of Stalin’s practices originated from Lenin. Only under genuine leadership can individuals realise their potential, democracy be achieved, and personalities be fully expressed. However, under Stalin’s dictatorship, none of this is possible.

PLB: I very much agree with Mr. Shi’s points; these are important and invaluable.

H: I think it is important to provide some cultural context. When Mr. Shi refers to “Marxist,” he is actually talking about someone who can accommodate different ideas. This concept extends beyond Marxism; it signifies a person with significant influence.

This discussion revolves around the expression of opinions within an organisation. Mr. Shi is highlighting that, in the Chinese context, there may be misunderstandings about what it means to be strong. Typically, “strong man” suggests authority, but this does not capture the full essence of the term. It is not merely about coercive authority; rather, Mr. Shi is referring to a form of strength that involves agency and active engagement.

SY: That is not what I meant. The strong person I am referring to must first possess foresight and the ability to accurately understand the directions of dialectical historical development. Only those who can see from such heights can have true confidence—confidence that comes from knowing they are aligned with historical trends.

While Trotsky engaged in ideological and theoretical debates, Stalin relied on party discipline and state machinery to suppress opposition. In such circumstances … the outcome is almost predetermined—Shi Yongqin.

Such individuals can perceive not only the overarching narrative but also every significant turning point in history with clarity. For example, Trotsky described in his autobiography how, during the 1905 revolution, many decisions were made spontaneously, yet they felt natural and inevitable.

This quality reflects the strength I am talking about, such as Trotsky, who never acted out of personal ambition but fought solely for historical progress and for the liberation of humanity as a whole. Thus, my concept of strength embodies selflessness: the ability to dedicate oneself entirely to a cause while possessing foresight. These qualities are essential for leadership, especially when compared to ordinary Communists who may only need a spirit of sacrifice and loyalty to their cause.

H: So, the revolutionary views himself as a historical subject, this is what professor Shi wanted to point out: being a strong person who is simultaneously a Marxist. Moreover, one must selflessly dedicate oneself, sacrificing for historical liberation and breaking through the current historical framework.

Professor Le Blanc, do you have any further thoughts on this point? Mr. Shi indeed holds high moral standards regarding these issues. For him, Marx represents selflessness and dedication. If these qualities define a qualified Marxist, how do you perceive this?

PLB: I think our conversation has been very rich; Perhaps it is time we start closing this discussion while involving more participants by sharing publicly available transcripts soon after this program concludes. I highly value selfless efforts from those organizing this program—there may still be more points worth discussing—but looking forward to continuing dialogues alongside Mr. Shi and comrades here regarding topics we have explored together thus far. I believe we have covered substantial ground already!

SY: Thank you professor Le Blanc for sharing your insights and thoughts with us—you are a revolutionary activist while I am merely a translator.

Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

The post Leftist studies in China and the United States appeared first on Tempest.

This moment is an important wake-up call for the entire Left, including about our own weaknesses and those of our movements. Addressing these facts and arriving at the required strategic conclusions is necessary to confront the imminent attacks, scapegoating, and authoritarian efforts of the incoming Trump administration.

The Democrats were unable to defeat Trump because they have presided over economic conditions that have produced immiseration and precarity for the vast majority. Indeed, a Democratic president had been in the White House for twelve of the seventeen hard years since the start of the long depression in December 2007. The Biden administration failed to stop inflation from hammering working-class living standards. The meager reforms Joe Biden and Kamala Harris offered failed to meet the needs of a struggling population. Instead, they oversaw an austerity regime as popular pandemic benefits expired. The Democrats also made it a point to spit in the face of the Palestine movement as they facilitate the genocide.

Harris ran a right-wing, pro-capitalist, pro-imperialist campaign designed to appeal to conservative suburban swing voters. She failed to win enough swing voters to replace millions of voters from the Democratic Party electoral base that she lost. She also paid a price for her party’s unrelenting support for Zionist terror.

Trump won in part because, for many, he appeared to be the sole opposition to a bankrupt political establishment. However, he persuaded only about one-third of the electorate to give him their vote. His was a narrow win without a popular mandate for far-right governance. Trump’s margin of victory did include notable gains among Latinos and Black men.

Yet, despite the larger electorate in 2024, Trump only increased his vote total by about three million votes while the Democrats lost close to six million votes compared to 2020. Notably, some estimates place the total number of eligible voters who chose not to participate at 90 million people (greater than the vote totals for either candidate). These are not signs that the majority of people in the United States have been won over to a far-right program. These are signs of deep-seated disillusionment with the status quo.

Trump won a close election, but he will govern as if he has a popular mandate. Republicans will possess all three branches of the federal government and will act quickly. Trump vowed to act as a dictator on day one of his second administration. Trump and the Republicans have a two-year window to implement their far-right program before the 2026 midterm elections, and they may take big risks in an all-out effort to do so.

What is going to happen in a second Trump term?

Trump and his Republican Party pose a more serious danger than during his first term in office. This time they have a plan–the authoritarian program Project 2025–and they are appointing a loyal cabinet to implement it. Their priorities are well-known: tax cuts for the rich, austerity for the rest; deregulation and attacks on parts of the administrative state; and weaponization of other parts of the state; new tariffs; mass deportations; war on trans people; repression of dissent, especially pro-Palestine activism; and transactional militarism.

Trump has not established a stable alliance of social forces capable of exercising leadership over society by winning mass consent to his vision of social order. Instead, he brings together a strange mixture of different elements, including rogue billionaires–a minority of the capitalist class–concentrated in tech and cryptocurrency, large parts of the middle class, and a minority of the multiracial working class. Each of these elements has been drawn into Trump’s tenuous coalition for different reasons, and their material interests are in tension. Working-class Trump supporters frustrated over the state of the economy are blaming  immigrants. Small business owners who support Trump are angry about the impact of pandemic lockdowns and other regulations. Finally, Trump’s lumpen capitalist base sees the potential for a state that hides their crimes and ignores their transgressions.

The experience of Trump in office will undermine the support he has built as a candidate opposed to an unpopular incumbent. His program does not propose real solutions to the problems frustrating many of the voters who lent him their support. Tariffs and deportations will not fight inflation–on the contrary, they will exacerbate it. A likely increase in military conflict undermines Trump’s promises to stop spending public money on “foreign entanglements.”

The much belated announcement of the Gaza cease-fire, on the eve of Trump’s inauguration, demonstrates just how little urgency the Biden administration gave to the end of the genocide over the last fifteen months. But it should not sow any illusions about Trump’s pending role as the leader of U.S. empire or his willingness to challenge the mass murderers of the Netanyahu administration. To say the least, any “solutions” offered by the Trump administration will not be concerned with regional peace or democracy, let alone Palestinian liberation, and are likely to make the dynamics worse.

The second Trump term will not be defined by stability. Nor will support for the far right necessarily grow. Rather, his administration will be governing in increasingly difficult, dangerous and volatile circumstances. Whatever position of power Trump operates from, his decisions and policies in office will be incapable of resolving the underlying rot in U.S. society and the global capitalist system. They will only produce further discontent.

Across the globe, hatred and anger at ruling classes and their parties have produced unexpected volatility and episodic revolt. South Korea, Georgia, and Syria are the most recent examples of this. The United States is part of this global dynamic. We should expect conflict and episodic resistance here as well. However daunting, the Left must get its act together to build a broad and endurable opposition.

Unlike 2016, when shock and outrage at Trump’s first victory had mass expression and direction, there is, among liberal forces today, a widespread demobilization and disorientation. Of course, this does not mean that there will not be resistance, just that the terrain on which we fight will be quite different. Just as when the Dobbs decision came down in 2022, the Democrats are showing no sign that they will wage a fight. Instead, the party is continuing to strengthen its commitment to legalistic defenses that are unlikely to succeed in courts packed with right-wing judges.

We have lessons to learn

At least in part, the different political terrain in 2016 and 2024 reflect choices made by the socialist Left over those years. Arguments for supporting a rightward-moving Democratic Party were common on the socialist Left since 2016 and certainly this year. Many argued that preventing the rise of fascism required supporting the election of Democrats as if doing so would allow the Left to live and fight another day.

What outcome did this strategy produce? On the precipice of Trump’s inauguration, it seems to have produced disorientation and further disillusionment and fear.

The Left must absorb certain lessons about how we got here. When socialist politics and social movements are dissolved into the Democratic Party, they lose the capacity to develop into a self-reliant power. The resistance to Trump and the far right cannot bow to the leadership of the Democratic Party, or it will lead us in a circle right back to where we came from. A prime example is the trajectory from the George Floyd Uprising in 2020 to Kamala Harris’ pro-cop campaign in 2024. NGO forces organized how many protests during the first Trump term, only to circulate calls to vote for Democrats in the next election? Instead, we need membership organizations and ongoing campaigns that people can join and demands that they can fight for. We need independent strategies developed by ordinary people organizing alongside each other, not top-down, staff-driven models that use protests as photo-ops on a campaign trail.

With the benefit of the experience of these last eight years, we should understand the importance of committing ourselves to broad unity in action to wage defensive struggles. We know who has been targeted by the far right: the LGBTQ+ community, immigrants, unions, the Palestine movement and the Left as a whole. We need to organize to defend ourselves and fight the right. This work won’t be done on our behalf by government figures or by union and NGO officials. No one is coming to save us.

This general orientation is based on solidarity: The idea that an injury to one is an injury to all must guide us. It is the only way we can forge the power to resist Trump’s attempts to divide and conquer. It will be a strategic disaster, not to mention an abdication of our commitments as socialists if we were to abandon a principled defense of democratic rights.  We must be seen to lead in defending trans people, migrants, or any other group of oppressed people. Giving this up for the sake of building shallow, supposedly “universal” unity on “bread-and-butter” issues or, worse, in the name of “anti-woke” ideology, will destroy the ability of the Left to counter the far-right where it is taking root.

The Palestine solidarity movement is of special strategic importance. It is facing the leading edge of attacks against the right to organize and the right to speak out against a racist, genocidal state. These attacks are being used to dampen the resolve of anyone who wants to take a stand at their workplace, on their campus, or in their neighborhood. Israel also remains of particular significance to the ability of U.S imperialism to control southwest Asia and its oil reserves. Palestine and resistance throughout the region, like the uprising in Syria that toppled Assad, are key to the opposition to Trump.

For struggle and breaking out of the two-party stranglehold

There should be no question that Trump and the Republicans will overreach in some ways, defeating themselves by seeking to do or gain too much. This will inevitably produce splits within the capitalist establishment. New social movements may emerge from those ruptures. Whatever our challenges, these movements will contain opportunities for forging a resistance that refuses to be lured back into the Democratic Party ranks in 2026 and in 2028.

Nowhere in the world has the strategy of electoralism—treating elections as the primary way to change society–even mitigated, let alone solved, the problems of the 21st century’s unfolding catastrophes. In fact, it has strengthened the hand of the far right everywhere.

Transformative change will require us to build resilient, democratic, and politically independent organizations out of the movements to come. After all, it was mass protests and mass strikes that won major reforms in the 1930s and 1960s, the two periods of the largest advances for the working class and oppressed. This is not an argument against engaging in electoral politics; rather, it is one that takes seriously the road that we must travel if we are going to get where we need to go. First and foremost, we need a strategy that fully breaks the Democratic Party’s stranglehold on the Left. Senator Bernie Sanders and the Squad in Congress have not achieved this. At best, they are isolated as a loyal opposition inside a hostile party. At worst, they are collaborators willing to attack our movements in order to get the positions they think are going to give them leverage. (Look no further than the vote on the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Jamaal Bowman.)

Rather than playing a rigged game of high politics, the Left urgently needs to set a course towards building a party of our own. We need an organization that can challenge the two parties of capital not only at the ballot box but also in the streets, on campuses, and most importantly, at the workplace. The Left needs a strategic approach to elections. In some cases, we should participate and run our own candidates especially in one party strongholds—most of the U.S.—and on our own ballot line. However, we should do so with no illusions that politicians can deliver reforms from office without mass disruptive struggle from below. Those candidates must be accountable to our party, social movements, and unions, not free agents undisciplined by the people who elected them. Furthermore, this would have to be a very different kind of party, one primarily focused on action where ordinary people have power—not the halls of government, but in neighborhoods, on campuses, and in workplaces. These are where we can organize our social strength—our class power—to shake things up and shut things down through mass strikes and protests.

The Left should be actively discussing the paths to and parameters for such a party, but we know that it cannot simply be proclaimed into existence. The small organizations of the Left that field candidates can be commended for offering an opportunity for a protest vote, but these are not real parties. None of them organizes with a genuine base of militants in the working class and among the oppressed. No such party exists at the current time in the United States.

The politics of a future Left party cannot be negotiated in advance but rather must be forged out of common struggle. The only way to get there is through a process of organizing and activity. The new resistance we are required to build under Trump can be an important avenue towards that goal, but it requires socialists to help chart the way forward through the experience of struggle.

The Left must refuse to acquiesce to the two-party electoral options that are currently on offer, but we also cannot pretend that there is a shortcut through the process that has to take place. There will be no significant break with the Democrats when working people and the oppressed feel disempowered and without an alternative path forward. It is the experience of struggle—demands, victories, losses, votes, challenges, opportunities, warts and all—that will transform people’s expectations and activity that then makes the possibility for new organizations to take root. It is this process and that experience and vision that socialists should have in mind as we prepare for the second Trump term.

Necessary struggles bring opportunities

Neither Tempest nor any other Left current can by itself fill the void of what needs to be built. However, we must be collectively building open democratic entry points for people to join the struggles as they continue to unfold. Much of this work will be dependent on local conditions and local forces, but this approach should drive all of our work. Our political horizons will inevitably have to transcend the local conditions given how much is being determined by national, and even international, dynamics. This will be an essential part of building an infrastructure of dissent that can unlock the possibility of greater organizational unity. Supporting, and where needed creating, independent organizations of struggle will be key.

