Statement of the SAP Executive Committee, January 26, 2026

[Earlier this month, we published the first of three talks by the veteran American Trotskyist George Breitman on the transitional approach to politics and on its impact during the formative years of the Socialist Workers Party in the 1930’s. We are now publishing the second of these talks, which focuses on the attitude of early Trotskyist movement towards the creation of an independent labor party in the United States and on the transitional method generally. Breitman’s detailed discussion of how the SWP overcame its initial sectarian and propagandist tendencies on this issue remains of relevance both to the question of the formation of broad parties on the left and to how revolutionaries should orientate towards mass movements around immediate and partial demands.  The third and final of Breitman’s talks will be published next month. Ecosocialist Scotland, 26 January 2026]

2. The Labor Party Question

I can’t repeat the ground covered yesterday, but I’ll give a brief chronology.

1928—Our movement begins when Cannon, Shachtman, and Abern are expelled for “Trotskyism” from the American Communist Party (CP).

1929—The Communist League of America (CLA) holds its founding convention and adopts its platform.

1931—The CLA holds its second convention.

1933—The International Left Opposition, to which the CLA is affiliated, makes the most important shift in its history, giving up its efforts to reform the Comintern and calling for a new International. In this country, the CLA ceases to consider itself a faction of the CP and set out to build a revolutionary Marxist party. This means the beginning of a turn away from almost pure propagandism directed at the CP toward intervention in the class struggle, with the aim of linking up with leftward-moving tendencies to construct the cadres of the revolutionary party.

1934—The CLA merges with the American Workers Party (AWP) headed by Muste to form the Workers Party of the United States (WPUS).

Spring of 1936—We dissolve the WPUS and join the Socialist Party (SP) and the YPSL in order to win over to the Fourth International young revolutionaries recently attracted by those organizations.

Summer of 1937—We are expelled from the SP and YPSL, with our forces considerably increased, and begin a discussion in preparation for the founding convention of a new party.

New Year’s 1938—The SWP is founded at a convention in Chicago that adopts a declaration of principles and other basic documents to guide the new organization.

End of March 1938—Cannon, Shachtman, Dunne, and Karsner go to Mexico to meet with Trotsky to discuss plans for the founding conference of the Fourth International (FI) to be held later that year.

Trotsky introduces to them the idea of the Transitional Program, to be written as the basic program of the FI founding conference. They discuss this and related problems for an entire week, and then agree that they will go back to the United States to ask the SWP to approve it and act as its sponsor at the international conference, even though it will require changing certain positions previously adopted by the SWP. One of these is the SWP’s position on the Ludlow amendment to the U.S. Constitution for a referendum on war, which I discussed yesterday.

The other is the SWP’s position on the labor party, which I shall discuss today. Before doing that, however, I would like to carry the narrative further as regards the disposition of the Transitional Program as a whole, aside from the labor party question.

Cannon and Shachtman got back to New York in time for a Political Committee meeting in mid-April, nine days before a plenum of the National Committee. The Political Committee adopted an agenda for recommendation to the plenum, which was to be changed a week later on the eve of the plenum; they changed the rules for attendance—previously it was to be open to all members, now it was to be closed except for NC members and a few invited guests—and they received reports from the delegates, the minutes reporting only, “Comrades Cannon and Shachtman give full reports on their journey.”

There is no record of the Political Committee deciding to recommend anything regarding these reports; it only designated Cannon, Shachtman, and Dunne reporters to the plenum but did not take a position on anything, which is not how it is usually done. We can assume that the Political Committee wanted time to think over the Transitional Program and related proposals.

In referring to this plenum yesterday, I called it stormy and chaotic, and I don’t think that is an exaggeration, although the minutes contain only motions and a few statements made specifically for the record. In the first place, the plenum was extended from three days to four, an unusual thing; and even so, a considerable part of the agenda was not acted on, and at the end had to be referred to the Political Committee.

The first point on the agenda was a report by Cannon on the matters discussed in Mexico, supplemented by brief remarks on factory committees by Shachtman. The second point was questions from the National Committee members, answered by Cannon, Shachtman, and Dunne. The third point was a five-hour recess to study documents (the first draft of the Transitional Program had arrived shortly before the plenum), including stenograms of the talks with Trotsky (those that dealt with the Transitional Program have just been published for the first time in the second edition of the Transitional Program book).

Then the political discussion began on transitional demands and related questions. But when the political discussion ran out, instead of a vote being taken, voting was deferred to the third day of the plenum; in fact, before the vote was taken, time was consumed with local reports on the branches, labor party sentiment, the antiwar movement, the CP, etc. The members of the plenum were plainly not in a hurry to vote on the key proposals. But the clearest sign of uncertainty or confusion was the nature of the motions presented and finally voted on.

A motion was made by Maurice Spector, supported by Cannon and Abern, that the SWP approve the Transitional Program, and a motion was made by Shachtman, supported by Burnham, that the SWP approve the Transitional Program, and the debate over these motions became one of the two focal points of the plenum, leading to roll-call votes duly recorded in the minutes and a division that was sixty to forty. Of course the motions were not exactly the same. But I had to reread them several times before I detected a possible nuance, and three of the twenty-eight who voted—Goldman, Clarke, and Cochran—voted for both motions, with a statement that they considered then essentially the same.

The possible nuance was this. Spector’s motion “endorses and adopts” the thesis written by Trotsky, whereas Shachtman’s “endorses the general line of the thesis . . .  and adopts it as a draft of an analysis.” But this thin line is made thinner yet by the fact that a second part of Spector’s motion “subscribes in principle to the conception of the program of transitional demands proposed” in the thesis. So one endorses and accepts while subscribing in principle, and the other endorses the general line and adopts it as a draft of an analysis. The vote was seventeen for Spector’s motion, eleven for Shachtman’s.

The same thing happened with the second part of these motions, directing the Political Committee to prepare a program of actions based on the Transitional Program and the conditions and needs of the American working-class struggle. To me, the two motions seem the same, but they led to a thirteen to twelve vote in favor of Spector’s. There was agreement only on the third part of the motion, that the program to be prepared by the Political Committee be submitted to the membership for discussion and referendum.

When such a thing happens, when a National Committee is divided thirteen to twelve over motions it is hard to distinguish between, then it is safe to conclude that the situation is not normal, or, to put it another way, that it contains the potential of a crisis. In my interpretation, there were two elements involved. One was what may be called personal. Cannon had been convinced by Trotsky, and he wanted the SWP leadership to endorse the Transitional Program without equivocation or pussyfooting. Others, including Shachtman, probably still had some reservations, hence wanted to affirm only “the general line.” They resented being pushed or pressured; they wanted more time to try to square the new line with what they had said in the past, and they reacted against the motions supported by Cannon as a way of expressing their dislike of him as a “hand-raiser” for Trotsky, as someone who unthinkingly went along with whatever Trotsky proposed, in contrast to themselves as independent thinkers.

This was closely connected with something that had happened the previous year, 1937, when we were still in the SP. Trotsky was the first, in a confidential letter to the leadership, to conclude that the SP experience was coming to an end and that we should prepare to be expelled and set up our own party. Cannon, agreeing, quickly sent a letter from California, endorsing Trotsky’s perspective. Shachtman and Burnham, who were in the New York leadership, almost flipped out when they got this letter, because they had settled themselves in for an extended, an indefinitely extended, stay in the SP, and they were bitter about Cannon “the hand-raiser,” even after they were compelled to agree with his proposal.

The difference between them was that Cannon was a more astute politician, saw things faster, and did not feel that there was anything shameful about endorsing a good idea just because Trotsky had made it; whereas they, being perhaps less self-confident, had greater psychological difficulty in reaching a decision.

But the other element, a purely political one, played the main role in producing the strange situation of a fight over two similar motions. That was the one I referred to in some detail yesterday. Namely, that the SWP leadership was being asked to sharply change positions on important questions like the labor party, which they had held for several years and which they had reaffirmed just a few months before at the founding convention of the SWP; and that the reasoning Trotsky used in the Transitional Program seemed in some ways new to them, so new that at first they were jolted by it.

Supporting this part of my interpretation are the facts about what happened after the plenum. A Political Committee subcommittee was set up to draft a national program of action based on the Transitional Program, which was to consist of two parts, one on transitional demands, the other on the labor party question. In June, Spector and Burnham brought in separate drafts on the Transitional Program, but as they worked on them, the realization grew that really there were not any significant differences, and what emerged was a joint document. There were differences over various passages, but these were settled by majority vote (except Workers Government or Workers and Farmers Government), and in the end the comrades who had voted against each other at the plenum all accepted the final draft, which was submitted to the membership for the referendum.

So the leadership should be credited with the good sense to reach agreement, once they had a little more time to assimilate the Transitional Program. They should also be credited with avoiding a factional situation, which was unwarranted and would have done great damage, since there was no political basis for it. Their united presentation of the document did a lot to win the support of the party ranks for both Trotsky’s Transitional Program draft and the American adaptation of it. A full-scale discussion took place in the ranks, and in the referendum that followed, over 90 percent of those voting endorsed the international resolution, and about 95 percent endorsed the American program of action (I’ll report on the labor party vote later).

I do not mean to imply that everybody in the party, leadership or ranks, absorbed the full meaning of the transitional method all at once or quickly. Late in the fall, two members of the Political Committee were still trying to get us to replace the slogan of the sliding scale of wages with a “rising scale of wages.” There were also some strange things said during the discussion.

One that I remember now with some amusement is a debate that was never settled, echoes of which I still encountered in the 1950s among certain kinds of comrades. That was over the question of whether transitional demands can be realized under capitalism, the implication often being that transitional demands were good or acceptable only if or when they could not be realized under capitalism and could not be supported if they could be realized under capitalism, the further implication being that supporting demands that could be realized under capitalism would lead us into some kind of horrendous trap and make rank opportunists of us all. It sounds more amusing now than it did then.

Anyhow, my point is that we did not grasp the meaning or master the use of the transitional method all at once—it took time, in my own case it was a matter of years, not months. But we did grasp it in part relatively quickly, which testifies to the maturity of both the leadership and the membership, and to the fact that our past had prepared us for this leap forward, for in practice we had been learning basic elements of the transitional approach before 1938, but without ever having generalized it our concretized it or theorized it or worked out the relations between the different parts as Trotsky did for us in 1938.

Now let me get back to the labor party question. Lenin waged a fight in the early years of the Comintern against those sectarian elements who refused to work in or give critical support to the candidates of existing labor parties, and this fight was so successful that hardly any communist thereafter held such a position. The question that concerned our movement in the 1930s was not whether to work in a labor party created by other forces, but whether it was permissible for revolutionaries to advocate the formation of a labor party. In a few moments I will trace the history of our movement on this question, but I will start by referring to my own experience, which began in 1935, when I first joined.

In 1935 the CIO and the new industrial unions were just being born; soon they were to turn their attention to politics—openly capitalist politics, as in their support of Roosevelt in 1936, but also hybrid politics, as in the formation of Labor’s Non-Partisan League (LNPL) nationally and the American Labor Party in New York, which had the potential of taking an independent labor party direction. Nineteen thirty-five was also the year when the Stalinists dropped their third-period policies, including opposition to labor parties as social-fascist formations, and began to call for the formation of a national labor party. Labor party resolutions began to be discussed in various unions and other mass movements and often were adopted at union conventions, although that was about as far as it went.

What I learned as a new member was that it was impermissible for us to advocate the formation of a labor party. We could advocate independent labor political action in general, because that encompassed the idea of revolutionary workers’ politics, but we could not advocate formation of an independent labor party because a labor party, necessarily reformist, would inevitably betray the workers. I remember that in 1936, when I was writing a pamphlet to be published by the unemployed movement in New Jersey, I felt it necessary, in reporting action taken by this movement, to try to distinguish between its endorsement of independent political action (which we favored) and its endorsement of a farmer-labor party (which we didn’t).

In 1936 we joined the SP and YPSL, and our labor party position immediately became, and remained, the clearest point of distinction between our faction, called the Appeal Association or caucus, and the centrist faction, called the Clarity caucus. They advocated a labor party, for reasons that sometimes sounded radical and other times sounded opportunist, and we opposed advocacy. In the year and a half we spent in the SP and YPSL, there must have been thousands of individual discussions and debates around the labor party, no one ever joining our faction without coming to accept our antiadvocacy position. In fact, it was often the crucial point for the revolutionary-minded youth of the SP and YPSL, dominating their decision on whether to join the Appeal or Clarity caucus.

At our founding convention there was no debate on the labor party question. Instead, there was agreement, you could say unanimity, with the statement in the Declaration of Principles that the revolutionary party cannot “properly take the initiative in advocating the formation of Labor or Farmer-Labor Parties,” and with the statement in the main political resolution, “Faced with the prospect of the formation of a national Labor party of one kind or another, the [SWP] has no need of altering the fundamental revolutionary Marxian position on the Labor Party question. The revolutionary party cannot take the responsibility for forming or advocating the formation of a reformist, class-collaborationist party, that is, of a petty-bourgeois workers’ party.”

But having settled accounts with the SP and having turned our eyes to the union movement, it began to be clear to the leaders of the new party that considerable pro-labor sentiment was developing in this country and that the party had better pay attention to it. Burnham took the lead in this respect in the Political Committee, but Cannon also was starting to concern himself with it. Burnham then wrote an article called “The Labor Party: 1938,” reviewing the recent developments and urging an active orientation toward them. Even he, however, felt it incumbent to tip his hat to the convention formula: “The revolutionists are not the originators or initiators of any labor or any other kind of reformist party; they not merely give no guarantees or false hopes for such a party but, on the contrary, warn against the illusion that such a party can solve any major problem of the working class. The central task of the period ahead remains the building of the revolutionary party itself.”

In the Political Committee, Burnham explained the strategy behind his article: he said that “there is now a labor party movement, and that we have to find ways and means of working in it.” With this approach, the question of advocating a labor party could be skipped over; a movement already existed, so we didn’t have to advocate it, all we had to do was get in. He asked the Political Committee to endorse his article and recommend its approach to the plenum coming in April. The Political Committee decided merely to refer the whole matter to the plenum, and that is how things stood at the time of the talks in Mexico.

Trotsky also wanted us to work in the labor party movement, but he didn’t see any need to be devious about it. Instead, as you can tell from the Transitional Program book, he argued that we should change our position and begin to advocate the formation of a labor party, and he sought to convince the SWPers that they should do the same.

In the discussion, at the beginning, Cannon said that he thought the prevailing sentiment of the party was “to join the LNPL and become aggressive fighters for the constitution of a labor party as against the policy of endorsing capitalist candidates; if we can do that without compromising our principles, that would be best in the sense of gaining influence.” Shachtman too was concerned about the possible compromising of our principles. More than once he reminded Trotsky that we cannot advocate a reformist party and yet he (Trotsky) was advocating something that seemed just that.

Trotsky replied that he was not advocating a reformist labor party. He was trying to find a pedagogical approach to the workers. “We say [to the workers], you cannot impose your [political] will through a reformist party but only through a revolutionary party. The Stalinists and liberals wish to make of this movement a reformist party, but we have our program, we make of this a revolutionary—”

Here Cannon interrupted: “How can you explain a revolutionary labor party? We say: The SWP is the only revolutionary party, has the only revolutionary program. How then can you explain to the workers that also the labor party is a revolutionary party?”

Trotsky: “I will not say that the labor party is a revolutionary party, but that we will do everything to make it possible. At every meeting I will say: I am a representative of the SWP. I consider it the only revolutionary party. But I am not a sectarian. You are trying now to build a big workers’ party. I will help you but I propose that you consider a program for this party. I make such and such propositions. I begin with this. Under these conditions it would be a big step forward. Why not say openly what is? Without any camouflage, without any diplomacy.”

Cannon: “Up till now the question has always been put abstractly. The question of the program has never been outlined as you outlined it. The Lovestoneites have always been for a labor party; but they have no program, it’s combinations from the top. It seems to me that if we have a program and always point to it. . . . ”

Shachtman was still not convinced: “Now with the imminence of the outbreak of the war, the labor party can become a trap.” He was very much on guard against traps and illusions. “And I still can’t understand how the labor party can be different from a reformist, purely parliamentarian party.”

Trotsky: “You put the question too abstractly; naturally it can crystallize into a reformist party, and one that will exclude us. But we must be part of the movement . . .  we always point to our program. And we propose our program of transitional demands.”

It is obvious from reading the stenograms that the SWP leaders were hung up by some of their previous formulas on the labor party question. Trotsky tried to bring new light on the matter, and the way in which he did this, in line with the Transitional Program as a whole, appeared to them to represent something new: “The question of the program has never been outlined as you outlined it,” Cannon said. The problem seemed solved; the only thing that remained was how to explain the change. If the new position was correct, how about the old position? Had the old position been correct in the past but become invalid as the result of new and different conditions? Or had it always been wrong? If so, what was the source of the error?

The voting on the labor party at the April plenum was very much like the voting on the Transitional Program, except that this time there was a third position, presented by Glen Trimble of California, whose motion would simply reaffirm the position taken at the founding convention, that is, would continue to oppose advocacy. Trimble’s motion was defeated seventeen to four. The two major positions were expressed in motions by Cannon and Burnham.

Cannon’s was very short: “That we adopt the draft statement distributed to members as the position of the Plenum; and instruct the Political Committee to take this as a basis, concretize it and elaborate it, and submit it to the Party for discussion culminating in a referendum vote.” The draft statement he referred to was one written by Trotsky, which appears in the Transitional Program book under the title “The Problem of the Labor Party.”

The motion by Burnham was longer and more detailed, generally along the lines of his recent magazine article, but at no point in real contradiction with the line of Cannon’s motion. The vote was closer this time: twelve for Cannon’s, ten for Burnham’s, two abstentions (weeks later one of the abstentions was changed to a vote for Cannon).

When the time came to draw up the document authorized in the Cannon motion, almost the same thing happened as with the Transitional Program. That is, virtually everyone who had voted for either the Cannon or the Burnham motion realized that there were no real differences between them on the labor party, and they all voted for a common NC majority resolution and jointly defended it in the referendum discussion against an NC minority resolution introduced by Hal Draper.

But the results in the discussion and the voting were not the same as with the Transitional Program. Despite the virtual unanimity of the leadership, a large part of the SWP membership (and of the youth) was and remained against the change of position. The new position received only 60 percent in the referendum, as against 90 percent for the Transitional Program and 95 percent for the American adaptation.

Here I must differ with a statement George Novack made in his introduction to the Transitional Program book. He notes that the labor party question is not included in the Transitional Program and says, “This is for good reason. This problem is peculiar to our country, which is the most politically backward of all the advanced capitalist countries,” the only one where the workers don’t have some party of their own. But obviously this was not true of all countries in 1938 and it is not true today. There are many countries in the world, especially colonial, semicolonial, and neocolonialist countries, where the workers don’t have a party of their own class, and where the general labor party approach could be appropriate. And although the Soviet Union was the only workers’ state in the world, that didn’t stop Trotsky from writing a lot in the Transitional Program about the problems that were “peculiar” to that country.

But comrade Novack was correct in saying that there was good reason for the labor party not being included in the Transitional Program. And the reason was that the leaders were aware of the opposition of many members to the new labor party position and were afraid that if the questions weren’t separated, so that they could be voted on separately, this might endanger adoption of the Transitional Program first of all in this country, and secondly, indirectly in the rest of the International. This was good and sound reasoning, in my opinion. In my own case, I could not have voted for the Transitional Program at that time if it had included a provision in favor of labor party advocacy. At least 40 percent of the party would have been in a dilemma if they had had to vote on the two matters in a single package.

Today, when there isn’t anybody in our movement who disagrees on the pro-advocacy position, it may be difficult to appreciate the heat that accompanied that discussion in 1938. The source of the difficulty was that, for several years before 1938, we, the members had been taught that it was unprincipled to advocate the formation of any party but the revolutionary party. And the difficulty was compounded because the leadership, instead of forthrightly stating that this was a mistake that now must be corrected, denied that it had been considered a principled question or tried to sweep it aside as irrelevant. This way of handling the change, which is not typical of Bolshevism or of our movement before or since, complicated the whole situation, distracting the discussion away from the essence of the problem into side issues, and made it more difficult for the members to resolve the question correctly.

