Saturday, August 23, 2025

 

From the atmosphere to the abyss: Iron's role in Earth's climate history




University of Hawaii at Manoa
Deep sea clay cores 

image: 

Red-brown clays recovered from deep sea sediment cores in the Pacific Ocean. 

view more 

Credit: Richard W. Murray






A new study published by researchers at the University of Hawai‘i (UH) at Mānoa sheds light on the critical role of iron in Earth’s climate history, revealing how its sources in the South Pacific Ocean have shifted over the past 93 million years. This groundbreaking research, based on the analysis of deep-sea sediment cores, provides crucial insights into the interplay between iron, marine life, and atmospheric carbon dioxide levels.

Iron is a vital nutrient for marine life and plays a significant role in regulating atmospheric carbon dioxide by influencing the growth of phytoplankton, which absorb carbon dioxide. Although the importance of iron today is well-established, researchers have a limited understanding of how past iron availability may have shaped the marine ecosystem.

To investigate the long-term history of oceanic iron, the researchers meticulously analyzed iron isotopes in three deep-sea sediment cores from the South Pacific, far removed from continental influences.

"Over the past 93 million years, we found that five primary sources of iron have influenced the South Pacific Ocean: dust, iron from far off ocean sources, two distinct hydrothermal sources, and a volcanic ash," explained Logan Tegler, the lead author and oceanography postdoctoral researcher in the UH Mānoa School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology. "These sources shifted over time as the sites gradually migrated away from mid-ocean ridges."

The study revealed an evolution in iron supply: initially, hydrothermal sources were the dominant source, but dust gradually took over, becoming the primary contributor around 30 million years ago. 

Iron's influence on the ecosystem, carbon removal

“Understanding this historical context helps us comprehend how iron has shaped ecosystems,” said Tegler. “It also raises questions about how the iron cycle might have favored certain microbes over others—an ecosystem with persistently low iron could favor microbes adapted to survive under iron-limited conditions, such as diatoms.”

In many regions of the Pacific Ocean, iron availability limits the growth of phytoplankton, thereby limiting the amount of carbon dioxide removed from the atmosphere. 

“Modern dust deposition in the South Pacific is extremely low," said Tegler. “However, our findings surprisingly suggest that the South Pacific is currently receiving more dust than it has at any point in the last 90 million years, which is remarkable given its current reputation as an iron poor region!”

This study sheds light on iron cycling across the broader Pacific basin and enhances understanding of how essential nutrients like iron shape ocean ecosystems and climate over millions of years. 

“As human activities increase iron input to the oceans through industrial emissions and biomass burning, understanding past perturbations of the iron cycle is crucial for predicting and mitigating adverse effects,” added Tegler. 


Ocean surface

Credit

Brenda Clarke

 

Source: Originally published by Z. Feel free to share widely.

The Middle East today is witnessing a transformation that goes far beyond conventional geopolitics or the competition for oil. One of the most urgent yet underexplored dimensions of its crisis is the question of water, which has increasingly become both a scarce commodity and a weapon in the hands of states and non-state actors alike. According to the Pacific Institute, in 2023 alone there were roughly 350 conflicts worldwide linked directly to water, and the Middle East, particularly Palestine, accounted for a disproportionate share of these incidents. This reality is not accidental. It reflects the way global climate change intersects with regional inequalities, colonial structures, and authoritarian governance to create a cycle of violence where access to water itself becomes a matter of survival, control, and domination.

For decades, international observers focused on energy as the main axis of power in the Middle East. But as climate patterns shift, it is water that increasingly defines the possibilities of stability or conflict. Israel’s control over Palestinian aquifers and its systematic restriction of water access in Gaza and the West Bank is a striking example of how resource management is turned into an instrument of collective punishment. For Palestinians, the denial of water is not simply a matter of inconvenience; it is a violation of their most basic human right, used deliberately to weaken their social fabric and impose dependency. In this sense, water becomes no different from a siege or a blockade: it is a tool of war under another name.

The instrumentalization of water is not confined to Palestine. In Iraq and Syria, dams on the Tigris and Euphrates have repeatedly been manipulated by regional powers and armed groups to gain leverage over civilian populations. The deliberate flooding or drying of entire areas has been used both as a tactical weapon and as a form of coercion against communities already devastated by decades of war and sanctions. In North Africa, the tensions between Ethiopia, Egypt, and Sudan over the Grand Renaissance Dam reveal how water disputes are reshaping the geopolitics of the Nile basin. These examples highlight a pattern that is not unique to one country but characteristic of the entire region: water is increasingly governed not as a shared resource but as an instrument of power, deployed in ways that exacerbate fragility and deepen mistrust.