The second Trump administration has promised shock and awe as it begins its hateful rampage. In so doing, it will seek to project an inevitability and omnipotence that it does not (yet) have. While the authoritarian right hopes to disarm any resistance and to continue rallying capital to its banner we should not allow a sense of despair and disillusionment to do this work for them. We have no choice but to fight the new authoritarianism. In so doing we can and must develop a stronger Left strategy to hone the resistance into a more effective force—one that shows a way out of the impasse we have been stuck in for too long. And in so doing we can demonstrate that there is still power in our collective capacity to struggle for a world based on solidarity and an actual alternative to the rule and coercion of these odious oligarchs and capital as a whole.

Featured Image credit: Trump White House; modified by Tempest.

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In 2016, the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) became one of the year’s many surprises when it suddenly transformed from a stagnant social democratic paper organization into the center of gravity on the U.S. Left. For the next five years, DSA’s rapid growth was the subject of much commentary as it became an organization of nearly 90,000, with members in every state and major city in the United States.

This growth came to a definite end in 2021. At the August 2021 DSA National Convention, then-National Director Maria Svart said that membership growth had “slowed to a trickle.” The honeymoon period from 2016–2019 had come to an end when confronted with strategic questions around COVID-19, Black Lives Matter, electoral strategy, and internal organization. These issues exploded in what has come to be known as the “Bowman Affair,” which marked a crisis within the organization and exodus of many members.

Until recently, no data has been available to make an objective evaluation of DSA’s trajectory. Membership data has not been widely available, and the reports that have come from the organization for years were only carefully selected partial figures. The National Political Committee (NPC)—DSA’s national leadership—seated in the fall of 2023 began reporting membership figures that show the membership counts both nationally and by chapter from January 2020 to May 2024. In what follows, I analyze the membership data provided by DSA to give a view of the organization over the period that is based on objective metrics. After that, I offer some commentary on the trends and their context.

On the data and technical points

The data used here comes directly from the NPC’s figures in their “NPC—Chapter Breakdown of Membership—Public” spreadsheet. The data includes figures for the national organization as well as each chapter or organizing committee (geographic group of members that has not yet been recognized as a chapter).

The data shows two figures: “Total Membership” and “Membership In Good Standing.” This can be confusing, because DSA has an extremely permissive definition of membership: One is considered “in good standing” if they have paid dues anytime in the prior twelve (12) months. However, a person remains on the roster for an additional two years after their membership has lapsed. So, for example, December 2023 counts 71,015 total members (that is, anyone who has paid dues in the past three years, i.e. since December 2020!) but only 53,835 members in good standing, those who have paid any dues in the past year. 

This is an important point because DSA has historically reported the total membership figures, which exaggerate the current strength of the organization at any given time. The total membership figure obscures causal relationships; using those figures, we have a much harder time trying to understand if there were any events that impacted membership. 

Even with 50,000 members, DSA has not been a force building mobilization around the loss of Roe, emerging fascization, or practically anything unrelated to either public elections or its Emergency Workplace Organizing Committee.

The “members in good standing” numbers give us a more immediate sense of what has impacted membership in the organization. However, the figures do not distinguish between a lapsed membership and an outright quit. Unless there was direct communication from a member to the National DSA stating that they were quitting the organization, one could cease dues payment and remain a member in good standing for up to a year even if they had effectively left DSA.

The data also records the percentage change in the membership, as expressed by the formula (M2 – M1)/M1, where M1 is the prior month’s membership figures, and M2 is the following month’s figures; the change in members from M1 to M2 divided by M1’s shows the percentage that membership changed. In December 2021, total members were 94,733, and in the following month, January 2022, the total figures were 94,402. The percentage change was –0.35%, ([94,402 – 94,733] / 94,733). The percentage change in the NPC spreadsheet is only calculated for the Total Membership figures, so I have manually calculated the changes for the Members in Good Standing using the same formula.

Trends

The first graph shows “DSA Members in Good Standing, 2020-2024.” The graph is straightforward and shows that there was huge growth in 2020: from 34,000 members in good standing to 73,000. The organization more than doubled in size in a year. The peak of membership was in April 2021, at 78,682 members in good standing. The membership hovered around that point until October 2021, when it suddenly had the largest single-month drop in the entire data set: 5,536 members drop.

From there, it has been a steady decline in membership, month-over-month, for the last three years. The most recent figures show 50,713 members in good standing as of October 2024.

The second graph plots the percentage change for between months, both as a membership total (blue line) and for those in good standing (red line). This is a little trickier to follow, because the graph plots change between months. A “0 percent” indicates that organization size didn’t change; negatives show a lower membership count compared to the previous month; positives show an increase. Looking at it in percentages helps to measure the significance of any shifts from month to month.

While 2020 doubled the active membership, March and October of that year were the biggest spikes. February–March 2020 was the height of the Democratic primary between Bernie Sanders and Joe Biden, when Sanders had won the New Hampshire primary before Biden’s crushing victory on Super Tuesday. It suggests a relationship between Sanders’ primary wins in February and a bump for DSA. The second spike is October–December 2020, during the general election.

The two graphs together also demonstrate the exhaustion of the Sanders effect. From 2021 on, membership growth peaked in January 2021 at 4.1 percent growth of members in good standing, then dropped to less than 1% growth the next month, and then stagnation and decline. This occurred during the concerted “DSA 100K” campaign to actively grow the membership, followed by the 2022 “Recommitment Drive.” Both were touted as major successes for DSA. 

The rise and the slide. DSA’s members in good standing from 2020 to 2024. See the text for analysis. Image by the author. The numbers went down: Bowman disgraces DSA

The percentage change graph also shows the magnitude of the loss of members in October 2021: a 7.32 percent contraction in one month. It changes the pattern from holding steady around 78,000 members to a shock and then downward slope. This marks the height of the Bowman Affair, when three dozen local DSA chapters and many members individually petitioned for the expulsion of Rep. Jamaal Bowman from DSA membership. 

Friction with Bowman began in the mid-summer of 2021, largely confined to attempts by DSA’s BDS Working Group to change his position on Palestine. This broke into open dispute at large in August/September, and a general crisis for DSA in October 2021.

The NPC announced on December 2, 2021 that they would not expel Bowman, and then moved instead to discipline the BDS Working Group in February 2022, going the opposite direction. The numbers show an accelerated decline again from December to March, mirroring the NPC’s actions. 

I argued at the time that the NPC Majority, made up of partisans from Socialist Majority Caucus, Groundwork, and to a lesser extent Bread and Roses, had won the vote but lost the organization. We see here that DSA has never recovered after the Bowman Affair. In the period from October 2021 to March 2022, DSA lost 10,000 members in good standing; 5,536 were in October alone. 

This has been compounded by a budget crisis at the end of 2023, where reality finally caught up with DSA that the organization had been living beyond its means. That point is highlighted when you consider that DSA continued to report having upwards of 70,000 members as of December 2023, when it only had 54,000 paying dues; a margin of 16,000 people leaves a major gap in the expectation about the resources at your command. After 2020, when there was no longer an external Sanders effect upon the organization, DSA is largely responsible for its own fate. This does not seem to have shaken up the strategic view of DSA.

Month-on-month percentage changes in total membership (blue) and membership in good standing (red)—from 2020 to 2024. See the text for analysis. Image by the author. The end?

Can DSA rebound and become the center of the U.S. Left again? Let’s be blunt: no. 

As an organization, DSA is permanently tarnished by the Bowman Affair and has been shunned by Palestine solidarity activists for its actions in 2021–2022. In the last instance, DSA gained nothing for siding with Bowman—they lost thousands of members, and they lost Bowman, who distanced himself from DSA even before losing his office in 2024. If they had expelled or even censured Bowman, DSA may have been able to be a home for the movement against the genocide that has animated activism on college campuses and in the streets over the last year. 

Even with 50,000 members, DSA has not been a force building mobilization around the loss of Roe, emerging fascization, or practically anything unrelated to either public elections or its Emergency Workplace Organizing Committee (EWOC). DSA has not retained the layers of activists who flocked to it between 2016 and 2019; many members today are new to the organization, retreading the same ground and learning the first lessons of how to be in an organization that should have already been well established. DSA’s primary activity has been turnout for electoral cycles, and the premium placed upon policymakers to enact changes has discouraged mobilizations such as the 2017 “Fight the Right” protests that martyred DSA activist Heather Heyer.

This is no cause for celebration. The Left is perhaps at the weakest point it has been at in years. This is not unique to the United States, as the left-reformist efforts of the last decade have been exhausted. But we will need organizations that can simultaneously defend the remaining public goods and democratic rights while having a class conscious understanding of society and a socialist alternative we desperately need.

Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

Featured Image Credit: Image by JJjatiers; modified by Tempest.

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Amazon drivers and other workers, unionized under the Teamsters, were out on a nationwide strike this Christmas holiday week—the biggest one ever against the megacorporation. Workers at four Amazon facilities in Southern California have overwhelmingly voted to go on strike in response to the company’s ongoing refusal to bargain with them in good faith. More and more facilities held pickets each day, as the strike gained support in other facilities as well. The following reports are based on the observations of two members of the Los Angeles branch of Tempest Collective at two picket locations: DAX5, in the City of Industry (one of the official strike locations); and DPS1, an Amazon delivery facility in the nearby city of Rosemead.

City of Industry (DAX5), Michael Fabregas

The picket line had about 25 people, but there were 50-75 at another entrance to the facility. While mostly peaceful, there was occasional tension between striking workers and colleagues who didn’t support the union. Picketers engaged in conversations with drivers that slowed down delivery trucks entering and exiting. It seemed like there was a strategy of letting drivers who were sympathetic to unionization or that the union had already contacted leave without incident while holding up and attempting to dialogue with drivers they hadn’t contacted before for a brief pitch. It caused a bit of backup, but drivers seemed keen on hearing striking workers out.

There seemed to be a sense among the workers present that they were prepared for confrontation, enthusiastic about the ULP filing, quite vocal about the many abuses by Amazon, and energized for a prolonged fight. It was apparent that the strikers’ robust coordination and self-organization enabled them to handle tensions when they emerged. For example, it seemed like there was tacit acknowledgment among workers that drivers entering the facility with their signals on would be allowed in the yard. I assumed those with signals on had been previously approached by organizers, while those without signals on were to be approached for a conversation that day. One encounter turned a bit tense, but striking workers and Teamsters organizers were there to intervene. As an outsider, I had not been informed of this strategy and was left to defer to worker organizers to determine who to allow through. From what I could piece together, I understood the one confrontation to be partly the result of confusion and/or miscommunication between striking workers and those crossing the picket line. My feeling was that a commitment to a complete obstruction to entry, rather than the porous one deployed, would have been a more effective, and also provocative, strategy, a signal to those prevented from entry, not to mention those already in the facility from previous shifts, that the action could escalate into a disruptive and uncomfortable situation. This would have required a much larger contingent of picketers. Per the Teamster organizer, the City of Industry facility was not a choke point; this might provide insight as to why the action at that particular facility felt more like an isolated demonstration than a full-on blockade.

The Teamsters staff organizer on site said that the unionization drive at this site was successful, with over a majority signing, and that this line was for the various ULPs they had already filed. A Teamsters organizer told me that DAX5 is not considered a regional hub or choke point, but that actions are planned at the locations that are, like in Santa Ana and San Bernardino.

Workers recounted instances of union-busting that they experienced to me, like captive meetings and threats of retaliation for supporting the union. Many workers on the picket lines were young and appeared to be in their early 20s. DSA members showed up to support along with other community members, including former ISO activists and Jeff Cohen, the founder of Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting (FAIR). A Teamsters organizer was helping to advise a core of three workers who engaged in most of the conversations with the entering and exiting drivers.

Upon reflection, the action in City of Industry could have benefited from a more robust commitment to picket line militancy and solidarity from other unions. The allies who participated to whom I spoke (DSA, FAIR, a couple of leftists from the area) did not indicate they were from other unions; I assumed they were not. Being the only other union representative from any union at the location, the absence of this solidarity from my union brothers/sisters was heavy. I am a shop steward for SEIU 721 City of Los Angeles, and my union never sent out feeler emails to my unit for any of the Amazon actions, which I assume was the case for other units. If SEIU’s organizers were aware of the Amazon actions (I assume they were), they did not reach out to me, a rank-and-file shop steward. This seems to emphasize the belief that these short actions are not meant to stop production per se, but rather give the appearance that labor is doing something, get some splashy news coverage, and claim some sort of victory, however facile and superficial. It could be that these actions were cadre building efforts, as the genuine enthusiasm of the worker organizers hinted at a close core among them. They seemed committed to continued organizing through first contract negotiations.

Demonstration and the blockade of an Amazon logistics center on Uhlandstrasse in Berlin-Charlottenburg on “Black Friday”, November 24, 2017. Photo by Leonhard Lenz. Rosemead (DPS1), Promise Li

This picket began on Sunday, December 22, after workers picketing at DAX5 realized that their successes at the City of Industry facility were making the company divert packages to other facilities, including the locations in Rosemead and Anaheim. Unannounced pickets like the one at Rosemead have been swiftly and effectively organized to counteract the company’s attempts to recover from various key hubs, like DAX5, that have been impacted by the strike. A multi-ethnic group of two dozen Amazon drivers were on the picket around noon. I spread the word to other local activist groups in the surrounding area, like the Rosemead Tenants Union, who sent members to support. Rank-and-file Teamsters from other companies, like UPS, were also present to support.

We mainly picketed in front of the entrance, and Amazon workers engaged drivers coming out of the facility to tell them about the strike and encouraged them to join us. Many drivers seemed open to engaging in conversations with the picketers. Picketers  later told me that quite a few workers wanted to learn more about the strike and were leaving their contact information.

Some workers on the picket are currently employed at the City of Industry facility but used to work at Rosemead. One worker told me that drivers seemed more receptive at the Rosemead location than at the City of Industry one. They speculated that this is because union-busting felt much more intense at DAX5: workers were more exposed to Amazon’s anti-union propaganda through their captive audience meetings. They also mentioned that work routes were more strenuous while they were working at the Rosemead facility.