“The question of the labor party has never been a question of ‘principle’ for revolutionary Marxists.” That is the opening sentence of Trotsky’s draft statement, printed in the back of the Transitional Program book, which was incorporated with a few changes into the National Committee majority resolution in the referendum. In my opinion, that sentence was wrong. It had been a question of principle, and when I say that, I am not concerned with whether it had been formally labeled a principle, but with how the party membership had been educated to view the question.

In the National Committee draft, that sentence was changed from “The question of the labor party has never been a question of ‘principle’ for revolutionary Marxists” to “The question of the attitude toward an existing labor party has never been a question of principle for revolutionary Marxists.” In my opinion, the changed sentence was correct, as it stands, but in the context, it was an evasion of the problem that was troubling and confusing many party members.

I have decided not to try to prove what I have said here—that before 1938 we treated labor party advocacy as a principled question, even if we didn’t label it that way. I’ll merely repeat what Cannon said in Mexico, that our party would become aggressive fighters for a labor party “if we can do that without compromising our principled position.” I’ll assume that is sufficient until somebody challenges my statement.

At that time I thought that our principled position had always been against advocating a labor party, and in the course of that discussion, both written and oral, nobody, absolutely nobody, ever said that we had previously had any other position. If they had done so, it would surely have shaken me and the other 40 percent of the membership that voted against the new position and might have persuaded us that we were wrong. But nobody ever mentioned our having had any other position, or even said when we had adopted the one we had up to 1938. You may think that odd, but in those days—before offset printing made possible relatively inexpensive production of the old bound volumes of the Militant, and at a time when the resources of our party did not make available the old internal bulletins and documents of our movement—the general membership was not as well informed about the history of our own movement, in the form of accessible documents, as it is today. Anyhow, in the course of that discussion, which I followed closely and anxiously because, for the first time, my confidence in the leadership was shaken, nobody ever asked or said when we had adopted our pre-1938 position or if we had had a different position before that.

And so it wasn’t until a few weeks ago, in preparing this talk, that I learned that our pre-1938 position had first been adopted in 1931, and that we had indeed had a different position before then—a contradictory one, in fact.

A few months after our expulsion from the CP in 1928, the Militant printed a long document by Cannon, Shachtman, and Abern, “The Platform of the Opposition,” filling most of the paper’s eight tabloid pages. One section was called “The Perspective of a Labor Party.” I will read a few passages from it:

The perspective of coming mass struggles involves the question of developing these struggles in a political direction and unifying them in a centralized form. The movement for a Labor Party is today at low ebb as a result primarily of the passivity of the workers and the decline in movements of struggle in the past period. The coming period of developing economic struggles will very probably be reflected in tendencies toward the revival of the Labor Party movement.

It is not reasonable to expect that the masses of the American workers, who are still tied ideologically and politically to the bourgeois parties, will come over to the Communist Party politically in one step in a period not immediately revolutionary. All past experience, and particularly the recent experiences in the mining, textile and needle trades industries, where the workers who supported Communist leadership in strikes did not vote for the Communist ticket, do not sustain such expectations. The perspective of a Labor Party, as a primary step in the political development of the American workers, adopted by the Party in 1922 after a sharp struggle in the Party and at the Fourth Congress of the Communist International, holds good today, although the forms and methods of its realization will be somewhat different than those indicated at that time.

It is therefore necessary to keep the perspective of a Labor Party before the eyes of the Party and the working class. We speak here not for the immediate formation of such a Party and surely not for the adventurism and opportunism that has characterized this work in the past, particularly in the organization of fake Labor Parties that had no genuine mass basis. The Labor Party must have a mass basis and must arise out of struggle and be formed in the process of struggle. To this end, the propaganda slogan must be really revived, and as soon as it has found roots in the masses and their experience in the struggle, it must become an agitational, and finally an action, slogan.

The rest of this part of the 1929 platform discusses what a labor party of the kind we would propagandize for cannot be—it cannot be a two-class party, or an enlarged shadow of the CP, and so on, so I won’t read those parts.

That was February 1929. We then decided to hold the founding convention of the CLA in May, and the platform containing this position on the labor party was introduced as the leadership’s main document for the convention, serving as the basis for discussion first in the branches and then at the convention. There, according to a report on the convention by Cannon in the Militant, the labor party question was one of the two sharply debated on the convention floor. After describing minority viewpoints, including some who wanted nothing to do with any labor party even after it was formed, and some who were against advocacy but would work inside a labor party, Cannon wrote:

It was the opinion of the majority that, although it certainly is not a pressing question of the moment, the labor party question has a great importance for the future when the radicalization of the workers will begin to seek political expression. Therefore it is imperative to have a clear and definite stand on it. A misjudgment of the probable line of development of the American workers or a sectarian doctrine which would prevent us from approaching and influencing new upward movements, might have the most serious consequences later on. The formulation of the Platform on the Perspective of a Labor Party was adopted by a majority after a thorough discussion.

I wish that I had known in 1938 about this stage of our thinking on the labor party nine years earlier. I think it might have helped me avoid a serious error. Because, in my opinion, our 1929 position was substantially correct. It did not make a principle out of what was actually a tactical question. It did not reject taking a clear and definite stand merely because there was no labor party movement of significance in existence. It distinguished between the labor party as a subject for propaganda, and the labor party as a subject for agitation or action. And it had what proved to be a realistic perspective on the relative future growth of the revolutionary party and the mass movement.

That was the position at our first convention, in mid-1929, before the start of the big depression and at a time when all factions of the Communist Party, right, center, and left, were in favor of advocating a labor party, although their motivations and reasoning varied greatly. This position was changed, and even criticized, at our second convention in mid-1931, when the depression was over a year old and when the CP, now deep into its third-period madness, also was opposed to any pro-labor party development.

I don’t mean to suggest that the CP’s opposition to labor party advocacy was the same as ours. To the CP, anybody who advocated a labor party was a social fascist. We condemned their position, first of all because the whole theory of social fascism was false and suicidal from start to end, and secondly because if that was all their opposition to a labor party rested on, it was insufficient, because it meant that when they ultimately gave up social fascism they might or would return to advocacy of a labor party. (Which, incidentally, they did, in 1935.)

The political resolution adopted at our second convention, in 1931, was a long document, and the section called “Social Reformism and the Perspectives of the Revolutionary Movement” was also long. Contrary to the CP, we warned that the basis for social reformism, far from being “narrowed down,” was being extended in the form of a growth of a leftist bureaucracy in the unions and a revival of the social democracy. Most of the section is devoted to a discussion of how to fight the reformists—how the CP should fight them, through the united front correctly understood and applied and so on, in a period when it must not be assumed that the United States was fated to be the last capitalist country to enter the revolutionary crisis.

The labor party question was presented in this context. The resolution saw the AFL bureaucracy, “their socialist assistants and the ‘Left wing’ progressive toadies of the Muste school” working consciously to erect barriers to the growth of the revolutionary movement in every area. “On the political field most of these elements seek to erect a barrier in the form of a ‘Labor’ or ‘Farmer-Labor’ party, that is, a bourgeois workers’ party in the image of the British Labor Party.”

The 1931 resolution then criticizes the many false formulations of the labor party question held in the American CP from 1923 to 1928, saying that none was based on a Marxian conception of the role of the labor party or of the nature of our epoch. Of course many of these formulations and policies had been adventurist or opportunist, or a combination of both. Now, said the resolution:

all these conceptions and practices must be thrown overboard because they were originally wrong. . . .  The American Communists cannot undertake to organize a petty bourgeois workers’ party “standing between” the bourgeoisie and the proletariat.

Abstractly considered, to be sure, were there a mass movement which would organize a labor party, the Communists would have to take up the question of working within it as a revolutionary nucleus. But this is a different matter entirely. Moreover, it is a matter which has less of a timely significance today—even abstractly—than in past years, since there is no substantial movement at all for a labor party in the 1932 elections.

It is the reformists of all shades, the Thomases and the Mustes, who seek to set up this petty bourgeois party as a wall against the workers’ progress towards Communism; in this work, they are only fulfilling their mission and role of prolonging as much as possible the “reformist period” in the development of the American working class. It is no accident that the Right wing liquidators of the Lovestone group have as the central point in their program the idea that the Labor Party’s formation is an essential and imperative step for the American workers, which the Right wing is ready to initiate, to form and build up. It is this perspective which it recommends to the Communist movement as a whole to adopt. The Left Opposition, at its formative stage, leaned in the direction of this reformist perspective which constituted to a certain extent an uncritical carry-over of the preceding group struggles in the party, prior to the time when the Left wing took shape and was established as a political grouping distinct from all the others in the movement. The firmer establishment of its Marxian position dictates a break with this early standpoint and the adoption of the one outlined here. The adoption of this revised point of view, the result of clarification in its own ranks, marks a step forward that will enable the Opposition to bring greater clarity on this vital problem into the revolutionary and labor movements as a whole.

That was 1931. A year later, Trotsky had talks in Turkey with Albert, Weisbord, the leader of a small group that was making an approach to the Left Opposition, although it shared many of the ideas of the Right Opposition, including its labor party position. After their discussion, Trotsky wrote a letter to Weisbord and a statement on the labor party, both printed in Writings 1932. In the letter he praised the position taken by the CLA at our second convention “because in the theses not only was a correct position taken on the essence of the question but also an open and courageous criticism of its own past was made. Only in this way can a revolutionary tendency seriously assure itself against backsliding.”

In the labor party article, he said that he found the CLA convention position on the labor party “excellent in every part, and I subscribe to it with both hands.” It is an article very worthwhile, especially for those who may think that we should have been or should be in favor of the formation of a labor party under all circumstances. But I leave all that out to quote two passages:

3. A long period of confusion in the Comintern led many people to forget a very simple but absolutely irrevocable principle: that a Marxist, a proletarian revolutionist, cannot present himself before the working class with two banners. He cannot say at a workers’ meeting: “I have a ticket for a first-class party and another, cheaper ticket for the backward worker.” If I am a Communist, I must fight for the Communist Party.

And a little later, after mentioning how the Comintern’s policy toward the Kuomintang and the British Labor Party in the 1920s produced an opportunistic adaptation to the will of the Comintern’s allies and, through them, to that of the class enemy, he said:

We must educate our cadres to believe in the invincibility of the Communist idea and the future of the Communist Party. The parallel struggle for another party inevitably produces in their minds a duality and turns them onto the road of opportunism.

It should be noted that there had been no explicit reference to a principle about the labor party in the 1931 convention’s resolution, but Trotsky’s use of such a term was not inconsistent with that resolution; it merely spelled out what was implicit in the whole approach of the resolution.

By now it must be plain that there was a principle involved in the thinking behind the position we held between 1931 and 1938. And it was a most fundamental principle—the principle of the need and primacy of the revolutionary party, whose construction is indispensable for everything else. Those who depart from this principle, or subordinate it, or compromise it, like the social democrats or the Lovestoneites, cannot possibly have the right position on the labor party.

But it does not follow that everybody who advocates a labor party is necessarily subordinating or compromising the principle that the building of the revolutionary party comes foremost for Marxists. It does not follow that advocating a labor party is contradictory to building the revolutionary party; in fact, advocating a labor party is not only consistent with building the revolutionary party in certain conditions but also a means toward building the revolutionary party, if the revolutionaries know what they are doing and how to do it right.

So on the labor party there was a confusion between principle and the tactics that were presumed to flow from the principle, which, as I showed yesterday, is the same thing as happened with the Ludlow amendment. The difference is that the Ludlow amendment mistake was of relatively short duration, a few months, whereas the labor party mistake lasted for seven years and therefore was harder for many of us to correct. The Transitional Program, or, more exactly, the transitional method that it taught us, enabled us not only to understand this mistake, some of us sooner than others, but also to better grasp the dynamics of unfolding class struggles and how to relate to them in a way that was positive and creative rather than purely propagandist, abstentionist, or dogmatic.

It showed us that advocating a labor party does not necessarily make us responsible for everything that happens in connection with a labor party that is formed under the leadership of other forces, any more than advocating a strike makes us responsible for everything that happens during a strike under the leadership of other forces. The nature of our responsibility depends on the nature of our program and the way we present it. We are responsible only for what we advocate, not for the victory of opponents over what we advocate.

It showed us that advocating a labor party does not necessarily mean that you are advocating the formation of a reformist party. It depends on how you advocate it, on what content you give your advocacy, on what program you advance for the labor party. The posing of the question—can a labor party be revolutionary?—which seemed unreasonable to us before 1938, was very useful educationally. Trotsky did not give the question an absolute or direct yes answer. We will try to make it as revolutionary as we can, he said, and he might have added, just as we do with the unions.

It showed us that advocating a labor party does not inevitably produce in the minds of the revolutionary cadre a duality regarding the primacy of the revolutionary party or turn the cadre onto the road of opportunism. It can do these things, but it need not, if the cadre is firm in principle in the first place and if the leadership is always alert to maintain the cadre’s educational-political level and consciousness. Advocating a labor party can result in these retrogressive things, but it does not follow that it must, therefore it does not follow that the mere possibility must compel us to abstain from what can be a fruitful tactic for the building of the revolutionary party.

Of course it is true that a party that is weak on the principle of the revolutionary party will get into trouble with a labor party tactic. But the SWP was not weak on that principle, so that general truth was irrelevant in this case.

In 1931, when we replaced the 1929 position, we said that it had been wrong, for which Trotsky praised us. In 1938, when we replaced the 1931 position, we did not make any such explicit judgment. We said only that the 1931 position was abstract and that conditions had changed sufficiently to make the abstract formulas of the past obsolete. These were valid criticisms, and it is to the credit of the party and its leadership that, with help from Trotsky and the Transitional Program, we were able to arrive at a correct position, in a relatively short time, without the loss of cadres and without serious damage to morale. Perhaps this was the most that could have been achieved under those conditions.

I did not think so at that time. I resented what I took to be the leadership’s refusal to make a judgment about the 1931 position, so much that my resentment prevented me from understanding what was correct and progressive in its 1938 position. In addition, I was basically wrong because I thought that the 1931 position was correct. Later I saw and now I see that the 1931 position was not just abstract but wrong, not just rendered obsolete by new conditions but wrong before the coming of new conditions—not in every word, but on the whole. I think that the public opinion of the party will reach this conclusion too, actually though not officially, when in the not-too-distant future we will make these old documents more available for study by the membership.

The personal lesson that I learned, rather painfully, was the need to be more objective in the analysis of political problems. It was hard for me to admit to myself that we had been mistaken, that I had been mistaken, so hard that I wanted to cling to the error. And I justified clinging to it by the less than perfect arguments used by the leadership to motivate the correction. That’s not a good way to reach a decision. A position may be correct even though its proponents do not defend it in the best way possible. We have the obligation to recognize a correct position independently, so to speak, of the arguments of others who find it correct. It took me almost three years after the end of the 1938 discussion before I was able to do that with the labor party question. Fortunately, the party was not so slow.

Although the subject of these talks played a decisive part in my political life, that is not the main reason that I have gone to the trouble of telling you about them.

Building the revolutionary party is a difficult and arduous process. Recently I read the translation of a 1933 article by Trotsky about how hard it is to achieve a healthy society even after the workers have come to power, written for an American bourgeois periodical but not published at that time.

“To achieve harmony in the state,” he wrote, “—even on the basis of collective ownership and planned management encompassing all facets of the economy—is only possible as the result of an indefinitely prolonged period of efforts, experiments, errors, crises, reforms and reorganization.” That description struck me as appropriate also for the task of building a party capable of leading the revolutionary workers to power—a prolonged “period of efforts, experiments, errors, crises, reforms and reorganization.

We have reason to be proud of the achievements of the SWP. It is qualitatively superior to any of its opponents in this country, and, thanks to the continuity of its leadership, which enabled it to avoid repeating the same errors over and over, it enjoys several advantages over other sympathizing groups or sections of the Fourth International. This did not come about by accident or sheer good luck; it is the result of struggle and consciousness. A correct appraisal of the SWP and its achievements, which is necessary for further progress, is furthered by an awareness of the difficulties it has encountered and the way it overcame them, rather than by an ignoring of those difficulties or a depreciation of their magnitude.

The other reason that I think discussions such as this are justified is that they contribute to party consciousness-raising about the abundance of weapons in our political and theoretical arsenal. The metaphor most commonly used to call our attention to the debt we owe our predecessors is that we are “standing on their shoulders,” which explains why we can see some things that they couldn’t. I think I prefer a less athletic figure of speech, that of the arsenal. It was built by the pioneers of the Marxist movement and expanded by their successors. It is bigger, and its contents are more varied and useful than anything they had at their disposal. Available to us now are not only the actual weapons—the ideas, theories, programs, principles, strategies, tactics, and so on—but the history of their development, refinement, and improvement, which includes trial and error and experiments that failed as well as those that succeeded. We don’t have to start from scratch, with the bow and arrow, and we are not doomed to repeat errors merely because we don’t know their history. We can learn from the past, both what to continue and perfect and what to avoid.

No other movement has such a rich arsenal; the others would like to forget the past. The Stalinists, for example, would never dream of reprinting the books they published in the early 1930s, during the period of social fascism; we, on the other hand, are using precious resources to print material from the 1930s by Trotsky and others that we were too poor to print in permanent book form then and that we are determined to add to our arsenal for the benefit of the youth of today and tomorrow.

This arsenal is big, but it’s going to have to be bigger before humanity turns it into a museum. You are going to have to build new weapons to hasten that day, but before you can do that you have to master the ones in our present stockpile. These talks are intended as a contribution to that process.

How Edinburgh activists are building a new kind of left politics through community roots, worker solidarity, and ecosocialist campaigning

Duncan Chapel, January 2026

Something is stirring in Leith. While much of the post-Corbyn left remains trapped in cycles of faction fights and social media outrage, a small group of Your Party activists in Edinburgh’s historic port district have been quietly developing an approach to organising that deserves wider attention.

They call it the Leith Model. It’s not a grand theory. It’s a practical template for building political presence through three interconnected commitments: worker solidarity, community defence, and anti-fascist mobilisation. And it’s already generating results that other branches across Scotland might learn from.
The Core Commitments

When Your Party Leith held its founding meeting in late 2025, around twelve committed members agreed on three core areas of action. The list is instructive for what it includes and what it refuses to defer.

Worker solidarity came first. This wasn’t abstract commitment to “the working class” but concrete presence on picket lines. When workers at Rockstar Games Edinburgh began organising with the IWGB Game Workers union, facing what the union describes as “Amazon-style” union busting, Leith activists were there. The dispute, which saw 31 workers summarily dismissed in October 2025 just one week after the union reached the statutory recognition threshold, has become a defining struggle for creative industry unionisation in Scotland. Your Party members have maintained visible solidarity throughout: attending protests outside the Holyrood Road headquarters, joining the march to the Scottish Parliament, and connecting the dispute to wider questions about precarious work in the digital economy.

Community defence meant partnership, not substitution. Leith already has Living Rent, the tenants’ union that has won real victories on rent controls and retrofit debt. Rather than competing or duplicating, Your Party activists joined existing campaigns. When Marionville fire station faced closure, they worked alongside Living Rent to oppose it. The principle is clear: we’re not here to replace the brilliant work being done by community groups; we’re here to amplify it.

Standing against racism required physical presence. When fascists terrorised refugees at a hotel in Falkirk, Leith members travelled to stand on the counter-demonstration. One organiser describes the surreal experience of dancing to Spice Girls while bottles and flares flew. “That was really restorative for me,” he told a recent branch meeting. Anti-fascism isn’t a position statement; it’s showing up.

Mutual Aid as Foundation

Alongside these three commitments, practical solidarity has anchored the branch’s community presence. The “Keep Leith Warm” initiative before Christmas 2025 brought together food, clothing, and toys for residents facing hardship. Activists leafleted the Kirkgate, inviting people directly: come along, you’re hungry, we’ll feed you; you need clothes, they’re yours.