Overlaying these conflicts is the accelerating impact of climate change. The Middle East is warming faster than many other regions, and prolonged droughts are already destabilizing entire societies. In Syria, a decade of severe drought preceding the outbreak of civil war played a major role in driving rural populations toward cities, where state neglect and economic desperation created fertile ground for unrest. In Iran, recurring protests over water shortages reveal how ecological stress translates directly into political instability. In Yemen, the depletion of groundwater has compounded the devastation of war and famine, pushing communities into cycles of displacement and despair. These are not isolated events; they are symptoms of a systemic crisis in which the environment is no longer a neutral background but an active driver of conflict.

From the perspective of the Global South, the crisis of water in the Middle East cannot be separated from broader patterns of structural inequality in the international system. Just as natural resources such as oil or minerals have long been subjected to forms of colonial extraction, water too has been folded into systems of control shaped by external powers and neoliberal institutions. Privatization schemes, often promoted by global financial institutions, commodify access to water and place it in the hands of corporate actors whose logic of profit directly contradicts the principle of universal human rights. For vulnerable populations in Gaza, Basra, or Sana’a, the question is not merely ecological but profoundly political: who controls the flow of life itself?

The human cost of these dynamics is staggering. Water scarcity strikes hardest at the most vulnerable children, women, refugees, and the poor who bear the brunt of disease, malnutrition, and displacement. When families must choose between buying water or food, the very notion of human dignity is stripped away. In refugee camps across the region, inadequate water supply is linked to rising health crises, while urban populations face soaring prices as corporations exploit scarcity. To speak of water in the Middle East is therefore to speak of justice, of whose lives are considered expendable in a system that treats water as a weapon rather than as a shared right.

At the same time, the weaponization of water reveals a profound moral failure of the international community. Global powers that once justified their interventions in the Middle East with rhetoric about human rights remain silent when basic rights are violated through the denial of water. This silence reflects a double standard in which ecological violence is normalized when it serves geopolitical interests. It also underscores how little regard is given to the voices of the Global South, where communities consistently insist that climate justice cannot be divorced from political justice. To demand fair access to water is to demand a reordering of priorities that places human survival above strategic advantage.

The irony of the current moment is that while the West proclaims its commitment to universal values, it is in fact the countries of the Global South that articulate a more compelling vision of planetary justice. In Latin America, Africa, and Asia, movements have emerged insisting that water is a commons, inseparable from human dignity and beyond the logic of commodification. This resonates deeply in the Middle East, where communities understand that peace cannot be built on pipelines of oil or weapons, but only on the guarantee that every person can drink, irrigate, and live without fear of thirst. Such a vision requires not only local cooperation but also a radical shift in global governance, one that dismantles the structures of environmental colonialism and affirms water as a fundamental right.

The Middle East stands today at a crossroads where climate change, conflict, and inequality converge. If water continues to be treated as a weapon, the region will face not only deeper wars but also the erosion of any possibility of trust among its peoples. Yet the very urgency of this crisis also opens a space for a new discourse one that reframes water not as an object of control but as a foundation for coexistence. To imagine such a future is not naïve; it is the only realistic response to a world where climate shocks are intensifying and old paradigms of power are collapsing. For those of us in the Global South, the lesson is clear: the struggle for justice in the twenty-first century is inseparable from the struggle for water. To defend the right to water is to defend the possibility of peace, dignity, and life itself.Email

Peiman Salehi is a political analyst based in Tehran. His writing focuses on resistance narratives, multipolarity, and the crisis of liberalism.

 

Source: Ojalá

The milpa (a food garden based around maize crops that relies on ancestral techniques), the community kitchen, and assembly halls are places of learning for people of all ages in the Yucatán Peninsula, in southern Mexico.

On May 3, the Autonomous iik’naj Cultural Center was inaugurated in the city of Ticul, Yucatán. The Center combines all three vital learning spaces—milpa, kitchen, and assembly hall—in hopes of becoming a place people can gather, reflect, and share ideas and artistic tools and techniques. The most important goal is to strengthen our Mayan identity.