Richard Smith, a rank-and-file worker picketing at the Rosemead facility who has been working at DAX5 for the past six years, told me that working conditions at his site were bad. Workers have to hit a quota every hour in 8-9-hour shifts, and management wants workers to deliver at least 25 packages per hour. Smith mentioned that the metrics do not make any sense, and that there are many safety risks. He said that drivers delivering to residential areas and those delivering to commercial buildings are both expected to do around 190 packages a day, held to the same standard despite having very different working conditions.

Smith continued to elaborate:

drivers are constantly having to jump off the car and run around, and it’s impossible to expect drivers delivering in very different circumstances to perform at the same level. Especially when delivering to apartment buildings, drivers have to run up and down stairs quickly to meet these high standards, posing risky working conditions. Not meeting these standards would lead to managers reprimanding or even firing workers.

Smith felt optimistic about the strike, and was busy answering calls from new worker contacts from the Rosemead facility right before and after our interview. He told me that his DAX5 team at work has majority support for the union, with around 80 workers supporting in a unit of 110. But  because management continues to refuse to recognize and negotiate with them, they are out striking against unfair labor practices and not even for a contract yet.

Smith was keen to add that drivers are not just out on the picket for themselves, but for everyone working for Amazon—“custodians, line workers, and everyone else stuck on the conveyor line.” “We’re here picketing to let all the workers know they should not need to be scared out here,” Smith explained. “We all represent Amazon, and it’s time to show these big corporations that we need fair pay and benefits, especially over the holidays. It’s time for a change.”

Smith also noted that he has four children, and his 18-year-old son is out here picketing with him today. They struggle paycheck to paycheck, even though his wife also helps to provide for the family. He told me that many of his co-workers are sole providers, including a colleague who is a mother of five children. Smith said he could only imagine what their situation is like with Amazon’s low pay and meager benefits.

Featured Image credit: Joe Piette; modified by Tempest.
Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

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Students across New York University’s (NYU) Washington Square Park campus were preparing for the end of classes as the Fall semester quickly came to a close. However, those looking to enter the Bobst Library on the morning of December 12 were confronted with a reminder that their day-to-day academic existence at the largest private university in the world remained intertwined and impacted by the ongoing violence occurring across the globe in Palestine.

A line of students formed a human barrier in front of a red-stone, postmodern structure to reiterate demands that the university divest from Israeli companies and institutions that support the oppression of, and violence against, Palestinian people. By the early afternoon, the New York Police Department (NYPD) had deployed multiple vehicles and dozens of officers. A number of protesters were seen being arrested and placed in the back of a police van, as a crowd of students and supporters continued chants for divestment. White zip ties hung in clusters from uniformed officers’ belts. A drone hung in the air overhead. Protestors carried signs decrying NYU President Linda Mills and waved Palestinian flags.

The university itself was on “high alert”. Multiple emails were sent out campus-wide about the disruption at the library. According to a later note, the police presence at the university was purportedly to “help ensure the safety of community members and maintain order.” Eight protestors were arrested, according to NYU.

In a separate email Fountain Walker, NYU’s Vice President for Global Campus Safety, claimed that campus security found “targeted threatening graffiti” in the library that “triggered an investigation by law enforcement.”

“Violence and threats of violence directed against members of our community will not be tolerated and they are illegal. As the person responsible for the safety of this community, I view this matter with the utmost seriousness,” Walker wrote. “I certainly hope that I speak for everyone in condemning any threats of violence.”

In a related press release, NYU Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine (FSJP) claimed that at least two faculty members were among those arrested by the NYPD, which came after the arrested faculty and a colleague discovered they had been declared personae non grata by the university. This status, according to NYU FSJP, deactivates their ID cards and makes them ineligible to enter any NYU buildings, including those that contain their offices, laboratories, and classrooms. The faculty claim that the order came directly from the university’s provost, Georgina Dopico.

At least two faculty members were among those arrested by the NYPD…[and] had been declared personae non grata by the university. This status, according to NYU FSJP, deactivates their ID cards and makes them ineligible to enter any NYU buildings, including those that contain their offices, laboratories, and classrooms.

The Palestinian solidarity group also challenged the narrative of threatening graffiti within Bobst.

“There was no threatening language at the protests. There were no threatening signs. There were no threatening chants,” Professor Paula Chakravartty, NYU chapter vice president of the American Association of University Professors, was quoted saying in the release. “Was this graffiti scribbled in a bathroom? We have not been told.”

The response from the university to a relatively small, peaceful protest reflects the escalated antagonism towards pro-Palestinian activists within academic spaces, at NYU and elsewhere. Early in December news broke that police had raided George Mason University students’ homes in Virginia, following an FBI-led investigation into campus graffiti. The students are connected to Students for Justice in Palestine–the same national umbrella group associated with the December 12 action at NYU.

These kinds of tactics have become a global phenomenon, waged in the streets, on campuses, and in the news media, while the death count and destruction in Gaza, the West Bank, and southern Lebanon mounts by the day. The incoming Trump administration has made it clear it will be open season on organizations opposing the Israeli genocide against Palestinians. Institutions like NYU have laid a heavy foundation of repression aimed at faculty and students that seems all but certain to be built upon over the next four years.

These repressive foundations have been long in the making, but today’s conditions began after Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7, 2023 which led to Israel’s genocidal war in response. Beginning at Columbia University, campus encampment protests spread across the United States and elsewhere in the Spring of 2024, in response to the ongoing violence and destruction in Gaza. Students at New York University were quick to follow suit. Being a fully urban campus, NYU doesn’t contain a wide lawn at its center like Columbia or other traditionally laid-out schools. Students utilized the largest on-campus spaces they could, the open area in front of the business school known as Gould Plaza.

Brandon, a junior at NYU, was involved in the initial encampment. He was there after dozens of students converged on the plaza in the early morning hours of April 22. He said the university was quick to bring the NYPD to the scene, but that the situation initially remained peaceful and settled into a sense of protest normalcy.

“We didn’t anticipate getting swept by police on the first day,” he said, noting that Columbia and other protest sites had gone days without a direct confrontation with police. “We did not go in with the expectation, though obviously we knew it could potentially happen.”

As elsewhere, the students at NYU made a series of demands as part of their action, including divestment and an end to “fear tactics generating manufactured consent in academic spheres.” Negotiations continued with the school throughout the day, Brandon said, but it was clear there was no legitimate engagement on the part of the administration.

The students at NYU made a series of demands…including divestment and an end to “fear tactics generating manufactured consent in academic spheres.” Negotiations continued …but it was clear there was no legitimate engagement on the part of the administration.”

“They weren’t interested in negotiating anything,” he said.By the late afternoon, the protestors, who had been restricted to members of the NYU community with identification cards, became aware of a heightened police presence. Phalanxes of police in riot gear and zip ties were said to be amassing nearby. Brandon said he himself saw Department of Correction buses arrive, a telltale indicator of impending mass arrests.“We figured it was about to happen, we just didn’t know when,” he said.

Police soon violently swept the plaza area, arresting approximately 130 protesters. Later in the evening, Mayor Eric Adams posted on X a letter from an undisclosed high-ranking member of the NYU administration directly asking the city for police to deal with the protestors “interfering with the safety and security of our community.”

“Rest assured, in NYC the NYPD stands ready to address these prohibited and subsequently illegal actions whenever we are called upon,” Adams stated.

Following the Gould Plaza and other actions, dynamics on the NYU campus became visibly more restrictive. Private security is stationed at areas in and around communal spaces, in addition to regular campus security. NYPD officers have been spotted entering NYU buildings repeatedly. The perimeter of Gould Plaza is now closed off by a plywood wall painted in NYU purple. Access through revolving metal gates is only available after showing identification. Painted in white whimsical lettering along the West 4th Street barrier: “Our Future Taking Shape.”

NYU community members faced repercussions for their actions and public statements. In April, Darren King, a postdoctoral instructor at the Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences, was fired for taking down posters around campus displaying images of people taken hostage during the October 7 attacks. An undergraduate student was suspended for the same conduct around the same time. Earlier in the year four students faced disciplinary hearings after administrators shut down a reading of Palestinian poetry in Bobst.

During the summer break between semesters, the NYU administration announced changes to its nondiscrimination and anti-harassment policy (NDAH) that explicitly conflated Zionism with Jewishness, and therefore language that was expressly anti-Zionist could now be considered anti-Semitic.

“For many Jewish people, Zionism is a part of their Jewish identity,” the school stated in its updated policy. “Speech and conduct that would violate the NDAH if targeting Jewish or Israeli people can also violate the NDAH if directed toward Zionists.”

The NYU chapter of Faculty & Staff for Justice in Palestine (FSJP), which remained closely aligned with pro-Palestinian student activities since the April crackdown, called the school’s decision “deeply disturbing” in a press release at the time.

“[T]he recent shifts in NYU’s NDAH policy are clearly of a piece with the University’s previous repressive and anti-intellectual actions, as well as with several other new measures the University has taken to stifle pro-Palestinian protest and restrict speech criticizing Israeli state violence,” the group said.

As the leading pro-Palestinian faculty and staff organization on campus, FSJP has been tracking the evolution of repressive tactics at NYU. On a rainy night in November, more than 50 members of the NYU community (because of university restrictions, no one without an NYU-issued ID was allowed to participate) gathered in a small movie theater in the Cantor Film Center for a teach-in entitled “Palestine and the Global University: Mapping Academic Repression, Scholasticide, and Resistance.”

The panel included current NYU professors, all of whom were connected with FSJP; Hesen Jabr, a former nurse at NYU Langone who mentioned the genocide in Gaza during an acceptance speech for an award for compassion and was subsequently fired; and Ellis Garey, a former NYU student now doing post-doctoral work at Brown University, who said the school’s response to pro-Palestian activism on-campus–even then openly hostile–had “changed dramatically over the past decade, and even in the past year,” largely because of the growth of student activism and of the stakes confronting the university.

A dark picture of what pro-Palestinian voices face in academic spaces emerged. Two panelists said they’d lost jobs at institutions because of their activities. Others spoke to the longer trajectory, at NYU and elsewhere, of increasingly closer ties with the Israeli state that led to policies and practices that brought the schools’ interests in line with the Israeli state.

A particularly concerning development was presented by Meira Gold. As a researcher with the Institute for the Critical Study of Zionism, Gold has been working on a project to map “networks of anti-Palestinian campus repression.” The work, she said, grew out of her own frustration trying to understand who was behind the proliferation of new pro-Israel campus groups that have appeared over the past year.

Behind her a slide showed an array of slick logos for organizations (“This covers a sliver of what’s out there,” she noted) that are all actively pursuing various parts of a pro-Israel agenda, from the Hillel campus organization to the public-doxxing Accuracy in Media, many of which have direct ties to the Israeli government. The Institute for the Critical Study of Zionism refers to these and groups like them as “astroturf antisemitism watch dogs,” Gold said. “They give the illusion of wide-spread support, and in reality, most of them are funded by a select handful of donors or mega-donors.”

Within academia, Gold said one group has become her focus in the spring, after discovering they were on nearly every campus looking to work behind the scenes with school administrators to change language and influence policy. This group, the Academic Engagement Network (AEN), states publicly that its mission is to “mobilize networks of university faculty and administrators to counter antisemitism [and] oppose the denigration of Jewish and Zionist identities[.]” Gold said she discovered the AEN to be a creature created entirely by the group Israel on Campus Coalition (ICC), and funded by a small number of private foundations that have a history of writing big checks to Zionist organizations, as well as “dark money” in the form of donor-advised funds, which are able to pool donations and then provide that money to organizations. ICC, according to Gold, is essentially itself a donor-advised fund, allowing it to operate as an umbrella organization to fund other groups.

ICC is currently “one of the biggest organizations operating, in terms of repression right now,” Gold said, noting that ICC president and CEO Jacob Baime described the group’s purpose as “psychological warfare” in a video obtained for an al-Jazeera documentary. The group’s surveillance work against pro-Palestinian groups is used as part of an online weaponization strategy to intimidate and harass individuals and organizations. He also confirmed that ICC shares the information it gathers with the Israeli government.

“There is a direct line of communication there,” Gold said

A number of these groups were operating on NYU campuses and in coordination with NYU leadership, including AEN, which Gold said she and others believe was directly involved in the university’s decision to make Zionism a protected class in the summer.

As troublesome as conditions are at present, the current dynamics have been long in the making, according to Prof. Rebecca Karl. A history professor at NYU for more than two decades, Karl is also the president of NYU’s American Association of University Professors and a member of FSJP. Having been involved with prior efforts to resist NYU’s opening of a Tel Aviv campus and research that bolsters the defense industry, she sees the roads that have led to this moment.

“All of these nefarious and horrible trends now combine into what’s happening in Palestine and NYU’s complicit role,” Karl said.

The stepped-up pushback from the school’s administration to pro-Palestinian organizing and resistance efforts has led to the deterioration of NYU’s expressed commitment to academic freedom and education in a broad and open sense.

“NYU’s motto is ‘a private university in the public interest,’ and we got no public interest,” Karl said. “With the walling off the campuses and the walling off the spaces we have become, in fact, very exclusive, to the detriment of all of our endeavors.”

Broadly, Karl sees the current dynamics between university officials and pro-Palestinian activists as “cat and mouse.”

“The university has, I’m sure, congratulated itself on being able to shut down some of the more spectacular demonstrations of solidarity,” she added.

Since the removal of the encampments in the spring and the restrictions on the use of what university-owned space is available, student actions have been forced to increasingly utilize Washington Square Park or other technically off-campus places, where the presence of armed NYPD officers, as well as antagonistic pro-Israeli groups, brings a heightened level of threat to any protest activity.

“We’re in a confrontational stalemate, let’s put it that way. The preponderance of legal and spatial power is in the hands of the university,” Karl said. Even so, she credited the creativity and ingenuity of students to find new ways of challenging the university and ensuring pro-Palestinian resistance remains seen and heard.

