Introduction
Many people fail to grasp the true nature of Fascism and its operation within society. Fascism is not a force that overtly declares itself; rather, it thrives on subtlety and deception. It is a clandestine ideology, insidious in its methods, that infiltrates the norms of a society, distorting and corrupting them from within. Through this process of normalization, Fascism slowly reshapes views, perspectives, taboos, and cultural norms, gradually eroding their original meanings and functions. This insidious nature allows Fascism to integrate seamlessly into the social fabric, making it difficult for people to recognize its presence until it has already taken deep root.
Contrary to popular belief, Fascism does not reveal itself openly or suddenly. History has shown us time and again that by the time Fascism is recognized, it has already woven itself into the everyday life of a society, altering the social and political landscape. The failure to understand this has led many to mistakenly believe that Fascism will always make itself known in some dramatic fashion, but this is a dangerous misconception. Fascism, in reality, is a parasitic force that thrives in the shadows, exploiting the vulnerabilities of a society to further its agenda.
To understand the relationship between Fascism and Capitalism is to understand that they are inseparable, like conjoined twins that share a lifeline. Capitalism, with its inherent inequalities and exploitation, creates fertile ground for Fascism to take root. The two systems benefit from one another in a symbiotic relationship: Fascism provides the authoritarian control needed to suppress dissent and maintain the capitalist order, while Capitalism fuels the economic disparities and social anxieties that Fascism feeds upon. Together, they form a formidable force that perpetuates the cycle of oppression and exploitation.
The recent events in the UK, which I refer to as the "2024 August Pogroms," are a clear manifestation of this symbiosis. While the media and government may label these events as mere "riots," they are in fact indicative of a deeper, more troubling trend. If you want more information on the Riots itself, I have a dedicated article for it here:
These events are not isolated incidents but rather the result of a long-standing process of normalization and radicalization within the society. The violence and unrest we are witnessing are the fruits of Fascism's insidious influence, nurtured by the inequalities and injustices of Capitalism.
What is most concerning, however, is not just the violence itself but the response it will elicit from the State. These events will likely be used as a pretext to justify an increase in policing powers, further eroding civil liberties and emboldening the far-right factions within the country. This is a classic tactic of Fascism: using crises, often of its own making, to justify the expansion of authoritarian control. The State, under the guise of maintaining order, will likely implement more repressive measures, pushing society further down the path of Fascism.
It is important to recognize that Fascism in Germany did not begin with Hitler's election; rather, the seeds were planted long before, in the aftermath of the First World War. The social and economic upheavals of that time created the conditions for Fascism to take hold, and it grew gradually, often unnoticed, until it was too late. Similarly, the current situation in the UK is not an isolated phenomenon but part of a broader historical pattern. The social and economic conditions that allow Fascism to flourish are present, and unless we confront them directly, we risk repeating the mistakes of the past.
How did Fascism be normalised?
The German Example
Fascism can emerge as a response to the contradictions within a given sociopolitical framework, often taking root in periods of intense class struggle. A notable example of this is the rise of the Freikorps in post-World War I Germany. The Freikorps, a far-right paramilitary group, attempted a coup known as the "Kapp Putsch," which ultimately failed. However, rather than facing severe repercussions for their anti-state actions, the Freikorps were shielded by the very state they sought to destabilize. This response highlights a deeper contradiction within the Weimar Republic, particularly under the leadership of the Social Democratic Party (SPD). While many liberals might perceive the SPD as a left-wing or centre-left party, such labels obscure the material realities of their actions and the underlying class dynamics at play. In the context of dialectical materialism, it is essential to analyse the SPD's role in nurturing fascism not merely as a series of political miscalculations but as a reflection of their class position within the capitalist system.
The SPD's complicity in the rise of fascism can be traced through their staunch anti-socialist and anti-communist stance. Far from being a champion of the working class, (similarly to the Labour Party UK), the SPD often collaborated with bourgeois industrialists and reactionary forces like the Freikorps to suppress genuine revolutionary movements, as evidenced during the brutal suppression of the Spartacus Uprising. This collusion reveals the SPD's true allegiance to the capitalist class, rather than to the workers they purported to represent. By forming coalitions with centrist and right-wing parties, the SPD repeatedly compromised its ability to implement meaningful social and economic reforms. These coalitions were not just pragmatic attempts to maintain stability; they were expressions of the SPD's deeper alignment with bourgeois interests. The resulting policies failed to address the systemic crises of capitalism, exacerbating social and economic discontent among the working class and petty bourgeoisie. This discontent did not simply dissipate; instead, it fuelled the growth of more radical movements, including the Nazi Party, which promised to address the grievances that the SPD had neglected.
The narrative that the SPD and other political entities "underestimated" the threat of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party serves as a convenient alibi for their failure to act decisively against fascism. However, this view overlooks the dialectical reality of their class position. As a bourgeois party, the SPD's primary interest lay in preserving the capitalist order, not in advancing the interests of the working class. The SPD's relentless focus on combating the Communist Party of Germany (KPD) and other left-wing factions, while downplaying the growing fascist threat, underscores their role as protectors of bourgeois democracy rather than as agents of revolutionary change. Their neglect of the Nazi threat was not simply an oversight; it was a calculated decision rooted in their class contradictions. In reality, the SPD's actions were consistent with their role as a bourgeois party, ultimately paving the way for the ascension of fascism by weakening the working-class movement and allowing the capitalist state to co-opt reactionary forces in defence of its own interests.
