The Economic Consequences of the Rio Grande do Sul Floods

By Diego Viana

The southernmost state in Brazil, Rio Grande do Sul, was under heavy rain and flooding for several weeks in May. The Guaíba, the most important river in the region, which flows through the capital city of Porto Alegre is usually about two meters deep. It went over five meters. More than 400 cities (out of about 480) were hit by this climate catastrophe, with over 2.1 million people affected and over 170 casualties so far. Material losses are hard to calculate at this point, but insurance companies already consider this the "worst event in our history" and the government estimates that reconstructing the Rio Grande do Sul will take several years.

The connection between the climate catastrophe and the rise of a suicidal far Right immediately becomes evident as social media in Brazil is overrun with swarms of outright lies, political accusations, and fraud. Meanwhile, intellectuals get stuck in a somewhat sterile discussion about whether one may refer to the people who have lost their homes and belongings as “climate refugees” — because it is shocking to realize that this term may refer to people other than the poorest among the poor.

Horrifying events like this have been occurring at increasingly shorter intervals, as we all know. Simultaneously with Porto Alegre, parts of Afghanistan, Kenya, Texas, the United Arab Emirates, Italy, Germany and California have also been under water. Not to mention droughts, wildfires and hurricanes. But in the midst of this chaos, two lessons about our shared future stand out, which may be helpful beyond the regions directly struck, giving us a preview of how to build a future that would be different from what is being prepared right now.

Postponing an exam

The first lesson regards the possibility and requirements of large-scale planning. It so happens that the Brazilian federal government was planning a massive recruitment exam for the public service, which has been anemic after almost a decade of neoliberal rule. The tests were to take place on Sunday, May 5th, in more than 200 cities across the nation with 2.14 million candidates competing for 6,640 jobs. But then the rain came, and it turned everything upside down: how can you administer such an enormous test when many contesting for those public jobs are isolated, stranded, and homeless?

After a week of hesitation, and just two days before the tests, the government finally convened a press conference to announce what was obvious to all: the "National Unified Recruitment" was postponed and later rescheduled to August. Maybe it is just a predisposition on my part, but while I watched the conference I felt that the officials, ministers Esther Dweck (Public Management) and Paulo Pimenta (Communication), seemed somewhat astonished, maybe dismayed. Even among the journalists, there was, or so I felt, an atmosphere of disbelief.

This discomfort is not entirely surprising, though. For someone who had been planning an ambitious, country-wide operation, involving logistics, security forces, and millions of people, I can imagine that the idea of ​​having to postpone the tests didn't even cross the organizers' minds. In fact, a reporter did ask about provisions for an eventual postponement of the exam. There were none.

The federal government placed this initiative at the top of its priorities. It is boasted as an innovation in public sector recruitment, which it is indeed. But it is also an expensive and risky undertaking that had to be stopped in a hurry because nobody considered the intervention of natural forces. Even the decision-making process hints at the impasse the authorities were put in due to the floods. When the press was summoned, dozens of lives had already been lost, and entire municipalities were almost unreachable. It was clear that the "gaucho" (residents of Rio Grande do Sul) candidates were excluded from the test. If communication to the general public only occurred on Friday afternoon, it is because demobilizing this colossal apparatus is almost as hard as assembling it. I suppose that even the budget law will need to be amended.

The postponement made painfully and pathetically clear that in times of global connectivity and interdependence, an episode such as a natural disaster is never “only itself.” It is not limited to its immediate causes and direct effects, where it happens, nor is it limited to its own regime of existence. In a world of complexity, every system and every event spreads and contaminates other aspects of reality, other systems. The eruption of the concrete, palpable, real, into the universe of planning, abstraction and bureaucracy perfectly illustrates the reality we are entering.

I want to draw attention to the meaningful difference between this catastrophe's domino effect and two other consequences of the flooding. First: Rio Grande do Sul is an important producer of rice, wheat and cattle. It is clear by now that the output of these commodities will be compromised, putting pressure on prices. This has led the federal government to announce that it will resort to the international market. Shock waves can also reach interest rate decisions and, with a spike in inflation, unpleasant political consequences are not out of sight, with the far right constantly on stakeout.

Second: the fact that, per the insurance companies, the destruction of cities and plantations in Rio Grande do Sul is the “worst event in the history of Brazil.” The costs incurred could sap some of these institutions and is likely to lead to a significant reallocation of resources, which would weaken other public policies. As for insurance, as has been predicted for some time, we can expect a progressive and heavy increase in premiums, making investments of all types more expensive, especially the most ambitious and expensive ones, such as infrastructure.