The inauguration began with the “Chon Bolometik” exhibition, by Tzotzil Maya artist Carlos Miguel Guayampat’z. Then there was a screening of the short film Kool which was created by the Assembly of Defenders of the Mayan Territory, Múuch’ Xíimbal (We Walk Together). We sold books by Mixtec writer Francisco López Bárcenas, as well as stickers, paintings, prints, T-shirts, and notebooks.

In terms of its operation, the iik’naj Cultural Center is a self-sustaining and autonomous space. We have held photography workshops for children and adults, and all activities are carried out on a voluntary basis: participants contribute what they can according to their means. Maybe it’s corn, an iswaj (sweet or savory tortilla), an arepa (sweet tortilla), an atole (drink), pumpkin seeds, fruit, or whatever they wish to share with others.

The first fruits are shared in a big celebration where all beings who made the harvest possible come together in Buctzotz, Yucatán. A girl takes roasted corn from the table that was previously shared with the Yuum (guardians). Photo © Haizel de la Cruz.

Learning together

In the milpa, we learn that a small corn plant can germinate, but first it must be welcomed and supported by the earth, the rain, and the sun, who help it poke out of the soil. We learn that our relationship with nature is familial, and our values are strengthened through sight, sound, voice, and memory. Through this space, we hope to sow a seed (i’inaj, iik’naj), so that our dignity and identity can flourish, and our close relationship with nature can be strengthened.

The word i’inaj translates as seed. But Mayan poet Pedro Uc suggests that it comes from the words iik’ (wind) and Naj (house). 

Iik’naj is what really makes sense, iik’+naj, (wind, energy, life + house), and for the Mayan farmer, for the sower, for the Mayan community, a seed is a house of energy, a house for all of life,” Uc told me. “A seed is like to us, like our living body. We are houses of energy, of breath, of life.”

In the kitchen, we make fire, which offers us its flames, its heat, its strength, its intensity, its boldness—that daring spirit we have as children and teenagers when we contemplate the life that lies before us. Over time, that fire gradually subsides, or rather, it is gradually extinguished by others.

We share our thoughts around the kitchen hearth, and talk about the concerns facing our community. The iik’naj Cultural Center aims to keep a flame burning that can give us hope in the face of the fire of adversity, to feed our hearth with wood from the jabín tree.

Assemblies are gatherings of diverse people. There are trees surrounding the Center, and beneath them, in the shade, children, women, men, our grandmothers, grandfathers, dogs, chickens, birds, and even pigs gather. Everyone comes to listen, give their opinion, ponder, and discuss. This space aims to be a forum for dialogue, not to impose a single discourse, but to build one together with our vision, our thoughts, and our Mayan dignity.

Pumpkin harvest in Buctzotz, Yucatán. Photo © Haizel de la Cruz.

The principles of autonomous culture

The iik’naj Cultural Center has five main pillars. First, all activities should be focused on strengthening our Mayan identity and autonomy. Second, the space is independent; it is not a civil association, much less a space funded by political parties. Third, no religion is promoted: our space is not guided by proselytizing or sectarian aims.

Fourth, the Center fosters and defends our relationship with the land, our wisdom, our festivities, our history, our faith, our culture, and our arts. Defending our territory is defending our Mayan way of life.

And finally, the space actively promotes defending our rights as Mayan communities, be it through organizing, legal action, public actions and protests seeking to build toward those rights. This is especially important in the face of land theft and threats like genetically modified soybean monoculture, pig farms, high-impact tourism, wind and photovoltaic energy, the misnamed Mayan train, the Heineken brewery, and a retirement home for the Secretary of Defense in Bacalar.

We urgently need to condemn these incursions in our territory through our art.

The ears of corn with the largest kernels are picked to select the seeds that will be sown the following year in Buctzotz, Yucatán. Photo © Haizel de la Cruz.

For Mayan life

As Mayan women and men, we have a unique perspective on reality. We listen to nature, its sounds, its forms, its space, its language, its organization. Our outlook, and way of life, is Mayan.

When large-scale projects harm nature, they hurt everyone: in Mayan thinking, life is shared among all beings who inhabit the earth, and our relationship is one of family and communion. The iik’naj Center aims to strengthen that Mayan perspective—to see ourselves in it and recognize the meaning of our struggle, and why we fight for our land. And of course, to reflect on the meaning of our land through conversations, workshops, and exhibitions.