Antisemitism in SPD
The Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD), which held the title of the largest "socialist" party in the country (despite the fact it aligned with capitalists more), navigated a contradictory and often problematic relationship with antisemitism. While the party officially opposed antisemitism, its stance was far from monolithic. Under the lens of dialectical materialism, the SPD's struggle with antisemitism reflects the contradictions inherent within a party that, despite its “socialist aspirations”, was deeply entangled with the bourgeois elements of the society it sought to transform. The SPD's ambivalence towards antisemitism can be understood as a byproduct of its position within the broader class struggle, where the ideological influence of bourgeois society often seeped into the working-class movement.
Historians like Lars Fischer have noted that prominent social democrats, including figures like Franz Mehring, grappled with deep-seated anti-Jewish prejudices, which were reflective of the broader social consciousness of their time. These prejudices were not merely personal failings but rather symptoms of the ideological struggles within the party itself. The SPD's rhetoric against "Jewish capitalists," for instance, was rooted in a critique of capitalism that inadvertently reinforced antisemitic stereotypes. This rhetoric exposed the limits of the SPD’s socialist critique, which at times failed to distinguish between the capitalist class as a whole and specific ethnic identity, thereby inadvertently perpetuating bourgeois nationalist ideologies within the proletarian movement.
Yet, within the SPD, there existed a countercurrent of leaders, such as Karl Kautsky and Eduard Bernstein, who recognized the dual oppression faced by Jewish workers, both as members of the proletariat and as targets of antisemitism. From a dialectical materialist perspective, Kautsky and Bernstein's recognition of this dual oppression was an attempt to synthesize the proletarian struggle with a broader understanding of social oppression. They understood that antisemitism was not merely a cultural prejudice, but a tool used by the ruling class to divide and weaken the working class. By advocating solidarity with Jewish proletarians, they sought to build a united front against both capitalism and its attendant ideologies, including antisemitism.
However, the SPD’s response to antisemitism was often marked by passivity, particularly as the Nazi movement gained strength. This passivity can be seen as a reflection of the SPD's broader political strategy, which often prioritized electoral politics over revolutionary action. The failure to make opposition to antisemitism a central part of their platform was not merely an oversight but indicative of the party's broader bipartisanship of the fascist threat. The rise of Nazism represented not just a political challenge, but a profound and violent restructuring of capitalist society aimed at crushing the working-class movement.
Antisemitism in the Reichstag
The Reichstag, while ostensibly a democratic institution, was deeply enmeshed in the social contradictions of Weimar Germany, including the pervasive influence of antisemitic rhetoric. This rhetoric, often espoused by deputies with ties to reactionary bourgeois elements, was not merely the product of individual bigotry but reflected the broader social antagonisms that were intensifying within German society. The Reichstag, as a microcosm of the broader class struggle, became a battleground where reactionary forces sought to legitimize their antisemitic views under the guise of parliamentary debate.
Antisemitic deputies, who often represented the interests of the most reactionary sectors of the bourgeoisie, exploited their parliamentary immunity to evade prosecution for hate speech and incitement. This exploitation of legal privileges was symptomatic of the bourgeois state’s role in maintaining the capitalist order, where the judiciary's inconsistent enforcement of laws against defamation and incitement further exposed the state's complicity in the spread of antisemitic propaganda. The legal system, designed to protect bourgeois property and privilege, was ill-equipped—and often unwilling—to protect the rights of Jewish citizens against the rising tide of reactionary violence.
The intensifying antisemitism within the Reichstag and German society at large forced many Jews to confront their identities in a hostile environment. Influential figures like Ernst Toller, Sigmund Freud, and Arnold Schoenberg found themselves at the intersection of cultural and class struggle, grappling with their Jewish identity as it became increasingly politicized. Schoenberg's public opposition to antisemitism, even after his conversion to Christianity, highlights the deep personal and social contradictions faced by Jewish individuals. His correspondence with Wassily Kandinsky, for instance, reveals the pervasive and corrosive nature of antisemitism, which transcended individual identity and became a systemic force within German society.
The assassination of Walther Rathenau in 1922 by right-wing extremists was a stark and violent manifestation of the intense antisemitic fervour that had been cultivated within the German political sphere. Rathenau’s murder was not merely the act of isolated extremists but was indicative of a broader reactionary movement that sought to use antisemitism as a tool to advance its own class interests. This act of violence was a direct assault on the fragile democratic order of the Weimar Republic and a prelude to the more systematic and state-sponsored antisemitism that would come to define the Nazi regime.
In both the SPD’s internal contradictions and the broader social dynamics within the Reichstag, we see how antisemitism functioned as both an ideological weapon and a reflection of the underlying class struggle in Germany. The failure to adequately address and combat antisemitism within these institutions was not merely a moral failing but a symptom of the broader inability of the German left to effectively confront the rising forces of fascism, which ultimately sought to annihilate both the socialist movement and the Jewish people.
Pogroms Across Germany
In the immediate aftermath of World War I, Germany found itself plunged into profound political and economic turmoil. The defeat in the war had shattered the old imperial order, leading to the abdication of the Kaiser and the establishment of the Weimar Republic—a parliamentary democracy that faced enormous challenges from the outset. The economic devastation wrought by the war, coupled with the harsh terms of the Treaty of Versailles, exacerbated the instability. In this chaotic environment, reactionary forces sought scapegoats to explain the nation's downfall, with Jews becoming a convenient target for the frustrations and fears of a society in crisis.