In both cases, we are dealing with long-term issues, but mostly already advanced and priced. It is common to hear from economists and managers, but also from some scientists dedicated to complex systems, that the global interconnection of logistical, financial and economic systems makes it possible to overcome ruptures and failures that eventually appear in some part, guaranteeing the stability of the whole. The reference usually evoked is the initial 1966 Arpanet project, the embryo of the internet: decentralized and increasingly numerous connections are almost impossible to take down.

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Nonetheless, other scientists linked to complexity also warn that these ultra-complex systems, although resilient, are vulnerable. This means that they can resist deformation and remain stable, but if a particular disturbance, small as it may be, turns out to be capable of compromising the system, it will collapse completely and suddenly. In a dangerous but not absurd analogy: this is what happens in the death of an organism, for example, or the collapse of an ecosystem. To return to the Arpanet reference: the problem is not always in preventing transmissions from being interrupted. It may lie in the transmission itself. This is what Edgar Morin had in mind back in the 1990s, when he coined the term “polycrisis,” now taken up by historian Adam Tooze and theorized by the Canadian think tank Cascade Institute.

The postponed exam is suggestive of the increasing difficulty we will have in planning and articulating large-scale projects and programs. Without taking into account the climate factor, which is less and less “imponderable,” the government wanted to carry out a broad and solid initiative — and discovered that it was fragile. It won't be the last time something like this happens. This is at the core of what we have come to call "the new normal": from now on, the norm will be that all planning will be subject to failure for reasons that will fall from the sky or emerge from the depths, not without warning, far from it, but with warnings we may not be able or willing to hear.

Solidarity, distribution and economy

What then? — I thought, as I completed the previous section. Do we simply sit and cry, waiting for the moment when a calamity reaches us too? What does all this, the coming crisis of planning, imply for workers, proletarians, the wretched of the earth, and international solidarity in general?

This brings me to my second point. There has been a remarkable outpouring of solidarity in Brazil since the magnitude of the catastrophe became clear. Of course solidarity always emerges when one of these disasters occurs, and there have been many in various regions of the country: landslides in the Southwest, droughts in the North, fires in the Amazon and the Pantanal region, floods all over. But this time there is something different due to the sheer magnitude of the event.

No previous environmental disaster affected the infrastructure of modern life so deeply in Brazil. Airports closed, with runways sometimes inaccessible even for the planes carrying vital aid. There are broken dams, isolated cities and neighborhoods, roads cut, and power, telephone and internet networks down. The distribution of food, medicines and clothing in this scenario can be a daunting challenge. And it has indeed mobilized organizations from all around the country, in the form of donations, logistic networks and information centers.

While this parallel economy was taking shape, representatives of the private sector and the State governor Eduardo Leite himself were more preoccupied with the possibility that donations would have a deleterious impact on local commerce. I mention this not because I want to smear Mr. Leite as someone insensitive to his people's suffering — though one must admit he is indeed responsible for withholding funds marked for preventing floods — but because it presents us with a pulsating contrast between different kinds of economic logic. And this contrast is likely to intensify in the near future, suggesting what may amount to a paradigm shift.

I am thinking about a distinction that Karl Polanyi, the Austrian-Hungarian socialist political economist, makes in his masterpiece The Great Transformation, published in 1944. According to Polanyi, in the history of human societies, there have been three major principles of economic practice, in the sense of the production and distribution of the means of livelihood. These are: householding, which accounts for a mostly autarkic existence; redistribution, in which a central instance, such as the Mesopotamian empires, amasses the goods produced by the collective as a whole and redistributes them according to its own criteria; and reciprocity, of which trade is a particular case, and designates a system where different parties exchange their productions either through a price mechanism or a gift system.

Polanyi argues that a central element in the emergence of capitalism is the dominance of market exchanges over all the other systems. He says the market economy is disembedded from society in general. There is still some room for householding, as the nuclear family is responsible for many activities that are crucial for economic life, particularly the reproductive and unpaid labor ascribed to women. From the institutionalist perspective, the capitalist firm also absorbs a chunk of what would fall into the category of householding. Redistribution still exists too, especially under the form of grants, by both the state and the corporate sector. And non-market forms of reciprocity can be found all over, including gifts, favors, and the occasional barter. But they are all subjected to the general logic of monetary trade, their worth is calculated according to their link to markets, their position in economic life is below secondary.