We are committed to art because we believe it is a key aspect of social struggle. In art, we see nature in all its forms and intricacies—that is the Mayan perspective.

It hurts us when nature is threatened. That is when we use art as a critical tool for protest. At the iik’naj Autonomous Cultural Center, we believe there can be no Mayan art without Mayan territory.

The photos accompanying this article are from the series Meeyjul Kool, created by the the author and taken in 2019 and 2020 in a community called Buctzotz (House of the bat), in the northeast of the state of Yucatán.

Haizel de la Cruz is a Mayan photographer and member of the Assembly of Defenders of the Mayan Territory Múuch’ Xíimbal. She’s the founder of the Centro Cultural Autónomo iik’naj.

Haizel de la Cruz is a Mayan photographer and member of the Assembly of Defenders of the Mayan Territory Múuch' Xíimbal. She’s the founder of the Centro Cultural Autónomo iik’naj.

Source: Originally published by Z. Feel free to share widely.

[This article is part of a short debate series on Marxism and its relevance for left resistance in today’s challenging geopolitical and ecological climate, and for the continuing effort to win a better world beyond immediate crises. A previous ZNetwork article written by Michael Albert, entitled Should Our Resistance Enrich or Transcend Marxism?, was the catalyst for the debate, and the subsequent articles use this one as their jumping off point. You can see the whole debate series here.]


It is a difficult task responding my friend, Michael Albert’s recent polemic against Marxism.  His lengthy look at the weaknesses of Marxism essentially repeats, and somewhat edits, critiques that he has offered over the years.  The opening is very engaging and correctly demolishes the politics-by-quotation that so often traps leftists of varying stripes in a time warp.  Had Michael stopped there I would have found the paper extremely useful and one that can be an instrument in awakening leftists of all ages to the necessity to always and in every case, make a concrete analysis of concrete conditions.  Michael, however, does not stop there and proceeds to enter into a lengthy critique of Marxism itself.  It is not entirely clear as to why he has chosen now to make/remake/rearticulate his historic differences with Marxism.

When asked to write a reply to Michael Albert’s essay I had to pause.  A total response would be book length.  So, my response, as it were, will be both a reaffirmation of Marxism, but understood within the context of what was first identified as the “crisis of Marxism,” and has come to be known as the “crisis of socialism.”

Entering the path towards Marxism

I ‘fell in love with Marxism’ three times.  In each case this was the result of a political problem or challenge that I encountered which I had difficulty resolving.

The first time was as a result of my exposure to the radical movements of the 1960s, movements both domestic and foreign, that were confronting imperialism, colonialism and neo-colonialism, male supremacy, and what I would later identify as social-imperialism (what many think of as post-capitalist, Soviet bloc societies that were, in effect, never able to break free of capitalism).  I noticed that the leading forces in these myriad struggles identified with one or another variant of Marxism and saw within Marxism both a source of inspiration but also tools towards liberation.

Admittedly, as a young activist, I was gripped by levels of romanticism, myth, and one-dimensional thinking.  I was ready to believe rather than fully study and question.  In time I fortunately found myself within a setting of Marxists (who came out of what has sense been known as the “Maoist” movement—though we did not use that term) who had an approach to Marxism that asked questions and was focused on building power for the oppressed.  This setting saved me from falling prey to dogmatism and sectarianism, and, indeed, despair.

Yet what was it, after all of the applause and chants, that made sense about Marxism?  As much as Michael Albert wishes to ridicule the notion of dialectics it was, for me…dialectics.  It was the notion that “contradiction”, the unity of opposites, the lack of purity of any phenomenon in nature, the lack of an inevitable resolution (besides death), and the notion that contradictions can—and must—be handled in different ways depending on the actual conditions within which one is operating.  The symbol of the “yin” and “yang” is imprinted in my consciousness.

Dialectics became very important in appreciating the need for strategy and the recognition that at any particular moment, there is a principal battle that must be fought but it is never the only battle.  To go forward with that analogy, and borrowing from the thinking of French Marxist Louis Althusser, every battle is a collection of additional battles and skirmishes, or what Althusser described as a situation being “overdetermined.”  Putting it another way, there are no pure contradictions between two opposing forces in large part because there are no pure forces in the first place.