The ruling classes and the nascent bourgeoisie, who were desperate to maintain their privileges and control amidst rising discontent, found in anti-Semitic rhetoric a powerful tool to divert popular anger away from the structural inequities and failures of capitalism. By invoking myths like "Jewish Bolshevism" and "Jewish Republic," these reactionary forces effectively linked Jews to the spread of socialist and communist ideologies, which threatened the existing social order. This propaganda was not merely the product of irrational hatred but served a material function in the struggle to preserve the status quo against revolutionary change.
Two organizations, in particular, played significant roles in spreading this virulent anti-Semitic ideology: the German National People's Party (DNVP) and the German Völkisch Defense and Protection League (DSTB). The DNVP, representing conservative and nationalist interests, wielded its influence in parliament and society to propagate the notion that Jews were responsible for Germany's suffering. The DSTB, on the other hand, mobilized more directly, engaging in violent actions such as the desecration of Jewish cemeteries and synagogues in Munich 1924. These acts of violence were not isolated incidents but were deeply rooted in the socio-economic conditions of the time. They were expressions of the reactionary pushback against the perceived threats to capitalist interests, particularly from the working class and revolutionary movements.
The hyperinflation crisis of 1923 intensified these dynamics. As the value of the German mark plummeted and savings were wiped out, the middle class, whose economic security was crucial to the stability of the capitalist system, found itself in dire straits. In their search for explanations and solutions, many were drawn to the anti-Semitic narratives that blamed Jews for the crisis. This led to riots and violence, particularly in Berlin, where Jews were increasingly viewed as the embodiment of all that was wrong with the economy. The scapegoating of Jews served the dual purpose of deflecting criticism away from the failures of capitalism while also uniting disparate elements of society under a common enemy, thereby staving off the potential for class-based solidarity that could challenge the existing order.
During the mid-1920s, Germany experienced a brief period of relative stability and economic recovery under the Dawes Plan, which provided for a restructured reparations payment schedule and the influx of foreign capital. Anti-Semitic violence subsided somewhat during these years, as the ruling class sought to stabilize the system and stave off further revolutionary challenges. However, this stability was superficial and temporary. The underlying social contradictions remained unresolved, and anti-Semitic attitudes persisted, particularly within the conservative bourgeoisie. These attitudes were not merely cultural prejudices but were deeply connected to the material interests of a class that continued to view Jews as both a symbol of modern capitalist excess and a convenient target for the frustrations of those suffering under capitalism's inherent inequalities.
The onset of the Great Depression in 1929 shattered this fragile stability, plunging Germany back into economic hardship and political instability. As unemployment soared and poverty spread, the anger and despair of the masses grew, once again creating fertile ground for the rise of reactionary ideologies. The National Socialist German Workers' Party (NSDAP), led by Adolf Hitler, capitalized on this crisis by intensifying anti-Semitic propaganda and offering simplistic solutions to complex problems, all while promising to restore Germany's former glory. The DNVP, seeking to harness the growing popularity of the NSDAP for its own purposes, intensified its own anti-Semitic rhetoric, further legitimizing these ideas in the public discourse.
By the early 1930s, as the NSDAP's influence grew, anti-Semitic violence escalated. The SA (Sturmabteilung), the paramilitary wing of the Nazi Party, became increasingly bold in its attacks on Jews, engaging in boycotts, physical assaults, and other forms of intimidation. These actions were not spontaneous outbursts of hatred but were part of a broader strategy to consolidate power by uniting the German people against a common enemy. The bourgeoisie, fearful of socialist revolution, saw in the Nazis a bulwark against communism and threw their support behind Hitler, thereby enabling the escalation of anti-Semitic violence.
While the Weimar Republic did not witness pogroms on the scale seen in Tsarist Russia or later Nazi Germany, the period was nonetheless marked by significant anti-Semitic violence and discrimination. This violence was both a reflection of and a contributing factor to the social and political instability of the era. The economic crises, coupled with the rise of nationalist and anti-Semitic ideologies, created an environment in which Jews were increasingly marginalized and targeted. This marginalization was not an aberration but was deeply embedded in the material conditions of the time—conditions that were defined by the contradictions of a capitalist system in crisis. The systematic persecution and genocide that would follow under Nazi rule were the ultimate expression of these contradictions, as the ruling class, in its desperate bid to preserve its power, resorted to ever more extreme measures to crush all perceived threats to its dominance.
The British Example
Thatcher the Privateer
To fully grasp how Britain arrived at its current socio-economic state, it is essential to revisit the 1980s under the leadership of Margaret Thatcher. Thatcher's premiership marked a decisive turn towards neoliberal economic policies, characterized by an aggressive campaign to privatize virtually all state-owned and public assets. This shift was driven by a belief rooted in the capitalist ideology that privatization would lead to greater efficiency, reduce government debt, and foster a culture of "popular capitalism" by promoting widespread individual ownership of shares. However, the reality of these policies starkly diverged from their theoretical promises, leading instead to a profound intensification of the struggles faced by the working class. Unemployment rates soared, and the socioeconomic conditions of the working population deteriorated significantly during her time in office.
The socio-economic landscape of Britain was fundamentally altered by Thatcher's privatization policies, particularly evident in the dramatic rise in unemployment. Under Thatcher's tenure, unemployment rates more than doubled, peaking at over 3 million by 1984—a record high in the post-war era. This surge was not merely a byproduct of market forces but was the direct result of the restructuring and modernization of industries that Thatcher championed. Traditional industries such as coal mining and manufacturing were deemed inefficient and uncompetitive in the global market, leading to their systematic dismantling. The closure of unprofitable coal mines alone decimated entire communities, plunging them into economic despair and fuelling widespread social unrest, as exemplified by the miners' strike of 1984-1985. This strike was not just a reaction to job losses but a desperate struggle of the working class against the systematic erosion of their livelihoods and communities.