Very well, what does this have to do with the disaster in Brazil and the solidarity that has been manifested since it began? The answer is, I believe, that the initiative to organize donations, which will become progressively more common as the climate crisis unfolds, contains the seed of a future recomposition of the three economic logics. When a breach in the regular market distribution of goods and services leads to a surge of solidarity, alternative economic circuits emerge spontaneously, simply because they must. This has been the case in emergency situations that had nothing to do with the climate, such as the Argentinian collapse in 2001, wartime scenarios, and the fall of the Soviet Union. Forms of householding, with families tending to their own needs; redistribution, with central committees organizing rations; and forms of non-monetary reciprocity, or alternatively monetary reciprocity, such as the “trueque,” came to life.

In all of these cases, the relative stabilization that succeeded the trauma reestablished the market mechanisms, and these other forms died down. The same happens with every environmental calamity in Brazil and elsewhere: circuits of donations and redistribution arise and dissolve just as quickly. But this time the scale is much higher, the needs more urgent, and the response is proportionally more ostensible. Makeshift centers for collection, transportation and distribution of aid packages are set up overnight, with a remarkable capacity of coordination. Online platforms dedicated to identifying particular needs and connecting them to donors have been created. Volunteers flock to the affected areas, but given the magnitude of the destruction, can only actually act when coordinated with other groups with better knowledge of the region.

Of course these initiatives also tend to wane as the situation improves. But we must take some things into account. To begin with, we are so used, at least since the Communist Manifesto, to think of capitalism as infinitely resourceful, ruthless, and awe-inspiring, that we can forget it has its own internal fragilities. While it may be easier to imagine an end to the world than to capitalism, as Fredric Jameson once said, capitalism still needs the world to be in place, and relatively stable. Disaster capitalism, in Naomi Klein's words, may bloom with the occasional landslide or earthquake, but if people lose the capacity to sell their workforce and purchase their livelihood, the market becomes groundless.

Also, the experience of those who engage in these distributive acts of solidarity represents a valuable acquisition of knowhow and habit. In time, the practice of non-market economic logics may very well solidify, at least from the side of distribution, if not production. As the environmental calamities unfold, as they are expected to do, on the one hand the capacity for large scale planning, corporate or governmental, will be shaken. But on the other hand, it is predictable that the recourse to alternative arrangements will lose its alternative character and constitute a permanent response. Of course, this will require further learning and the development of intellectual tools and strategies.

It is obviously sad to realize that the perspective of non-capitalist arrangements becomes realistic due to the accelerated degradation of the conditions of life on Earth as we know it. The mere fact that we have reached such a stage is a testimony to our incapacity to build large-scale and long-lasting alternatives to the radical capitalism of the last half-century. We should be clear about the fact that the environmental crisis is not an opportunity for change; instead, change is the only way out of the calamities that come with the degraded environment. But it requires careful work of construction, from the ground up. And this is why we can look for inspiration in the spontaneous emergence of solidary economic arrangements in Southern Brazil.

Diego Viana is a Brazilian economic journalist. He earned his PhD in political philosophy from the University of São Paulo and covers Brazilian politics, economy, and social conflict.

Echoes of Resistance: From 1968 to Gaza, the Unyielding Voices of Student Protests

[Pictured: Anti-genocide student protestors face a line of law enforcement during a demonstration at UT-Austin. Credit: Julius Shieh for The Texas Tribune]

By Peter S. Baron

As students continue to gather in protest, standing up for the humanity of Gazans being slaughtered by a maniacally genocidal coalition of ruling elites obsessed with profit and geopolitical maneuvering, it's insightful to reflect on the history of student protests. Understanding the impact of past movements can help gauge the potential of today's collective awakening.

A History of Student Resistance

In 1968, the air in France was charged with rebellion. It all started at the University of Nanterre, where students kicked against the strict, outdated rules of their university and the deeper issues of government authoritarianism and the Vietnam War. The authorities shut the university down on May 2, which only pushed the students to take their protests to the Sorbonne in Paris.

The situation escalated quickly.

The police clamped down hard on the protests at the Sorbonne, using force on students. This reaction sparked a massive response not just from other students but from workers across the country. Seeing their own struggles in the students’ fight, France’s major trade unions called a one-day general strike on May 13. What started as a protest became a nationwide shutdown.