The coming Trump administration’s targeting of just such campus resistance, among both students and faculty, has added a new layer of concern about the future. The university’s cozy relationship with law enforcement and the steps taken to muzzle dissent means that, however unlikely, nothing can be taken for granted now.

“Given the degree to which NYU has been willing to bend over backward in a blue state, under a Democratic [presidential] regime, how preemptively will it bend over, and how willing will it be to bend over, for a much more violent assault on our domestic freedoms,” she said. “[NYU’s] calculation is about institutional liability and institutional risk. It’s not about the safety or safeguarding of us as faculty or as students or as staff.”

The conditions at NYU are surely echoed, in varying degrees and practices, across higher education. Our collective efforts to overcome these challenges is likely to make colleges and universities central to the broader fight: both to defend basic democratic rights and to build an anti-imperialist movement best equipped to fight for Palestinian liberation. Karl was explicit about the need to keep focused.

“Ultimately the movement is not about us. The movement has to be about trying to support some kind of end to the mass violence and the genocidal assaults on Palestinian people and on Palestine as an idea and as a pursuit,” she said.

Out of the struggles at places like NYU have come a new generation politicized and mobilized by the genocide being conducted by Israel, including a critical demographic that Karl sees as a point of hope–something that is generating “so much panic” among the pro-Israeli set.

Out of the struggles at places like NYU have come a new generation politicized and mobilized by the genocide being conducted by Israel…

“These are young students and people in the Jewish diaspora who are not finding common cause with the Israeli state, not being happy with having their Judaism or their Jewishness being associated with that genocide,” she said. “It’s a natural coalition between Jews who understand the idealisms of being Jewish and who understand those idealisms are not housed in Israel right now–or ever.”The continued efforts of students like Brandon and others—to work in coalition and find ways to challenge the bounds of what university officials, well-funded astroturf organizations, or powerful nation-states draw for them—builds upon a long line of resistance with a deep history of its own.“That’s what panics people in power,” Karl said. “I think that panic is a good thing. I think having them panic is a good thing.”

Featured Image credit: BC Hamilton; modified by Tempest.
Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

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Leading one of the world’s longest running insurgencies and with tens of thousands of members, the Maoist Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) is still a point of reference for parts of the radical Left internationally. The International League of People’s Struggles (ILPS), represented in the U.S. by organizations such as Bayan, takes its political line from the framework of the CPP. In the Philippines itself, the CPP and the “national-democratic” movement it leads is still the dominant force on the Left. This makes the recent evolution of the party a matter of interest for internationalist socialists worldwide.

As long as mass poverty exists alongside a political system that is blatantly dominated by the rich, the potential for an insurgency remains.

In recent years, it has become clear that the CPP is under increasing pressure. After the breakdown in 2017 of its alliance with president Rodrigo Duterte, the violent repression of the party, its guerrillas, and its legal allies escalated.5Today, the party often denies there ever was an alliance. After the 2016 presidential elections, the June 7, 2016 of issue of the party’s paper Ang Bayan (“published fortnightly by the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Philippines”), wrote that “The alliance between the national democratic movement and the incoming Duterte regime continues to be forged.” A government strategy of combining murderous force and material incentives to abandon the movement has been successful in weakening the insurgency. The passing of the party’s ideologue and founding chairperson Jose Maria Sison in late 2022 while in exile in the Netherlands was a symbolic moment. More significant was the fate of Benito and Wilma Tiamzon in August that year. The Tiamzon couple were radicalized as students in the early 1970s and became leading activists in the CPP in the following decades. In April 2023, the party confirmed that the two had been killed by the military some eight months earlier. At the time of their death, Benito Tiamzon was the chair of the central committee, and Wilma Tiamzon was general-secretary. An article on the news website Rappler detailed how the two had been pursued by the military for months on the island of Samar, once a stronghold of the CPP and its armed wing, the New People’s Army (NPA). They were not the only high-ranking CPP members killed in recent years. Less than six months earlier, Ka Oris (Jorge Madlos), former commander and spokesperson of the NPA, was killed. In late 2020, the body of Antonio Cabanatan was found. As a member of the party’s executive committee, Cabanatan was among those responsible for the fateful decision to boycott the 1986 elections. Among other CPP-NPA leaders killed in the last few years are members of the party’s central committee and high-ranking commanders of the NPA.

Signs of decline

For obvious reasons, gathering information on the development of the underground CPP/NPA is difficult. The sloganeering statements from the party mean little, the revolution is “surging forward” and “the crisis of the rotten system is ever deepening,” and this has been so for decades. Data gathered by the NGO Armed Conflict Location & Event Data (ACLED) shows a slight decrease in armed clashes involving the NPA in the period 2016–2023 but does not specify who initiated the clashes. According to a report by the think-tank International Crisis Group, the number of people killed in the conflict is in the low hundreds per year, with 2024 probably seeing fewer deaths than previous years. Ang Bayan, the party’s newspaper, gives detailed reports of activities of the NPA. Adding up figures given there presents a similar picture of yearly casualties, with most clashes taking place in a small number of regions. The party claims it is “eroding” the military capacity of the Philippine state, but in a country of almost 120 million, a median age below 26 and mass unemployment, the army can easily find new recruits.

Ang Bayan, the party’s newspaper, gives detailed reports of activities of the NPA.” The English version of the latest issue (December 21, 2024). Image by Ang Bayan, modified by Tempest.

Overall, the conclusion that the party has been weakened when compared to the last years of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s presidency in the first decade of the 2000s is inevitable. Those years saw an increase in NPA activity and a strengthening of the party compared to its crisis in the 1990s. After the collapse of the regime of Ferdinand Marcos in 1986, who had declared martial law in 1972, the party was caught by surprise by what was in many ways a restoration of the “elite democracy” of the pre-Marcos period. Revelations of how hundreds of comrades were tortured and killed in paranoid purges during the 1980s undermined the credibility of the NPA as an alternative.2Robert Francis Garcia, a survivor about the purges, wrote about the events in To Suffer Thy Comrades: How the Revolution Decimated its Own. A collection of articles on the purges is here.

Behind a facade of monolithic ideological unity, with Sison as the authority figure on everything, the CPP had been a fairly decentralized movement with different experiences generating a certain ideological pluralism. This became explicit as a period of intense debate broke out in the movement. In the early to mid-nineties, Maoist hardliners put a stop to this debate through mass expelling, leading whole party units to declare their disaffiliation. A large part of the Philippine Left emerged from such splits and disaffiliations. When the CPP emerged from the crisis, it was significantly smaller. Intensely hostile to other parts of the Left, it initiated a campaign of assassinations of “fake leftists,” like peasant organizers who followed a different strategy3NOREF, “Agrarian reform and the difficult road to peace in the Philippine countryside,” available here, and Danilo Carranza, “Agrarian Reform in Conflict Areas: The Bondoc Peninsula Experience,” Kasarinlan: Philippine Journal of Third World Studies 2011 26 (1–2): 407-413, available here. and members of other revolutionary groups.4A large number of articles on such killings, including “rejoinders” by the CPP can be found on the website of Europe Solidaire. An overview is Alex de Jong, “Muddying the revolution,” Jacobin September 2, 2018, available here. Although it never again came close to its peak in the mid-1980s, after “re-affirming” Maoism, the CPP, now more homogeneously Stalinist and organizationally rigid, was able to recover some lost territory during Arroyo’s increasingly unpopular presidency.

Reading through the stereotyped party writing, CPP statements give some indication that not all is well. Rather than the hundreds of guerrilla fronts the party claimed back in the 1980s, recent statements claim “more than 110” guerrilla fronts. In 2007, the party set a five-year deadline for the armed struggle to advance to “strategic stalemate,” but after admitting the goal was not met, no new deadline has been set, meaning the guerrilla war is in the same phase it was four decades ago. Statements from the NPA claim it has “thousands” of fighters, according to government claims, the NPA is down to 1,500 full-time combatants. Both sides have made misleading claims in the past, and such figures should not be accepted unconditionally.

The clearest indication that the party is facing hardship was its 2023 anniversary statement. Such statements are supposed to give a general orientation for the year to come. The 2023 statement was somewhat different because it announced a “rectification movement” to overcome “critical errors and tendencies, weaknesses and shortcomings.” “Not a few guerrilla fronts of the NPA stagnated,” the party writes, and there have been “grave setbacks.” Such setbacks are blamed on deviation from the Maoist line: Since the line is supposed to be correct, and “objective conditions” to be excellent, setbacks must be the result of deviating from Maoism. Hence, the answer to the party’s hardships is more Maoism. This kind of circular logic is not new for the party. That the CPP brands this call a “rectification movement” is remarkable, though. Only twice before has the party labeled a campaign a rectification movement: the founding of the party in the late 1960s, when it broke away from the Partido Komunista ng Pilipinas, and the campaign against dissidents in the mid-1990s. Using the term “rectification movement” is an indication of how serious the problem is.

Changing terrain

How did the movement get to this point? Part of the answer is that the long-term process of the party since the early 1990s has been one of decline, although as we have seen not constant. The party is deeply committed to a view of the Philippines as society that is not capitalist but “semi-feudal.” The basic problem of the Philippine land, the party asserts, is “semi-feudal exploitation” in the countryside, meaning exploitation not through the exploitation of waged, “free” labor but based on direct coercion. The archetypical example of such exploitation is the tenant farmer, living and working on land owned by a landlord, forced to turn over a large part of their harvest as well as to do unpaid labor for the landlord. From this reading, the party deduces in unmediated, mechanical fashion that revolutionary struggle means essentially a peasant-based guerrilla war.

Whatever the merits of its analysis for the Philippines of the mid-twentieth century or even the 1980s, it has come into increasing conflict with reality. Although the Philippine economy remains largely based on agriculture and the export of agricultural products, the relations of production have changed significantly since the CPP was founded. Among “farm operators,” tenancy has decreased from over a third in the 1960s to only 15 percent already a decade ago. The proportion of those working as peasants halved in the same period.5Herbert Docena, “Is the Philippines a ‘semi-feudal’ or a ‘backward capitalist’ society?” Philippine Sociological Review, Vol. 71 (2023), pp. 138-170, and Herbert Docena, “Is the Philippines ‘semi-feudal,’ ‘backward capitalist,’ or neither?” Rappler December 26, 2023. Wage workers in the formal and “informal” sector now make up a majority of the working population. The peasantry has been declining as proportion of the working population and in terms of importance for economic production. Rapidly growing on the other hand has been the service sector—something not foreseen by Maoists, who assumed that economic development would by necessity take the shape of industrialization, which they saw as blocked by imperialism. But as late as 2020, Sison declared that no “qualitative” change had occurred since the 1960s—or for that matter since the period of U.S. colonialism. The CPP’s program is of declining relevance, but the party has spent decades denouncing those who disagree with their view that the Philippines is a non-capitalist, semi-feudal society.

The CPP’s program is of declining relevance, but the party has spent decades denouncing those who disagree with their view that the Philippines is a non-capitalist, semi-feudal society.

Dogmatism in theory goes hand in hand with swerves in practice. The most dramatic of these was the party’s 2016 attempt to forge an alliance with recently elected president Duterte. When Duterte was elected, he was a political unknown to many, but not to the CPP. For decades, Duterte had been in charge of Davao City, the most important city in the country’s south, where he had a mutually beneficial relationship with the party. Duterte took a hands-off approach towards the underground who in return did not disturb the peace in “his” Davao city and turned a blind eye to the use of a death squad as a crime-fighting tool. Duterte, of course, introduced this tool on a national scale, meaning thousands of killings. This was not an obstacle to a honeymoon period between the president and the party. The first sign that the movement would extend its alliance with Duterte beyond Davao were statements from Sison. Sison declared that Duterte’s presidency would be good for “national unity,” and Duterte offered the Maoists cabinet posts. The CPP politely suggested several legal allies to take up the posts. One of them, Liza Maza, continued to serve Duterte in a cabinet-level post until August 2018. After that, Maza became Secretary General of the ILPS.

A photo from September 2016 illustrates the shifting relations. Taken on September 26 in the state dining room of the presidential palace Malacañang, it shows Duterte with members of his negotiating team and that of the National-Democratic Front (NDF), the label the CPP uses for diplomatic activities. The room is full of smiles, Duterte raising his fist together with the NDF representatives. Next to him is current NDF chair Luis Jalandoni, and then Wilma and Benito Tiamzon. The two had been released the month prior. In the following months, relationships would deteriorate, and in February 2017 the ceasefire between the government and the NPA broke down.

Looking back, it is not so clear what the CPP thought to gain from the attempted alliance. As long as Duterte was only a regional figure, friendly relations with the CPP were to his advantage as it meant they would not bother him. But as soon as he became president, that was no longer an option. Probably the most enthusiastic backer of transferring the existing relations with Duterte into a national alliance was Sison, acting as the chair of the NDF panel. For months, the NDF continued to discuss far-reaching reforms with a government that never had any interest in implementing them. Obviously, Sison overestimated the influence he had over Duterte, who was once his student.

Uncertain future

CPP statements are repetitive, but so are the statements from the Philippine government predicting the imminent defeat of the insurgency. As long as mass poverty exists alongside a political system that is blatantly dominated by the rich, the potential for an insurgency remains. Aside from a deep decline during COVID, the Philippine economy saw strong growth in recent years—not in the least because of the growing service sector. But this growth has meant little for the country’s poor, especially in the remote countryside. After six decades, the CPP is not going to disappear suddenly.

When the ceasefire broke down, it seemed like back to normal for the party. There is one difference though. Under Duterte, the government had not only renewed the use of deadly force and the red-tagging of above-ground activists—it is now combining this with pardons and financial aid for surrendering rebels and support for communities that renounce their previous support for the NPA. The current government of Marcos Jr continues this policy. The government is obviously exaggerating the extent and success of this program, but the use of a “carrot and stick” approach is not without success. Advising the successful repression of a Communist-led rebellion in the 1950s in the Philippines, CIA counterinsurgency expert Edward Lansdale said a seemingly credible promise is more important than actual change. To quote the ICG report, “the rebels have found themselves increasingly adrift and on the defensive. Arrests and surrenders of fighters have come at a steady clip.”