One organiser, a former Labour member of nineteen years, reflected: “Never had I done something like that, where I was going out and saying, hey, come along next week.” The contrast with Labour’s hollowed-out electoralism could not be sharper. Mothers left with arms full of toys. Relationships were built that no canvassing database can capture.

The methodological insight matters. As the Leith Model document puts it: “Digital tools support communication, but face-to-face organising remains the core of community mobilisation.” WhatsApp groups and social media pages are useful for outreach. But lasting momentum came when organisers prioritised street stalls, leafleting, and open meetings.

The Freeport Campaign: Ecosocialism in Practice

The most strategically significant development is the emerging campaign against the Forth Green Freeport. This is where ecosocialist politics meets concrete local struggle.

The Freeport, designated in June 2024, stretches across the Forth estuary: Leith, Burntisland, Rosyth, Grangemouth, Edinburgh Airport. It promises 34,500 jobs and billions in investment. It delivers tax breaks for corporations, regulatory “flexibilities” that weaken planning oversight, and a “green” label that environmental groups call straightforward greenwashing.

Living Rent has already identified the housing angle: thousands of projected jobs without housing means rent increases for existing residents. They’re pushing the Council to direct Visitor Levy revenue toward social housing rather than unaffordable “mid-market rent” schemes.

Your Party Leith is developing a broader campaign: researching potential impacts on communities and labour standards, building a coalition to resist, preparing a conference motion, planning public demonstrations with affected communities. The Freeport connects deregulation, weakened worker protections, and false climate solutions in a single site of struggle. It’s exactly the kind of material issue that can ground anti-capitalist politics in everyday concerns.

The STUC has a representative on the Freeport Governance Board but warns that without enforceable collective bargaining guarantees, the model risks “a race to the bottom” in labour standards. At Grangemouth, the Petroineos refinery closed in April 2025 with 400 job losses. The promised “low carbon manufacturing hub” won’t arrive until 2040. That’s fifteen years of managed decline dressed as green transition.

An ecosocialist response demands more than opposition. It requires an alternative vision: public ownership of the Forth estuary’s infrastructure, a genuine just transition for fossil fuel workers, democratic control over economic development. Your Party organisers in Leith are beginning to articulate exactly this.

Replication Across Edinburgh

The Leith Model is already spreading. At a recent Edinburgh branch meeting, constituency groups reported back on their emerging plans.

Edinburgh South identified local health campaigns linking lung conditions to air pollution, connecting individual illness to environmental crisis. They mapped their territory honestly: working-class areas in Oxgangs and Liberton/Gilmerton separated by more affluent Morningside. They’re planning stalls at the library, the square, the Aldi: places where people actually gather.

Edinburgh Central drew on members’ experience of Labour canvassing to articulate what they want to avoid: “instrumental and extractive” data harvesting without genuine conversation. They noted that young people have nowhere free to exist, nowhere to hang out without paying. A party that can provide space, literally, builds roots.

Edinburgh Western focused on visibility: mapping festivals and farmers markets, preparing leaflets for community noticeboards, “free advertising” that establishes presence. They’re thinking about how to respond to Reform talking points with positive class politics rather than defensive counter-messaging.

Each constituency is adapting the model to local conditions while maintaining the core commitments. The methodological suggestion from Leith is worth repeating: ask people “what are your key challenges?” rather than “what do you want to change?” The first elicits concrete grievances organisers can act on. The second produces abstract wish-lists.

What Makes This Different?

The Belgian political theorist Anton Jäger has diagnosed our era as one of “hyperpolitics”: extreme politicisation without political consequences. Politics is everywhere; everyone has opinions; social media buzzes with moral urgency. And nothing changes. The old infrastructure of parties, unions, and civic solidarity has been hollowed out.

The Leith Model offers a modest counter-example. It doesn’t promise revolution. It builds relationships. It shows up on picket lines. It feeds people. It connects struggles that might otherwise remain siloed: the Rockstar workers fighting for union recognition, the tenants organising against rent increases, the communities facing a Freeport that promises jobs but delivers deregulation.

The test will come. Local and national elections will reveal whether community organising translates into electoral presence. The full Rockstar tribunal, likely not until 2027 or 2028, will determine whether the union’s legal claims succeed. The Freeport campaign is only beginning.

But something is being built. Not a social media movement that surges and dissipates. Not an electoral machine that extracts data and disappears between campaigns. A presence. Roots.

How to Get Involved

For Your Party members in Edinburgh, constituency groups are forming now. WhatsApp groups and email lists are being established. The invitation is open.

For activists elsewhere in Scotland, the Leith Model offers a template worth adapting. Map your area: who’s already doing good work? Where do people gather? What are the material grievances that could anchor political organising? Partner with existing campaigns rather than duplicating them. Show up on picket lines. Feed people.

The document circulated at the Edinburgh meeting concludes: “This approach offers a tangible blueprint for branch organisation across the four other Westminster constituencies of Edinburgh as well as at ward level.”

It could offer a blueprint well beyond Edinburgh. The question is whether we’re willing to build it.

Postscript: A Necessary Correction

Since drafting this piece, a comrade with direct knowledge of the Leith branch’s activities has offered a sobering corrective. The account deserves honest acknowledgment.

The Rockstar solidarity was a single appearance at an IWGB picket line, uncoordinated with the union, which resulted in organisers asking Your Party to put their banner away. Self-promotion had displaced actual solidarity. The Living Rent “partnership” at Marionville amounted to one petition stall; LR had explicitly asked the branch not to wade in, given their non-partisan stance. We proceeded regardless. And the Freeport campaign remains a discussion group without democratic mandate from the wider branch membership.

The gap between aspiration and execution is the gap between a model and a movement. The Leith document describes an orientation: towards workplace struggle, community defence, anti-fascism, ecosocialist campaigning rooted in material conditions. That orientation remains correct. But turning up uninvited with your banner is not worker solidarity. Ignoring an organisation’s request to stay out is not partnership. A WhatsApp group is not a campaign.

The harder lesson: the united front method requires discipline, not enthusiasm. You strengthen existing organisations by actually coordinating with them, by subordinating your party profile to the struggle’s needs, by doing the unglamorous work that builds trust over months and years. The impulse to plant flags, to claim credit, to turn every action into recruitment: this is the infantile disorder of a movement still learning to walk.

None of this invalidates the strategic insight. A left party that connects electoral ambitions to community roots, that builds from workplace and neighbourhood struggles rather than parachuting in at election time, that takes ecosocialist campaigning seriously as a material practice: this remains what Your Party Scotland needs. But the Leith Model is, at present, more manifesto than method. The work of translating intention into organisation has barely begun.

DC, 24th January 2026

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Duncan Chapel is a member of Your Party in Edinburgh and is the creator of Red Mole Substack. Duncan wishes to thank Richard Parker for his permission to reuse his write-up of the Leith approach

Kunal Chattopadhyay, January 2026

After the US imperialist attack in Venezuela, many people ask, why? From Obama to Trump, U.S. presidents, Democrats and Republicans have said there is a dangerous drug cartel in Venezuela whose illicit drug exports are devastating American citizens.

In reality, Venezuela is in a two-way crisis. When Hugo Chavez was elected president in 1998, Venezuelan politics and society took a new turn. Venezuela is an oil-rich country. Venezuela was liberated from the Spanish Empire in 1821, but the country was then faced with widespread poverty and problems. With the discovery of petroleum in 1914, imperialist penetration of the Venezuelan economy increased. At that time, the president helped foreign, mainly American, oil companies. Until 1958, virtually one military-backed government after another remained in power. In 1958, a popular uprising overthrew the government of Marcos Pérez Jiménez and established liberal democracy. This was the period of the collaboration between the two main bourgeois parties, the Democratic Action and the Committee of Independent Electoral Political Organizations. In 1976, during the global petroleum crisis, President Carlos Andrés Pérez nationalized oil, and a state-owned enterprise, PDVSA, was created. But it was in the hands of foreign companies and domestic elites. Another decade of corruption and crisis created an atmosphere of rebellion.

1989-1998-2002

In 1989, Pérez was elected to a second term as president, and quickly embarked on a” “structural adjustment” prescribed by the International Monetary Fund, that is, spending cuts, privatization, and currency devaluation. The cost of food, fuel and transportation skyrocketted.

A huge crowd protested in the capital, Caracas, on February 27. Supermarkets were looted, buses were burned, and government offices were attacked. The government maintained its power by fighting many battles. More than 3,000 people were killed or went missing. Thousands more were arrested and tortured.

One of those affected by this incident was Army Major Hugo Chávez Frías. Inspired by the ideals of Simón Bolívar, Chávez wanted at least a partial redistribution of wealth towards ordinary countrymen. Chavez and his fellow officers formed a secret organization called MBR 200. In February 1992, Chávez, already a colonel, attempted a coup against Pérez. The coup failed, and Chávez claimed full responsibility, saying that” “as of now” “their goals had not been met. He was sentenced to prison, but was released within two years under the pressure of the mass movement. He then travelled around the country promoting his political views and founded an organization called the Fifth Republic Movement in 1997. He preached a doctrine combining Simon Bolívar (the main hero of the liberation of South America from Spanish rule) socialism, revolution and Jesus.
Chavez declared himself a presidential candidate. Many ‘Bolivarian circles’ were formed in his support from the bottom. He proposed that a new constitution be drafted, and that Venezuela’s oil resources be used to finance social projects for the poor. The main bourgeois parties formed a coalition to oppose him. But on 6 December 1998, he was elected with 56% of the vote. In April 1999, 87.75% of voters voted in favour of a new constitution. The Constituent Assembly sat and after long discussion and consultation with public opinion, the constitution it adopted remained within the bourgeois framework, but was much more democratic and progressive than before. The state controlled natural resources, especially oil, and constitutionally prohibited the privatization of PDVSA. Equal rights for women were guaranteed, and elements of direct democracy, including referendums, were introduced. The right to health and education at no cost is recognized. It guaranteed the protection of the land, language and cultural rights of indigenous peoples and Afro-Venezuelans. The draft constitution was approved by 71.78% of the voters in the referendum. In July 2000, elections were held for the presidency and other elected positions under the new constitution. Chavez was elected with 59.76% of the vote. In November 2001, the National Assembly gave him the power to legislate for one year by decree in certain cases. Exercising this right, he enacted 49 decrees, including the Land Distribution Law, and the Hydrocarbons Law, which increased the state’s income from oil.

The imperialists and the native elites were now enraged. They started calling Chavez a “communist” “and” “dictator,” even though he was neither. The alliance of the richest companies and families created artificial shortages by hoarding essentials, including cooking oil and rice. They started closing factories, removing capital from the country, refusing to invest. The CIA was behind them. A coup took place in April 2002. The highest levels of the army mutinied, and surrounded the presidential palace with troops. When Chávez refused to resign, he was imprisoned on an island outside the country with the help of the Americans. So the overthrow of Maduro is not unprecedented in Venezuela’s recent history. But in 2002, people’s enthusiasm was much higher. On April 12, Pedro Carmona, the chosen representative of the reactionaries, was sworn in as president, and was immediately recognized by the administration of George Bush. Carmona tried to overturn all democratic institutions and methods in the name of restoring democracy. Chavez’s ministers were forced to go into hiding. But the common people came out on the streets. On April 13, crowds of people poured into the centre of Caracas from all directions. The pro-Chavez forces within the army also turned against the plotters. Some of the plotters were arrested, others fled. Chavez was brought back on the 14th.

For the first time in Latin American history, a U.S.-backed coup lost to the revolutionary struggle of the people. The old state apparatus had collapsed. Workers and other poor people occupied the streets. The lower echelons of the army were pro-revolution. If Chavez called for it, the revolution could move towards socialism. He could call for the seizure of factories and large estates, for the confiscation of imperialist property, for the cancellation of foreign debts. He could have called for the formation of an armed mass militia. He didn’t do any of that. He urged everyone to maintain peace and return to their homes. No one has been prosecuted in connection with the case.

Petro-socialism and its inevitable limits

The forces of reaction lost a battle, but their power did not go away. Chavez tried to negotiate with them. The owners wanted to put the government on the path of a major economic crisis by locking out the oil industry in December 2002. Computers operating remotely from Houston were shut down. Billions of dollars were lost in damage.

The working class was fighting. A large part of the PDVSA removed the bureaucracy and came under the control of the workers. In the following years, workers occupied many factories in response to lockouts or closures. Leaving the old corrupt unions, a large, democratic trade union was formed – the UNT or National Labour Union.

Chavez’s path to reform was remarkable. Subsidies in grocery shops, promotion of public education, free education were introduced. Basic health care was introduced in poor neighbourhoods and remote villages, and doctors were sent from Cuba in exchange for oil. Land was distributed among the poor farmers, a scheme of cheap housing was started. This program was a fundamental transformation for millions of people. The Venezuelan state-owned company Citgo even supplied oil to Native Americans in the United States at nominal prices.

Naturally, imperialism did not sit on its hands. It organised attacks, carried out by right-wing mercenaries from Colombia. Bombs were hurled at government offices and vehicles of senior government officials. The bourgeois parties boycotted the elections in an attempt to subvert the democratic process. In 2004, they called for a referendum, using the unique democratic feature of the Venezuelan constitution that allowed a referendum on the president, but Chávez won the referendum with 59% of the vote. From these experiences, Chávez decided that there was no alternative to socialism. Speaking at the World Social Forum in Porto Alegre, he said socialism is needed to build a kingdom of heaven on earth.

In the 2006 presidential election, 78% of voters cast ballots, and Chávez received 62% of the total votes cast. Many international observers, including former U.S. President Jimmy Carter, were forced to say the vote was free. But the imperialist media said Chavez was an authoritarian dictator.

In 2007, he launched a new party, the United Socialist Party of Venezuela. Within a few weeks, 5 million members had joined. There was a proposal to nationalize about 1200 institutions. But in reality only a small number of institutions were nationalized, and they relied on bureaucratic management, not on workers’ control. Their obstacles were magnified by their dependence on the bureaucracy of the old bourgeois state. “As a result, Venezuelan” “socialism” gradually became a mere “petro-socialism”. The standard of living was being improved not by bringing the principal means of production under the control of the working class, but by subsidizing important needs by using the state’s profits from rising oil prices on the world market. When prices fell after 2014, there was no room to rely on any productive force. That is, they not only failed to abolish capitalism and establish workers’ democracy, but also did not look for alternatives in the economy. All industrial products were being imported, but due to the fall in oil prices, it could not be done so mush after 2014.

Hugo Chavez died on March 5, 2013 after a long battle with cancer. He was no doubt an honest revolutionary, a man of the people, but even though he spoke of socialism, he did not understand the importance of breaking the bourgeois state apparatus, of breaking the economic power of the bourgeoisie.
Nicolás Maduro’s government did not directly follow in the footsteps of Chávez’s government. This government has its own characteristics. On the one hand, there were the Stalin-Mao type of rhetorics that helped them gain international solidarity, and on the other hand, there were attacks on those who differed among the Venezuelan left. Trade unions come under attack when they demand an increase in wages and a better life. A number of new initiatives have been taken. American companies began to sell oil at a lower price. Many of the industries that were nationalized were privatized. In the run-up to the 2024 elections, a section of the country’s left was opposed to Maduro.

The imperialist pressure

The pressure and overt actions of US imperialism against Venezuela are not today’s events. We can see that history in two parts – before the 21st century, and in the 21st century.
Eduardo Galeano wrote in his 1971 book The Open Veins of Latin America that half of all the profits plundered from Latin America by U.S. capitalists come from Venezuela. Quoting Venezuelan politician Domingo Alberto Rangel, he said that no country has sent so much to world capital in such a short time – the outflow from Venezuela is greater than what the Spanish took from Potosí, or the English took from India.

This aggressive U.S. policy did not begin with Trump, or Obama, or even Theodore Roosevelt (President 1901-1908). It began in 1823, when James Monroe was president. Monroe announced a new U.S. policy, considering Russia’s claim to land on the North Pacific coast, and the possibility that powerful European powers might again attack newly independent Latin American countries. European powers could not interfere in the Western Hemisphere, and no new colonies could be established in the Americas. At first there was a little democratic content in this. But the more the Industrial Revolution strengthened American capitalism in the United States, the more the “Monroe Doctrine” meant that the United States would be the only empire in the two Americas. The most obvious example was the 1845-1848 war in which the United States captured the present-day states of Texas, California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico, and parts of Colorado, Wyoming, Kansas, and Oklahoma from Mexico.

In 1902, Venezuelan President Cipriano Castro declared that the foreign debt was unjustified. In response, Britain, France and Italy sent a combined fleet. President Theodore Roosevelt then elaborated on Monroe’s policy that there could be intervention in Latin America, but only the United States would do so. Since then, there have been repeated US military interventions in various countries, support for military coups, the overthrow of democratic and leftist governments, etc.
In 1908, the Americans overthrew Castro in a military coup and installed his vice president and former supporter, Juan Vicente Gomes, as president (sounds like the present?). Gomes begged the Americans to keep the country quiet, and in return he carried out 25 years of dictatorship. The American periodical Time compared the tyranny of that dictatorship to the era of Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin.
Even after this, greedy US looks at Venezuela did not disappear. But we’ll just look at the Chavez and Maduro phases.

The US role during the April 2002 coup has already been mentioned. In the 2010s, the United States government gave large sums of money to various civil society groups to actively fight the opposition. After the 2014 riots, the U.S. government imposed various “sanctions,” i.e. economic bans, when the government arrested protesters. In 2015, Obama declared Venezuela to be a unique threat to U.S. national security and foreign policy. In 2017, at a dinner hosted by the United Nations General Assembly, President Trump openly discussed the possibility of a US invasion of Venezuela with several Latin American leaders. From 2017 to 2020, massive US sanctions on Venezuela’s state-owned oil companies reduced oil production by 75%, and the country’s real gross domestic product per capita by 62%. On January 23, 2019, the United States unilaterally recognized Juan Guaidó as “provisional president.” On June 28, they seized $7 billion of Venezuelan assets and gave Guaido the right to some of its spending.

Chávez, though not a Marxist, insisted on a continuous democratic process. But Maduro was narrowly elected after Chavez’s death, and in 2015 the right-wing opposition won a legislative election majority. From 2017 to 2023, the opposition made several attempts to seize power, including the proclamation of Guaidó as provisional president, which was accepted by  ten Latin American countries, and most of the European Union.

The bigger problem is that the participation of voters in the elections is decreasing as the opposition is not participating. The military increasingly shared power, and private interests in oil and mining continued to grow. Maduro signed the Barbados Agreement in 2023 to avoid economic sanctions. The presidential election was scheduled for 2024. The far-right initially nominated Maria Corina Machado. Left-wing parties such as the Communist Party of Venezuela and Fatherland for All were in Chávez’s coalition, but supported Enrique Márquez in 2024. Machado’s candidacy was rejected, and the right-wing candidate was Edmundo Gonzales. The election was held on July 28. The government claims Maduro won with 51% of the vote. But the right-wing opposition posted on the Internet what it said were tallies from each booth, in accordance with Venezuela’s electoral law. Apparently, they’re the winners. The presidents of Venezuela’s long-time allies Brazil, Colombia and Chile also refused to accept the results of the vote until the government provides evidence to the contrary. And, after the election, working people and angry leftists, not rightists, took to the streets to protest. Hundreds of trade union leaders, local observers in elections, and neighborhood-based social activists have been detained without trial, or forced into exile. Thousands of protesters have been arrested on terrorism charges. Enrique Marquez was also arrested.

But the main reason for the decline in popular support is the US economic aggression and the misguided actions of Chavez and Maduro. Chavez’s mistake was to rely solely on oil profits, and not to consult even progressive Keynesian economists. Since the first Trump administration began imposing sanctions in 2017, it has become increasingly impossible to revive the economy with the help of the international financial system. In one year (i.e. in 2018), inflation rose to one million percent. Seven million Venezuelans have fled the country. In the last few years, the Maduro government has managed to overcome the crisis, but following the path of right-wing reforms, returning to privatization, reducing the state sector, i.e., axing its own public base.