The movement exploded. By the end of May, about 10 million workers—that's two-thirds of the French workforce—had stopped working. Factories, universities, and public services ground to a halt. Workers and students gathered in occupied spaces, debating and planning what France should become. They didn’t just want better wages or conditions; they were calling for a whole new way of running the country.

This was too much for President Charles de Gaulle, who saw his control slipping away. In a stunning move, he secretly fled to West Germany to meet with a loyal general, possibly to discuss using the military to regain control. This moment of panic highlighted just how serious things had become.

Despite the revolutionary fervor, the crisis did not culminate in a revolution. De Gaulle returned to France, dissolved the National Assembly, and called for new elections. This move, combined with negotiations that led to substantial wage increases and improved working conditions, caused the momentum of the protests to dissipate. In the June elections, de Gaulle’s party won a significant majority, reflecting a conservative backlash against the upheaval.

The initial response to the student protests in 1968 involved shutting down universities and deploying aggressive police tactics, much like what we're witnessing on college campuses today. These actions were clear attempts by the state to clamp down on dissent and regain control. However, as the movement expanded beyond students and began to mobilize the broader working class, the tactics of the state and capitalist interests evolved. Faced with a growing and powerful movement, they shifted towards strategies of co-optation and superficial reform, aiming to dilute the movement's momentum by seemingly addressing some grievances while preserving the underlying capitalist structure.

The concessions offered by President Charles de Gaulle—wage increases, improved working conditions, and the promise of educational reforms—should be seen as strategic moves to quell dissent. These reforms were significant enough to placate the immediate economic grievances of the working class and to demonstrate a responsiveness by the government, thereby splitting the coalition between students and workers. By integrating demands that did not threaten the core of capitalist structures, de Gaulle's administration managed to dissipate revolutionary momentum, demonstrating that state apparatuses function to reproduce the conditions of production favorable to the capitalist mode.

The resolution of the May 1968 events through electoral politics and limited social reforms highlights the function of the capitalist state as a mediator in class struggle, which subtly shifts societal alignments to favor the elite. This outcome exemplifies the stabilizing mechanisms of capitalist societies, which, through reformist policies, manage to integrate and neutralize opposition without addressing the underlying dynamics of capitalist accumulation and exploitation.

Lessons in Solidarity

The broader implication of these events teaches us that reformist policies are primarily implemented to address the immediate, most visible problems of social unrest, with the ultimate goal of maintaining the underlying capitalist structure. This dynamic ensures that while capitalism might appear more humane after reforms, its fundamental drives—primarily the accumulation of capital at the expense of mass labor—are left intact. This approach allows the capitalist framework to persist largely unchanged, as it continues to benefit those in power while giving the appearance of responsiveness and concern for social issues. As evidenced by the aftermath of the 1968 protests, this malicious strategy serves to delay or diffuse the revolutionary potential of mass movements, channeling grievances into reforms that do not alter the basic relations of power and production.

Thus, the 1968 student protests in France not only reveal the power of grassroots movements to enact significant changes but also highlight the complexities and limitations of such changes within the capitalist framework. The episode serves as a reminder of the enduring challenge for revolutionary movements: to navigate the delicate balance between achieving immediate improvements and maintaining the momentum necessary for profound systemic change.

Today, we must remain unyieldingly vigilant as guardians against those forces eager to co-opt the energy and direction of the student movement. We should criticize how figures touted as progressives, such as Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, have positioned themselves near the forefront, claiming solidarity with the students. Their actions betray their words. A genuine ally would not endorse and actively campaign for Joe Biden, who recently authorized an additional $26 billion in aid to Israel, amid ongoing reports of atrocities. Biden’s and the Democrats’ support of Israeli rulers continues nearly seven months into what can only be described as a genocide, with horrifying discoveries of mass graves that include hundreds of children and medical professionals, identified by their scrubs, executed with their hands bound and bullet wounds in their skulls. This is the same Israeli leadership that vilifies Gazans with dehumanizing rhetoric, labeling them as "human animals" and "monsters." Ask yourself, would a genuine ally funnel $260,000, collected from grassroots progressives, into the coffers of the DNC (as AOC has done)—the very organization backing the continued financial support of these atrocities?