Moreover, Thatcher's policies exacerbated social inequality to an unprecedented degree. The gap between the wealthiest and the poorest in Britain widened significantly, with the benefits of economic growth increasingly concentrated in the hands of the few. This growing disparity was a direct consequence of the decline of traditional, labour-intensive industries and the simultaneous rise of the service sector, which predominantly benefited the middle and upper classes. The deindustrialization of regions dependent on manufacturing and mining created stark geographical divides, with some areas experiencing relative prosperity while others fell into deep economic decline. The "Right to Buy" scheme, which allowed council tenants to purchase their homes at discounted rates, further deepened these inequalities. While it did increase home ownership, it did so unevenly, benefiting those already in relatively stable economic conditions while leaving the most vulnerable even more marginalized.
Despite the ideological fervour with which privatisation was pursued, the anticipated benefits of increased efficiency and market competition often failed to materialize. The privatization of key industries, such as the railways, led to outcomes that contradicted the neoliberal promise of better services and lower prices. Instead of fostering competition, privatization frequently resulted in the creation of private monopolies, where single operators dominated key services without delivering significant improvements. The rail industry, in particular, saw rising costs and a decline in service quality, undermining the argument that privatization would inherently lead to a more efficient and consumer-friendly economy.
In conclusion, while Thatcher's privatization policies were designed to rejuvenate the British economy and promote a capitalist ethos, they also had profound and often detrimental effects on the socio-economic fabric of the nation. The massive rise in unemployment, the exacerbation of social inequalities, and the failure to deliver on the promises of efficiency and competition are all legacies of this period. These policies laid the foundation for many of the economic challenges that the UK continues to face today, highlighting the enduring impact of Thatcher's neoliberal agenda on the country's working class and broader society.
Major’s and New Labour PFIs
The rise of neoliberal policies in the United Kingdom, initiated under Margaret Thatcher's leadership, set in motion a profound transformation of the state's relationship with capital, with long-lasting repercussions that extended far beyond her tenure. Thatcher's introduction of market-driven policies aimed at reducing the role of the state in the economy laid the groundwork for subsequent administrations to continue along this trajectory. Although Thatcher herself was eventually removed from office, primarily due to public outcry over her deeply unpopular Poll Tax, her influence did not wane. Her successor, John Major, while ostensibly reversing the Poll Tax by introducing the Council Tax in 1993, nonetheless maintained the broader neoliberal agenda that Thatcher had championed. This continuity of policy reflects a dialectical progression, where the material conditions and class relations established under Thatcher evolved and were further entrenched by those who followed her.
One of the most significant policies that emerged from this neoliberal framework was the Private Finance Initiative (PFI), introduced under Major in 1992. PFI represents a critical juncture in the ongoing commodification of public services, particularly within the National Health Service (NHS). Under this scheme, the state facilitated the entry of private capital into the public sector by allowing private companies to finance, build, and maintain public infrastructure, including hospitals and schools. These facilities were then leased back to the public sector under long-term contracts, often extending up to half a century. The underlying logic of PFI, deeply rooted in the neoliberal ideology, is the belief that the private sector, driven by profit motives, is inherently more efficient than the public sector.
However, the dialectical materialist perspective reveals the contradictions inherent in such a scheme. While PFI ostensibly provided immediate capital for public infrastructure, the long-term implications have been profoundly detrimental to the financial stability of the NHS and other public institutions. The initial capital investments made by private companies were not acts of benevolence but rather investments designed to extract maximum profit over the duration of the contracts. This has resulted in the public sector—primarily the NHS—being saddled with exorbitant long-term debt, as the repayments on these contracts far exceed the original investments. For instance, the initial £13 billion investment in new hospitals is projected to cost the NHS £80 billion by the end of the contracts. This staggering discrepancy underscores the exploitative nature of PFIs, where the state, representing the collective interests of society, becomes subservient to private capital, leading to the accumulation of wealth in the hands of a few at the expense of the many.
The financial burden imposed by PFIs has led to severe consequences for NHS trusts across the country. The necessity to service these debts has forced many trusts into austerity measures, cutting staff, reducing wages, and limiting services—all actions that directly impact the quality of patient care. This is not merely a financial issue but a reflection of the broader class struggle, where the working class, represented by NHS workers and patients, bears the brunt of policies designed to benefit the capitalist class. The Sherwood Forest Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust, for example, spends £50.3 million annually on a £326 million PFI deal, which constitutes 16.51% of its budget. Such financial strain has led to reductions in essential services, directly affecting the working class that relies on the NHS for healthcare.
The critique of PFI from trade unions, healthcare professionals, and financial analysts highlights the class antagonisms inherent in this policy. PFI, rather than being a neutral financial instrument, serves as a mechanism of capital accumulation for private entities, effectively privatizing profits while socializing risks and debts. This "backdoor privatization" funnels public money into private hands, leaving the public sector with long-term financial instability. The inflexibility of PFI contracts, coupled with the inflated costs of maintenance and service provision—such as the notorious case of a hospital being charged £333 to change a light switch—further exacerbates this exploitation.