The summation of this understanding of dialectics helped me think through not only matters of strategy and tactics, but also, on a global level, the rise and decline of the October Revolution and the formation of the Soviet Union.  Contradictions inherent in a phenomenon and how they were addressed or not.  Dialectics also helped me understand that history is not a one-way street but is one where U-turns, left turns, right turns, stalling, etc.,   can and frequently are made depending on the depth and nature of the contradictions that are encountered.

Forcing myself to think

In the early 1990s, with the collapse of the Soviet bloc and the clear indications that China was on a national capitalist road, despite myself I stopped wanting to think.  I noticed this tendency among many other leftists.  Yes, there were those that abandoned left politics altogether, but the more prevalent tendency was a form of ceasing to think, at least ceasing to think about the big picture; a turning inward.

For me, the early 1990s brought with it a significant plunge into the national (and later, global) trade union movement.  Particularly when I was working for the Service Employees International Union, I felt settled and engaged.  I was in a union that was making history and within which there were many leftists occupying a variety of roles.  The union was growing, and it was addressing significant issues facing the US working class and I had a great team with which I was working.

And then one morning I awakened and realized two things.  One, I was on course to becoming a reformist.  Not a reformist ideologically, but in practice.  I continued to adhere to my larger Marxist beliefs, but I was not thinking through or significantly acting upon a radical politics that went beyond the trade union sphere.

Two, I realized there were a series of questions that were facing progressive and left movements around the world that were simply not being addressed, to my satisfaction, by non-Marxist or even semi-Marxist progressives, despite their best efforts.  It was at this moment that I fell back in love with Marxism.  As I have described it in the past, it was the feeling of reconnecting with an old lover, one you may have been with for a long time, and one that you now realize you have taken for granted.

The Cold War had ended, and neoliberal globalization was riding high.  The crisis of socialism was hammering Left movements, and there was a retreat underway in many sectors.  It was not just the collapse of the Soviet bloc or even the curious development of China.  Previously left and anti-imperialist parties, movements, and nation-states were capitulating to neoliberal globalization and praying at the altar of social democracy having lost any real sense of the nature of a Left project in the late 20th century/early 21st century.  In that context I realized that I needed answers, or at least to seek out those who were addressing these various quandaries.  I found myself actively seeking out the work of Marxists, such as the late Samir Amin; reading Monthly Review and the Socialist Register; and engaging with those who were grappling with a changing world.  This included individuals, organizations and parties that appeared to be asking the right questions, e.g., Refundacion Comunista in Italy, the South African Communist Party, the Brazilian Workers Party, and were willing, at least in part, to commit a little heresy in the name of facing reality.

At that moment Marxism provided a lens to examine the expansion of capitalism into neoliberal globalization and, in the opinion of some of us, the growth of a transnational capitalist class.  It was also a moment to examine more closely the failures of the Left in the 20th century.  If there is one significant component of Michael’s essay it is a call for a blunt examination of the socialist (and, indeed Left) experience in the 20th century.

The crisis of socialism involves both the challenges faced in the advanced capitalist world in constructing a strategy that can put us on the socialist road, but it also involves the actual experiences of countries that have claimed to be on the socialist road.   That socialism-in-power did not start in the advanced capitalist states is a recognized truism with the resulting complications, such as underdevelopment of the productive forces.  That socialist states faced the ferocious retribution from the capitalist states is as obvious as it is denied by the capitalist states when they point at the experience of the formerly (or allegedly) socialist states.  The crisis of socialism resulted in a situation that some comrades of mine would describe as being, the masses may hate capitalism, but they fear socialism.

The Soviet experience forced the entirety of the revolutionary Left to grapple with a concrete circumstance of what to do—and not do—when a revolutionary force claiming to represent the working class—and the oppressed populations—has taken power.  In the 21st century it is easy to forget the tremendous global excitement resulting from the October Revolution.  It was an excitement not only in the advanced capitalist world but in the colonial and semi-colonial world, as revolutionaries saw an opportunity to break the imperialist chain, and ultimately to break imperialism.