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This supposed alliance comes as nearly 40,000 lives, including those of 15,000 children, have been extinguished. Hospitals, schools, churches, and mosques crumble under bombs, while essential humanitarian aid is obstructed, leaving millions to the brink of dehydration and starvation, with many forced to drink and bathe in dirty water while they eat grass to survive. Amid this barbarity, the cruel decision to cut electricity in Gaza inflicts unspeakable suffering, forcing children, their bodies crushed by the rubble of their own homes, to endure the brutal procedure of amputations without any anesthesia.

These acts of sheer inhumanity lay bare the merciless nature of the assault, exposing the vulnerable to unimaginable pain in their most desperate moments. These are not the acts of allies but of political actors playing their roles in a theater of cruelty and betrayal. We must reject these charades and build our movements away from the shadows of such treacherous alliances.

These so-called progressive politicians masquerade as the vanguards of change, yet their true motive is to herd our collective outrage by transforming it into campaign donations that serve as financial fuel for those who steadfastly maintain the oppressive status quo. The genocide unfolding before our eyes is not a mere clash of ideologies or religions, nor is it simply about backing allies. It's the direct result of a rapacious economic and political system driven by profit at any cost. Our leaders, slaves to their own ambition for power, prostrate themselves before their corporate masters. Their support for Israel isn't just about lobbying dollars from groups like AIPAC; it's fundamentally about the benefits the U.S. capitalist regime derives from Israel's strategic position. Indeed, as Joe Biden once starkly noted, “Were there not an Israel, the United States of America would have to invent an Israel.”

The U.S.'s backing of Israel is intricately linked to the military-industrial complex, the control of oil, and the militarization of key global trade routes. This alliance fuels massive arms sales and defense contracts, enriching U.S. corporations and bolstering the military-industrial complex. By aligning with Israel, strategically located near pivotal oil-producing nations, the U.S. ensures its grip on crucial Middle Eastern oil reserves, a vital resource in the global economy. This geopolitical strategy extends to controlling vital trade routes, securing economic and military advantages by keeping these critical channels under Western dominance.

In a system incentivizing the corporate chase for monopolized total control, war becomes a necessity, serving as a means to redistribute and further concentrate the world's resources among the global elite while feeding the insatiable profit motives of the weapons industry. Inevitably, capitalism leaves destruction in its wake, whether it was the Vietnamese in 1968 or the Gazans today, bearing the brutal consequences of capitalism's genocidal tendencies.

A New Vision

Despite its shortcomings, the events of May 1968 changed France. They didn’t overthrow the government, but they broke through old barriers, changing laws and attitudes, especially in education and labor. The spirit of those weeks, when it seemed like anything was possible, still lights up the imagination of people fighting for a better world. The 1968 protests showed that when people come together, they can shake the foundations of power, even if they don’t knock them down completely.

Today, we must heed the lessons of 1968. In the spirit of a grassroots revolution, the transformation from student protests into a comprehensive movement built on the principles of disengagement from corrupted institutions and the establishment of mutual aid and free agreement begins with a profound collective realization. This realization is that the existing structures—be they educational, governmental, or corporate—are not only failing to address but are complicit in systemic injustices.

Our emerging movement starts as a series of interconnected local actions, where students and workers come together, recognizing their shared plight and common goals. As they gather, initially stirred by the desire to protest, they begin to form more structured groups—collective councils—comprising representatives from various student organizations, local labor unions, and community advocates. These councils serve as the initial scaffolding for a new kind of governance, one that operates on consensus and inclusivity, eschewing the hierarchical models they aim to dismantle.

Skill-sharing emerges as a fundamental activity within these groups, not just as a means to empower and educate, but as a cornerstone of building self-sufficiency. Workshops on urban agriculture, basic healthcare, community safety, and renewable energy initiatives are organized, utilizing occupied spaces such as unused university buildings or public parks, transforming them into hubs of learning and operation.

As the councils gain more traction, a general strike becomes the first major coordinated action, signaling the movement's seriousness and unity to a broader audience. This strike isn't just a cessation of work; it's a powerful act of reclaiming spaces and redirecting resources towards the newly forming mutual aid systems. These spaces become centers where resources—food, medical supplies, educational materials—are distributed not based on the ability to pay, but on need, a principle central to the philosophy of mutual aid.

Parallel to these practical endeavors, the movement begins to redefine education. It distances itself from traditional curricula that often perpetuate the dominant ideologies of the state and capitalism, and instead fosters a curriculum that includes critical pedagogy, decolonial studies, and practical skills for community and personal development. These classes are open to all, free of charge, and are taught by a rotating group of community members, each sharing their specific knowledge and skills.