In the last few years of the Bolivarian Revolution, the combined effect of the economic crisis and the decline of democracy may have reduced the mass movement to such an extent that imperialism could take hold of the country. If imperialism succeeds, it will be not because the Venezuelan people want it, it is because of the failure of leadership, the inability to get out of the clutches of fossil capital, and the inability to retain the democracy of the early revolution. Tariq Ali noted in a recent article, When the first results came in for the 2004 referendum, I asked Chávez, ‘Compañero, what are we going to do if we lose?’ He said, ‘What do you do if you lose? You leave office and fight again from outside, explaining why they were wrong’. He had a very strong sense of this. Which is why it’s a travesty to accuse the Chavistas of being anti-democratic from the start. During the Chávez period, the opposition newspapers and television stations blasted propaganda non-stop, attacking the regime – something you could never have seen in Britain or the United States.

But the battle isn’t over. What is the plan of American imperialism? Why has Maduro’s government not been able to break with the Americans despite the setbacks of the past few years?

A War for Oil?

If we call the invasion of Venezuela only an invasion for oil, then the whole thing will not be said. Imperialism takes different paths for oil. Why this invasion occurred needs to be discussed in detail. In the last few months of the Biden administration, sanctions were re-imposed on Venezuela, as a blow by the US to the disputed elections of 2024. The Trump administration initially backed away from the attack. Richard Grenell visited Venezuela as the President’s representative. Chevron was allowed to produce Venezuelan oil directly and export it to the United States. Relations between the United States and Venezuela appear to be improving. But suddenly things changed. Let’s first look at the details of the events.

In mid-August 2025, the United States deployed a large naval force to the Caribbean Sea. Their main target was the coast of Venezuela. After 1902-1903, such a large navy did not appear around Venezuela. The Iwo Jima Ready Group [amphibian], the 22nd Marines, some destroyers, a cruiser, a nuclear submarine, P-8 Poseidon aircraft, and military helicopters were assembled. On August 15, they departed from Norfolk, Virginia. On August 27, it was reported that they were patrolling off the coast of Venezuela in the southern Caribbean Sea. The Venezuelan government responded with a media offensive. First, they say that the Secretary of the Interior, Marco Rubio, is deceiving Trump, that is, they were making a laughable attempt to avoid a direct confrontation with Trump. At the same time, they activated the militias formed since 2009, calling for national unity, but refusing to release the royal prisoners. They did not deviate from their neo-liberal path.

On September 2, the United States announced Operation Southern Spear. Its purpose is the so-called narco-terrorism from Venezuela. On that day, 11 people were killed when a motorboat sank in a US attack. Attacks have continued and the death toll is rising. Maduro’s government said Venezuela was ready, and Maduro declared that he would call for an armed republic if necessary. On September 10, U.S. Defense Secretary Peter Hegseth announced the creation of the Joint Narcotics Task Force. Ten other boats and boats were damaged. In October, the Venezuelan government began military exercises. But there is a crisis in the country. Not that most people in the country were supporting the US attack. But the spontaneous gathering of the Chavez era was not seen. In November, the United States sent more warships, including an aircraft carrier. By the end of November, the death toll had risen to 83. None of them had been arrested, put on trial, none have been proven to be smuggling drugs. On 21 November, the United States said, without evidence, that there was a drug trafficking organization called Cartel de los Soles, and that Maduro himself was involved. Rumours of a direct invasion of Venezuela began in late November.

From the point of view of the Venezuelan government, the attack was sudden and unwarranted. Brief descriptions and references are given of how far right the Maduro government has become in the past year. They have greatly reduced the share of workers in the national income since the Chavez era. (https://ilostat.ilo.org/data/country-profiles/ven/ ) The government has introduced a very strict cost-cutting policy, (https://www.ilostat.ilo.org/data/country-profiles/ven/ ). imf.org/external/datamapper/rev@FPP/VEN ) They have transformed their police into a formidable anti-worker force (https://muflven.org / Org…/2024/04/MFL-Regional-Report-2024.pdf ), banned left-wing parties and abolish the democratic rights of the Chavez era (https://links.org.au/what-happened-venezuelas-… ) ; attacked environmentalists and tribal social activists as imperialist brokers because they worked hand in hand with the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation of the De Linke party in Germany (https://links.org.au/venezuelas-authoritarian-turn-and-… ) ; and strongly attacked transgenders (https://x.com/i/status/1785120397102362915 ).

But it’s clear that Trump isn’t interested. His goal is to establish direct control over Venezuela. Since 1991, US imperialism and other imperialists have tried to dismantle the international system that was established after World War II. The emergence of Russia from the collapse of the degenerated bureaucratic Soviet Union and the imperialist rise of Russian capitalism in the Putin era, the emergence of a strong capitalist economy in China to rival the US, the efforts to build an alternative economic alliance of China, India, Brazil, South Africa, and Europe’s decline geopolitically and militarily have brought major changes in world politics and economics.

One of these factors is the decline of the US economy. When Europe was devastated by World War II, American capital helped capitalist Europe to stand up – not out of kindness, but for the sake of American capital. The dollar was the world’s main currency. This situation has changed in recent decades. In 1974, during the international oil crisis, the petrodollar was created on the basis of the US agreement with Saudi Arabia. The world market for oil will run in dollars, and in return, the United States will give Saudi Arabia a huge military aid. In the 21st century, the US has taken strong action against those who have challenged the monopoly of the petrodollar. Saddam Hussein wanted to trade oil with Europe in Euros. There was no need to say anything directly to Europe. In 2003, the US invaded Iraq under false pretences. In 2009, Libya’s Gaddafi proposed an alternative currency. We know from Hillary Clinton’s leaked emails that this was one of the reasons for the invasion of Libya in 2010. For several years, China has sought to create an alternative to the dollar, the dollar-denominated global currency system (SWIFT). The relationship between China and Venezuela is important.

Marco Rubio made it clear after the invasion of Venezuela. “We will not allow the US opponents to control Venezuela’s oil industry,” he told NBC News. In this context, he mentioned China, Russia and Iran. “The Western Hemisphere is ours,” he said without hesitation. This demand was hindered by the fact that Venezuela was an important trade partner of Beijing. Since 2000, China has loaned $6 billion to Venezuela. Preventing the penetration of the Chinese economy into the Western Hemisphere, and thereby China’s overall influence, is a major reason for the US attack, not just oil.
Everyone knows that Venezuela has a lot of oil. But Venezuela’s crude oil refining is expensive. 75% of the 300 billion barrel reserve is Orinoco crude, which has high sulfur content, and to refine it, the Venezuelan oil industry will have to invest 85 billion in the next 6 years. For this, they need full confidence from international capital. It is difficult to say whether even American institutions will have such confidence. A big win for Trump is to deprive China of that oil. China buys 6,00,000 barrels of oil per day from Venezuela. If that stops, they will have to buy oil from someone else at a higher price, maybe with dollars.

We also need to situate the assault on the sovereignty of Venezuela in a wider context. In the recent past, Latin America had been the continent most prone to leftwing mass struggles as well as the election of left-wing governments. This aggressive reassertion of the Monroe doctrine is a warning to all of them, that if they hurt US interests sufficiently, if they are aligned with what the US sees as hostile powers, their sovereignty will have to take a back seat, and the US is ready to step in with gun boats, helicopters, commando units, and carry out mafia tactics on an international stage. In particular, this is also a part of the never given up US war on Cuba. The Cubans had been considerably relying on Venezuelan oil. For them, cutting it off would not be an irritant as it will be for China, but a much more serious attack. Moreover, if Trump getsaway with regime control in Venezuela, the US will be emboldened to go in for forcible occupation and regime change in Cuba. Let us  never forget that the US which gags the Palestinian diaspora as anti-Semitic, has the Cuban diaspora, a rabid right-wing gang that includes Rubio, in positions of power and money.

Maduro’s removal and resistance

Maduro was arrested and taken to the United States, where he was charged with drug trafficking. Maduro responded by saying he was a prisoner of war and could not be tried in an enemy court.
Trump and his team have already realized that the right-wing opposition cannot be brought to power, at least for now. The Supreme Court of Venezuela declared the vice president to be president pro tempore for 90 days. Trump is trying to pressure Maduro’s former allies to work for the United States.
But there is resistance.

The first prerequisite for a broad national unity against US colonialism is whether such a coalition will fight for the release of the Maduro couple? They were so easily captured that it is natural to question whether the army and the administration of the country were betrayed. It is the responsibility of the new government to bring out who are the traitors and take action against them. Strengthening the mentality of the soldiers associated with him, because while many of them  have died, not a single attacker has died. Trump has repeatedly said Rodriguez’s government is cooperating with him. If they don’t speak up against it, no resistance will be built around them. There is a resistance-oriented mindset in the country, but there is no clear leadership. The left-wing opposition, which has so far fought for democracy against Maduro, will also have to decide whether to abandon the demand for democracy and choose the “principal contradiction,” or whether the condition of the alliance will be the expansion of democracy.

International Reactions and India:

The UN secretary general António Guterres was the first to raise concerns about the US action possibly disregarding international law, calling on countries to adhere to the UN charter. But government reactions have ranged from outright condemnations to quiet approvals, with some states questioning the means while welcoming the outcome. The split reaction lays bare a deeper problem – years of selective compliance have gradually eroded the authority of international law itself, to whatever extent it was accepted between roughly 1945 and 1991.

Under the UN Charter, the use of force against another state is prohibited except in cases of self-defence or with authorisation from the Security Council. Neither condition applies in this case. Yet, beyond declaratory condemnations, the international system appears largely powerless to respond. The Security Council held an emergency meeting on 6 January at Colombia’s request. China, Russia, Venezuela, Brazil and Colombia itself, whose president has also faced US threats of suffering Maduro’s fate, issued some of the strongest condemnations, framing the US intervention as a violation of the UN Charter. Most Europeans raised concerns but stopped short of labelling it illegal. No resolution emerged, unsurprisingly given the likelihood of a US veto.  Germany’s Chancellor Friedrich Merz welcomed Maduro’s fall in his early reactions, UK prime minister Keir Starmer has so far declined to condemn the operation while French president Emmanuel Macron has also left direct confrontation to his top ministers.

Unlike Malaysia and South Africa, which publicly criticised the US intervention and expressed solidarity with Venezuela, New Delhi’s statement avoided taking sides. So, why did India, which positions itself as a leader of the Global South, not respond as forcefully? Michael Kugelman, an analyst on South Asian politics, wrote on X that this was based on pragmatism.

The day after the US action, Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) issued a statement expressing “deep concern” over recent events in Venezuela and emphasising close monitoring of the situation.

“The recent developments in Venezuela are a matter of deep concern. We are closely monitoring the evolving situation there,” the MEA said in a statement.

On Tuesday, in Luxembourg, External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar reiterated the same. He urged all parties involved to prioritise the welfare and safety of the Venezuelan people. “We are concerned about the recent developments, and we appeal to all sides to arrive at a situation that serves the well-being and security of the people of Venezuela,” he said.

In other words, India is following a transactional approach. During Operation Sindoor India received little US support. Possibly the Modi calculation is, by refusing to condemn the US in Venezuela India is buing US support for its next round of conflict with Pakistan or some other neighbour. This cringing attitude is likely to get little concrete benefit, because Trump does not see Inda as in any sense an eual or near-equal partner in diplomacy.

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Kunal Chattopadhyay is a member of Radical Socialist, India and Professor of Comparative Literature at Jadavpur University

[Revolutionary Marxists face a perennial challenge, to avoid the twin dangers of sectarianism and opportunism, by engaging with the actual struggles of the working class and the oppressed, whilst simultaneously working towards the ultimate goal of socialism. In the following contribution, veteran American Trotskyist George Breitman, discusses this challenge and outlines the transitional method, examining the difference between tactics and principles and the relationship between them. While Breitman’s focus is on aspects of the history of the American SWP, and some of his terminology is rather dated, the essence of his approach is still of immense value. It outlines how revolutionaries should relate to movements around immediate and democratic demands and stresses the importance of the experience of struggling for partial demands in raising class consciousness. In this first talk Breitman outlines the approach of the American SWP towards the ‘antiwar’ Ludlow amendment and how, under the influence of Trotsky, it moved from an abstentionist position to one of critical support. In the second talk, which we intend to publish later this month, Breitman considers the approach of the American SWP towards the formation of an independent ‘labor’ party in the United States, and Trotsky’s view on this, a topic that remains highly relevant to the debate about the formation of new left parties both here in Scotland and elsewhere. Ecosocialist Scotland, 7th January 2026]

The following are transcripts of three talks I gave under the title “The Liberating Influence of the Transitional Program” at the Socialist Activist and Educational Conference held in Ohio in August 1974. They are part of a larger study I am trying to prepare about important chapters in the history of the Socialist Workers party and its predecessors that were not dealt with or not dealt with much by James P. Cannon’s History of American Trotskyism. These transcripts can be considered “work-in-progress”, which I hope to revise and improve (especially the talk on the labor party) before their publication in final form. I hope this will spark criticisms and suggestions that will help improve them.

George Breitman, May 1975

1. The Ludlow Amendment

Many of you know that in our movement there are no official versions of history, whether it’s the history of our own movement or anything else. But for the benefit of those who don’t know it, I want to mention it at the outset. The only thing you have to accept in order to join our party is its program and the obligation to promote it in accord with its rules and constitution, which of course includes the right to try to persuade the party to change this or that part of its program or constitution. You don’t have to agree with every conclusion in Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution, with every formulation in Cannon’s books about party building and the development of the Socialist Workers Party (SWP) and its predecessors, with every opinion in the books by Farrell Dobbs and Art Preis on the Teamsters and the CIO, or the writings of George Novack on the philosophy of Marxism, of Mary-Alice Waters on the relations between feminism and the Marxist movement, of Evelyn Reed on anthropology and the matriarchy. We publish and circulate these works because of their value for our Marxist education, because of their general consonance with our revolutionary program, but it would be as silly to demand that all of us must agree with everything they write as it would be to demand that they should write only what we would all agree with 100 percent.

This is my way of saying that my remarks today about certain aspects of the early history of our party, centering around the year 1938, are neither “official” nor “approved.” All they represent is my opinion, which is based partly on my memory of that period and partly on recent research, including the reading of documents that I had not seen at that time. I think that the facts I will cite are reliable, and I hope that you will be able to distinguish without difficulty between those facts and my interpretation of them.

In November of this year [1974] it will be forty-six years since James P. Cannon, Max Shachtman, and Martin Abern, expelled from the leadership of the Communist Party, began publishing the Militant. But it wasn’t until New Year’s 1938, in the tenth year of our movement, that the Socialist Workers Party was founded at a national convention in Chicago. 1938 was also the year when the Fourth International was founded at an international conference in Paris in September, one year before the start of World War II. At this founding conference the delegates adopted as their major programmatic document a resolution written by Trotsky in Mexico, entitled “The Death Agony of Capitalism and the Tasks of the Fourth International,” which later came to be referred to as the “Transitional Program.”

I am going to talk about some of the problems that arose in the process by which the SWP endorsed the Transitional Program, and changes resulting from this endorsement that continue to influence the SWP to this day. If I do not speak as much about the transitional program itself as the title of this talk might have led you to expect, it is because of (1) a lack of time, (2) the belief that most of you already know about the transitional program, and (3) the abundance of literature available on the subject in the book, The Transitional Program for Socialist Revolution. Published last year, that book contains the Transitional Program resolution itself, a series of discussions by Trotsky with different SWP leaders and members about the program, and at least two useful introductions by Joseph Hansen and George Novack. A second edition of this book has just been published, and that contains a number of additional stenograms of Trotsky’s discussions on the transitional program, taken down before the program itself was written, some of which are relevant to my talks.

However, I do want to say a couple of things about the Transitional Program and the transitional method. Of Trotsky’s many valuable contributions to Marxist theory there are two, in my opinion, that stand out above the others. One is his theory of the permanent revolution, conceived when he was twenty-six years old, which challenged the conventional wisdom of the movement of his time about the possibilities and perspectives of revolution in most of the world and, after it was confirmed by the Russian Revolution of 1917, became a keystone in the reorientation of the international Marxist vanguard (although for a number of years after 1917 the term “permanent revolution” was not used by anyone).

The other contribution of which I speak was made by Trotsky in 1938, when he was fifty-eight years old and completing the fortieth year of his revolutionary career. Here, in his full maturity, a few weeks after Stalin’s liquidation of Bukharin and Rykov in the third big Moscow trial and two and a half years before his own death, Lenin’s collaborator and continuator drew on the experiences of the most eventful four decades in revolutionary history and put them together in a new synthesis that we call the Transitional Program.

That is usually what new great ideas consist of—a rearrangement of old ones, the sifting out of some, a new emphasis for others, a recasting of priorities and relationships. In and of itself, there was not much that was new in the Transitional Program; some of the parts dated back, as Trotsky noted, ninety years to the Communist Manifesto; other parts were so recent that they had not yet been assimilated or expressed in writing, deriving from the actions of the workers themselves, such as the sit-down strikes in the mid-1930s in France and the United States.

Trotsky’s contribution was to take these parts and put them together, to unify them, in a way that even his closest collaborators were at first to find unique, maybe even disturbing. His aim was to write a program that would help the revolutionary vanguard to intervene successfully in the class struggle in a period when conditions were objectively prerevolutionary but the masses were still under the influence of the counterrevolutionary Second and Third Internationals or without any leadership at all. As he put it:

“The strategic task of the next period— a prerevolutionary period of agitation, propaganda, and organization— consists in overcoming the contradiction between the maturity of the objective revolutionary conditions and the immaturity of the proletariat and its vanguard (the confusion and disappointment of the older generation; the inexperience of the younger generation). It is necessary to help the masses in the process of the daily struggle to find the bridge between present demands and the socialist program of the revolution. This bridge should include a system of transitional demands, stemming from today’s conditions and from today’s conscious ness of wide layers of the working class and unalterably leading to one final conclusion: the conquest of power by the proletariat.”

The Transitional Program was written for specific purposes, in the midst of a world depression, on the eve of a world war, for the founding conference of the Fourth International. That has led some people to question or belittle its usefulness for today or tomorrow, when conditions are different. This seems to me the worst kind of formalist thinking, if thinking is the right word. In the first place, it overlooks the fact that the essential conditions are not different— that the contradiction between the maturity of the objective revolutionary conditions and the immaturity of the proletariat and its vanguard is even greater and more pregnant than it was in 1938. If not all the 1938 demands are applicable today (some weren’t even applicable yet in 1938), the essential tasks are the same, and the method of the Transitional Program as it was written in 1938 is absolutely applicable today. In fact, the transitional method, in my opinion, is an even greater contribution than the Transitional Program itself. In presenting the transitional program, Trotsky emphasized its continuity with the past, rather than what was innovative in it. He said that it “draws the balance of the already accumulated experience of our national sections and on the basis of this experience opens up broader international perspectives.” But this was even truer of the transitional method than of the Transitional Program itself. The transitional method was being used by us before the Transitional Program was written— after all, the disparity between the maturity of objective conditions and the subjective immaturity of the proletariat and its vanguard did not begin in 1938, and the need for bridges between the vanguard and the masses had existed for a long time.

But before 1938 we weren’t conscious of the transitional method that we used on occasion; we certainly were not fully conscious, and we used it haphazardly therefore, or incompletely, or empirically. Trotsky generalized it, concretized it, drew out its implications, showed its logic and necessity, named it, and indelibly imprinted it in our consciousness. For most of us the exposition of the transitional method was quite a revelation, bigger than the one the Moliere character had when he learned that he had been speaking prose all his life.

In 1938 the SWP was rather an exceptional organization. That also is an opinion, but there is plenty of objective evidence to back it up. It was the only organization in the United States that fought against the prevailing tidal waves of New Deal reformism and Stalinist opportunism from a revolutionary standpoint, and it was the only organization inside the Movement for the Fourth International that approached the norms of Bolshevism in the quality of its cadres, the solidity of its principles, and the level of its organizational practice. This is not to say that it was free of serious weaknesses, but it is to say that it had serious strengths as well. This was Trotsky’s opinion, and it was for this reason in 1938 that he turned to the SWP leaders for discussion before writing the Transitional Program and that he asked the SWP to adopt and sponsor it at the founding conference of the Fourth International.