The legacy of PFI remains a contentious issue, as its financial ramifications continue to unfold. While the initiative did lead to the construction of new hospitals and infrastructure, these developments came at a significant and ongoing cost to the NHS. Many PFI contracts are still active, with their financial impact projected to burden the NHS for decades to come. The calls for the government to buy out PFI contracts reflect an awareness of the unsustainable nature of this model. However, such buyouts, while potentially alleviating some financial pressure, do not address the underlying contradiction of using private capital to fund public services—a contradiction that is emblematic of the broader neoliberal project.
In sum, the PFI policy, as implemented by John Major and expanded under New Labour, illustrates the dialectical process of neoliberalism's entrenchment in the UK. It demonstrates how policies designed to benefit private capital have exacerbated class inequalities, placing a significant financial burden on public services and the working class. The high cost of PFI repayments, coupled with the inflexibility of the contracts, continues to hinder the NHS's ability to provide essential services and maintain financial stability, revealing the deep contradictions at the heart of the neoliberal project.
New Labour Third Way Ideology
From a dialectical materialist perspective, New Labour's Third Way represents the subjugation of socialist principles to the demands of global capitalism. This transition is not merely an ideological shift but rather a reflection of the material conditions and inherent contradictions of late-stage capitalism. The Labour Party, historically rooted in “working-class struggles”, has undergone a significant transformation driven by the changing economic base, particularly the ascendancy of finance capital and the globalisation of markets. The Third Way, therefore, is not an arbitrary political stance but a superstructural manifestation of these underlying material forces. These forces have compelled the Labour Party to adopt neoliberal policies, even as it continues to assert a commitment to “social justice”. This shift reveals the deep contradictions between the party's historical mission and its contemporary alignment with capitalist interests.
This adaptation by New Labour should not be seen merely as a pragmatic response to new economic realities but as a deepening of the contradictions that are intrinsic to capitalist society. The movement away from labour interests towards finance, the abandonment of redistributive policies, and the embrace of market-driven solutions all signal the encroachment of capitalist logic into what was once a stronghold of working-class politics. This transformation has not only alienated Labour from its traditional working-class base but has also exacerbated the broader crisis of social democracy. This crisis is characterized by declining voter engagement, the rise of far-right populism, and widespread disillusionment with the political system, reflecting the growing discontent of the working class and other marginalized groups.
In dialectical terms, the contradictions within New Labour's Third Way—between its professed commitment to “social justice” and its actual promotion of neoliberalism—are inherently unsustainable. These contradictions will inevitably culminate in a crisis, as the material conditions of the working class continue to deteriorate under policies that fundamentally serve the interests of capital. According to dialectical materialism, the resolution of this crisis would necessitate a reconstitution of leftist politics on a genuinely socialist foundation, one that directly confronts the capitalist system rather than attempting to reform it from within. Such a reconstitution would involve reclaiming the Labour Party’s roots in the working-class struggle, or perhaps more likely, the emergence of new movements and parties that are uncompromising in their opposition to capitalism.
The Third Way, as a manifestation of neoliberalism within a nominally socialist party, underscores the futility of attempting to reconcile capitalism with social justice. The dialectical analysis reveals that any attempt to humanize capitalism through reformist policies is bound to reinforce its inherent contradictions rather than resolve them. Therefore, the true path forward, as suggested by this analysis, lies in confronting the capitalist system itself, rather than in making concessions that ultimately serve to perpetuate the very inequalities and exploitation that socialism seeks to eradicate.
Analysing New Labour under Tony Blair and Gordon Brown through the lens of dialectical materialism unearths the deeper contradictions and material forces driving the evolution of the Labour Party. Bourgeois political science often reduces political phenomena like New Labour to mere electoral strategies or as responses to changing social conditions. However, such perspectives fail to grasp the underlying class dynamics and the material interests that are at the heart of these transformations.
The rise of New Labour is not simply an electoral phenomenon but rather reflects a seismic shift in the balance of class forces within Britain. The defeats of the miners' strike and the print unions during the 1980s marked a pivotal moment in British class struggle, where the working class experienced significant setbacks, and the power of organized labour was drastically weakened. These defeats created the material conditions for the emergence of New Labour, as the ruling class no longer required a Labour Party that mediated between capital and labour. Instead, the Labour Party had to transform itself into a vehicle that directly served the interests of capital, both domestically and on a global scale.
The adoption of neoliberalism by Brown and Blair was not merely an ideological shift but a conscious alignment with the material interests of the capitalist class. Brown’s embrace of the market economy, his admiration for the American model of capitalism, and his efforts to position Britain as a global financial hub were all part of a broader strategy to secure the support of the ruling class. This strategy involved a decisive break from the traditional socialist goals of the Labour Party, opting instead for policies that were more palatable to both domestic and international capital. This alignment was emblematic of the broader global trend during the 1990s, where social-democratic parties across Europe and beyond abandoned their socialist roots in favour of market-friendly policies, reflecting the triumph of neoliberalism on a global scale.
This transformation was not an isolated event but part of a broader global shift in the balance of class forces, particularly after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. The disintegration of the Soviet Union weakened the global socialist movement and emboldened the capitalist class, which now faced less ideological opposition. This shift in the global balance of forces further incentivized social-democratic parties like New Labour to adopt neoliberal policies as the perceived ‘end of history’ narrative took hold, suggesting that there was no alternative to capitalism.
