Accelerationism
Trump, Land, Dugin
Trump is not Land’s monarch nor Dugin’s tsar. He is their degraded symptom: the parody of a fascist synthesis of technology and tradition, replayed in the register of meme stock and casino populism.
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Trump is not Land’s monarch nor Dugin’s tsar. He is their degraded symptom: the parody of a fascist synthesis of technology and tradition, replayed in the register of meme stock and casino populism.
From PwC’s colour-coded attendance dashboard to HSBC’s biometric checkpoints and the rise of Algorithmic Affect Management, the new wave of “bossware” represents less an innovation than the latest stage in capital’s long history of making workers legible. What began with the factory bell and the punch clock now extends to our faces, moods, and keystrokes.
Zarah Sultana’s interview in Sidecar captures the anger at Labour’s complicity in genocide and austerity, but it risks becoming another broad reformist project, haunted by the ghosts of Corbynism—vulnerable to sect capture, parliamentary illusions, and the same popular-front logic that has historically disarmed the working class.
Nigel Farage’s TikTok wunderkind wants us to imagine a Britain that never fought Hitler, kept its colonies, and models itself on Bukele’s prison state. This is not contrarianism; it is fascist nostalgia dressed up as common sense.
Alexander Dugin calls the Trump–Putin summit in Anchorage “splendid,” insisting the US and Russia must find an “understanding as superpowers.” The problem is that this fantasy of bipolar order flatters two declining states while obscuring the real forces shaping the 21st century.
With armed red-state troops patrolling a blue city, Trump is not protecting Washington; he is rehearsing the mechanics of civil war.
Every August, the right reheats its old contempt for higher education. Their complaint is not about debt or “Mickey Mouse” degrees, it is about closing the gates of knowledge, keeping universities for the dominant class and consigning everyone else to warehouses and call centres.
The AI revolution isn’t ushering in a working-class revival. It’s dragging the middle class into the same precarity the rest of us have always lived with.
Michel Houellebecq’s Annihilation is a novel about the end of things: not apocalypse, not collapse, but the quieter, lonelier ruin of meaning in a technocratic capitalism that no longer pretends to offer hope.
A short, unsentimental novel about fast-food labour and family life, On the Clock shows how work seeps into everything, even the holidays meant to offer escape.
A Minister for Men cannot rebuild the infrastructures of solidarity that were torn apart by decades of neoliberal consensus.
In the face of Andrew Tate’s return and his seductive brand of toxic capitalism, the left urgently needs to offer more than critique, we need a strategy to win back the young men he preys upon.
As the 40th anniversary of the divisive 1984 UK miners’ strike approaches, this post explores the passionate but vanishing working class solidarity that defined the dispute, contrasting it with the current decaying state of British politics.
Simon Pearson argues that Marxists must revive class-based language and analysis of capitalism’s exploitation to connect today’s diverse struggles against inequality and build mass working class power.
May Day, a day of struggle and sacrifice, a day of hope and defiance, a day for the working class.
In a Guardian article today, Matthew Goodwin, an academic on British politics, identifies three key hurdles that the Labour Party must overcome to regain electoral success: reconnecting with the working class, addressing concerns about immigration, and navigating the rise of populism. Goodwin’s opinions are particularly relevant as his new book, “Values, Voice and Virtue: The New British Politics,” is set to be released on Thursday.