A history of our movement in this country from its inception in 1928 to the founding of the SWP in 1938 has been written by Comrade Cannon in the book called The History of American Trotskyism. It will have to suffice here to say that the first major turning point in this history came in 1933, after Hitler’s victory in Germany, when our movement discontinued its ef forts to reform the Communist International and its affiliated parties and set out here in the United States to gather the cadres of a new Marxist party as part of a new, Fourth International.

This meant that we now turned our primary attention away from the Communist Party, and that our main activity, the dissemination of propaganda, began to be combined with intervention and action, where possible, in the class struggle. At the end of 1934, after the Minneapolis strike had shown our competence in intervention and action, our movement merged with a left-centrist current led by A. J. Muste (this became the Workers Party) and then, in the spring of 1936, we entered the Socialist Party in order to merge with young revolutionary elements who had been attracted to that organization. Our forces, considerably augmented, were expelled from the Socialist Party and its youth organization, the Young People’s Socialist League (YPSL), in the summer of 1937 (although they represented the majority of the YPSL). The expelled left-wingers then called a national convention to create a new revolutionary party affiliated with the Fourth Internationalist movement and, after an extensive internal discussion, that is how the SWP came to be founded in 1938.

The discussion preceding that convention was very rich, covering a broad number of current international and national problems as well as the fundamental principles to govern and guide the new revolutionary party. From Mexico, Trotsky, who had recently completed his historic work of exposing the Moscow trial frame-ups, participated in this discussion to some extent, but chiefly on the so-called international questions— the Spanish civil war, the Sino-Japanese war, the class character of the Soviet Union, and the nature of democratic centralism in general.

A declaration of principles and a constitution were adopted; a political resolution, resolutions on trade union and unemployed work, resolutions on the Soviet Union and Spain, a resolution on organizational principles and standards, reports on the international movement, the youth movement, the election of a national committee— these were only some of the important things taken up and acted on at the convention. As a young delegate to the convention, I left it not only tired but inspired and certain that we had taken a big step toward the American revolution; and I am sure that that attitude was shared by most of the rank-and-file delegates.

In 1937 Trotsky had been pressing for an international conference to found the Fourth International. He felt that the international conference of July 1936 had made a mistake in not taking that step then, and he kept urging after his arrival in Mexico in 1937 that it be done by the end of that year. But it didn’t prove possible, for various reasons, one of them being that the U.S. leadership felt that it had to concentrate first on the founding of the SWP. So after the new party was launched, it was agreed that a delegation of SWP leaders would go to Mexico for talks about the international conference and related matters. And this took place at the end of March 1938, less than three months after the SWP convention.

The SWP delegation consisted of Cannon, Shachtman, V. R. Dunne, and Rose Karsner, and they met with Trotsky and others at Trotsky’s home for an entire week. After some initial, introductory discussions, more formal sessions were held on six consecutive days, four of which were devoted entirely or largely to the Transitional Program and the method it implied. Stenograms were made of these six discussions, which were not corrected or revised by the participants but gave the essence of the exchanges. For security reasons mainly— to protect Trotsky’s right of asylum in Mexico— these six stenograms were shown only to the National Committee members of the SWP at a plenum the next month and then were retrieved.

None was ever published in any form, not even an internal bulletin, during Trotsky’s life, and until just this year none was ever published anywhere, with one exception— a discussion about the labor party, which was printed in an SWP educational bulletin in 1948. Fortunately, copies of the six stenograms were kept by Trotsky and included by him in the archives sold to Harvard in 1940. Last year Pathfinder Press got access to the stenograms for the first time and permission to print them, and they have just been published as material added in the second edition of The Transitional Program for Socialist Revolution. There, in the back of the volume, you can read the material from the four stenograms that dealt with the transitional program (and next year you will be able to read the rest of these stenograms, dealing with other questions, in the second edition of the Writings 1937-38). The newly added material should not be confused with the other stenograms about the Transitional Program in that book, most of them from the period after Trotsky wrote the program, which were in the first edition.

No memoirs or reminiscences of the discussions have been published, but it is clear from the stenograms— not just by reading between the lines, but from some passages— that the SWPers must have been startled and even shaken up by some of Trotsky’s proposals and arguments and his way of looking at certain things that struck them as new.

On the fourth day of the discussions transcribed, Trotsky began the session by saying, “In the preceding discussions some comrades had the impression that some of my propositions or demands were opportunistic, and others that they were too revolutionary, not corresponding to the objective situation. And this combination is very compromising, and that’s why I’ll briefly defend this apparent contradiction.” Perhaps Trotsky was exaggerating a little here, but he apparently felt that he had not yet fully convinced the other participants in the discussion, because they were not sure about the “orthodoxy” (a word I dislike) or the realism of his positions.

In a number of places the stenograms show them asking Trotsky the same questions, getting him to restate his arguments so that they can grasp them better; in other places, they voice doubts or reservations; in still others, disagreement (Shachtman in particular could not see how slogans on workers’ control and workers’ militia were applicable in the United States in 1938). Such a thing is of course quite common, even inevitable, in any free political discussion where new proposals are introduced that require recon sideration of long-established patterns of thought. Besides, this was not an ordinary discussion or an abstract discussion. Some of the positions Trotsky was asking them to reconsider had been passionately reaffirmed less than three months before, in the declaration of principles and the political resolution adopted by the founding SWP convention. So they wanted to be damned sure that they understood what Trotsky was proposing, because even if they were convinced, that wouldn’t settle it— they would still have to go home and convince first the Political Committee, then the National Committee, and then the party as a whole. So nobody reading those stenograms today is entitled to cheap feelings of condescension toward those comrades, who bore heavy responsibilities in this situation and acquitted themselves well.

Trotsky himself was aware of the problem facing the SWPers, and his tone throughout was patient, friendly, and pedagogic, for he was talking to close comrades, not opponents. And by the time they left to return to the United States, they had become convinced, if perhaps not fully aware of all the implications, and had agreed that they would ask the SWP to sponsor the Transitional Program at the coming international conference and to modify certain important points in its national program.

Before continuing the narrative, I am going to turn to two of the questions on which Trotsky wanted the SWP to change its positions. These, I think, are at the heart of the transitional method, and discussing them in some detail will be my substitute for discussing the transitional program and the method as a whole, which I’ve said has already been done more than adequately by Comrades Hansen and Novack in their introductions to the Transitional Program book. I should add that I am inclined to do it this way because these two questions were the ones that I personally, as a young SWP activist, found the hardest to figure out. These two questions were the Ludlow amendment and the labor party.

In the 1930s, as the American people began to learn more about World War I, partly through muckraking congressional investigations, and as the threat of World War II began to come closer, a considerable antiwar or pacifist sentiment developed in this country. One of the forms this took was that of so-called isolationism, an expression of a desire not to get involved in foreign wars. Beginning in 1935, the Stalinists attempted to exploit this antiwar sentiment by channeling it behind Roosevelt’s foreign policy and the policy of “collective security,” according to which war would be prevented through an alliance by the peace-loving countries (the United States, USSR, etc.) against the bad, aggressive, peace-hating countries (Germany, Italy, and Japan).

In 1935 a Democratic congressman from Indiana named Ludlow introduced a bill in the House of amend the U.S. Constitution so that Congress would not have the authority to declare war until such a declaration had been approved by the people voting in a national referendum. Of course the bill had many loopholes, one of which was that this limitation on the war-making power of Congress would not apply if the United States were invaded or attacked; and this wasn’t its only weakness. Support began to build for the amendment as fears of war were deepened in this country by the Italian invasion of Ethiopia in 1935, the Spanish Civil War in 1936, and the Japanese invasion of China in 1937. The Ludlow amendment was reintroduced in the House in 1937 and in the Senate by La Follette of Wisconsin, and it finally came to a vote in the House in January 1938, nine days after our convention.

The Roosevelt administration was bitterly opposed to the amendment and used all its patronage pressures to bring about its defeat. The Communist Party also opposed it, charging that it was in the interests of the reactionaries and fascists because it would limit the ability of the U.S. government to deter the fascist powers from starting a war. Just before the vote in the House, a Gallup poll showed that 72 percent of the population favored the Ludlow amendment. Most of the new industrial unions supported the bill, along with the National Farmers Union. The pro-Ludlow sentiment in the United Auto Workers (UAW) was so strong that the Stalinist members of its executive board were forced to vote in favor of it. In the House of Representatives the bill was defeated 209-188, a rather close vote, considering all the circumstances.

So far I haven’t been able to find any references to the Ludlow amendment in our press before the vote in the House in January 1938, but without any specific articles in our press, I knew at that time what our position on the amendment was, and I approved of it wholeheartedly.

Before explaining what our position was, I shall have to make a correction of what Comrade Hansen said about it in 1971 in a speech included with the introductory matter in the Transitional Program book. After telling who Ludlow was and what his amendment called for, Comrade Hansen said, “Comrade Trotsky proposed that the Socialist Workers Party should offer critical support to the Indiana Democrat’s proposed amendment to the bourgeois constitution of the United States. After a bit of hesitation by some comrades our party adopted this position. Trotsky considered the matter so important that he included a paragraph about it in the Transitional Program.” I am afraid that Comrade Hansen must have relied on his memory here instead of checking the facts; perhaps because he didn’t have access to the records when he was making the speech, but in any case, he doesn’t have it right.

The fact is that we were opposed to the Ludlow amendment before Trotsky had any opinion about it. If we had had a member in the House on January 10, 1938, he would have voted against the amendment, after making or trying to make a revolutionary speech differentiating the SWP from the nonrevolutionary forces opposing it. And if you had been a sympathizer in 1938, asking me why we were opposed, I would have answered at length along the following lines:

“Pacifism is one of the most pernicious elements obstructing the revolutionary struggle against imperialist war. It misleads and disarms the workers, delivering them defenseless at the crucial moment into the hands of the war makers. Lenin and the Bolsheviks taught us that implacable opposition to pacifism and the illusions it creates is obligatory for all revolutionaries. All the documents of the Left Opposition and Fourth International stress the principled character of the struggle against pacifism in all its forms. Our stand on this question demarcates us from all other tendencies. The Ludlow amendment is a pacifist measure, designed to create the illusion that it is possible to prevent war at the ballot box while leaving power in the hands of the capitalists. It misdirects the workers from the real struggle against war, and therefore we cannot support it or assume any responsibility for it. Not to oppose it would be a betrayal of our revolutionary principles.”

On the same day that the House voted down the Ludlow amendment, the newly elected Political Committee (PC) of the SWP held its first meeting. The PC minutes of that date show that under one point on the agenda Burnham proposed launching an antiwar campaign, consisting of eight “concrete points.” The eighth point read as follows: “For the Ludlow amendment on the general motivation of the opportunities which it, as an issue, provides.” All the points were approved, except the eighth, which was defeated by a vote of six to one. A countermotion to that eighth point was made by Shachtman, as follows: “That in our press we criticize the Ludlow amendment and the pacifist agitation connected with it from a principled revolutionary standpoint.” This was carried— six for, one against.

In accord with this motion, our paper the Socialist Appeal carried a front page article by Albert Goldman, introduced with an editorial statement pronouncing it to be “the Marxian view on the amendment.” Goldman’s article begins by saying that the Ludlow amendment poses an old problem in a new form for Marxists and workers generally. But, he assures the readers, “It is only necessary to apply the accepted principles of revolutionary Marxism to solve the problem correctly.” Applying them, he showed all the shortcomings of the Ludlow amendment and the pacifist illusions fostered by its advocates, demonstrated that it would not really prevent war, differentiated our position from that of the Stalinists, and pointed to the destruction of the capitalist system as the only solution to war. I might add that he also said that the Ludlow amendment carried even greater dangers than other pacifist schemes precisely because it added “an element of democratic procedure.”

Also in accord with the PC motion were two editorials in the next issue of our magazine. The longer one, which could have been written by Burnham, denounced the pro-imperialist forces that voted down the Ludlow bill and explained why. The shorter editorial, which could have been written by Shachtman, sought to “represent the standpoint of revolutionary Marxism.” Among other things, it said: Where pacifist nostrums are not outright frauds and deceptions, they are pernicious illusions which drug the masses into pleasant dreams and hallucinations and paralyze their fighting power. To teach the masses that they can “prevent war” by a popular referendum is to foster a disastrous illusion among them. . . . Like the panacea of “disarmament,” or “international arbitration courts,” the referendum illusion diverts attention from the need of an intransigent class struggle policy against war every day in the year, because it cultivates the idea that when the “real” was danger faces us in the remote future the masses will be able to avert it by the mere casting of a ballot. … In sum, to support the Ludlow resolution is to inculcate in the minds of the workers the idea that war can be “prevented” or fought by some means other than the class struggle, that imperialist war can be averted otherwise than by the revolutionary socialist overturn of capitalist rule.”

The PC minutes of February 18 have a point called “Ludlow Amendment,” followed by this information: “Letter read supporting Burnham’s position on the Ludlow Amendment.” Not included with the minutes, and not identified as to author, this letter turns out to have been written by Trotsky, although it was signed “Hansen” for security reasons; its text can be found in the second edition of Writings 3 7-38, which should be out next year. The letter was addressed to Cannon, whom Trotsky gave permission to show it to Burnham if he wished. Cannon did, and he also turned it over to the Political Committee as a whole. The letter said that on the Ludlow question Trotsky was with Burnham, not with the majority of the Political Committee. He felt that after the congressional vote the question was settled practically, but he wanted to make some comments on the important question of methodology. The government position against the Ludlow amendment, Trotsky wrote, represented the position of the imperialists and big business, who want their hands free for international maneuvering, including the declaration of war. What is the Ludlow bill? Trotsky wrote: It represents the apprehension of the man-in-the-street, of the average citizen, of the middle bourgeois, the petty bourgeois, and even the farmer and the worker . . . looking for a brake upon the bad will of big business. In this case they name the brake the referendum. We know that the brake is not sufficient and even not efficient and we openly proclaim this opinion, but at the same time we are ready to go through his experience against the dictatorial pretensions of big business. The referendum is an illusion? Not more or less an illusion than universal suffrage and other means of democracy. Why can we not use the referendum as we use the presidential elections? . . .

“The referendum illusion of the American little man has also its progressive features. Our idea is not to turn away from it, but utilize these progressive features without taking the responsibility for the illusion. If the referendum motion should be adopted, it would give us in case of a war crisis tremendous opportunities for agitation. That is precisely why big business stifled the referendum illusion.”

Today’s average SWP member will not find Trotsky’s thinking on the Ludlow amendment extraordinary or controversial; in fact, it may seem rather commonplace and hardly worth the time I am giving it. This testifies to the political development of our movement since 1938; in certain respects we have come a long way; we live on a higher political plateau now. But what seems simple now to a new member didn’t seem at all simple to the politically most astute leaders of our party then, as we can see from what happened after Trotsky’s letter was read by the Political Committee. Trotsky thought that because the referendum had been rejected in the House nothing more could be done about it. The members of the Political Committee knew better, realizing that the amendment would continue to be an important American political question for some time. So they decided, after hearing Trotsky’s letter, to formulate their position anew. Goldman introduced a series of four motions, some of which were amended by Shachtman. The first two motions stressed the need to use the interest aroused by the amendment to expose the war preparations and the bourgeois and Stalinist opponents of the bill and to expose all pacifist illusions, by clearly stating at all times that whoever says any kind of referendum will stop war is seriously mistaken. The third motion declared that we cannot assume responsibility for the amendment under any circumstances, and it is impermissible for us or our members in mass movements to organize or participate in or endorse any campaign for the amendment.

Up to this point it’s clear and consistent. Goldman’s fourth motion, however, says that since the amendment has been adopted by the most progressive forces of the labor movement, since the working class learns through experience, and since we need to be closely connected with those forces, our comrades in the mass movement are instructed to vote in favor of the Ludlow amendment, and to introduce pro-Ludlow clauses in antiwar resolutions, “at all times making clear our position on the amendment.”

Shachtman disagreed with Goldman’s point four and amended it to in struct our comrades to state our specific position on the Ludlow amendment, either orally or in writing, and to abstain when the vote is cast. Instead of stopping there, however, he added an exception: in those exceptional circumstances where our comrades hold the balance of power between the Stalinists and patriots on one side and pro-Ludlow forces on the other, our comrades are instructed to defeat the Stalinists and patriots by casting their vote for the Ludlow amendment with the qualifications given above.

And this was the position adopted by the SWP on February 10, by five to two (Cannon was absent)— to abstain, except in special circumstances where we should vote in favor in order to defeat the Stalinists and patriots. And although the Political Committee held other discussions on antiwar work during February, this was and remained the SWP’s position when its delegation went to talk with Trotsky the following month.

In the back of the second edition of the Transitional Program book you will find the stenogram of the discussion in Mexico about the Ludlow amendment. There we can see Shachtman especially— who was the chief formulator of the abstentionist position, although of course the Political Committee as a whole was responsible for it— still dragging his heels: “there is great danger that in jumping into a so-called mass movement against war— pacifist in nature— the revolutionary education of the vanguard will be neglected. At the same time, not to enter the movement leaves us mainly in a propaganda position.” And at the end, returning to a point he had made in the February magazine article, he asks: “How do you distinguish between our support of the Ludlow amendment and our attitude toward disarmament programs, international arbitration, etc.?”

Trotsky’s answer: “They have nothing to do with one another. The Ludlow amendment is only a way for the masses to control their government. If the Ludlow amendment is accepted and made part of the constitution it will absolutely not be analogous to disarmament but to inclusion in the right to vote of those eighteen years old”— that is, a democratic right.

Trotsky’s arguments in this discussion were so persuasive that the others were convinced. The Ludlow amendment was not the subject of much debate at the stormy plenum of the SWP National Committee held a month later. It was not taken up until the last hours of the plenum. Then two motions were presented.

Cannon’s motion said: “That the Plenum finds that the Political Committee took a correct principled position on the Ludlow amendment but made a tactical error in failing to give critical support to this movement without making any concessions whatever to its pacifist and illusory character.”

Motion by Carter: “That the Plenum reverses the position of the Political Committee on the Ludlow Amendment and declares it incorrect; that the PC be instructed to issue a statement in support of a popular referendum on the question of war, with a critical declaration in reference to the pacifist and illusory tendencies in the pro-Ludlow movement.”

Seven members spoke during the discussion, and then Cannon made a substitute motion for the whole: “The Plenum finds that the Political Committee was correct in principled opposition to the pacifist illusions contained in the Ludlow amendment— an opposition that was fully justified— the PC nevertheless took a purely negative position which prevented the party from utilizing the entirely progressive sentiment of the masses who supported the idea of submitting the warmongers to the control of a popular referendum before the declaration of war. The Plenum instructs the PC to correct its position accordingly.”

This substitute motion carried, and the Carter motion was defeated, the vote not given. A month later, our paper printed a public National Committee (NC) statement reporting the change in the SWP’s position on the Ludlow amendment and explaining why. At this point it could be said that the error was corrected and the differences liquidated— so completely that three months later, in August, nobody thought, that it was out of order for the Political Committee to send the National Committee members the copy of a draft written by Goldman for an improved version of the Ludlow amendment, that is, one free of the defects in Ludlow’s bill, which we were to try to get some member of Congress to introduce so that we could use it in our antiwar propaganda and agitation.

I have traced the course of this thing, perhaps in too much detail, because I think that a study of mistakes of this kind, frankly recognized and correctly analyzed, can be at least as useful educationally as a study of correct policies or actions. Everybody makes mistakes, even geniuses like Marx, Lenin, and Trotsky. The Russian Revolution of 1917 would have been impossible if the Bolsheviks had not learned many valuable lessons from the defeat of 1905. In politics mistakes are unavoidable, said Trotsky; what is reprehensible is clinging to mistakes and refusing to correct them. This of course does not apply to the Ludlow dispute. But the Ludlow thing was important methodologically, as Trotsky said in his letter to Cannon. So it deserves further comment.