In the above-ground periphery of the CPP, there are many young dedicated activists who are more moved by the desire to change society than by Maoist dogma.

The difficulties of the CPP and the bloc of social organizations that take its political line from it do not take place in total isolation from the rest of the Left. The CPP-led movement is still the strongest force on the Philippine Left. And although repression is focused on the CPP, it is not limited to it. Several members of the Philippine section of the Fourth International, the RPM-M have been killed as well, for example.

Philippine society is changing as urbanization progresses and the composition of the working classes is transformed. The Left needs a willingness to break with old dogmas and old divisions and confront new issues such as the climate crisis. The CPP is unlikely to do that, but especially in the above-ground periphery of the CPP, there are many young dedicated activists who are more moved by the desire to change society than by Maoist dogma. But for now, the right wing is dominant, as shown by the popularity of Duterte in the past and president Marcos Jr today. In the 2022 elections Leody de Guzman of the socialist Partido Lakas ng Masa ran for president with well-known activist-scholar Walden Bello as his running mate. The campaign broke new ground as the first openly socialist presidential campaign in Philippine history, but with 0.17 per cent of the vote, the result came as a disappointment to activists. An alternative pole of attraction on the Left remains to be built.

“Make the people’s democratic revolution a success!” Image by Philippine Revolution Web Central.

Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

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“Scratch a liberal, and a fascist bleeds.”

This leftist credo has gained additional currency in the wake of Donald Trump’s victory in the 2024 U.S. Presidential Election. Numerous liberals have plastered social media with poisonous rhetoric directed at various oppressed populations they hold responsible for Kamala Harris’ defeat, echoing or outright reproducing the kind of bigotry for which they condemn their conservative and right-wing counterparts. Meanwhile, the Democratic Party is preparing for a peaceful handover of power to a figurehead and nascent regime that they previously (and justifiably) decried for being “fascistic.”

The bitterness and anger behind this vicious tendency belies a desperation that extends beyond the hardened centrist camp, spanning a significant section of the liberal-to-left political spectrum. Having navigated numerous academic and activist spaces over the past decade, I have heard this desperation in the voices of numerous students, friends, colleagues, and comrades. It has perhaps been most pronounced in the wake of elections, Supreme Court decisions, and other major liberal-democratic spectacles, but it has also been audible in the wake of rallies, marches, and even occasionally forms of mutual aid and direct action.

More than anything, this pervasive desperation showcases a lingering faith in liberal-democratic institutions, processes, and figureheads, in spite of ample evidence of the latter’s ever-shrinking capacities for even meager reforms and evermore shrill and unconvincing defenses of the neoliberal status quo. This residual loyalty can prove quite decisive in moments of crisis: it partly explains how millions of Americans went from taking to the streets during the George Floyd Rebellion in the summer of 2020 to voting for Joe Biden—a prime architect of the modern carceral U.S. state—that same fall. It similarly explains why so many self-described progressives and a fair few leftists grudgingly voted for Harris in this year’s election, despite their proclaimed opposition to the ongoing Palestinian genocide. This grudging support in the second instance is particularly illustrative, insofar as it shows how liberalism can ultimately recapture not only the votes but the imagination and political energy of insubordinate subjects who might otherwise adopt far more critical political perspectives, especially in the absence of a persuasive, well-organized, and visible leftist alternative. 

Awareness of the cataclysmic consequences of U.S. settler-colonialism, capitalism, and imperialism and even lived experiences with grassroots mobilization featuring more revolutionary elements have proven insufficient, in and of themselves, to overcome this trend of defeatist deference to liberal capitalist non-solutions. Critical consciousness and grassroots organizing experience stem, to some extent, from the inevitable contradictions of capitalism, and both are essential to producing decisive ruptures in the capitalist system, but they cannot compensate for an inadequate  political strategy couched within the fundamentally counterrevolutionary terms of liberal capitalist democracy. (Neo)liberal figureheads such as Harris, Biden, Obama, and the Clintons actively manufacture this desperation as part of co-manufacturing consent to the U.S. capitalist order, in no small part by offering feminist, anti-racist, and otherwise progressive aesthetics as wholesale substitutes for concrete progressivism. However, this desperation also takes on a life of its own within much of U.S. civil society, which is far more worrying. 

This is what I term last-gasp liberalism in action: the left-of-liberal popular reversion, especially in mounting moments of late capitalist crisis, to individualist demagoguery, highly aestheticized diversification, and liberal fictions like “the rules-based order.” This reversion reaffirms liberalism’s historical role as the ideological backbone of Euroamerican capitalism by reinforcing its key tenets of bourgeois individualism, free enterprise, and ahistorical universalism. It further reflects the historical failure and contemporary weakness—to the point of constituting a structural absence—of the organized Left in the United States. As long as last-gasp liberalism remains unaddressed, it poses a potentially fatal threat to the construction of a left alternative capable of waging and winning anti-systemic struggles within the imperial core.

A living history of subjugation, reanimated by neoliberalism

Leftists have long critiqued liberalism for upholding capitalism and diffusing revolutionary momentum; in fact, these critiques form part of the foundations of the Marxist and anarchist traditions. When these critiques adopt a longer historical view, they tend to highlight liberalism’s largely unacknowledged roots in the consolidation of the Euroamerican colonial capitalist world-system. Euroamerican liberalism’s conception of the human—the foundation on which its much-touted but ultimately shallow and conditional brand of humanism is built—developed through the emergent capitalist project’s propagation of Indigenous genocide, Black slavery, and coercive migrant labor. The enlightened European male liberal subject became the antithesis of capitalism’s victims both at home and abroad: supposedly “lazy” and “undeserving” working-class and colonized people. Furthermore, Euroamerican liberalism’s bloody underside is by no means restricted to its formative years in the crucible of incipient capitalist modernity. Gabriel Rockhill has shown how liberalism enabled fascism throughout the twentieth century, from the German Social Democrats’ lethal betrayal of Rosa Luxemburg, Karl Liebknecht, and the fledgling German Revolution to the integration of hundreds of top-level Nazi officials and scientists into the U.S.  Cold War infrastructure through Operation Paperclip. In light of this history, the profound disregard for Palestinian life shown by U.S.  liberals before, during, and after the 2024 Presidential Election is far less surprising.

Liberalism’s commitment to capitalism underlies its complicity with some of modern history’s most devastating social, political, economic, and ecological developments. This commitment has reached a fever pitch under the conditions of neoliberalism over the past four to five decades, so much so that, like the economic system it props up, U.S. liberalism has started to consume its own tail with a kind of deranged gusto. Previously, Euroamerican liberalism had a modicum of substance to show for its promises of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness while masking its true intentions: in keeping with the Cold War principle of “keep ‘em fed and they won’t turn red,” it tried to offer public goods and services to enough of its domestic constituencies to absorb, diffuse, and marginalize popular revolt, with not insignificant success. However, neoliberalization has evaporated most of this substance, reducing liberalism to a caricature of an idealist philosophy. Perhaps even more nakedly than their conservative and right-wing counterparts, modern U.S.  (neo)liberals epitomize the hypocrisies of late capitalism: they promise abundance while practicing austerity; promote diversity while pouring billions into police, prisons, and borders; and appeal to “the rules-based order” while shredding international law to support Zionist ethnic cleansing and expansionism.

Late capitalist liberalism

Liberalism is not just an ideology: it is also a structure of knowledge and knowledge generation in which power is delegated to designated individual representatives rather than collectively held. Because of this, political inaction is typically attributed to a lack of awareness, and “accountability” comes down to relentless petitioning. Needless to say, this structure combines with the structural weakness of the organized U.S. Left to regenerate and reaffirm the U.S.-led neoliberal world order, making reform the ultimate political horizon as revolution perennially recedes into the distance. On numerous occasions, liberalism has claimed the real gains made by struggles from below, such as the establishment of the eight-hour working day, as its own victories. In the absence of credible leftist challenges to its hegemony, liberalism has coasted along on false promises more so than concrete concessions: in many instances, even reform might prove an ultimately unreachable political horizon under the conditions of late capitalism.

Liberals in the U.S. imperial core have banked on being “the lesser evil” in comparison to their conservative and right-wing counterparts while predominantly shaping their politics around the domestic and international economic agenda they have in common with their reviled opponents. As a result of its innate inability to provide a substantive material alternative, late capitalist U.S. liberalism articulates with more openly reactionary capitalist ideologies to not only reproduce the neoliberal status quo but to push it ever closer to neo-authoritarianism. Last-gasp liberalism names not only the kind of popular reversion to the political status quo I analyze above, but also the ongoing and, in our historical moment, ever intensifying exposure of late capitalist liberalism by moments of structural and systemic crisis: in the face of soaring living costs, crumbling infrastructure, intensifying ecological disasters, and deeply unpopular wars, U.S.  (neo)liberal power-brokers do the same things over and over again—in service of the same nefarious private economic interests—while encouraging their supporters to expect different results. They diversify the administration of neoliberalism and neo-imperialism without ever challenging the fundamental logics driving these systems, prioritizing corporate interests over poor, working-class, and colonized people at every turn. 

The descendants of liberalism’s enlightened philosopher kings truly have no clothes as of now, and they stand before the world dripping from head to toe in blood and dirt.

The desperation that many last-gasp liberals exhibit stems from the jarring dissonance between high-minded liberal ideals and the chastening material reality of elite betrayal. And this desperation is bound to elicit fury from so many poor and working-class people within the imperial core who are punished by this reality on a daily basis while lacking strong pre-existing ideological proclivities and functional leftist infrastructures of dissent. The right is more than happy to fill the vacuum at the heart of last-gasp liberalism with its own false promises of returning to a glorious past through counterrevolutionary violence and corporatist governance.

Appeals to demagoguery, diversification, and due process

In critiquing last-gasp liberalism, I am taking up a provocative question posed by anti-imperialist journalist Vincent Bevins in his recent book, If We Burn: The Mass Protest and the Missing Revolution: “how is it possible that so many mass protests apparently led to the opposite of what they asked for?” Bevins attributes these regressive outcomes to deliberate or inadvertent structurelessness and a lack of ideological unity within the protests in question. Last-gasp liberalism supplements but also complicates Bevins’ diagnosis by revealing that this apparent structurelessness can actually camouflage the deeply ingrained but unacknowledged principles and protocols of liberalism.

“Protests” is the operative term in Bevins’ question, insofar as it frames a fundamentally liberal strategy of petitioning that is, by itself, inadequate for building power from below. Mobilizations across the world over the past decade have frequently encompassed a diversity of tactics, but mass appeals to elected representatives and governmental regimes have occupied an outsized place. These appeals have failed to fill the political vacuum created by brutal counterinsurgency campaigns against leftist leaders, movements, organizations, and spaces—as exemplified by COINTELPRO and the Jakarta Method—as well as debilitating Left compromises with capital, as exemplified by North American business unionism. They have also fallen on unsympathetic ears in the contemporary neoliberal era, as centrist politicians have rallied around the neoliberal project for considerable personal and political gain. For all of these reasons, appeals unaccompanied by direct, organized challenges to business-as-usual—such as work stoppages, infrastructural disruption, and, when necessary and possible, armed resistance—are bound to be toothless. The corporate capture of political institutions, actors, and processes in the United States in particular makes a mockery of the very notion of civic accountability in its vaunted liberal interpretation.

The (neo)liberal politics of petitioning sets the stage for cynical saviors to announce themselves, increasingly to nervous and half-hearted applause (but applause nonetheless). Barack Obama’s administration arguably perfected neoliberal multiculturalism and multiracial neoliberalism as diversionary spectacles, and various left-of-liberal political actors continue to labor under the long shadows of both. The appointment of diverse faces in high places, solicitation of celebrity endorsements, glamorization of public outreach and civic engagement, and meme-ification of political figureheads—all carefully orchestrated by marketing experts at considerable expense—provide dazzling circuses to mask the categorical denial of bread and suppression of demands for it. The cult of hyper-individualism at the heart of U.S. settler capitalism couches these spectacles within the longer trajectory of U.S. exceptionalist nationalism, lending them even more weight. Self-anointed centrist saviors in the imperial core thus unsurprisingly draw deeply upon these wellsprings of false consciousness to capitalize on very real fears of right-wing takeover. Their supporters frequently lay the groundwork for these maneuvers, often without prompting: Harris’ widely touted claim to the Presidency by virtue of being a “competent” and professional Black woman reflects at least fifteen years of indoctrination into the aesthetics of neoliberal diversity. The well-documented real-world implications of this brand of “competence”—framed by Harris’ track record as a prosecutor in California and a butcher in Gaza—are nothing short of horrifying.

Last-gasp liberals count on diverse demagogues to showcase their “competence” by upholding due process—that is, by playing by the rules of the rigged neoliberal and neo-imperial game. Of all the defining characteristics of last-gasp liberalism, this fetishization of due process is perhaps the most obviously dangerous to progressive and revolutionary movements and actors. It blatantly ignores state and capitalist violence committed under and, in many instances, by past and present (neo)liberal administrations. Ruthless crackdowns on both houseless encampments and Palestinian solidarity encampments on college campuses, including in liberal strongholds such as California and New York, beg the question of where the dividing lines between “lesser” and greater evils truly lie—and how they can be quickly and decisively shifted by bourgeois political expediency. The flattening of these uneven landscapes of violence is even more insidious and callous beyond the U.S. domestic sphere, in that it projects a moralistic adherence to “due process” and a “rules-based order” onto a geopolitical sphere where it is nakedly conspicuous by its absence, as starkly illustrated by the indiscriminate U.S.-backed Zionist attacks on Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen, Iran, and Syria. The descendants of liberalism’s enlightened philosopher kings truly have no clothes as of now, and they stand before the world dripping from head to toe in blood and dirt.

Delegate Ruba Ayub summed up the [Uncommitted M]ovement’s last-gasp liberal capitulation in not so many words when she remarked that its goal was to “join the system to make change in the system” rather than fundamentally challenge it. Here, I recall an old Haitian proverb: “the unity of the chicken and the cockroach is realized in the belly of the chicken.”