Community defense groups also form, not as militias, but as protective bodies to ensure the safety of the spaces and their occupants. These groups practice non-violent tactics and community conflict resolution, embodying the principles of defense without aggression.

As these new systems begin to take root, they do not exist in isolation. The movement actively documents its processes and outcomes, creating detailed guides and resources that are shared widely with other groups nationally and internationally. This documentation is crucial, not just for transparency and learning, but also as a blueprint for others who wish to replicate the model in their own communities.

Networking with other similar movements creates a tapestry of resistance and mutual aid that spans borders, each node learning from and supporting others. Regular assemblies are held where experiences and ideas are exchanged, ensuring the movement remains dynamic and responsive to the needs of its participants.

Through all these phases, the guiding principles remain clear: a steadfast commitment to disengaging from and dismantling corrupted institutions; the establishment of mutual aid as a fundamental economic and social principle; and the adherence to free agreement, ensuring that every participant's voice is heard and valued in the decision-making process.

We must believe in this vision. This movement, guided by the principles of mutual aid and free agreement, will naturally take its own course, shaped by the specific needs and conditions of each community it touches. Our diversity will be our power, enhancing our resilience by fueling our capacity to innovate and effectively tackle challenges across our decentralized network. This is an organic, evolving revolution, grounded not just in the desire to protest, but to create viable, sustainable alternatives to the systems that have failed so many. Through these efforts, what begins as a series of local protests can evolve into a profound transformation of society, embodying the change that was once only dared imagined. As Ursula Le Guin reminded us in her groundbreaking novel The Dispossessed, all we have is solidarity with each other. Fortunately, that is all we need.

Peter S. Baron is the author of “If Only We Knew: How Ignorance Creates and Amplifies the Greatest Risks Facing Society” (https://www.ifonlyweknewbook.com) and is currently pursuing a J.D. and M.A. in Philosophy at Georgetown University.

Biden or Trump: No Road Ahead

(AP Photo/Jeff Chiu, File)

By Sudip Bhattacharya

“I am your retribution,” said Donald Trump, the king of the sunlight-challenged, the prophet of those hollering through dried and cracked lips.

It’s been months since the presidential race officially began, although electioneering never really ends. The United States thrives on political circus, with a mass media uninterested in the issues, save for gas prices and whether a candidate is sufficiently patriotic. 

Trump is set to be the GOP nominee. He humiliated Ron DeSantis and is on track to overwhelm Nikki Haley, the so-called moderate. As his popularity has grown among the Republican base of bootlickers and crypto-fascists, with segments of the disaffected sprinkled in, there’s been reasonable fear and anxiety surrounding his potential return to the White House. 

“It will be the end of democracy, functional democracy,” Bernie Sanders stated recently.  

In his sole and hopefully only term in office, Trump relished cruelty. From separating families at the southern border to his explicit support for law enforcement, Trump’s agenda is clearly a destructive one, steeped in white supremacy, a conspiracy-charged and anti-human American exceptionalism, and an extreme pro-business posture. Trump’s coalition was a ragtag assortment of Christian evangelicals eager to eradicate transgenderism, whites who view racial equality as a threat to their identity, and a rainbow coalition of the greedy, selfish, and insecure. 

Still, it would be a gross oversimplification, and dangerously naive, to attribute all oppression and anti-democracy to Trump. His Republican rivals are hardly paragons of compassion — especially as it relates to people of color and trans folks. Currently, the DeSantis regime in Florida is committed to dismantling educational equity. DeSantis and his braindead allies are vigorously repelling any challenge to Eurocentric or otherwise whitewashed humanities curricula, accusing his truth-seeking opponents of pushing “indoctrination.” Oh the irony. 

Haley too is a bottomless well of the very right-wing insanity that outlets like Fox News have fought hard to normalize. Although now Fox has been outpaced in its cravenness and conspiracy theories by other far-right blogs and “independent” news sources. 

But what about the #Resistance, led by Joe “Anti-Busing” Biden and Kamala “Don’t Come” Harris? It bears repeating that Democrats and Republicans are not mirror images. Republicans are worse. At least there are progressives in the Democratic Party. But, at the leadership level, the average Republican and average Democrat are remarkably similar. 

Both refuse to challenge the very undemocratic electoral college system. And both are doing nothing to stop the Supreme Court from laying waste to reproductive and voting rights. Sending fundraising pleas doesn’t absolve Democrats’ failure to combat these severe infringements on freedom and autonomy. 