Reading Trotsky’s approach to the Ludlow question now, I am struck by how much more rounded and all-sided it was than the one we had at the time. This enabled him more effectively to select out the major elements of the problem— for example, he began with a concrete class analysis, taking off from the fact that the ruling class was opposed to the Ludlow amendment, whereas that fact was subordinated in our analysis, which tended to center on a secondary factor, the illusions that the Ludlow forces fostered. Of course, what the ruling class wants in a particular case need not always be conclusive (sometimes they make mistakes, too), and sometimes it is not even clear what the ruling class wants (that certainly was the case with the impeachment problem last year). But what the ruling class wanted on the Ludlow amendment was both relevant and clear, and it fructified Trotsky’s thinking. For us, the position of the ruling class was something of an embarrassment that we didn’t care to dwell on and didn’t altogether explain, even poorly, concentrating instead on the question of illusions.

Illusions and the necessity to combat them were a prominent feature not only of the Ludlow discussion but also of other questions facing the SWP at that time. This stems from the abiding obligation we have to help the masses overcome bourgeois ideology in all its forms and variants, including illusions about the nature of bourgeois democracy. Recently, for example, our propaganda and action around Watergate had to take into account, and include material to counteract, the illusions widely generated about Congress, the courts, and the Constitution.

But here, as with everything else in politics, a sense of proportion is needed, and I am afraid that it was sometimes lacking. Sometimes, like today’s TV housewife who is driven frantic by the absence of sparkle on a drinking glass or the presence of a ring around her husband’s collar, we were a little obsessed by the illusion factor. Perhaps “obsessed” is too strong, perhaps a better word is “overpreoccupied.”

But the struggle against illusions is not an end in itself. It is only a means toward an end, and not the central means. Its weight varies from one situation to another, sometimes considerably. And the way in which we struggle against illusions is not uniform and unvarying in all situations; in one case it is best done head-on, in another a more indirect approach proves more effective. And since effectiveness is or should be a paramount factor, a distinction has to be made between merely making the record against illusions, no matter how loudly and vehemently, and setting into motion forces that actually help people to raise their political consciousness.

We tended to throw all illusions into one bag marked “Dangerous, Expose at All Costs.” Trotsky was more selective, more discriminating. In a different context, in a 1930 pamphlet that will be in English later this year, he had occasion to refer to the consciousness, mood, and expectations of the revolutionary workers in Russia at the time of the October Revolution, and there he discussed what he called their “creative illusion” in “overestimating hopes for a rapid change in their fate.” It was an underestimation of the effort, suffering, and sacrifice they would be required to make before they would attain the kind of just, humane, socialist society they were fighting for. It was an illusion in the sense that between that generation and that kind of society lay civil war, imperialist intervention, famine and cannibalism, the rise of a privileged bureaucracy, totalitarian regimentation and terror, decimation in the Second World War, and much more that they did not foresee; it was an illusion based on an underestimation of the difficulties that would face them after the workers took power in backward Russia, which would have been infinitely smaller if the revolution had succeeded in spreading to the rest of Europe.

And it was creative because the workers’ expectations enabled them to deal the first powerful blow against the world capitalist system and open up the era of proletarian revolutions and colonial uprisings. The record shows that the Bolsheviks did not spend much time or energy combating such illusions; they were too busy trying to imbue the masses with the determination to make the revolution.

In any case, Trotsky was able to differentiate among illusions if he could designate some as creative. Even more important, he was able to distinguish different sides or aspects of an illusion, as in the Ludlow discussion. Instead of a single label on the illusion or illusions connected with the Ludlow amendment, he called attention to the fact that certain aspects were progressive at the same time that others were not.

The idea that war can be abolished or prevented without ending the capitalist system that spawns war does not have much to recommend it from a Marxist standpoint. But if the spread of that idea leads masses of people into action to try to prevent the government from going to war, or to set limits on its power to declare war, isn’t that a good thing from the standpoint of Marxists? Even if the idea that sets them into motion against the capitalist government is not scientific, and is therefore wrong and illusory, isn’t it good, that is, progressive for them to conduct such a struggle? Isn’t that precisely the way that they can learn what is wrong and illusory about their ideas on how to end war?

When I read you the second position adopted by the Political Committee on the Ludlow amendment, in February 1938, after Trotsky’s letter was read, you may recall that in one place Goldman’s motion said, “the working class learns through experience.” This was a commonplace in our movement; everyone subscribed to it. But the difference was that Trotsky held that the workers’ experience with a struggle for something like the Ludlow amendment was exactly the thing that could help them learn about and go beyond their illusion. The Political Committee, even as it was saying “the working class learns through experience,” took the view that we should try to discourage the workers from having such an experience with the amendment and that we should dissociate ourselves from the experience if they went ahead with it anyway.

The PC view was that this is an illusion, therefore we can only expose and denounce it. Trotsky’s view was that this is an illusion, but it has a progressive potential. Therefore, without assuming any responsibility for the illusion, and without hiding our belief that it is an illusion— but without making our belief that it is an illusion the major feature of our approach to it— because it has a progressive potential, let us encourage and help the workers to fight against the government on the war question. Let us join this movement and become its best builders, because this is the most effective way of helping them overcome some of their illusions about war and democratic capitalism.

It seems to be the difference between the approach of narrow propagandism and the approach of revolutionary activism. In the first case you write an article explaining “the Marxian principles on war” and hand it out to those who are interested in such matters; you won’t affect many people that way, but you have done your duty and presumably can sleep well. In the second case you intervene in the class struggle, helping to set masses into motion against the ruling class or to provide bridges for those in motion from the elementary, one-sided, and illusory conceptions they start out with toward better, more realistic, and more revolutionary concepts about capitalism and war and how to fight them.

I do think that the source of our error was in great part the remnants of the narrow propagandism that prevailed in the first years of the Left Opposition in this country, when we were restricted almost entirely to trying to reach the ranks of the Communist Party with our written and spoken ideas. Subsequently we consciously set out to transcend this phase, with increasing success. But occasionally, especially when new problems were posed, we had a tendency to slip back. The transitional method that Trotsky recommended to us was precisely the thing we needed to enable us to say good-bye forever to such lapses.

If it was not an error of propagandism then it is hard to explain the thing Shachtman said Mexico that I have already cited: “There is great danger that in jumping into a so-called mass movement against war— pacifist in nature— the revolutionary education of the vanguard will be neglected.”

At first sight this seems like a non sequitur. Why should jumping into a mass movement, or only entering one with more dignity than jumping provides, present a danger, a great danger, that the revolutionary education of the vanguard will be neglected? How does it follow? What is the possible connection? It doesn’t make sense unless the reasoning is being done from the standpoint of propagandism, where you feel that the most urgent task you have is to present your entire program without ambiguity or possibility of misrepresentation on all occasions— a necessity that occurs to you because you lack confidence about the revolutionary education, the ideological solidity of the vanguard, that is, of yourselves.

In such a case, if you are not sure of it, the main thing becomes the strengthening of the revolutionary education or ideological condition of the vanguard group, and doing something about that seems more important, much more important, than taking advantage of an opportunity to intervene in the class struggle.

By contrast, let us consider how we would pose the same problem today, after having absorbed the meaning of the transitional method. We would say, “Here is a mass movement that we can enter, where we can win over people to our revolutionary positions and help raise the consciousness of many more. It is a pacifist movement, which means that in order to work effectively there our own members must be well educated about the nature of pacifism, what’s wrong with it, and how to counter its influence. Which means, therefore, that before we enter and after we enter we must make sure that our members are immunized politically against pacifism, if that is not already the case. That is, instead of neglecting, we must increase the revolutionary education of the vanguard on this point.” Shachtman counterposed mass work and revolutionary education of the vanguard. We, on the other hand, combine them, because not only the masses learn that way, but we, the vanguard, do too.

Methodologically we also seemed to be suffering from a confusion about the relation between principles and tactics.

Principles are propositions embodying fundamental conclusions derived from theory and historical experience to govern and guide our struggle for socialism. Relating broadly to our goals, they set a framework within which we operate. Although they are not eternal, they have a long-range character and are not easily or often changed. In fact, we have essentially the same principles today that we had in 1938. The dictatorship of the proletariat, or the struggle for a workers’ state, as the form of state transitional between capitalism and socialism— that is a principle with us. Insistence on class-struggle methods against class- collaborationist methods— that is another. Unremitting opposition to pacifism in all its guises, because pacifism is an obstacle to revolutionary struggle— that is a third.

Tactics, on the other hand, are only means to an end. “Only” in this context is not meant to disparage them; without the appropriate tactics, principles cannot be brought to life, so there is clearly an interdependence between principles and tactics. But tactics are subordinate in the same way that means are subordinate to an end. They are good if they enhance and promote the principle, not good if they don’t. In addition, tactics are flexible, adjustable, variable. They depend (or their applicability depends) on concrete circumstances. To advance a particular principle, tactic A may be best today; but it may have to be replaced by tactic B tomorrow morning, or tactic C tomorrow night. Meanwhile, the principle remains unchanged.

Principle tells us to oppose pacifism, but it does not tell us whether or not to participate in a certain mass movement; it only tells us that under all circumstances, whether participating or not, we should so function as to counterpose revolutionary ideas and influence to those of the pacifists. There is not a single tactic that follows from any principle; after understanding and grasping the principle, we still have to consider tactics; and tactics, although they are subordinate to principles, have laws, logic, and a domain of their own. Tactics must not, cannot, be in violation of principle (no tactical considerations could even get us to say that we think war can be abolished through a referendum vote), but tactics are not limited to formal reaffirmations of our principles— they are not worth much if that is all they are.

What was the nature of the Ludlow amendment problem? Was it for us a matter of principle or a matter of tactics? If the SWP in 1938 had had any doubts about pacifism, any ambiguity about it, then the matter of principle would properly have been foremost. But if ever there was any party whose members had been trained, indoctrinated, drilled, and virtually bred on a hostility to pacifism, surely it was the SWP. I can testify to that personally; long before I knew some of the most elementary ideas of Marxism, I had been taught about the dangers of pacifism.

Let me try to suggest an analogy: Comrade Smith takes the floor to propose that the branch should participate in a local election campaign by running our own candidates, and explains not only the benefits that would accrue to us from such a campaign but also the facts demonstrating that we have the forces and the resources to run such a campaign effectively, etc. But I take the floor to oppose Comrade Smith’s proposal on the grounds that the workers have electoral illusions and that these illusions can only be reinforced and perpetuated if we, the revolutionary opponents of bourgeois electoralism, take part in these fraudulent elections. No, I say, our revolutionary principles forbid our participation in bourgeois elections and require that we call on the workers to boycott the elections; any other course would be in violation of our principled opposition to bourgeois parliamentarism.

Such a scene has never occurred at any SWP branch meeting, although it could occur and probably does in some of the Maoist and other sectarian groups in this country. Something not too different occurred in the Fourth International as recently as five years ago, when the French Communist League ran a presidential campaign dominated by the theme that its main task was to combat the electoralist illusions of the French workers. Such a scene has not occurred at any SWP meetings, but if it did occur, there would not be any lack of comrades, new as well as old, who would point out that Comrade Smith had raised a tactical question and that instead of answering him on the level of tactics I had switched the discussion to the level of principles, leaving aside the question of whether the principles I had invoked were at all relevant to the point at issue.

Nobody in the SWP has ever done this— mix up principles and tactics— in relation to elections and our participation in them. But isn’t that precisely what happened in connection with the Ludlow amendment?

From the very beginning of the discussion in January, when Burnham proposed support for the amendment, all that was needed was an answer on the level of tactics, assuming that there were no differences on the level of principle. But Shachtman, instead of giving a tactical answer, replied with a motion to criticize the amendment “from a principled revolutionary standpoint.” And even at the end of the discussion, at the plenum in April, Cannon’s initial motion, later withdrawn, wanted to affirm that the Political Committee had taken “a correct principled position” on the amendment “but made a tactical error” by not giving the movement critical support.

But it was even worse than that, methodologically, in my opinion. When we are confronted with the need for a tactical decision, to be offered instead “a correct principled position” is to be offered at best an irrelevancy, and at worst an evasion, but in all cases not what the situation calls for politically. Pointing in such circumstances to the correctness of the principled position may provide us a measure of psychological consolation — “see, we were only 50 percent wrong”— but how much correctness can a principled position provide in read life if it is given as a substitute for a tactical position?

I think that I have been justified in devoting so much time to the Ludlow dispute for at least three reasons. First, I think that the details were needed, because without them, you would have only some generalizations and would lack the data through which to judge my conclusions.

Second is that the problems posed in that dispute related rather closely to other questions of importance. For example, there was the slogan of the workers’ and farmers’ government in the Transitional Program (which more recently we have shortened to the slogan of the workers’ government in this country). The stenograms show that the SWPers kept putting questions about this to Trotsky— did he mean by the workers’ and farmers’ government the same thing that we meant by the dictatorship of the proletariat?— lurking behind which was the implied question: if the workers, and farmers’ government means something different from dictatorship of the proletariat, don’t we have the obligation to state this very forcibly, to emphasize it, in order to counteract the illusions that the workers may have in anything less than the dictatorship of the proletariat?

In tomorrow’s talk I shall show additional evidence of the prominence in the thinking of the SWP leadership of the illusion factor, as well as more about the confusion over tactics and principles. But my point is that clarification of the issues involved in the Ludlow dispute helped the SWP to better understand the Transitional Program and its method as a whole. And without that clarification, if we had continued to cling to the SWP’s first and second positions on the Ludlow amendment, what do you think would have happened decades later when a mass movement against the Vietnam War began to develop in this country? One thing you can be sure of is that we could never have played the role we did in that movement if we had not previously learned the lessons of the Ludlow question through the Transitional Program discussion. In that case the SWP would be considerably different from what it is today, and I don’t mean better.

The other reason I feel justified in giving so much time to the Ludlow dispute is because it helps us to view our party, its cadres, its program, and its method the same way we try to view everything else— historically. Sometimes there is a tendency to think that they suddenly developed out of nowhere, fully formed and finished, with results and acquisitions that can be taken for granted. But it wasn’t like that at all. We got where we are ideologically, politically, and organizationally as the result of a good deal of sweat, heart’s blood, sleepless nights, trial and error— and struggle.

And that’s how it will be as we continue to develop further. We have the advantage over our predecessors of not having to plow up the same ideological and methodological ground that they covered. If we really absorb the lessons they learned and the methods they pioneered, then we should be able to go beyond them and plow up new ground. And we certainly can do that better, the more realistically we understand how they did their work.

Two comrades whose opinions I respect made some suggestions after seeing the first draft of the notes for this talk a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t succeed in incorporating most of their suggestions into the talk, mainly because it got so long without them, but I would like to take them up now.

One comrade thought that the emphasis of my talk might be misleading, especially for those who were not familiar with the early years of our movement. After all, he pointed out, we were not on the whole sectarians or abstentionists before 1938; even with our small forces and limited resources, we did some very good work when the opportunity came along. Furthermore, he added, although we didn’t have the words “transitional method” or “transitional demands” in our vocabulary then, we did frequently and even effectively use that method and raise such demands in our work, especially after the big turn in 1933. Otherwise, he said, some of our most important work of that period— such as the Minneapolis experience— is inexplicable.

I must say that I agree with his concern, and if I did, or to the extent that I did, derogate or seem to derogate the party or its leadership in the pre-Transitional Program period of our existence, I certainly want to correct that now. There isn’t any trace of muckraking or debunking in my motives for giving these talks. I don’t know anyone who has a higher regard than I have for the pre-1938 party and its leadership. I said that it was a remarkable organization, and the more I think about the conditions of that period, the more strongly I hold this opinion. From my own extensive activity in the three years before 1938, I know that the party was not at all sectarian, and it was not abstentionist or dogmatic or doctrinaire, on the whole by at least 95 percent.

If it had been, it could never have accepted the Transitional Program, it could never have absorbed the transitional method so fast. Certainly no other organization in this country ever understood them at all.

So please understand what I have been speaking about in that context. We were not abstentionists, but sometimes we made abstentionist errors, and the transitional method helped us to overcome them once we understood it and incorporated it into our arsenal. Does telling this story discredit the comrades of that time? Not at all. On the contrary, it seems to me greatly to their credit that they were able to correct their errors and lift the whole movement onto higher ground.

The other comrade’s criticism was that in my discussion of principles and tactics, I entirely omitted the question of strategy, which he feels is the area where the Transitional Program makes its central contribution. I think that he is completely correct on this latter point: the Transitional Program did provide us with a coherent and viable strategy or set of strategic concepts, perhaps for the first time in this country, and certainly on a scale we had never known before.

(Strategy, I should say parenthetically, was explained by Trotsky as follows in 1928: “Prior to the war [World War I] we spoke only of the tactics of the proletarian party; this conception conformed adequately enough to the then prevailing trade union, parliamentary methods which did not transcend the limits of day-to-day demands and tasks. By the conception of tactics is understood the system of measures that serves a single current task or a single branch of the class struggle. Revolutionary strategy on the contrary embraces a combined system of actions which by their association, consistency, and growth must lead the proletariat to the conquest of power.” Tactics are subordinate to strategy, and strategy serves a mediating role between principle and tactics.)

But I did not go into the question of strategy in my talk deliberately: because it was virtually omitted from the 1938 discussion in the SWP; the focus was almost entirely on the principle-tactic relationship. The stimulus given to strategical thinking instead also marked an important step forward, thanks again to the Transitional Program. My not going into that aspect was not intended to deny that or minimize it. Anyhow, I hope that the comrade who made this criticism will, as I suggested, someday himself speak about the danger of what he calls “tactical thinking that is not rooted in strategical thinking,” and how the Transitional Program relates to this.

Tomorrow I shall resume the narrative, concluding my account of the chaotic plenum of the National Committee held in April 1938 after the return of the SWP delegation from Mexico, with major attention on the dispute over the labor party question. The following day, I shall make some comparisons between the SWP of then and the SWP of today, based upon a recent reading for the first time of the 1938 minutes of the Political Committee.

Donald Trump’s regime has bombed Venezuela’s capital and major urban areas in a further escalation of the USA’s illegal and unlawful attacks on the country. 

More than 100 people have been killed since the US began its strikes on Venezuelan boats in September 2025. It is unknown how many people have been killed in Trump’s latest attacks on Venezuela today.

Trump also said that the US has abducted the country’s leader Nicolás Maduro and removed him from the country. This is a blatant breach of international and democratic norms and, legally, an act of war. It is for the Venezuelan people and only the Venezuelan people to remove their country’s leader.

Today’s attacks follow the US bombing of Iran last year – and Trump’s long-term backing, including arms, intelligence and diplomatic support, for Israel’s genocide in Gaza. It is also part of a long, colonialist history of US military attacks on Latin America.

Trump has openly stated that his aims in Venezuela are regime change and the extraction of resources, including oil. The US’s pretext that this is about drug-smuggling is pure fantasy and a cover to justify its criminal attacks. 

This may be the beginning of a series of attacks, with a major US military buildup visible near Venezuela, including an aircraft carrier, warships and jets.

While Trump tries to paint himself as a ‘peacemaker’, he is constantly threatening a wide range of countries, including recently appointing an envoy with the explicit aim to annex Greenland.

Trump’s bombing of Venezuela is a textbook example of what happens when Britain and other countries appease US-sanctioned terrorism.

Stop Trump Coalition condemns the bombing of Venezuela and calls for the British government to finally condemn the US for its warmongering.

Stop Trump calls on the UK government to seek an immediate UN Security Council meeting to demand an immediate end to the attacks on Venezuela and for Trump to be held to account.

Stop Trump Coalition, 3 January 2026

Zohran Mamdani’s election to Mayor of New York has been a badly-needed boost to the confidence of the left in the U.S. and beyond. It has also reignited debate about the strategic choices facing socialists elected to local government, and eventually to national governments too. A special, end-of-year issue of Jacobin, the U.S. left magazine, was devoted to lessons of municipal socialism, from Red Vienna and Milwaukee’s ‘sewer socialists’ in the first half of the 20^th century, to Communist-run cities in Italy or France after the defeat of fascism and Ken Livingstone’s Greater London Council in the 1980s, facing off, quite literally across the River Thames, against what was then the far-right, Margaret Thatcher, in government.