The Uncommitted Movement’s inability to move the Democratic Party’s needle on the Gazan genocide highlights how the key components of last-gasp liberalism work in concert with each other, if at times indirectly. Several uncommitted delegates complained that the movement’s leadership “focused on appeasing the Democratic National Convention instead of fighting for [tangible policy] results… replacing the fight for justice and liberation with symbolic gestures that serve party insiders more than the Palestinian cause.” An overemphasis on garnering media attention as an end in itself and a silent protest staged when the DNC was already ignoring the movement drove home this uncritical delegation of power to a foundationally hostile (neo)liberal forum, with “due process” serving as little more than a vehicle for self-policing respectability politics. While the movement’s refusal to endorse Harris might indicate a deviation from diversified demagoguery at first glance, its call for anti-Trump votes and non-endorsement of any third party candidates calling for a ceasefire suggest otherwise. This tepid pseudo-defiance shows how demagogues win even when they appear to lose within the last-gasp liberal schema, which is to say nothing of how demagogues from both major U.S. bourgeois parties simply take turns in the hot seat in the absence of an organized Left alternative. Delegate Ruba Ayub summed up the movement’s last-gasp liberal capitulation in not so many words when she remarked that its goal was to “join the system to make change in the system” rather than fundamentally challenge it. Here, I recall an old Haitian proverb: “the unity of the chicken and the cockroach is realized in the belly of the chicken.”

The folly of waiting for liberalism’s last gasps

Liberalism, like capitalism, is an exceptionally resilient parasite. The dominance of last-gasp liberalism does not signify liberalism’s last gasps: on the contrary, its persistence in the face of evermore hostile material and ideological conditions is precisely its strength. The Democratic Party was shaken by Harris’ loss but by no means stirred to reassess its strategy or implement safeguards against forthcoming Trumpist backlash. If anything, the Biden administration’s withdrawn proposals for trans athlete protections and student loan forgiveness—not to mention its continuing support for a Zionist ethnic cleansing campaign—reflect a resounding neoliberal recalcitrance. As was the case after Trump’s first victory in 2016, nevertheless, liberalism could assume a far more subversive hue than it merits over the next four years. This could prove disastrous to potentially transformative mobilizations already fighting uphill battles against an administration that, by all initial appearances, is set to dramatically suppress dissent. 

Progressives and radicals will inevitably have to engage liberal institutions at several points in these mobilizations—not least of all because of how they might be appropriated and weaponized by right-wing actors—but doing so under the sway of liberal ideology would be gravely unwise. Above all, the construction of an organized Left alternative in the United States necessitates a mass disavowal of the Democratic Party as the only feasible vehicle for progressive change: the latter is now less of a graveyard for potentially transformative social movements than a killing field for them. This exodus should encompass a significantly reduced reliance on liberal civil society organizations that essentially serve as counterrevolutionary conduits for the Democratic Party machine. It must further problematize the neoliberal substitution of diversionary cultural spectacles—whereby the “representation” of oppressed communities and their struggles, often mediated by celebrities, is regarded as a liberatory end unto itself—for actionable political and economic critique.

Antonio Gramsci once remarked that, “The challenge of modernity is to live without illusions and without becoming disillusioned.” Somewhat paradoxically, a particular form of disillusionment might be integral to meeting this challenge: people of conscience in the belly of the U.S. imperial beast must allow their (neo)liberal illusions to die or, better yet, kill them. This may well mean killing significant parts of their conditioned psychosocial selves, a painful, stop-start process that calls upon leftists to exercise as much compassion as possible towards disaffected liberals. As Joshua Briond stipulates in a stinging critique of Black neoliberal co-optation, 

An understanding of the capitalist political economy—and whose interests it operates in service of—could . . .  pave the way for a reality where political struggle is governed by the interests and demands from below as opposed to being disciplined by fear or arguably more importantly, false promises of liberal enlightenment narrations of hope, freedom, and possibility. 

Cultivating a consensus around this understanding necessitates confronting the anti-communism that serves as a bedrock of U.S. politics as well as triangulating the inextricably intertwined socio-political imperatives of anti-fascism, anti-imperialism, anti-colonialism, and anti-capitalism. But political education must go hand-in-hand with collective action to ensure that the latter does not occur in an ideological vacuum that can be reoccupied by liberalism and the former is not disconnected from empowering alternative modalities of political engagement.

Leftists of all persuasions in the imperial core should work to consolidate a united popular coalition against capitalism, imperialism, and fascism that brings together resurgent labor organizations; ongoing anti-war campaigns; emergent community defense initiatives; and grassroots movements for racial, gender, and environmental justice as well as Native and Indigenous self-determination. Widespread public support for the execution of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson demonstrates the value—in fact, the necessity—of building this coalition around a critical class analysis. Learning from the mistakes of far too many past leftist organizing efforts, this guiding analysis must reckon with key differences between different sections of the poor, working-class, and colonized U.S. masses as well as their relationships with peoples, movements, and organizations outside the imperial core. At the same time, leftists would do well to map the susceptibility of their own preferred frameworks to last-gasp liberal co-optation: from decoloniality to intersectionality to degrowth, no theory or praxis is innately invulnerable to late capitalist liberalism, particularly in moments of crisis.

Confronting the liberal in your head is as important as confronting the cop, boss, and colonizer in your head. All of these forms of critical reflexivity can only truly be honed through confrontation on the ground, for which many progressive people of conscience in the imperial core seem ready, at least in principle. However, confrontation alone, in word and deed, will not suffice as long as it does not facilitate the (re)construction of movements, organizations, and spaces that definitively break from last-gasp liberalism, rediscovering the beating revolutionary heart of leftist politics beneath the rotting floorboards of late capitalism.

Opinions expressed in signed articles do not necessarily represent the views of the editors or the Tempest Collective. For more information, see “About Tempest Collective.”

Featured Image Credits: Cartoon by Clifford Berryman, in the public domain.

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Eric Maroney: I am sitting with Sarah Jaffe, to speak about her gorgeous new book From the Ashes: Grief and Revolution in a World on Fire. The book places stories of struggle and grief in conversation with leading abolitionist, Indigenous, post-colonial, and liberation scholars. It offers a scathing critique of the many ways capital wrenches profit from both our bodies and the land while denying us the space and place to grieve.

The book provides five themes or theses, which you offer as “perhaps a grammar of grief”:  Grief is a Rupture, Grief is About the Future, Grief is not Work, Grief is Anathema to Capitalism, and Grief is a Collective Becoming. The stories you present in the book emphasize the interconnectedness and simultaneity of these themes, but I am wondering if you can talk about one or two that stand out as particularly useful for thinking about the present.

Sarah Jaffe: Early on in this book I reject common models and frameworks for talking about grief.  I am not going to talk about the stages of grief. But instead, I share these things that I learned from the process [of my own grief], which is an ongoing process that sort of never ends. Grief becomes something that you live with.

In some ways the themes I offer are kind of contradictory, right? I just said grief is a process that never ends, but I also argue that it’s a rupture. What I mean by that is that grief is less about a process and more about who you are on the other side of it—that the person you were before cannot understand who you become.

Grief as a rupture also connects to the last theme, which is about the collective nature of grieving. Grief is this thing that will change you, and the only people who can understand it are people who have also experienced it. I have become friends with several people in recent years because I met them and they said something about having lost a parent. And I was immediately like, Oh, here is my grief. Let’s talk about this. That sort of closeness came from being able to share our grief. My friend Nancy, who lost her father, said to me a little while ago, You know, I’m still in the land of the dead.

And I thought, yeah, wow, that’s an accurate description of it. But when you have been through that, the person who comes out the other side is carrying something that doesn’t go back to normal, that there’s no normal to return to. And I think we’re all sort of collectively experiencing this post-pandemic such as we can ever be post-pandemic. Not only is COVID, the virus, still around and still killing people, but we’re still processing it. We’re still living with it. We are not the same people as before. We are not the same Americans, if we can call being American a collective as different communities experience the virus in different devastating ways. We’re still living with that. So yeah, the last one, Grief as Collective Becoming, is the one that I’ve been sort of poking at the most in recent weeks.

Something that I relied on for writing Work Won’t Love You Back was philosopher Eva Kittay’s book, Love’s Labor, which is about care work and specifically about care work for people with disabilities such that they are sort of never going to be in a place to reciprocate that care the same way.

Kittay writes very beautifully about her daughter, who, because of her disability, is never going to be able to care for Eva and her husband in their old age the way that they have had to care for her. In fact, they have a woman who has been the daughter’s long-term caregiver and is a paid nurse—a care worker. The book explores those relationships. And the theory that Kittay comes out with from all of this is, on one level, basic communism, right? It is from each according to their ability, and to each according to their needs. But she writes about it as these sort of nested care obligations—that she will care for her daughter to the best of her ability. And she will try to provide this care as best she can though her daughter is probably going to outlive her, but that is about community. It is not so that her daughter can turn around and reciprocate it at some point, which is often how we think of the family.

And I think of grief this way because the people who were there for me were people who were already in the land of the dead. And because they had already lost that person, they had already been through that. I couldn’t retroactively go back and support them through their grief, but often what you can do is pay it forward. I can’t go back and care for someone who experienced loss in the past, but I can care for the next person who has lost. And so in some way that necessarily makes grief collective because you don’t know who is going to be there for you and you don’t know who you’re going to be there for.

I don’t want to say it is a responsibility to be there for other grievers, but it is a connection, a form of solidarity, something that you pay into your community that makes that community what it is. And that is something that I wish I’d figured out how to articulate this more specifically in the book. That thinking about that kind of solidarity that comes from knowing and that is paid out into the world like. That’s the best answer I can give as to why I wrote this book.

EM: I appreciate that answer. I was wondering if maybe you could connect that line of thinking a little bit to organizations and social movements. Throughout the book, you’re doing this really beautiful dance where you’re moving back and forth between the sort of individual and intimate grief of losing. The book’s through line is, of course, the loss of your father, but it’s also losing relationships, losing homes, places, people.

But, then there’s also this examination of how these ideas of grief kind of play out in our movements and our organizations. So, thinking specifically about grief as collective, how can that help us think about our movement work?

SJ: Yeah. I mean, this is the sort of messy dialectic of grief. It is at once incredibly personal and even physical, bodily. I was talking to somebody who came to my book talk last night who is a bodyworker and she talked about the way that capitalism constrains the body and grief acts on the body. And so, you can’t literally experience the physicality of grief when you have to discipline your body to go back to work.

The challenge is that grief is specific, personal, and idiosyncratic. It doesn’t operate according to neat stages. It will come to kick your ass when you least expect it. That is just inherent in the experience of grief. And also it is a common thing that we will all experience and therefore can be something that, if we figure out how to make the space for it, can bring us together and tie us together.

The book starts out with the George Floyd uprising in 2020. It starts out with a police car on fire. In thinking about that moment, I was in Philadelphia at the time, and these massive, massive protests were occurring. In the middle of the afternoon, people were busting bank windows and lighting police cars on fire, at like two in the afternoon in a mostly empty downtown Philadelphia, because of course it was still locked down.

And I remember thinking, oh, this is what happens when we actually just get out and grieve in public, and this is what happens when people are expressing all of the grief that they’re feeling. They’re grieving for this specific person [George Floyd], they’re grieving for the set of people [who experience police violence], they’re grieving for themselves, they’re also grieving for this fucking pandemic that is scaring the shit out of us, grieving all of the experiences that we haven’t had in the last few months because we’ve been in lockdown, and they’re grieving for the way that capitalism constrains our lives. At that moment, it briefly felt like it was big enough to express some of that collective grief, and then, you know, of course, it fades and people have to go back to work and there’s a really intense and aggressive repression that happens, but that experience . . .

I went to Minnesota for this book because that is where that movement kicked off. Most people don’t know this, but the block where George Floyd was killed, the convenience store that he was killed in front of, is a block away from the offices of CTUL and IX, which are a couple of just incredible, incredible organizations in Minneapolis. The names are Centro de Trabajadores Unidos en la Lucha and Inquilinxs Unidxs por Justicia, which is Tenants United. And so they mostly started out organizing in Latinx communities, but they also organized in Black communities in Minneapolis. They also organize anybody who works in certain industries or lives in housing provided by a certain tenant or for certain landlords.

And people who had experienced all this grief, people who had been through rounds of protests after the shooting of Jamar Clark, after the death of Philando Castile in the Twin Cities, they were ready for this. These organizers, they didn’t start the protests, they didn’t control the protests, they didn’t direct the protests, but they were there to support them.

People who got tear-gassed could go into the CTUL and IX offices and be cared for. When the streets finally sort of quiet down, those [organizers] are the people who are holding the lessons of this uprising and who are thinking really seriously about how grief plays a role in their organizing and what it means to make space for that, to give people space to sort of experience and recover from grief but also to integrate it.

So many people who I spoke to for this book have been asking how we build rest into our organizing. How do we build care into our organizing? How do we take better care of each other? I think Kelly Hayes brought this up at our panel at the Socialism Conference, that we need the spaces where we take care of each other so that the meetings where we’re talking about strategy don’t become this space where trauma responses are ping-ponging around the room and suddenly we can’t get anything done because everybody’s triggered, everybody’s activated because we’re all carrying so much.

I don’t know that any of us have the answer because I don’t think there is going to be the one answer, but rather that, this is something that so many people are, are trying to integrate into their organizing in different ways, to make spaces for care and to think about what it means to build a movement that cares for the whole person?

You know, I think about Jane McAlevey, speaking of people I’m grieving now. Jane wrote about whole-worker organizing. What would it look like for the labor movement to really care about the whole person? What would it look like for movements to network together to effectively care for the whole person?

And I don’t think it’s an accident that, in Minneapolis, I’m seeing some of the most exciting work along these lines. Both this amazing alignment of labor unions and worker centers and tenant unions and community groups, climate justice organizing that are all connected with one another, and thinking about how to take care of a specific issue and how to integrate all of the issues, so that we have a livable community?