The internal dynamics between Brown and Blair, often portrayed in the media as a personal power struggle, can also be understood in dialectical terms as a reflection of the tensions within the ruling class itself. While Blair may have been more charismatic and adept at managing media relations, it was Brown's deeper commitment to neoliberal policies that made him the true architect of New Labour. The personal animosity between them did not arise from fundamental policy differences but from their competing ambitions within the same neoliberal framework, underscoring the lack of genuine ideological diversity within the leadership of New Labour.
In conclusion, the story of New Labour is one of a party that, in the face of the working class's defeat, chose to align itself with capital rather than challenge it. This decision was not merely a pragmatic choice but a reflection of the material conditions and class forces that characterized the late 20th and early 21st centuries. The contradictions inherent in this alignment—between the party's historical roots in the labour movement and its new role as a champion of global capitalism—have precipitated a crisis of identity for Labour and a broader crisis of social democracy. The hope for a genuine left-wing alternative does not lie within the existing structures of New Labour but in the emergence of new movements and parties that are willing to confront capitalism head-on, rejecting the reformist approach that has only served to deepen the contradictions within capitalist society.
The Point?
The central issue at hand is the profound socioeconomic degradation that has plagued the United Kingdom since the 1980s. This decline can be traced back to a dramatic and rapid shift in the economic base and superstructure of society, transitioning from a Keynesian model of state intervention to the ruthless free-market principles of neoliberalism. This transformation did not merely alter economic policies; it fundamentally reshaped the socio-political landscape, leaving a legacy of devastation that extends well beyond the New Labour era. Even in the decades that followed, the Conservative Party, far from reversing these trends, entrenched them further through continued policies of privatization and austerity. These policies have been criticized, even by international bodies such as the United Nations Human Rights Council, as ideological impositions rather than pragmatic economic solutions. This critique suggests that the decisions made under the banner of neoliberalism were not driven by necessity but by a deliberate choice to prioritize capital over social welfare.
From a dialectical materialist perspective, the rise of neoliberalism represents a significant shift in the relations of production, one that has exacerbated class contradictions within the UK. One of the most glaring consequences of this shift has been the stark increase in income and wealth inequality. Since the 1980s, policies such as tax cuts for the wealthy, deregulation, and the systematic weakening of trade unions have disproportionately benefited the capitalist class while further marginalizing the working and middle classes. This growing disparity is not merely a byproduct of economic policy but a reflection of the deeper structural contradictions inherent in a capitalist system that prioritizes profit over people.
Neoliberalism’s impact extends beyond mere economic inequality; it has also fundamentally eroded public services that are vital to the well-being of the populace. The relentless push for privatization and the reduction of public spending have led to chronic underfunding in essential sectors such as healthcare, education, and social welfare. This degradation of public services is not an isolated phenomenon but a systemic outcome of neoliberal ideology, which views public goods as commodities rather than as rights. The result is a state of affairs that some have described as "broken Britain," where the quality and accessibility of public services have deteriorated to the point of crisis.
The increasing socioeconomic inequality has also been accompanied by a sharp decline in social mobility, a core promise of capitalist democracies. Opportunities for advancement have become increasingly limited, especially for those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds. The neoliberal emphasis on individualism and competition has further eroded community ties and social cohesion, weakening the collective institutions that once provided a counterbalance to the excesses of capitalism. Trade unions, local councils, and other forms of collective organization have been systematically dismantled or disempowered, exacerbating the alienation and atomization of the working class.
The growing socioeconomic disparities in contemporary society represent more than just an increase in material deprivation; they signify a deepening contradiction within the capitalist system itself. This intensifying inequality has not only exacerbated poverty and economic hardship but has also served as the fertile ground for political discontent, manifesting in the emergence of populism and reactionary movements. The Brexit vote, for instance, is not merely an isolated political event but a direct and dialectical response to the contradictions inherent in the neoliberal order. Neoliberal policies, which have systematically marginalized and disenfranchised vast segments of the working class and lower middle class, created the conditions for such a reaction.
In this context, the rise of reactionary populism can be understood as an ideological superstructure emerging from the material base of economic inequality and social disempowerment. Figures like Nigel Farage, Tommy Robinson, and other far-right Eurosceptics have skilfully exploited these contradictions, channelling the legitimate grievances of the populace into a nationalist and xenophobic narrative. Their slogans—such as "Controlling our Borders," "Regaining Sovereignty," and "Taking Back Control"—are not just reactionary rhetoric but ideological manifestations of the underlying economic and social crisis. These narratives resonate with a population that has experienced a systematic erosion of economic security and political agency, leading to a rejection of the European Union as a symbol of the neoliberal status quo.
However, this ideological response, while potent, remains trapped within the limits of the existing capitalist system. The dialectical relationship between the economic base and the superstructure suggests that without a fundamental transformation of the material conditions—specifically, the capitalist mode of production—these reactionary movements risk being either co-opted by the very system they seek to challenge or misdirected into scapegoating external entities like the EU, rather than addressing the internal contradictions of capitalism itself. The focus on nationalist and isolationist solutions was only the beginning of diversions from the structural roots of inequality that is to come in the future of Britain, thereby perpetuating the crisis rather than resolving it.
To genuinely address the root causes of this political and economic turmoil, there must be a radical restructuring of the economic base. This would involve a shift away from neoliberal capitalism towards a system that prioritizes collective ownership, equitable distribution of resources, and the democratization of economic power. Only through such a transformation can the ideological superstructure evolves in a way that genuinely reflects the interests of the working class and leads to a sustainable resolution of the contradictions that have fuelled the rise of reactionary populism. Without this, the current ideological and political movements will remain superficial responses, unable to effect real change in the underlying material conditions of society.