These are debates that we, too, need to take seriously, as we seek to build Your Party Scotland as a real, socialist alternative, here in Glasgow and across the country.

One of the most suggestive contributions to the discussion draws on experiences of participatory democracy in Latin America and elsewhere, to argue that as mayor, ‘Zohran Needs to Create Popular Assemblies’ (Jacobin 12.22.2025. https://jacobin.com/2025/12/mamdani-popular-assemblies-democratic-socialism) to build a bottom-up political culture that empowers working people. In this article, Gabriel Hetland, who has done a lot of work with social movements in Venezuela and Bolivia, and Bhaskar Sunkara, the editor of Jacobin, point to the positives of governing with such assemblies. In the short term, it enables the social base to keep mobilising, which is vital to sustain a progressive administration that will inevitably be hemmed in by hostile elites and procedural roadblocks, hindering its attempts to implement even its core, immediate, ‘affordability’ policies. In the process of these fights over housing and transport, childcare and the cost of groceries, it also begins to create new structures of power, increasing “the capacity of workers to collectively shape the decisions that shape their lives”, and “to lay the basis for a society beyond capitalism”.

Even without the aid of a crystal ball, it is not hard to see how a socialist administration in Glasgow City Council, or even in Holyrood, would confront many of the same obstacles, and need similar solutions, as it sought to seize back the cost-of-living agenda hijacked by Reform in Scotland, or even confront a far-right, Reform government in Westminster.

As Hetland and Sunkara make clear, the key point of assemblies or other forms of mass, participatory democracy, is to change the relationship between the governed and their government, shifting power back to the former. The forms this can take vary greatly. Even within Latin America, the early participatory budgets (PBs) in Porto Alegre, Brazil, in the 1990s and early 2000s – cited here as one of the most successful examples – were very different from the communal councils and communes developed in Venezuela, or the more sporadic assemblies used in Bolivia, a few years later. Although not part of a wider revolutionary process, the scope of the powers in Porto Alegre was in fact much greater.

It would be foolish, from so far away, to pretend to offer much of an opinion on exactly what might work best in New York City. As these authors point out, it is more important to identify the underlying principles. It is these that will determine whether a given form of assembly democracy can effectively change the relations of power, and whether it really can, or even wants to, open up possible paths to a different kind of society.

The problem is that the principles they do identify are quite slight and could lead in a rather different direction. This is not semantic quibbling: the gap between ‘affecting decisions’ and exercising sovereign power is the gap between supplicants and rulers, between consultation theatre and the embryo of workers’ self-government. They are significantly weaker than the four core principles adopted by the founders of Porto Alegre’s participatory budgeting. For example, Hetland and Sunkara talk about ordinary people having “real and meaningful opportunities to affect the decisions that shape their lives”, and counterpose this to the “participation without influence” that breeds cynicism about many exercises in participation that are merely consultative. This distinction is important, because many later versions of participatory budgeting were indeed consultations without real power. But the original Porto Alegre version was stronger still. Its second and third core principles were that (2) the PB should have sovereign decision-making power, and (3) that it should discuss the whole budget, not just a sliver of it. This sounds like a lot more than just ‘affecting’ decisions.

The first of the Porto Alegre core principles was that (1) the PB should be based on direct, universal participation. The basic building block was mass, local assemblies, where all citizens could take part – there were no delegates at this level of the process, and certainly no algorithms performing random selection or sortition – and where they could debate and decide on the main priorities. An elected PB Council would then work out the nuts and bolts. This partly overlaps with Hetland and Sunkara’s second principle, where they talk about creating spaces “to foster meaningful deliberation”. As they rightly observe, this “is how non-elites learn to govern themselves”, bringing working-class communities together across the divides of race, gender and language that often separate them. This is the essence of collective action, and it upends the isolation and atomisation that underpins most of our capitalist societies.

The fourth Porto Alegre principle was that (4) the PB process should be self-regulating. Its shape and procedures, its rules, would not be decided by anyone else or laid down in legislation by some other body. The assemblies and their elected council would work out the rules and keep changing them along the way as needed. There is at least a potential contradiction between this fundamental autonomy and the third principle our authors suggest for the new Mamdani administration. They talk about the need for a “deliberate design” to avoid the participatory space reproducing inequalities of confidence and political experience, or becoming dominated by existing activists.

These are issues that have drawn attention within our own process of launching Your Party. Certainly, most would agree on the importance of taking steps to make political spaces – in this case the assemblies of participatory democracy – as accessible as possible, in relation to physical accessibility, child care, procedures, language, tone and so on. The problem is that these needs have also been used to justify a ‘deliberate design’ drawn up somewhere else according to criteria decided by no-one quite knows who. And this in turn raises suspicions of algorithms shaping representative samples, sortition and digital plebiscites. Such instruments, whose roots lie more in marketing and management studies, tend to reproduce the prevailing isolation of individuals, rather than foster the kinds of collective action that alone can begin to reverse the relations of power.

It is worth remembering that most of the core group that ‘invented’ the Porto Alegre experience saw themselves as revolutionary socialists. They were members of the Democracia Socialista current in the Workers Party (PT), which was then the Brazilian section of the Fourth International. When they suddenly found themselves at the head of the city hall administration in a medium-sized state capital, they asked themselves how they could use this to move towards a revolutionary overthrow of the capitalist state. And the first experience they turned to for possible inspiration was the Paris Commune.

Their conception of the participatory budget, and more broadly of direct, assembly-based democracy, was developed with this in mind. As a co-thinker of theirs in France, Catherine Samary, later put it, participatory democracy can be revolutionary if it permanently challenges the existing structures of the bourgeois state. If it ceases to challenge them, if it merely complements or ‘extends’ the processes of existing representative democracy, it becomes merely reformist and can easily be co-opted as a block to radical change and in effect a prop for the status quo.

Anyone who has endured a local council’s ‘community engagement’ session already knows where this leads: sticky notes on flip charts, facilitators with lanyards, and outcomes decided months ago by officers now nodding gravely at your contributions. That is why, not long after the successes of the early, radical participatory budget in Porto Alegre, the World Bank was soon promoting a watered-down, consultative version as a pillar of ‘good governance’ in the Global South. Although the situation in New York today may be very different, similar dilemmas, and dangers, are likely face any attempts by the new mayor to open up popular assemblies and spaces for participatory democracy. We should pay close attention because, with a bit of luck, we might later have to deal with parallel problems here in Glasgow.

Iain Bruce is a member of Your Party in Glasgow North and the author of ‘The Porto Alegre Alternative: direct democracy in action’

The contradiction is not subtle. It screams from every Stop the War Coalition meeting, every leaflet, every carefully calibrated press release. When Israel bombards Gaza, the StWC mobilises hundreds of thousands, demands comprehensive sanctions, calls for arms embargoes, and platforms the Palestinian Ambassador as the authentic voice of his people’s resistance. When Russia bombards Ukraine, the same Coalition organises static demonstrations of a few hundred, opposes sanctions as ‘collective punishment,’ demands an end to arms supplies, and platforms a marginal pacifist representing perhaps a dozen Ukrainians as the authentic voice of their people’s desire for surrender.

This is not inconsistency. It is consistency of a particularly cynical kind.

The Political Roots of the Betrayal

Understanding the StWC’s position requires understanding its organisational DNA. The Coalition is not a pacifist organisation in any meaningful sense. It emerged in 2001 as a political vehicle jointly controlled by the Socialist Workers Party and the Communist Party of Britain, with the strategic orientation shaped by figures like Lindsey German, Andrew Murray, and John Rees. Its founding premise was straightforward: the primary threat to world peace is American imperialism and its British junior partner. All other questions are subordinate to this axiom.

The Coalition’s intellectual bankruptcy finds its clearest contemporary expression in figures like Chris Bambery, who served as the SWP’s national organiser for years before departing. Writing in Counterfire in August 2025, Bambery argued that ‘US-Russia peace talks would be a good plan’ and dismissed those who support Ukrainian victory as believing in a ‘pipedream.’ He accused critics of wanting ‘war to the last Ukrainian’: a Kremlin talking point deployed without irony. Most revealing was his insistence that ‘the war in Ukraine did not begin with Putin’s criminal invasion’ but with ‘highly contested elections’ in 2013. The provocation narrative in its purest form.

And the practical conclusion of this ‘realism’? That the Ukrainian people should accept dismemberment because Chris Bambery has decided resistance is futile. That Putin should be brought ‘in from the cold’ while Ukrainian cities burn. This is not anti-imperialism. It is capitulation dressed in radical vocabulary.

The problem, of course, is that this axiom produces grotesque results when applied mechanically to every conflict. If the main enemy is always at home, then every conflict involving Western powers must be opposed from the Western side regardless of who is dying, who is conquering, who is being colonised. The Syrian revolutionaries crushed between Assad’s barrel bombs and Russian airstrikes? Dismissed as NATO proxies. The Ukrainians resisting annexation? Cannon fodder for Washington’s geopolitical games.

No, worse than dismissed. Actively denied the means of self-defence.

What ‘Stop the War’ Actually Means

The StWC’s 2023 AGM resolution states it plainly: opposition to ‘the Russian invasion of February 2022’ coupled with opposition to ‘the reckless policy of expanding NATO and US hegemony which preceded and to an extent provoked it.’ Notice the grammatical structure. The invasion gets three words of condemnation. NATO provocation gets an entire explanatory clause. The framing distributes culpability, transforming a war of colonial aggression into a shared responsibility, a tragedy with fault on all sides.

And what follows from this framing? The Coalition opposes arms transfers to Ukraine, arguing that weapons merely ‘protract’ the conflict. It opposes sanctions on Russia, arguing they constitute ‘collective punishment’ of ordinary Russians and fuel the cost-of-living crisis at home. It demands an immediate ceasefire: a robber’s peace that freezes Russian troops in occupied territory, rewards annexation, and broadcasts to every aspiring imperial aggressor that conquest works if you can outlast Western attention spans.

By opposing both military aid and economic sanctions, the StWC opposes every coercive measure available to pressure Russia. All that remains is ‘diplomacy,’ by which they mean Ukrainian capitulation dressed in the language of peace. Gilbert Achcar’s analysis in International Viewpoint demonstrates precisely how this works: Trump and Putin’s bilateral framework carves Ukraine up for their own imperialist interests, demanding significant portions of Ukrainian territory and resources without offering genuine security guarantees. The principle of ‘Nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine’ means nothing to those who have already decided that Ukrainian resistance is a pipedream.

When Solidarity Becomes Selective

The contrast with Gaza could not be starker. Here the StWC deploys every tool it refuses Ukraine. Comprehensive sanctions? Essential. Arms embargo? Immediate. Economic isolation? The only non-violent mechanism to force compliance with international law. The ‘collective punishment’ argument deployed against Russian sanctions vanishes entirely. The concern about prolonging conflict through material support evaporates.

The StWC claims it cannot mobilise for Ukraine because the British public won’t march against Russian aggression. And yet: 400,000 people marched against Iraq in 2003. 800,000 have marched for Gaza since October 2023. The infrastructure is there: local groups, trade union affiliates, faith community liaisons. The capacity is proven. The Coalition’s choice is not incapacity but refusal. And the Ukrainian trade unionists asking for solidarity? They receive invitations to send video messages that are never played.

The defenders of this position have their arguments. They will tell you that sanctions on Russia serve inter-imperialist rivalry while BDS against Israel represents grassroots demand from the oppressed. They will tell you that arming Ukraine strengthens NATO while disarming Israel weakens settler colonialism. But notice what these arguments share: they reduce every question to the relationship between the conflict and American power. Ukrainian agency disappears. The forty million people fighting for national survival become merely instruments in a great power chess game.

Who Speaks for Ukraine?

Perhaps nothing reveals the bankruptcy of the StWC’s position more clearly than its choice of Ukrainian voices. The Coalition claims to amplify the voices of victims. In practice, it exercises rigorous curation.

For Palestine, the StWC platforms Husam Zomlot, the Palestinian Ambassador to the UK, a figure representing the official national movement and articulating robust support for resistance. For Ukraine, the Coalition elevates Yurii Sheliazhenko, executive secretary of something called the Ukrainian Pacifist Movement. Sheliazhenko argues that Ukrainians should refuse to fight, that ‘both sides’ share blame for the violence. Investigative reports suggest his movement may consist of a handful of active members. He faces legal trouble in Ukraine for his stance, which the StWC frames as evidence of Zelensky’s authoritarianism rather than as evidence that he represents approximately nobody.

This false pacifism is egocentric at its core, as the Fourth International’s 2023 World Congress resolution noted: it prioritises opposing one’s own national government over genuine solidarity with the Ukrainian people. Worse, it refuses to recognise the imperialist character of Putin’s war, preferring instead to present it as a defensive response to NATO expansion. Sheliazhenko is its perfect avatar: a figure who tells Ukrainians to stop fighting while offering nothing that might actually stop Russian shells. No wonder Ukrainian and Russian socialists themselves reject this framing. They understand what the Western ‘peace’ left cannot bring itself to say: approving arms transfers to Ukraine is not warmongering. It is elementary solidarity.

Meanwhile, the Coalition has refused to platform representatives from the Federation of Trade Unions of Ukraine or the Confederation of Free Trade Unions of Ukraine. Both support the war effort. Both have called for international arms supplies. Both represent the organised working class of Ukraine, the social force that any socialist movement should prioritise. But their message is inconvenient, so they remain unheard at StWC events.

Apply the same standard to Palestine. If the StWC treated Gaza as it treats Ukraine, it would search for Palestinian pacifists who condemn Hamas and call for immediate surrender to stop the bombing. It would platform them as the authentic voice of the Palestinian people. It would dismiss the mainstream national movement as proxies for regional powers. The absurdity is obvious.

The Labour Movement Fractures

The StWC’s Ukraine position has produced a significant split in the British trade union movement. Unlike Iraq or Gaza, where unions were generally united, Ukraine has created genuine contestation.

The GMB, ASLEF, and NUM have passed motions supporting arms for Ukraine and affiliating with the Ukraine Solidarity Campaign. They view the war as a fight against fascism and support the right of self-defence. In 2024, the University and College Union congress voted to overturn a previous StWC-aligned position, backing Ukrainian resistance instead. This is significant. The StWC’s influence on Ukraine is waning within organised labour even as its influence on Gaza remains hegemonic.

The debates at TUC congress have been fierce. Delegates accuse the leadership of applying double standards: supporting arms for Ukraine while demanding an embargo for Israel, or opposing arms for Ukraine while supporting sanctions on Israel. And the TUC leadership’s response to these contradictions? Procedural manoeuvres to avoid votes. The contradiction cannot be resolved because it is structural. It flows from a framework that categorises conflicts by their relationship to Washington rather than by the rights of the peoples involved.

What Genuine Internationalism Requires

The Fourth International has maintained a different position. We support Ukraine’s right to self-determination and its material capacity to exercise that right, including through weapons supplies. Not because we endorse NATO’s geopolitical strategies, but because we recognise that national liberation struggles do not wait for ideologically pure sponsors. The Ukrainian people have the right to defend themselves with whatever weapons are available.

This does not mean uncritical support for the Zelensky government. Ukrainian workers, trade unionists, feminists, and social movements are fighting on two fronts: against Russian invasion and against their own government’s neoliberal policies. Our solidarity must support their independent organising, not subordinate them to either Russian imperialism or Western geopolitical interests.

We reject the campist logic that treats Russia as part of an ‘anti-imperialist’ bloc merely because it opposes the United States. Putin’s vision of ‘multipolarity’ is not a progressive alternative but one where only a limited number of large states will have any voice in the international arena: competing capitalist authoritarianisms carving up spheres of influence. This reasoning led the StWC to silence over Assad’s barrel bombs. It leads them now to effective solidarity with Putin’s colonial war. The enemy of my enemy is not my friend when that enemy is crushing another people under tanks.

Ernest Mandel emphasised throughout his work that socialist internationalism means supporting the material interests of workers and oppressed peoples everywhere, not aligning with lesser imperial powers against greater ones. The StWC has abandoned this tradition. It has become, in practice, an organisation that mobilises against Western-backed violence while demobilising against violence that Washington opposes.

The Gatekeepers

The Stop the War Coalition remains the gatekeeper of mass anti-war protest in Britain. It has the infrastructure, the union affiliations, the historical credibility from 2003. But its gatekeeping is highly selective. The gates open wide for those fighting US allies. They remain firmly shut for those fighting US rivals.

This is not anti-imperialism. It is campism dressed in anti-imperialist clothing. It measures every struggle not by the rights of the peoples involved but by its relationship to American hegemony. And in Ukraine, that measurement has led to a position functionally indistinguishable from calling for Ukrainian defeat.

Chris Bambery offers the quiet part out loud: bilateral US-Russia negotiations, Ukrainian ‘realism’ about territorial losses, an end to the ‘pipedream’ of victory, bringing Putin ‘in from the cold.’ He even celebrates Trump’s nuclear diplomacy while Ukrainian cities burn. The StWC wraps the same message in more careful language, but the destination is identical. A robber’s peace. Ukrainian dismemberment. And the message to every future aggressor that the Western left will provide ideological cover for conquest, so long as the conqueror is not aligned with Washington.

The Ukrainian working class deserves better from the British left. So do the Russian anti-war activists facing prison for opposing Putin’s war. So do all of us who believe that international solidarity means something more than tactical positioning against Washington.

The StWC had a choice. It chose wrong. The task now falls to others to build the genuine internationalist movement that both Ukraine and Palestine deserve.

Duncan Chapel, Red Mole Substack, 8 December 2025

As the dust settles after COP30 in Belém, the scale of the failure becomes impossible to ignore. The world is on a path toward catastrophic warming, ecological systems are collapsing, and millions across the Global South face annihilation, not in the distant future, but today. The world’s political and economic elites arrived in the Amazon to negotiate when the 1.5°C target had already slipped out of reach, and they left with little more than symbolic gestures. No binding emissions cuts. No serious plan to phase out fossil fuels. No meaningful climate finance for adaptation. No accountability for the destruction already unleashed.

The gap between official international climate policy and the lived reality of a warming world has never been wider. In Belém, that gap became a chasm.

The world is heading towards roughly 2.8°C of warming by the end of the century. This is not a scenario compatible with human dignity — or even, for many, with life itself. Rising seas, extreme heat, drought, and flooding are eroding food security, displacing communities, and driving inequality to historic heights. The economic costs of climate disasters are skyrocketing, but the social and human costs are immeasurable: lives lost, livelihoods shattered, ecosystems irreversibly damaged.

These worsening crises play out in a world shaped by neoliberal austerity and debt dependency. Countries battling climate shocks are forced to cut social spending, privatise public goods, and surrender sovereignty to creditors. Governments continue pouring billions into militaries, fossil fuel subsidies, and the enrichment of corporate elites. The current political economy accelerates both warming and war.

The growing irrelevance of the COP

COP30 offered no mechanisms for enforcement, no firm deadlines, and no clear pathways to keep warming below 1.5°C. Nor did it include a fossil-fuel phase-out; oil-producing nations blocked binding language, and the final deal focused on voluntary road maps instead. What it did offer was an expanded space for corporate actors, carbon traders, and mining interests seeking to greenwash extractivist projects.

What is staring society in the face — and what too few scientists are willing to acknowledge — is that the climate-crisis regime cannot be separated from the logic of capitalism. So-called “green transitions” simply open new arenas for profit while remaining embedded in the same global system of accumulation. Renewable energy may be expanding, but it does not replace fossil fuels; it merely adds to an energy expansion rather than driving a real transition.

Climate summits have become a “safety valve” for capital. They offer the illusion of action, while allowing the core exploitative relations to continue. For workers and communities already suffering climate breakdown, it is indisputable that the COP has failed them.