Yeah, I don’t think it’s an accident that this care-centered organizing comes out of the places where these uprisings have happened. In those uprisings, you build a kind of trust and you build a kind of care that is just different from anything you experience in a normal moment that isn’t a rupture.

EM: Wow. I love that. What I’m hearing from you is that there is a relationship between rage and grief, but also the necessity of not just care, but when you talk about these organizations, it’s like infrastructures of care. You are asking how movement care is sustained over the long term.

With that, I want to jump ahead and look at the book’s conclusion. ​​The conclusion of the book asks the question, “Can social movements build spaces that hold those cycles of rest and celebrations of life, the commemoration of loss, spaces that are connected to the struggle but not the place where it happens?” You go on to write that “moments of grief are messy and not often a good place to begin strategizing . . .” Can you talk more about what you mean by this? Are you confident that the present movements or organizations for justice can achieve this balance? What are the obstacles? Can you point to places where we are on our way?

SJ: The thing is that it’s not a balance. I think it is sort of a dialectic and it’s like you integrate things into your struggle and then what comes out of that is different than what was there before. There will be pushback and there will be new antagonisms and there will be a goddamn genocide that goes on for a year.

And as a result, we integrate new things, right? Like we are experiencing grief in a whole new and terrifying way, looking at what is going on in Palestine right now, and now what is going on in Lebanon. The fact that the world has just allowed this to go on, the fact that our tax dollars are still being spent on weapons and that we have not been able to stop it—this is a new kind of grief. And it is unlike anything we have ever lived with.

I’ve been covering politics and social movements for going on twenty years now, but this is just like, What the fuck is happening? I remember the first couple of months last year, October and November, everything was just like go, go, go, go, go. I remember trying to organize a teach-in on Christian Zionism at one point, and people were not answering my emails fast enough. There was an extreme urgency. It felt like we had to do everything we could do, throw everything at the wall to try to make this fucking thing stop. And somewhere, we had to go, oh my God, this [genocide] is going to keep going for a while.

How then do we transition into fighting genocide sustainably, which is just a bonkers sentence to say. How is that even a thing that we are thinking about right now? But it is because we have to. We have to be alive to keep fighting, and we have to be functional to keep fighting.

I think it’s Gargi Bhattacharya who says that capitalism everywhere is always fascism somewhere. And the difference now is less that fascism is somewhere, and more that it is streaming on our fucking smartphones, which are devices that also only exist because of horrific death-making conditions in many places around the world.

My point is, that we are learning and integrating and changing because of what’s happening right now and because of what we’re learning from people in Palestine, people in Lebanon, and people around the world who are fighting this. We are learning from the Houthis that it actually doesn’t take much to screw up global shipping. We are being forced to reckon with what it will take to meaningfully try to stop the machine of death that is capital.

One of the books that I’ve read, again, and that I wish I had read before I finished mine, is Hannah Proctor’s wonderful book, Burnout and the Experience of Political Defeat. She comes back beautifully to this question of urgency and patience and the tension between the two. And finally, towards the end of the book, she sort of says that urgency is patience.

I just found that so important to think about, because we also have to be okay, because in that room where the trauma response is ping-ponging around everywhere, nothing is getting done. We cannot organize effectively if we are not okay. We can organize actions and marches that don’t actually do anything but make us feel like we have done something, and I am no longer soothed by, Well, at least we did something. I need evidence that what we are doing is, in some way, effective.

And yet, I also feel like there is value in the action that makes people feel like they have done something because these actions can bring new people into the struggle. I was in England for the summer and there were a bunch of racist pogroms where angry people decided to try to assault women in hijabs in the street and set fire to hotels where migrants might be staying.

They threw bricks through businesses owned by Muslims, and basically just went on an Islamophobic rampage. And then a few days later when there were reports that there were going to be more of these pogroms, thousands and thousands and thousands of people across Britain came out to fight them. People came out to protest in places like Walthamstow in the north of London, which are basically these gentrified corners of London occupied by a lot of people who’ve moved to the slightly outer ring to raise children

These are not people who are going out and trying to fight fascists in the streets with incredible regularity. These are people who maybe this was their first time confronting the Right. But now they have done that. And despite the fact that no fascists showed up in Walthamstow that day       —or if they did, they took one look at the crowd and went back home and, you know, kept their fashy flags hidden, in their back pockets— that was still a valuable action because those people had that experience, and so they are more likely to show up again.

The action was not where it was most needed,  probably because most of the fascist rampaging was happening in smaller towns where it is more disproportionately white, but that experience still has welcomed some people into an anti-fascist struggle that they would not have been part of before.

And so, yes, you need the thing that welcomes the new people into activity and gives them the sort of onramps and escalators that will get them to the point where they’re ready to throw down when the alert goes out on the WhatsApp group that there’s a raid happening. I’m thinking of something else that’s in the book where I accidentally stumbled on a police riot while I was walking home in Hackney one night. The police had been trying to arrest and harass or deport some young delivery drivers, and the community had been aware that this was happening through a sort of alert system. And so people came out to stop it. It was a smaller group, but it was really important in that moment, when somebody was actually about to be harmed, that the community came out and said no. The labor organizations and the no-raids networks that had been organizing were able to pull in people who might not normally do things like that.

Even though the low-hanging fruit thing doesn’t satisfy me because I’m like, Oh my God, we have so much further to go before we can overturn this death-making system, it’s still important. These actions can bring new people in and introduce them to struggle and the feeling of, on some level, putting their bodies on the line.

EM: I think that’s very useful. I want to linger on the question of obstacles a little bit because I think it’s useful to name them so that we can begin to think about overcoming them. No one has all the solutions, as you say in the Conclusion, but sometimes just the act of naming the obstacles can help us, at least, be more cognizant in our organizing.

SJ: Yeah, there are a lot of obstacles. I had people, in the course of writing this book, say to me, Oh, I’m, I’m too materialist to think about feelings. And I’m like, Well, I don’t know how to tell you that Marx and Engels also looked around at the world and thought it was horrific.

Having a materialist analysis of the world doesn’t mean that we turn off being human.

They were not operating from a place of pure theory. You know, Uncle Freddy looked at his daddy’s factories and went, holy shit, this is what I’m living off the profits of? He continued living off of those profits to be Marx’s sugar daddy, but he was horrified nonetheless. Having a materialist analysis of the world doesn’t mean that we turn off being human. In fact, the whole point of what variously gets called species-being and talking about alienation is that we want a world where we are not alienated. We want a world where we are not ground down and experiencing “social murder,” as Engels put it in The Condition of the Working Class in England.

This stuff grinds us up emotionally as well as physically. We don’t get involved in organizing against capitalism and imperialism purely for material reasons. I was just in Chattanooga last weekend for the Southern Labor Studies Association, and I was chairing a panel on the UAW and their win at the Volkswagen plant in Chattanooga and talking to some of those workers. One thing they kept coming back to was the question of dignity. It’s always dignity that is the thing that makes people organize. There are often specific insults to it that are not wages. You know, I mean, look, sometimes it’s about money, but often it’s about how the boss talks to me.

This one woman who I spoke to had been working at the plant for fourteen years. She’s told me, They [management] talk to you like you’re a dog, and I’m not going to take that anymore. And the union means to her that the boss is not going to disrespect her anymore. I mean, it probably means a little bit more money in her pocket, but the Volkswagen workers make good money compared to many people in the South of the U.S. but it comes down to dignity.

The example I use so often is the Amazon workers in Shakopee, Minnesota, who were mostly Somali and East African. They fought over prayer time. Many of them are practicing Muslims and they wanted their time to pray and they wanted space to do it in and space to do it properly. That was the thing that brought Amazon to the bargaining table.

It wasn’t money, and it wasn’t even the work process. It was like, We want to be able to feel like humans and not like robots. So, the fact that I still have to sort of argue with some socialists who see themselves as pure materialists is absurd. We should care about things beyond bread and butter.

That’s a major obstacle, but the biggest obstacle of all is time. Everybody is so exhausted. I always end up recommending a ton of books whenever I talk about my own book. Another one is  Ajay Singh Chaudhary’s The Exhausted of the Earth in which he argues that the exhausted is perhaps the political subject of our time.

And I hear that in a lot of the interviews I do. I heard it from the Volkswagen workers, who told me that, after the lockdowns lessened, they just had to work all these extra hours to make up for lost volume. I also heard it from gig workers, who often tell themselves they must just keep the productivity app on just a little bit longer, and I hear it from people who are working from home now because working from home means your boss expects you to answer emails at 9 PM.

We’re so exhausted that we don’t even have time to experience what we’re actually feeling. The thing that I’ve heard from a lot of people who have been organizing around Palestine is that there is not even time to grieve because the genocide is still happening.

You can’t be in post-traumatic stress disorder when the stress hasn’t stopped, when you are never post the traumatic stress because it just keeps going. And again, I’m sort of returning to the same point over and over again, but I think that it is on purpose, right? We are not only sped up but also stretched out. More and more and more of our time is taken up and it’s being taken from us so that we can’t raise hell.

And, you know, one of the important things about the strike is that it’s not just a way to fuck up production, but it is also a way to reclaim your time.

In a strike, we are pulling our time back from capital and saying, actually, this is ours to do with what we want. And, you only get it from us if we agree to give it to you, and we will only do that if you agree to some of our demands. That kind of claiming of space and time is so, so important because we are so exhausted.

Another thing that Miriam Kaba actually brought up at an event in Chicago is how we have different grammars of grief, and that different people have different languages, experiences, processes, and rituals around it. And we often talk past each other. We don’t all need the same thing, other than time and that time to be flexible. Because you might be okay for a week and then suddenly grief kicks your ass. You might have it kick your ass five years on and need to take the time then. But no boss is going to be like, Oh, you can have your bereavement leave from the death of your mom five years ago. You’re supposed to be over that by now. And if you’re not, there’s social ostracization too. And we can do that to each other in the movement too, right?

Lydia Pelot-Hobbs was talking about this on our panel at Socialism again. She was in New Orleans, organizing after Katrina. She talked about this sign she had seen that read something like less tears, more action. But people have just lost everything, you know, and setting aside time for grief is important. We can sort of internalize these capitalist values even about how the revolution is going to be done. There is an internalized myth that it’s going to be done by us just working more. And I think, this is why I returned to Walter Benjamin in the beginning, the end, and all through this book to suggest the revolution is pulling the emergency brake.

It’s often doing less, deliberately doing less and refusing. It’s finding that way to stop the gears that are grinding us all to shreds.

EM: This next question is related to what you were just speaking about. At several points in the book, you note that capitalism doesn’t allow space for us to grieve, both denying us the time to grieve and also the ritual of grief altogether. I am thinking about Chapter 4—the story of Christina Longhini posting the video of her father’s belongings handed to her in a garbage bag, “his pajamas covered in blood” after he died of COVID-19 during the Italian lockdowns in Bergamo. Her story reminds readers that during the COVID lockdowns, people did not have access to their traditional rituals of grief. Many readers will make the connection to Palestinians, who collect bags of body parts from the Israeli government as it continues its genocidal slaughter of Gaza. What does it mean to be denied the time and ritual of grief? What might these two instances (Gaza and Bergamos) offer about one another?

SJ: Yeah. I finished a draft of this book on September 15th of last year. And so I had written some about Palestine, but then I had to sort of tear a chunk out of the book and write 5,000 words of what was going on—what is still going on. One of the things I had written about was the killing of Shireen Abu Akleh, the Palestinian journalist, and how the Israelis then disrupted her funeral, and it, again, sort of brings me back to the Walter Benjamin line about, even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins.

And then recently with the pager attacks in Lebanon, supposedly on Hezbollah, but, Israel just blew up a bunch of pagers that had been imported into the country five months ago. They blew up a whole lot of people who weren’t in Hezbollah.

But one of the things that some people noted was they did a first round of explosions of these things. And then the next day, when people would have been trying to bury their dead, they set off another round. It’s a literal attempt to harm people as they gather to grieve. Just think about how horribly cruel that is—that it’s an attempt to literally weaponize people trying to gather to mourn. When we think about what’s happening in Gaza, it’s not only that people are having to try to identify body parts from a pile in a bag, but also that they have to broadcast this to the world to try to get someone to give a shit. It has a whole other kind of publicness to it. None of us should be seeing this stuff, but at the same time, Palestinians understand there is a political necessity to this publicness.

I think about Beth Hoffberg, who is an organizer in Memphis who I spoke to for the first chapter of the book, and she talks about watching the video of Tyre Nichols being beaten to death by Memphis police. She was just like, I shouldn’t be seeing this. This is so wrong that this police killing is a thing that we are watching. And I understand politically why it is. It’s necessary for the video to be out, and to be public, and for people to be able to watch it. But also, oh my God, I shouldn’t be seeing this.

This is just this horrible, horrible moment. That shouldn’t be the way the world knows this man. And because of that, Beth really focused on finding his photography and trying to get it out to the world. It was important to her that we know this person beyond the horrible way that he died. And not out of this sort of respectability politics of like, Oh, we have to prove that he was a good person and this shouldn’t have happened to him.

You know the family, friends, and loved ones of those murdered by police shouldn’t have to grieve in front of everybody and be judged on how well you do it. But there’s this set of judgments that get leveled on the family members of people who have been killed by police. Some of them sort of perform the role well, in such a way that is acceptable to the movement,and others don’t. I wouldn’t perform that role very well. I am not good at controlling my emotions. There is an expectation that not only do you have to grieve in this horrible way for this horrible thing that has happened, but also you have to sort of do it knowing that the world is watching. It becomes collective in a way that maybe we don’t want it to be.

How many videos have we watched now of somebody holding their dead child up to the camera. People have commented over and over again that so many of the videos coming out of Gaza are in English. People know who the audience is because they know who is funding the bombs. And imagine having to speak about this horror in a language that is not the most comfortable to you because you are desperately trying to get someone to turn off the flow of death. It’s just horrific in a way that I don’t know how to hold physically.