Coming Full-Circle
The rise of Fascism, as demonstrated through the dialectical materialist lens, is not an anomaly but a product of specific socio-economic contradictions inherent in capitalist systems. Fascism’s subtle infiltration and normalization reflect its symbiotic relationship with capitalism, wherein the latter's systemic inequalities and crises provide fertile ground for fascist ideologies to thrive. This intertwined relationship has been a recurring theme in the historical evolution of Fascism, as illustrated by both the Weimar Republic's decline and the contemporary socio-political upheavals exemplified by the 2024 August Pogroms in the UK.
In examining the German example, it becomes clear that Fascism does not emerge in a vacuum but as a response to intensified class struggles and systemic crises within capitalist societies. The Weimar Republic’s failure to address the structural issues of capitalism, coupled with its own internal contradictions and its alignment with bourgeois interests, set the stage for the rise of fascism. The Social Democratic Party (SPD), despite its socialist veneer, exhibited a profound alignment with capitalist interests through its collaboration with reactionary forces like the Freikorps. This alliance undermined genuine revolutionary movements and facilitated the conditions under which the Nazi Party could flourish.
The SPD's complex relationship with antisemitism further underscores the contradictions within bourgeois socialism. While certain elements within the SPD attempted to confront antisemitism as a tool of capitalist oppression, the party's overall passivity and failure to address antisemitism in a comprehensive manner reflected its deeper alignment with bourgeois structures. The inconsistent and often passive stance towards antisemitism reveals the limitations of the SPD’s ability to act decisively against fascism. Their focus on maintaining bourgeois democratic stability rather than addressing systemic class issues allowed fascism to gain a foothold, exploiting the unresolved contradictions of capitalist society.
Similarly, the antisemitic rhetoric and actions within the Reichstag and broader German society highlight how Fascism capitalizes on existing social antagonisms. The legal and political systems, designed to protect bourgeois interests, proved inadequate in confronting the rising tide of reactionary violence. The systemic failure to address antisemitism effectively was not merely a product of individual prejudices but a reflection of the broader class struggle and the systemic nature of capitalist crises.
The pogroms and violence witnessed during the Weimar Republic were not isolated incidents but integral manifestations of the systemic contradictions of capitalism. The scapegoating of Jews and the rise of anti-Semitic violence were symptomatic of a broader reactionary pushback against perceived threats to capitalist stability. The economic crises, such as the hyperinflation of 1923 and the Great Depression of 1929, exacerbated social tensions and created a conducive environment for fascist ideologies to flourish.
In drawing parallels to contemporary events such as the 2024 August Pogroms, we observe a similar pattern where systemic inequalities and socio-economic instability provide fertile ground for fascist ideologies. The state’s likely response to such unrest—potentially increasing authoritarian measures and further repressing dissent—mirrors the historical patterns observed in the Weimar Republic. The normalization and radicalization of fascist ideologies (such as Islamophobia presently for past two or so decades, to Antisemitism centuries of the past) within our MSM, Parliament and Party Leaders are not sudden phenomena but the result of a gradual process of infiltration and systemic erosion, fuelled by the underlying contradictions of capitalism.
Kier Starmer, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak, David Cameron, Theresa May, Nigel Farage, Lee Anderson, Tommy Robinson, and numerous others, including the mainstream media and parliamentarians, have all played a role in cultivating and perpetuating the reactionary behaviours of Islamophobia. This phenomenon mirrors how Antisemitism was fostered within the Reichstag in the early 20th century. The escalation of Islamophobia within mainstream British politics has triggered profound concern among Muslim communities. Since the 2016 EU referendum, there has been a marked increase in hate crimes, particularly against Muslims, characterized by both violent and non-violent attacks. Home Office data from October 2020 revealed that Muslims were the most targeted group in hate crime incidents. Of the 6,822 religious hate crimes recorded by the police in 2019/20, over half were aimed at Muslims.
Labour leader Keir Starmer is strategically leveraging the Islamophobia crisis engulfing the Conservative Party to bolster his own political position. Recently, he criticized Prime Minister Rishi Sunak for allegedly harbouring “extremists within his party,” highlighting the controversy surrounding Lee Anderson’s Islamophobic remarks. Starmer asserted that while it was right for Anderson to lose the whip, it raises serious questions about Sunak's judgment in appointing Anderson as deputy chairman of the Conservative Party.
While Starmer's critique of Anderson as a symbol of Tory racism is valid, it must be viewed through a dialectical lens. Starmer’s posturing as an ally to Muslims is a tactical manoeuvre aimed at reclaiming anti-war support that he has previously alienated. The Labour Party’s unwavering support for Israel’s military actions against Palestine has been a major factor driving the surge in Islamophobia. Starmer’s statements endorsing Israel’s “right” to deny essential resources to Palestinians were met with widespread outrage, yet he responded with denials despite the televised evidence.
Labour’s hostility towards Palestinians extends beyond isolated incidents. In October of the previous year, the party advised its members to avoid protests against the Gaza conflict, suggesting that such demonstrations could be used as a guise for antisemitism. This stance not only alienated Labour's traditional Muslim supporters but also led to a significant decline in their identification with the party. From a high of 72 percent in 2021, the proportion of British Muslims viewing Labour as their “natural choice” plummeted to 29 percent by 2023.