The Just Transition heist

COP 30 adopted the Belem Action Mechanism for a Global Just Transition (BAM) — a proposed new institutional arrangement under the UNFCCC designed to address the current fragmentation and inadequacy of global just transition efforts. Trade unionists and workers should have no illusions about this mechanism. It has no finances or concrete plans to protect workers and communities affected by energy and other decarbonising initiatives. There are no resources for a re-industrialisation in harmony with the protection of nature. So workers and other vulnerable sectors will simply be left behind. Words and policies in COP statements are a dime a dozen. Reality is harsher.

Why mass movements matter — and why institutions don’t

If COP30 cannot deliver the mechanisms for decarbonisation or social protection, then the hope must lie in movements of people: workers, peasants, indigenous people, women, youth, and the urban poor. Outside of a global mass movement rooted in national realities, the necessary steps to confront the climate crisis will not occur. Yet such a movement cannot be built if it fails to address the immediate needs of the working classes and the poor. The fight for climate protection and ecological justice must therefore begin with the fight for life itself — for clean water, decent housing, jobs, food, and security against the elements.

Right-wing climate denialists exploit the desperation of the poor to drive a wedge between ordinary people and climate action. They present environmentalism as a threat to livelihoods rather than the path to survival. To win the majority, our movement must link ecological transformation with social justice. We must demand the redistribution of wealth and power away from the billionaire class, big tech, and ruling elites who plunder the planet for profit.

By Brian Ashley, First Published in Amandla!, 25 November 2025

Brian Ashley is a member of Zabalaza for Socialism and serves on the Amandla! editorial collective

[On 20 October, exactly three weeks before the beginning of COP30 in Belem, Brazil’s environmental regulator, IBAMA, finally approved a licence for the state-controlled oil company, Petrobras, to drill an exploratory well off the coast of Amazonia, close to the mouth of the Amazon River. That same Monday, within hours of the announcement, drilling began. A couple of days later, Petrobras said it would need to sink three more wells in Block 59 to evaluate the exact extent of the reserves. Petrobras is hoping these deep-sea oil fields will prove to hold reserves similar in size to the estimated 11 billion barrels that Exxon-Mobil has begun to exploit further north off Guyana, in waters disputed with Venezuela. That’s more than 30 times the amount of oil held in the Rosebank field off Shetland, which the UK government is about to rule on.

On 23 October, eight Brazilian NGOs sought a legal order to block the drilling. They pointed to the lack of any proper consultation with Indigenous peoples in the region, and the failure of any full evaluation of the environmental impact, both locally and globally. They suggested the move made a mockery of the Brazilian government’s commitments for the coming COP30.  But it seemed unlikely their injunction request would succeed. President Luis Inacio Lula da Silva, of the Workers Party (PT), regretted that “nobody is in a position to do without fossil fuels”. He said the income from the Amazon oil would be used to combat poverty and pay for the transition away from fossil fuels.

Subverta, one of the currents in the PSOL that makes up the Brazilian section of the Fourth International, says the decision reflects a much more fundamental limitation in the government’s approach to the environment.]

On the eve of COP 30, to be held in Belém in Pará, this decision is by no means just a technical choice, but rather a political repositioning of Brazil in the face of the global climate crisis; it contradicts the image of a country seeking to lead a global just transition and reinforces the perception that Brazil remains trapped in a historical cycle of dependence and extraction.

Although the current government’s programme is based on an ecological transition with social and environmental justice, this authorisation of oil exploration in one of the most sensitive regions of the planet highlights the contradictions between theory and practice. The rhetoric of a ‘just transition’ collides with the continuation of an extractive model that depends on fossil fuels, and which is justified on the grounds of energy sovereignty and national self-sufficiency.

Exploration on the Equatorial Margin will have an impact well beyond Brazilian territory. Much of the oil extracted would go for export, transferring emissions to other countries and undermining Brazil’s global climate responsibility. According to estimates by climate organisations, burning the oil potentially extracted from this region could release more than 11 billion tonnes of CO₂. That is about 5% of the total remaining carbon budget available if warming is to be limited to 1.5 °C. In other words, this has a planetary impact, not just a regional one, which compromises the country’s role in the international climate fight.

This puts us in a situation of even greater climate insecurity and uncertainty. The planet has already exceeded seven of the nine planetary boundaries (defined by the scientific community as the limits of stability for the planet’s ecosystems), and the fossil fuel industry is primarily responsible for this. It is a mistake to expand drilling for more wells, wherever they may be.

In addition to the environmental and climate impacts, there is also an economic argument that cannot be ignored. Several international studies, such as those by the International Institute for Sustainable Development (IISD), warn that Petrobras’ oil expansion represents a high-risk investment. They estimate that up to 85% of new production projects would only be profitable in a scenario of global warming above 2.4°C, i.e., in a context incompatible with the Paris Agreement targets. Although economic factors and figures alone should not be our main motivation for rejecting exploration, they show that, even according to the logic of profit, the country is investing in assets that may quickly become stranded by the global transition to renewable sources.

Petrobras, as a strategic company, occupies a paradoxical position in this situation. While seeking to reposition itself as a leader in the energy transition, with many renewable energy projects (despite a number of conflicts around wind and solar power plants in the Northeast of Brazil) and a lot of green advertising, it is also investing heavily in new oil fields. IBAMA’s decision legitimises this ambiguity, and puts off confronting the need for a social and territorial restructuring of the energy sector.

The Equatorial Margin coastal region, stretching from Natal in the Brazilian Northeast to the border with French Guyana, is renowned for its high marine and river biodiversity, as well as being home to artisanal fishing communities, quilombolas and indigenous peoples who depend directly on coastal ecosystems. Even the installation of infrastructure for research and exploration in the Amazon estuary region will have a significant impact, not to mention the future risk of oil spills and contamination that could damage entire ecological chains, affecting fishing, water quality and traditional ways of life.

From an eco-socialist perspective, the permit given to Petrobras shows that territories on the periphery continue to be sacrificed for the sake of a centralised, dependent development project; it illustrates in practice the impasse of a ‘transition’ that has been captured by capital. It is not a question of denying the need for energy, but of questioning who produces it, according to what logic, and in the service of what kind of society.

Drilling for oil in the Amazon estuary reveals a conflict between two kinds of rationale: the productivist rationale (of ‘commodity peoples’, in the words of Davi Kopenawa), which transforms nature into a commodity, and the ecological rationale (of the forest peoples), which understands the interdependence between living systems, territories and cultures. Defending the Amazon is not an ‘environmentalist’ demand in the narrow sense, but a political struggle for other ways of living and other kinds of social reproduction. Protecting the mouth of the Amazon means fighting for a future for our civilisation that cannot be measured in barrels of oil, but in flows of life, autonomy and socio-environmental diversity.

This dispute between different rationales also reveals how the path of more drilling for oil reproduces historical inequalities. The indigenous, quilombola and traditional communities that live on the Amazonian coast find themselves confronting the advance of the energy frontier with no access to real decision-making mechanisms. The absence of any free, prior and informed consultation, as laid down in ILO Convention 169, reinforces the marginalisation of these peoples. The colonial logic of exploitation and environmental racism is revived, imposing socio-environmental risks on those who benefit least from the extracted wealth.

The challenge facing the progressive camp, especially those who make up the social and political base of the government, is to insist that there can be no socio-environmental justice without a break with fossil capitalism. We need to strengthen initiatives that contribute to the development of a new energy infrastructure, with communities playing an active part from the planning stage onwards the aim must be to replace thermal power and fossil fuels with decentralised, accessible, renewable and low-pollution public infrastructure at all levels.

We are opposed to any new thermal power plants, to drilling new oil wells and all other polluting projects, as well as to renewable power projects that lack socio-environmental justice. We must continue to promote dialogue with oil workers’ unions and other workers in the fossil fuel sector. Only organised struggle will be able to stop fossil capitalism, and we call on everyone to join us in this struggle!

22 October 2025

Paul Murphy, 25 October 2025

Catherine Connolly’s resounding victory in the Presidential election is a watershed moment. It is the first time that the left has won a majority of votes in a national election. This was not a narrow victory either; Catherine won the largest percentage and largest total vote of any Presidential candidate in history.

It is just over a hundred years since the death of Scotland’s best-known revolutionary Marxist, John Maclean. In the intervening century, Maclean’s standing and reputation has waxed and waned, often reflecting the prominence of the national question in Scotland, an issue with which Maclean is understandably – if sometimes one-sidedly – identified. Over the years, there have been a number of important biographies of Maclean; most notably perhaps, that of his daughter, Nan Milton, in 1973, and, more recently, a well-received account of Maclean’s life and politics by Henry Bell which came out in 2018. In addition, there have been numerous smaller studies of Maclean, highlighting, for example, the influence of Irish Republicanism on the evolution of Maclean’s politics, his attitude to the formation of the Communist Party of Great Britain, and his advocacy of Scottish Republicanism (and flirtation with ‘Celtic Communism’). Decades after his premature death – accelerated by the brutality he experienced during his frequent imprisonments for antiwar agitation – Maclean’s legacy remains complex and contested.

Donald’s Robertson’s new biography, Great John Maclean Has Come Home to the Clyde – The Life and Times of Scotland’s Greatest Socialist, is a welcome addition to the literature on Maclean which adds to our understanding of his life and politics in important ways. First it is a substantial work, which not only takes us through the events in Maclean’s life, but also outlines the political and social context in a clear and detailed way. Readers unfamiliar with the events in Glasgow in the first decades of the 20th century are treated to an extensive account of ‘Red Clydeside’ and of the struggles in the community (most notably the Rent Strikes of 1915) and at the point of production (in particular, against ‘dilution’ and for the 40-hour week) which characterised the period, and in which Maclean played a key role. The main aspects of Maclean’s political life are also brought out clearly. His focus on working-class political education, including his long-term project to establish an independent Labour College for Scotland and his legendary lectures in Marxist economics, conducted for well over a decade, where hundreds of working-class Scots were introduced to the foundational concepts of Marx’s Capital. Equally, Maclean’s phenomenal workload, his appearance at meetings and events throughout Britain, educating, agitating, and organising tirelessly against the bosses and their system, is outlined in detail. Above all, Maclean’s internationalism (and international reputation), expressed most powerfully in his courageous opposition to the First World War and in his support for Irish Independence, and for which he paid such an enormous price in terms of his health and personal life, is highlighted.

Largely devoted to directly recounting Maclean’s life and times, Robertson’s biography avoids the controversies about Maclean which have tended to preoccupy the left (e.g. was Maclean’s Scottish Republicanism a pragmatic response to the ebbing of the post-war upsurge or did it represent a prescient grasp of the importance of the national question? Was Maclean’s advocacy of a distinct Scottish Communist Party the basis of his hostility to the nascent Communist Party of Great Britain or was it the other way around?). But if the author does not weigh in on these perennial debates, the book does bring out new material on Maclean’s life which more than justifies its publication. First, Robertson has made skilful use of the newspaper archives of the time – and particularly that of the ‘Glasgow Herald’ – which are now available. This allows him to describe in detail the contemporary impact of Maclean, and more specifically detail the trials for sedition and under the ‘Defence of the Realm Act’ to which he was repeatedly subjected. The best known quote from Maclean comes from one such trial, his famous ‘Speech from the Dock’, delivered at the High Court in Edinburgh in May 1918, with its immortal line “I am not here … as the accused; I am here as the accuser of capitalism dripping with blood from head to foot”, but Robertson’s research also sets out the ‘evidence’ laid against Maclean and highlights the lengths and means by which the authorities attempted to silence him and curb his influence.

Similarly, Robertson’s access to the ’National Archives’ for the relevant period throws new light on Maclean’s significance and just how seriously the establishment took him and the movement he epitomised. In one of the most fascinating sections of the book, Robertson recounts the proceedings of the ‘Imperial War Cabinet’ held shortly after the armistice of 11^th November 1918. The cabinet, which was chaired by Lloyd George, was made of Ministers from the UK, Canada, Australia, and South Africa as well as other leading officials. There were three items on its agenda on the 28^th of November 1918; first, was it possible to prosecute the German Kaiser for war crimes? Second, what arrangements should be made to supply food to the war-torn continent? And third, what should be done about John Maclean, currently serving a term of hard labour in Peterhead Prison, and, more specifically, would it be prudent to release him? A debate ensued in which the pros and cons of releasing Maclean were considered. George Barnes, the Labour Party’s representative in the War Cabinet, supported his release, highlighting that “[t]he continued agitation about John Maclean constitutes a serious danger for the government. Mass meetings have been held in many places, including London, and resolutions continue to pour in demanding his release” while others took the view that he should remain in prison. Of particular concern to the cabinet was the potential impact of releasing Maclean on the political situation in Ireland, and on the continued detention of leading members of Sinn Fein such as Eamon de Valera. As it happened, the Irish authorities expressed no opposition to Maclean’s release, and he was freed on Monday 2^nd December. On his return to Glasgow, thousands of his supporters turned out to see him, his subsequent journey through the Glasgow city centre immortalised in Hamish Henderson’s famous song “The John Maclean March”.

Overall, Great John Maclean Has Come Home to the Clyde is a thorough and valuable addition to the literature on John Maclean. It reminds us of an important period when ‘the Clyde ran Red’ and highlights the mass appeal of Maclean’s revolutionary message. While there are no easy answers for contemporary socialists in Maclean’s story, his emphasis on popular socialist education; on the importance of internationalism and anti-imperialism; on relating to the actual struggles of working class people both in and outwith the workplace; and, finally, his personal example of courage in the face of repression and adversity are all things we can and should learn from. Donald Robertson’s new book should certainly help us do this.

Reviewed by Iain Gault, Donald Robertson’s Great John Maclean Has Come Home to the Clyde is published by Resistance Books and is available here. A collection of Maclean’s writings including this Speech from the Dock is available from the Marxist Internet Archive here.

Donald Robertson was born in Kinlochleven. He co-founded the Australian music and arts magazine Roadrunner, was the first editor of Countdown magazine, and is the author of books about rock music. He lives in Sydney and blogs at roadrunnertwice.com.au.

Despite – or maybe because of – the overall weakness of the far left, there is no shortage of left-wing journals. Many are written by (and for?) academics and whilst these can often be informative and useful, their relevance to the actual struggles of the oppressed and exploited is not always clear. Others focus on more immediate issues but are often restricted to advancing a rather stale and narrow ‘party line’. The existence of a journal which combines topical analysis with political relevance – in an attractive and readable format – is  therefore something to be celebrated. Rupture is one such journal, and the comrades of RISE in Ireland deserve to be warmly congratulated for bringing it out.

The latest number of the journal – Issue 16, Summer 2025 – contains a variety of articles, several of which focus on the so-called ‘culture war’ and on the need for the left to engage with and champion – not avoid or downplay – the struggles of the oppressed. These include a piece by Paul Murphy, TD, responding to a recent book with the somewhat ominous title ‘Class War – Not Culture War’. In this article Murphy warns of the danger of ‘economism’ and reminds us of Lenin’s dictum that, above all, socialists should aspire to be ‘tribunes of the people’. It concludes:

“[t]he working class will not be unified on the basis of a rational appeal to put aside other issues and unite solely on the economic issues – but only on the basis of a consistent struggle against all oppression … [w]e cannot win the class war by abandoning the cultural front”.

Other articles exploring the same theme include ‘Stay Woke’ by Comrade RS; ‘Struggle Outside the Workplace – Women in the Vanguard’ by Jess Spear; and a piece on the need for trans-inclusive feminism by a group of comrades from Anti-Capitalist Resistance.

In addition to the above, the current issue also includes a helpful introduction to the relevance of Gramsci to the development of socialist strategy by a comrade from the USA; an article on the shortcomings of some ‘orthodox’ interpretations of historical materialism; a short piece of creative writing; a review of the popular TV show ‘Severance’; and, finally, an interview with an author of a new book on the political history of rap icon Tupac Shakur.

All in all, the latest issue of Rupture contains some great articles and these alone would justify a subscription but – and this is important too – the physical magazine is also beautifully designed – with lots of charming visuals – and it’s clear that a lot of thought has been put into both its content and its appearance. At a time when many of us get almost all our political content online, the pleasure of a well-produced and attractive journal with good politics shouldn’t been underestimated. Do yourself a favour and get hold of a copy!

Subscriptions to Rupture Magazine including free postage to Scotland, England and Cymru are available here

RISE is an Irish Revolutionary Marxist organisation and a Permanent Observer of the Fourth International.

In the afternoon of Thursday, 18 September, the new, apparently right-wing leadership of CONAIE, Ecuador’s powerful Indigenous movement, bowed to pressure and called an indefinite national strike – in protest at the removal of subsidies for diesel fuel, a move set to almost double the price of most basic necessities overnight.

On Friday morning, President Daniel Noboa announced plans to call a Constitutional Assembly to rewrite the Constitution – he’d been pushing for a series of reforms that would remove or weaken environmental and labour rights enshrined in the progressive Constitution of 2008, and allow him to invite U.S. troops to operate on Ecuadorean soil, supposedly in his ‘war on drugs’.

Late on Friday night, President Noboa sent police to surround and evacuate the Constitutional Court as it deliberated on the constitutionality of his moves – it had recently ruled out of order several of his attempts in this direction.

Ecuador’s social movements immediately called for a mobilisation on Saturday morning in defence of the Constitutional Court.

This latest standoff comes at the end of a week of mounting confrontation between the increasingly far-right government and Ecuador’s social movements, with Indigenous communities in the lead.

Days of protest against a big mining project in southern Ecuador, which threatens the region’s entire ecological balance, especially its water sources, culminated in a huge demonstration on Tuesday. Some 100,000 people marched through Cuenca, the country’s third city. The government was forced to back off, suspending the project at least temporarily, while promising to press ahead with other big mining projects in communities like Palo Quemado and Las Naves, where both resistance and repression have been intense.

In parallel, the government announced the sharp increase in the price of diesel, as part of its deal with the International Monetary Fund. The reaction was similar to that of October 2019, when a fuel price hike triggered an Indigenous-led uprising. Strike action by transport unions was soon joined by Indigenous communities blocking highways and confronting the police. Students marched through the capital, Quito.

Repression has also increased. As the government continues to use its supposed war on drugs to justify its attacks on social movements, there have been gruesome reports of troops torturing detained activists. But the Indigenous movement has also been exercising its significant social power. When secret service agents apparently tried last month to run over Leonidas Iza – the former president of CONAIE and figurehead of radical resistance – they were promptly detained by the local community and submitted to Indigenous Justice, another right protected by the current Constitution. They were not harmed in any way, but they were subjected to several days of close questioning, in the course of which they revealed remarkable details of the security services’ surveillance of social movements, including the use of infiltrators and fake journalists. As a result of the agents’ detention, Leonidas himself is now being charged with kidnapping.

The same Indigenous social power was on display on Thursday when the new President of CONAIE, Marlon Vargas, announced the indefinite nationwide stoppage. With regional stoppages and road blocks spreading in the days before, President Noboa had declared a state of emergency in several provinces. Now, alongside the strike, Marlon Vargas declared a ‘community emergency’, meaning the army and police would not be allowed to enter any Indigenous community or territory.

This represents a significant shift in the balance of forces within the Indigenous movement. Only two months ago, Vargas was elected at the head of a coalition of centrist and overtly right-wing forces, promising to do business with the Noboa government and promote national unity. It seemed like a serious defeat for the radical forces in the Indigenous movement, led by Leonidas Iza. But in recent weeks, reality has undermined that ‘unity’. The Amazonian section of CONAIE, Confeniae, which Vargas once led, and several provincial federations, announced they were breaking off relations with the government. Local communities were already taking direct action.

Events have been unfolding quickly and it is still too early to tell whether the national stoppage will develop into a full-blown rebellion, the third in six years. Much will depend on what happens within the leadership of the Indigenous movement. Nor is it yet clear how far President Noboa – who retains significant support among parts of the population, even though his popularity has fallen – will go in riding roughshod over Ecuador’s already weak democratic institutions. This is not yet a dictatorship, as some on the left have been suggesting. But it may be heading in that direction.

In any case, the people of Ecuador need international solidarity – Now!

Iain Bruce, 20 September 2025