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Live Aid was forty years ago. Today, we are haunted once again by the images of starving children (and now, starving adults) in Gaza. But this time, it doesn’t seem to register. No concerts. No campaigns. No national reckoning. Why? Because the system can only process suffering when it’s stripped of politics. Ethiopia’s famine was framed as fate. Gaza’s is a siege, and Britain is complicit. That’s the difference.
Alexander Dugin has declared the Istanbul peace talks “meaningless theatre” and announced the arrival of “total war.” He wants Russia (not just its army, but its soul) put on a permanent war footing.
Frank Furedi claims the public has been silenced, while shouting from the pages of the Daily Mail. What he’s really mourning is the loss of uncontested dominance: the fantasy of a Britain where dissent means agreeing with him. This isn’t analysis, it’s a staged panic, designed to justify repression and launder far-right talking points as common sense. Britain isn’t a tinderbox. But pieces like this are trying hard to make it one.
Kemi Badenoch wants to be Britain’s Javier Milei. Let that sink in.
The protests outside migrant hotels aren’t spontaneous. They are engineered. Stoked by far-right groups, amplified by the right-wing press, and legitimised by political cowardice, what we’re witnessing is a strategic campaign to turn fear into power. When the police protect anti-racists, it’s called provocation. When the far right throws bottles, it’s “community concern.” The hotels are just the excuse. The real target is the idea that Britain could ever belong to all of us.
They tell us the crisis is caused by desperate people in dinghies, not decades of housing policy that turned homes into investment vehicles. But the truth is, Britain is not short of houses, its just full of landlords, speculators, and empty properties waiting to make someone rich.
While far right mobs are framed as “concerned locals”, anti-fascists are treated as the threat. The police escort becomes the scandal, not the fact that far-right demonstrators are being allowed to dominate England’s streets with near impunity. When the media sides with the mob, resistance is rebranded as provocation.
When Reform UK’s justice spokesperson declared she would “much rather see a great big strapping male police officer with a female,” she wasn’t just airing a preference. Pochin was laying out a worldview. One where women are too vulnerable to patrol alone, too soft for frontline work, and too inconvenient to be equal. As under Trump, so under Farage: the creeping politics of patriarchy, where power is always male, and women are tolerated only if they stay in their place.
There’s no mystery here. The American empire, bloated and decayed, has finally started eating itself, and Musk is just the latest tech-cult billionaire to turn state side destruction into spectacle.
Trump’s return to power signals not just a political shift but a profound restructuring of the American state—one that fuses corporate power with authoritarian governance. This transformation, driven by figures like Elon Musk and the influence of think tanks such as the Heritage Foundation, represents the latest stage in capital’s ongoing march towards unaccountable dominance.
The transition is complete. The bureaucracy is being purged, executive orders rain down like decrees from a throne, and opposition is branded treasonous. The state is no longer a neutral machine for capitalist management—it is becoming an instrument of direct class war. Trump’s second term is not simply a rerun of his first; it is something darker, more disciplined, more openly repressive. The threats against political enemies are no longer bluster—they are policy. The FBI and CIA are being reshaped in his image, turned from institutions of surveillance into enforcers of ideological loyalty. Official diktats appear not just in government memos but on X, where Musk, the regime’s favoured oligarch, polls his Twitler Youth on whom to exile next. The question is no longer whether American democracy is eroding but whether we are watching its final transformation into something else entirely. Neoliberalism is collapsing, and in its ruins, a new order is emerging. The only question is: what kind?
Picture a once-mighty empire, stripped to its underwear. Once hailed for its democratic values and global reach, the United States now staggers beneath the weight of its own contradictions—its institutions hollowed out, its alliances squandered, its climate left to burn. In the aftermath of a second Trump presidency, what was once dismissed as political theatre has morphed into a crisis so profound that even the most reluctant observers must confront the truth: the old order cannot endure.
The assassination attempt on Donald Trump has spotlighted a troubling paradox: why do liberal institutions and figures often defend fascist politicians, even when these politicians espouse values antithetical to liberalism? This article delves into the inherent contradictions within liberalism that lead it to shield authoritarian figures like Trump, arguing that these actions reveal a deeper alignment with capitalist interests and a fear of revolutionary change.
From the cult-like following of visionaries like Elon Musk to the polarising influence of figures such as Donald Trump, we explore how the digital age’s most prominent personalities contribute to and thrive within the ever-evolving spectacle that captivates and divides our global society.
For better or for worse, this trial is a moment of reckoning for the American people.