The Labour leadership’s reaction to this erosion of support was dismissive, with some executives viewing the departure of disaffected voters as an opportunity to distance the party from what they perceived as undesirable elements. However, the electoral consequences of losing a substantial number of Muslim and left-leaning votes have become increasingly apparent. Labour leaders are now striving to position themselves as opponents of Islamophobia, as demonstrated by Starmer’s recent condemnation of the Tories.
Nevertheless, this effort cannot obscure the underlying realities. The growth of Islamophobia is intricately linked to Western imperialist ventures in the Middle East and Asia. The dehumanization of Muslims as “the enemy” has been a crucial component in justifying the barbaric nature of conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and Palestine. This process frames these wars as necessary battles for “civilization,” thereby legitimizing their atrocities and normalising the dehumanisation. Labour’s racism is not merely a product of individual leaders but is deeply rooted in the party’s historical alignment with imperialism and colonialism. This ingrained tradition has perpetuated a continuity of racist ideologies that can’t be easily disavowed or reformed within the context of contemporary politics.
Farage and his allies frequently employ terms such as ‘overpopulated,’ ‘invasion,’ and ‘population explosion’ with a deliberate intent to cultivate the perception that native populations are under siege by foreign elements—particularly those who are not white. This rhetoric functions as a covert expression of racism, masking its true intent under a veneer of demographic concerns. Both those who are outraged by Farage’s statements and those who act in support of his agenda understand who the rhetoric is genuinely targeting.
The notion of the UK being overpopulated is a fallacy. In reality, only about 6.8% of the UK's land is urbanized, while vast expanses remain sparsely inhabited as reported by the BBC. The crisis we face is not one of physical space, but of economic misallocation and systemic neglect. Major urban centres suffer from chronic underinvestment; they are in dire need of substantial financial support, including new housing projects, affordable rents, improved public transportation systems, and well-maintained infrastructure. Essential services such as healthcare and education are also in a state of disrepair, exacerbated by inadequate funding. This crisis reflects not a shortage of space but a deliberate decision by those with economic power to evade their responsibilities—shifting resources and avoiding taxes that could have supported community development.
According to data from the World Bank, the UK’s population increased by only 18.41% from 1990 to 2022, a rate that is modest compared to many neighbouring countries. This growth largely stems from increased longevity due to advancements in healthcare, such as improved treatments for heart disease and cancer. Concurrently, demographic trends reveal a decline in birth rates and later marriages, contributing to a shrinking population in developed nations. The elderly, who rely on pensions and frequently use expensive healthcare services, place significant financial demands on the welfare system. While they have contributed to the system throughout their lives, their benefits have become increasingly costly as they live longer and require more medical care.
In contrast, younger generations face severe economic challenges. The ability to purchase homes has become nearly impossible for many, as exorbitant rents and stagnant wages constrain their financial stability. The economic landscape has shifted dramatically since the 1970s, with rising costs and precarious job conditions now prevailing.
Political leaders, often with backgrounds as landlords or business executives, frequently advocate for policies that sustain high property values and restrict housing supply, further exacerbating the problem for young people.
If overpopulation were indeed the issue, a logical solution would be to balance the demographic scale by increasing the working-age population and addressing the economic pressures on younger generations. However, this perspective prioritizes economic efficiency over ethical considerations. It aims to highlight the irony of older voters, who are often sceptical of immigration, while immigrants contribute significantly to the economy through taxes and labour. The NHS faces a critical shortage with 170,000 unfilled vacancies, underscoring the need for international medical professionals to address the gaps in healthcare services. Similarly, other industries are struggling with labour shortages that hinder economic productivity.
Contrary to fears about overpopulation, cities like Tokyo demonstrate that high population density does not necessarily result in chaos. On the contrary, these cities exhibit remarkable orderliness and efficiency, supported by advanced infrastructure and comprehensive public services. Farage’s lack of formal education—despite the privilege of a wealthy background—leaves him fundamentally unqualified for his role in public discourse. His approach to debates is characterized by superficial soundbites rather than substantive analysis. When challenged by more knowledgeable individuals, he resorts to dismissive behaviour and superficial humour, indicative of his inability to engage with complex arguments. His persistent use of misleading statements, even after being corrected by experts, reveals a pattern of habitual dishonesty.
Farage’s rhetoric often targets various groups—Muslims, Eastern Europeans, and others—stoking division and animosity. However, once his rhetoric incites public outrage, he avoids accountability, retreating from the aftermath and denying any responsibility for the resulting violence. This calculated dishonesty is a hallmark of his approach, reflecting a deliberate strategy to manipulate public opinion while evading the consequences of his actions.
The dialectical materialist analysis of Fascism reveals that its rise is inextricably linked to the contradictions and failures of capitalist societies. Understanding this relationship is crucial for effectively confronting and combating fascism. It requires not only addressing the immediate symptoms of fascist violence but also engaging with the deeper systemic issues that provide a breeding ground for such ideologies. The historical patterns observed in the Weimar Republic and their contemporary counterparts serve as a stark reminder of the need to address the underlying socio-economic conditions that give rise to fascism, lest we repeat the mistakes of the past.
Ultimately, the battle against fascism is not merely a struggle against a specific ideology but a broader confrontation with the contradictions and injustices inherent in capitalist systems. It is through addressing these systemic issues that we can hope to build a society where such reactionary ideologies cannot take root and where the values of equality and justice can prevail. Understanding the dialectical relationship between capitalism and fascism thus becomes an essential component of any meaningful struggle against the forces of reaction and oppression.