Yet quickly questions emerged.  Beyond rebuilding a country devasted by civil war, what, precisely, is the socialist road?  How should internal contradictions be resolved?  How should decisions be made on any number of questions?  What should ‘worker power’ mean in the real world?  Should all of the formerly Russian-oppressed nations within the new Union of Soviet Socialist Republics have genuine national self-determination?  How should national chauvinism be challenged?  How should gender roles be altered/liberated resulting in genuine emancipation?  What should be the relationship between the USSR and countries and peoples around the world grappling with the complexity of confronting their own oppressors?  And this is only in the context of the USSR, not to mention the myriad questions emerging from socialist and anti-imperialist struggles around the world.

These are the sorts of questions that not only faced the USSR, but in many ways continued to face every experiment attempting to embark on the socialist road.  The importance of answering these questions is that it gets one beyond an examination of the personality or psychology of any one individual or any one individual party leadership.  Each one of these questions must be globally contextualized, not in order to diminish the importance of the question(s) but in order to help one grapple soberly with the choices that were made, and the possibilities that may have been ignored.

Daring to face the Gorgon

An examination of these questions goes way beyond the scope of this essay but it has been these questions that started to get serious engagement in the 1990s and have continued to this day, except that some who have faced these questions have, in ideological fear, turned to stone terrified by the possible answers.  This takes us to the third moment of falling in love with Marxism, a moment both exciting and troubling.

I felt the change in the early 2000s.  After what appeared to be an openness to asking tough questions, there was a noticeable slowing down if not retreat.  Although there was clear evidence of this tendency in 1989 in the wake of the Tiananmen Massacre in Beijing, and the response by some on the Left to support the crackdown on dissent in the name of defending socialism, the early 2000s  brought with it the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks, the so-called War Against Terror, the invasion of Iraq and the hubris of US imperialism.  The aggressiveness of US imperialism was obvious, and various efforts were undertaken by the USA and its allies to, once again, subvert progressive and democratic efforts around the world at social transformation and national sovereignty. 

It was in that context that Marxism and the laws of contradiction became especially important and, often, painful, particularly the notion elaborated upon by Mao Zedong of “one divides into two.”  To clarify, Mao argues there is no pure entity and that within any entity there are contradictions unfolding that, along with external conditions, influence the future of that entity.  Where there is unity, in other words, there will be differences or contradictions, the resolution(s) of which will shape the evolved entity.  And, as a result of those contradictions, the ‘entity’ may split.  Though this formulation has sometimes been used opportunistically to justify sectarianism, it is very useful in recognizing that all unity is temporary and that unity must always be fought for rather than simply announced.  It is also useful in refuting the notion that the breakdown in unity is largely the result of this or that opportunist rather than examining deeper concerns and contradictions.

Leftists around the world were increasingly confronting regimes and parties that, at an earlier period, had claimed the mantle of progress, if not being explicitly revolutionary, socialist, etc.  Yet, in the context of the rise of neoliberal globalization and the crisis of socialism, the rhetorical and practical stance of many of those same parties and regimes rang hollow…at best.

Though this hollowing out or division within the socialist and anti-imperialist Left was in clear evidence in the context of the Tiananmen Square massacre, further events made the growing gap increasingly apparent.  For me, personally, it hit the fan in the context of the brutal repression unleashed by the regime of the late Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe.  Mugabe, a well-known leader of a major anti-imperialist struggle that ended white minority rule in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe, had increasingly cracked down on opposition, all while proclaiming his revolutionary bonafides.  Much of the left denied evidence of Mugabe’s repressive side seen in the early 1980s, let alone his embrace of structural adjustment.  When he opportunistically united with liberation war veterans demanding land redistribution, he used this in order to wrap himself in the nationalist flag and condemn all those who opposed him as agents of imperialism.  This was remarkably reminiscent of the approach taken by Ayatollah Khomeini in Iran when students took US diplomatic personnel hostage.  It became a means to isolate and smash opponents.

The debates surrounding Mugabe were followed by similar such debates coming to a head in 2011 with the so-called Arab Spring uprisings.  The basic question revolved around when is dissent and open opposition permissible against regimes that claim to be socialist or anti-imperialist?  The rift within the Left—one divides into two—was more and more in evidence as some leftists chose to identify any regime that was in opposition to Western imperialism as being progressive, or at a minimum, worthy of support.  The nature of the regime and what it was conducting vis a vis its own people was to be ignored in such formulations.  Thus, the uprisings against tyrants in Tunisia and Egypt were to be supported, whereas uprisings against Qaddafi in Libya and Assad in Syria were to be condemned as pro-imperialist because the latter two regimes laid claims to being anti-imperialist!  Regardless of the internal contractions with regard to those latter two states, the formal claim to anti-imperialism and secularism was to be accepted without question and seen as the sole criteria of truth.