And that question of a loss of the ritual, we see it in Gaza and then, on the other end, you know, with COVID. People died alone and their loved ones didn’t see what happened.  You asked about Christina. She makes this video of the bag, the garbage bag that the hospital workers gave her back holding her father’s things. But she couldn’t be with him in the hospital. And the nurses and the doctors were so busy that she barely got to talk to him while he was in the hospital because they were just dealing with all of it.

And, you know, the medical workers are, in turn, the ones who experienced all of it, they’re the only ones who experienced this death firsthand. So on the one hand, there is a horrific, horrific publicness to pandemic grief. On the other hand, there is a sort of outsourcing of all of the grieving to a set of workers who are also physically exhausted and overworked.

They are often sick themselves and are terrified of bringing the virus home to their own families. Particularly in the early days, when we didn’t really know what would work against it and what wouldn’t.

And this is still true now, when the broader message from the rest of the world is to go back to normal. Everything is fine. And people who work in hospitals are seeing a surge. People are still dying of this thing, and these workers are still being forced to hold all of that. They’re not getting the support they need. They’re not getting the care that they need. They’re not getting anything that they need, and they just have to go on holding it or quit their jobs. But they also have to figure out some way to process it, handle it, and mourn it, alone.

EM: Obviously not on the same scale, but sort of drawing a correlative between the genocide in Gaza and the COVID pandemic is that there’s also a degree of denial. You’re seeing the evidence in your face, and yet the official story continues to deny that it’s happening. I think that also complicates the grief. I think this actually kind of transitions to another question, which is the question of solidarity, right? I think that one of the brilliant things that the book does is to deploy grief as a kind of analytic. We know the culprit is capitalism. But using grief as the analytic tool to examine the alienation, exploitation, violence, and the imperialist drive of capitalism, both personalizes and also collectivizes our experiences of those things. And I think that it breaks open a pathway for solidarity.

This comes in Chapter Four; you write, “Solidarity is a feeling and a practice that is pulverized by the neoliberal era.” I love that. But then you go on to write, “In the early days, the pandemic broke from this logic because the pandemic had to be faced communally. However, neoliberalism quickly rose from the dead again.” I was wondering if you could just comment a little both on the solidarity across the struggles that you talk about in the book, but also the way in which capitalism in general, and neoliberalism in particular, insists on pulverizing this solidarity out of us.

SJ: One of the things with COVID is that, in the early days, when we didn’t know how it spread, we had this whole [idea] that we were in it together. We’re all at the same risk. And then it became very clear that we weren’t. It became very clear that the workforce split into three.

There were people who could work from home; people who just got fired, laid off, furloughed, but mostly fired; and people who were still doing the same job, but it just got a whole hell of a lot more dangerous. And guess which section died? It was the people who were still going to work in person. It was the healthcare workers, but also the line cooks, the meatpacking workers, and those who are incarcerated. These groups experienced some of the highest casualty rates. It was people who were forced to be in collective settings—whether they liked it or not, mostly they did not—who were dying. It was also disproportionately Black and Brown people. It was also people who lived in multi-generational homes, and therefore the whole family gets sick when one person goes to work.

As soon as we started to realize who was dying, the minute it became publicized that it was more likely to be Black and Brown people who would die from the virus, that’s when white people started to throw off their masks and protest because they wanted to be able to get a haircut.

That’s when it started to polarize, because it became a thing that was mostly happening to people who society considers disposable already. And of course, the trick is that capitalism considers us all disposable. But, it will make certain people more disposable than others. And so that acknowledgment of who is it that’s actually sick, who is it that’s actually dying is an important one. When you don’t know anybody who is taken by the virus, you may feel less affected.

I remember talking to an editor who was trying to commission me for a piece about the moment when nobody wanted to work anymore. This was one of the several post-COVID work trends that we’ve had—bosses sticking up these flyers on their fast food windows complaining that nobody wants to work anymore. And I had to tell this editor, like, look, people died. One of the reasons that there is a labor shortage in this industry is the people who used to work in it are dying. And this editor responded, Oh, but mostly old people died. And I answered, Yeah, and poor people, and people who work in low-wage jobs, people who work in fast food.

Just because you didn’t know anyone who died, my dude, does not mean that no one died. It means that your social circle is classed. My point is, if we do not learn to break out of seeing our social circle as the political world, we are fucked on so many levels. I used to work in restaurants for a good ten years of my life before I finally managed to claw my way out of the service industry, so this is not academic to me. These statements of we’re all in it together, they fall apart very quickly once it becomes clear that we’re not. We’re not in it the same way.

Ruth Wilson Gilmore describes racism as group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death. And who is made vulnerable to premature death? In some ways, the whole thing is going to kill all of us, but it will be group differentiated and it will come for some people first. We can either see this and challenge it as a basis for building solidarity or we can close our eyes and ignore it.

I was talking to Eva Borgwardt from IfNotNow in relation to Palestine because there are sort of two Jewish responses to antisemitism. There is, Oh my God, we need a walled fortress and we need to do our own genocide in order to keep us safe. Or we go with the, you know, the Yiddish word is doikayt, which translates to hereness, and it is the principle of the Bund and of radical anti-Zionist Judaism, which is that we fight where we are, with who is around.

[The Yiddish word doikayt] is about solidarity. It is about connection. It is about reaching across and being in relationship with the people and the place where you live. In a way that was meaningful to me before the fucking genocide started, but it’s certainly become only so much more so since.

And that is about solidarity. It is about connection. It is about reaching across and being in relationship with the people and the place where you live. In a way that was meaningful to me before the fucking genocide started, but it’s certainly become only so much more so since. Because you can either reach out across differences and realize that at different moments in time, I have been part of the group that was made vulnerable to premature death. Right now I may not be, but I can certainly be again. And we can either say and recognize that those differences are the thing we need to fight, or we can double and triple down on them and, you know, we are seeing in real-time right now what happens when that happens. The response is genocidal, right?

There’s no ethno-state that does not commit racist violence. You just can’t do that. I know that Richard Spencer and all those assholes tried to sell it that way for a little while. Like, Oh, we just want, you know, like people to be with like people. But, there’s no way to do that without racist violence and mostly no way to do it without genocidal racist violence.

EM: I also think that one of the things the book offers in presenting grief as a kind of analytic tool is that it helps to frame solidarity a little bit differently. It helps to encourage us to think about one another in relation to one another. But I wanted to make sure that we get to this last question.

Is there a danger to overstating the commons of grief? In the book, you write about the work of Sisters Uncut who call a demonstration in support of a white woman who has been brutalized by the police. Another example is the lesbian and gay support for the striking miners described in Chapter Three. But it seems the most aggrieved are often required to express empathy and offer solidarity first. That solidarity is not always returned, so is there a danger to overstating a commons? If so, what do we do with that?

SJ: I think that is an important question. It is sort of a challenge that we do not all speak the same language of grief, actually. Look, I think that the fascist uprisings in England trying to smash things are also a grief response. It’s a horrific one, but there is a kind of grief in there.

Gabe Winant wrote this piece in the early days after October 7th, and he was arguing with Joshua Leifer. Gabe talks about Israel as a machine for metabolizing grief. It turns that grief into an excuse for genocidal racist violence. And so it’s like, you sort of can’t grieve. This is this, you know, challenge that I think a lot of Jewish people have been struggling with since October 7th : if we express grief at all, it just gets metabolized back into this fucking machine. And the machine is genocidal.

I remember listening to an interview with Adam Tooze, who, in addition to being everybody’s favorite sort of economics commentator, is actually a scholar of politics in Nazi Germany. And he was talking about one of the things that brought Nazism about was the mass death of World War One. And this experience of mass death that Nazism, in particular, does is it sort of venerates death and turns that into its object. And it basically becomes a death cult. What it offers people as consolation is taking pleasure in the deaths of others.

And this, to a lesser extent, but still to an extent, is the promise of Trumpism. It is that you get to take pleasure in the misfortune and misery of Brown people, right? This is on some level what America is all about. Greg Grandin’s book The End of the Myth, explains the way that freedom in the U.S. is always freedom to exploit, oppress, and kill Black and Brown people.

But these are also things that come out of grief and trauma. They are experiences also of material loss. I write a lot about deindustrialization, which is something that I’ve been obsessed with writing about since the Trump phenomenon began, actually before the Trump phenomenon began. Some people’s response to deindustrialization is “make America great again”, which is like, you know, bring back the days when men were men and went down a coal mine and that’s what life looked like. And, you know, that actually sucked when it was really happening, but we are nostalgically attached to it because at least you knew where your next paycheck was coming from.

And that is all wrapped up in ideas of race, ideas of whiteness, ideas of masculinity, and power and strength. But it does not offer anything real. Trumpism is not going to make America great again, spoiler alert, because, well, America was never great. The pleasure Trumpism offers instead, the thing that will allow his supporters to deal with the awful feelings that they are feeling, is revenge.

But it’s revenge on the wrong people. Because it’s not, not that I need to tell any of your readers this, but it wasn’t the migrants who closed the factory, you know? And so, it is really important to note that grief does not make us better people automatically, or even a little bit better. It often can make us worse, especially in a world that offers us no care and support for it.

EM: I think that connects back to the way you end the book, which emphasizes the importance of having those spaces for grief, care, and emotions inside the movement work and the organizational work that we do. Having them is not a fail-safe, but it is one effort that can prevent those feelings of grief from descending into feelings of grievance, which is another kind of pairing that you use in the conclusion.

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As a reader of this site, it should not be necessary to overly rehearse the political challenges and dangers the Left faces heading into 2025. But a few words, as Tempest will need your help to play our part in confronting this reality.  

The electoral success of the Trump movement and its insurgent far right politics—with all its chaos, contradictions, and clownishness—is both an acute symptom of the crisis of our capitalist political order and a manifold threat: to communities of migrants and refugees, to trans and queer people, to trade unionists and public sector workers, to educators, to Palestine activists and the Left as a whole, to all of our democratic rights, to the working class in all our diversity, to the planet, and within all of that, to humanity. 

The first appearance of the word “reactionary”, in English at least, apparently dates to the French Revolution defining the monarchical and clerical forces whose response to the mass democratic impulses was to defend feudalism in all its god-given glory. The Trump movement contains its own varieties of reaction. 

What does it mean to make America Great Again? Those in the U.S. are being algorithmically sold a promise of overcoming the anxiety-inducing experience of late neoliberalism with a return to mythic pasts. Be it of a white, Christian (part Society for American Civic Renewal, part Opus Dei), heteronormative, and slave-owning variety and/or, simultaneously that of a “freedom loving” libertarian paradise. One where the working class is hopelessly prostrate, without legal protections or unions, and where the twenty-first-century holocausts (be they of the public health, mass shooter,  ecological, or genocidal settler-colonial variety) become routinized and normalized. A “great America”  then becomes a place where Great Leaders and their billionaire council of advisers can transact the world’s business and prepare their collective escape to Mars once they’ve ensured the destruction of this planet. 

At the risk of immodesty (and a teleological conceit), the Tempest Collective launched in 2020 in preparation for this moment, this trajectory.

With these frightening mythic lode stars, the Trump sequel is both a reaction to late neoliberal febrility and a reaction to the failed strategy of the Left and our social movements tying ourselves to the Democratic Party and social liberalism generally. The Kamala Harris of it all, to use a shorthand.

We believe that this “lesser evil” dialectic and the insidious, anti-democratic throttle of the U.S. republic’s electoral process means that, whatever damage it will wreak, Trump does not have a mandate–control of Congress and the bought and paid Supreme Court be damned. The majority of (currently) eligible voters, much less the majority of U.S. residents have not bought in or yet been cowed into submission. So what does this mean for us, the Left, the socialist movement, our revolutionary current?

At the risk of immodesty (and a teleological conceit), the Tempest Collective launched in 2020 in preparation for this moment, this trajectory. Much of a nascent and vibrant effort to reconstruct a Left fit for the post-2008 global crisis coalesced into a social democratic electoral experiment that by the spring of 2020 had been defeated with a whimper. To this day, there has been very little self-reflection on its limitations though we already see the efforts to rehabilitate this tired strategy. 

In our inaugural editorial, we wrote:

The multiple, conspiring, crises of this moment have brought their own damage and destruction. But like a storm they also force us to come together…in their wake, they open up possibilities, a new terrain for struggle.

If there is a single imperative which drives this project it is not letting this opportunity be lost. The Left must lay the foundations for independent and democratic organizations of self-activity and struggle and must ensure that these organizations are deep-rooted and organically reflect and represent the working class. To do this also requires us helping recohere a resurgent revolutionary current, to keep our eyes on the prize, and to provide the perspective and commitment to get us there.

In common with much of the world over the last two decades, the U.S. has witnessed mass movements of historical breadth and revolutionary horizons. But our collective inability to translate these opportunities into lasting class independent organizations, and the possibility of a party of the working class, in all its diversity, has now contributed to reactionary politics taking power. 

Tempest aims to help change this equation. We seek to build the revolutionary current, and in so doing, train a new generation of cadre. This is inseparable from actively organizing a much greater independent, organizational weight for our class, our communities, and our Left. And in so doing, we seek to create a space for the strategic and tactical questions that arise at every level of our collective work. 

This year we will continue to support the independent resistance, those movements, rank-and-file efforts, unions, organizations, and united fronts that already exist. This means supporting our members in their work; We simultaneously continue to build local collectives and a voice for the politics of revolutionary socialism from below at the national and international level. Concretely, we have costs–both immediate and longer-term–in preparing our organization for some of the promises and threats of the incoming administration. We also want to deepen our international collaboration, our support for important institutions of our movement, like the annual Socialism Conference, and expect to build regional conferences of our own. This is in addition to the ongoing work of this website. It is very clear that, in the midst of the coming, frightening storm, there are real opportunities to build.

Our membership has been the sole material base of support for our efforts these last years but there is much more to be done.  We need the financial help of everyone who sees the importance of these efforts. We know resources are tight, and we thank you in advance for donating to our work. Most significantly, we look forward to seeing you all in our collective efforts to navigate the fight for a better world.

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