When it comes to the very nature of the American economy, leaders of both major parties insist that basic necessities — whether it’s housing, healthcare, or clothing — must be distributed through the private sector. Both parties expect Americans to rely on business interests for their daily bread. And they call that precarious dependency “freedom.”

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To wake up each day when it's still dark, then prop yourself behind a desk or stay on your feet until they’re swollen. To return to your apartment exhausted but with another dozen emails in your work inbox, many written in the passive-aggressive tone typical of managers and their paranoid bosses. Is that what it means to be free?

Claudia Jones, the foremost theoretician of the Communist Party USA, didn’t think so. More than anyone, she understood the shortcomings of American capitalism.

“American monopoly capital can offer the masses of American women, who compose more than one-half of our country’s population, a program only of war and fascism.”

Jones made this remark following the end of World War II — just as Democrats were advocating a return to “normal.” By the war’s end, the Harry Truman administration began intensifying the Cold War and concomitant anti-communist purge within the country’s major unions and mainstream politics. Jones warned her comrades this wasn’t just a phase. With Truman’s blessing, major companies were firing their female employees and ordering them home to work for far less as domestic laborers. Jones saw that the Democratic Party was itself a vessel for the same retrograde policies the country allegedly fought in the war. 

Much like Biden’s current support for the far-right regimes in Israel, Saudi Arabia, and India, the United States, following World War II, continued to develop ties to anti-communist, anti-democratic, and arguably neo-fascist regimes across the world. Though the United States portrayed itself as somehow anti-colonial, it sided with anyone willing to build a world safe for counterrevolution — from white supremacists to Islamists. As Charlotta Bass, the first African-American woman on a presidential ticket, stated in 1952:

“Yes, it is my government that supports the segregation by violence practiced by a Malan in South Africa, sends guns to maintain a bloody French rule in Indo-China, gives money to help the Dutch repress Indonesia, props up [Winston] Churchill’s rule in the Middle East and over the colored peoples of Africa and Malaya.” 

In 1952, Bass was the vice presidential nominee of the Progressive Party — an attempted vehicle for channeling the radicalism of the interwar period to challenge the duopoly. It was the right strategic move. What followed, however, was more purging of radicals and communists from major institutions and intensified suppression of the Left broadly.

This cycle repeated in the early to mid-1970s when groups like the Black Panther Party faced attacks from law enforcement and the labor movement itself, which had become just another coalition partner of the Democrats — a party that hated labor unrest. Soon, the labor movement, or what was left of it, would descend into a hollow business unionism that aligned itself with some of the worst elements in American political life. 

Despite inevitable and often overwhelming resistance, the American Left still needs to cultivate a socialist constituency — a social base of people willing and able to move beyond the two-party system and replace capitalism with something far more humane and just. What’s required is a constituency that is pro-socialist, pro-Palestine, pro-humanity, against climate change, against the companies that command us to use paper straws while they pollute the water we drink, and against the scourge of American empire and the various monsters its money and weapons empower. 

But there’s a problem. The commitment necessary to do this, the capacity and leadership that’s so foundational to such a daring agenda, is lacking. The American Left has no Bass or Jones to guide it. Sanders is better than most but he too, along with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, still supports Biden, despite the bodies piling high in Gaza. Both Sanders and Ocasio-Cortez have criticized Biden. But how far can that criticism travel when neither has been willing to use any type of leverage against the Biden administration regarding Palestine?

There are insightful and brave voices scattered across the United States. But many of them are too consumed by meeting the daily demands of living, waking up, sipping stale coffee, and grinding their teeth while riding a bus stuck in traffic. 

Not to mention that building an independent social force will involve heartbreak. Some challenges will trounce us before we conquer them. Who amongst us is willing to sacrifice their time and energy? Who amongst us is willing to fail many times before they succeed? 

Look to the streets. You’ll find many people expressing the same commitment to basic humanity. These are the people who fight for $15 and against a genocide their tax dollars are financing. But it takes organic, transformative leaders to cohere those miniature uprisings into a tidal wave of undeniable resistance. 

Yet, where is our Bass? Where is our Jones? Where is our soul? 

Sudip Bhattacharya is a doctoral candidate in political science at Rutgers University. He’s written for outlets such as Jacobin, Black Agenda Report, Protean Magazine, Truthout, and Current Affairs, among others.