In returning to Marxism, one finds a central theme until the rise of the Stalin group in the USSR.  The theme is summarized in the slogan: workers and oppressed people of the world, unite!  Note, it does not say oppressed regimes hated by imperialists.  It lays at the foundation the notion of workers and oppressed peoples of the world.  Practicing the implications of this slogan demands a concrete analysis of concrete conditions.  To put it another way, a sober and accurate analysis of the conjuncture.  Who are the forces on the ground?  What is the nature of the regime?  What facts are we grounding our analysis upon?

This return to Marxism was not, for me, only a matter of the international situation, as important as that was, e.g., the need to oppose the Russian invasion of Ukraine.  It had a direct impact on how one understands and responds to the actual situation in the USA over the last 40+ years.  

The repression of progressive social movements in the late 1960s and early 1970s contributed to a strategic paralysis across the board.  While there were certainly progressive victories, the growth of the so-called New Right, spoke to a major counterattack against the forces of progress.  This was more than the overused term “offensive of capital.”  It represented a fusion of segments of anti-democratic capital along with reactionary social movements that have sought to ‘repeal’ the victories of the 20th century.

Though Michael is correct that, within Marxism, there are currents that are deterministic, an accurate reading of Marxism at its core demonstrates anti-determinism.  In other words, and contrary to Stalin, there is no inevitable path in human development.  Capitalism did not necessarily need to follow feudalism/tributary societies, and there is no inevitability in socialism or communism.  There are different scenarios or possibilities that can unfold depending on the nature of the class struggle and the struggles of the oppressed as a whole.  Determinism, which is actually an enemy of Marxism, precisely led to the ridiculous notion held by the Communist Party of Germany (KPD) of “after Hitler us,” i.e., an expectation that the Nazis would demonstrate their charlatan nature and the road would then be open to the socialists and communists.  History played itself out in a very different way.

Many left currents in the USA could not conceive of the possibility—short of a military coup—that a rightwing populist mass movement could emerge and evolve into a fascist movement, and begin the process of destroying most of, if not all of, what millions of people had fought for over the last 100+ years.  These same segments of the Left also failed—and we see this every day—to appreciate that in order to combat the forces of darkness, there is an essential need for a broad front opposing the far Right.  Again, returning to dialectics, one is asked, what is the principal contradiction at this moment?  And, who are the forces that must be arrayed to resolve that principal contradiction to the benefit of subaltern classes and social movements?

While there are many on the Left who will use Marxist language to justify purist politics and inaction, treating that as Marxism is the equivalent of treating a pyromaniac as being the equivalent of a forest worker clearing dead underbrush in a forest.  Thus, it is a red herring to even suggest that proponents of purism should be treated as practitioners of Marxism.

Dialectics can help one examine and appreciate the strengths and weaknesses of one’s opponents as well as one’s own forces.  This is the key to the development of strategy and was the practice of some of the greatest revolutionaries of the last 100+ years.  In this sense, Marxism proves its relevance again and again as long as one appreciates that the practice of Marxism is not the repetition of formulations by Marx, Engels, Lenin, etc., ad nauseum.  Except in one case: “The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways.  The point, however, is to change it.” [Karl Marx, Theses on Feuerbach, 1845]Email

avatar

Bill Fletcher Jr (born 1954) has been an activist since his teen years. Upon graduating from college he went to work as a welder in a shipyard, thereby entering the labor movement. Over the years he has been active in workplace and community struggles as well as electoral campaigns. He has worked for several labor unions in addition to serving as a senior staffperson in the national AFL-CIO. Fletcher is the former president of TransAfrica Forum; a Senior Scholar with the Institute for Policy Studies; and in the leadership of several other projects. Fletcher is the co-author (with Peter Agard) of “The Indispensable Ally: Black Workers and the Formation of the Congress of Industrial Organizations, 1934-1941”; the co-author (with Dr. Fernando Gapasin) of “Solidarity Divided: The crisis in organized labor and a new path toward social justice“; and the author of “‘They’re Bankrupting Us’ – And Twenty other myths about unions.” Fletcher is a syndicated columnist and a regular media commentator on television, radio and the Web.