I.
The notebooks of Victor Serge, revolutionary, novelist and journalist, provide this example of how the radicals we need differ from the ones we are often stuck with:
13 September 1944. Second meeting of the Commission of independent socialists to study the political document drafted by Marceau Pivert, Gironella and Wilebaldo Solano. It is a kind of rudimentary Communist Manifesto, rehashing all the old phrases of that genre. I criticize it harshly—thinking that texts of this sort can do nothing but discredit the handful of men who take responsibility for them. They listen to me with interest and silent resentment. . .I say that the state has changed its nature and is no longer the armed body of one class for the domination of another, as Engels had it, with the exception of the totalitarian regimes; the modern state is also the organization of communications, of schools, of public health, etc. Indignation of Pivert, Gironella, Jean Malaquais: for a moment, I sense that they might cry treason! . . . .
My theses: that this war differs profoundly from that of 1914–18, of which it is the successor, and that it notably involves aspects of an international civil war (strong objections from Pivert). That the economic structure of the world has changed, traditional capitalism giving way to a planned economy, thus with a collectivist bent, which could be that of monopolies, of totalitarian parties—or of democracies of a new type, if they succeeded in coming into being (strong objections from Pivert). That the defeats of European socialism are not solely attributable to the inadequacy of leaders, although that is of some significance, but can be better explained in terms of the decline of the working class and of socialism as a result of modern technology—chronic unemployment, declassing of the jobless, tremendous increase in the productive capacity of machines, with less human labour required; greater influence of technicians. (Pivert rejects the entirety of these views without attempting to refute them; to speak of the weakening of the working class as a class appears sacrilegious to all; what can I do if it is the truth? A good Old Bolshevik, one of those who expelled and imprisoned us only to go before the firing squads themselves, would have given me this answer: there is no truth that can prevail over the interests of the party.)
That we are being carried along by the current of an immense revolution, but that the Russian Revolution will not repeat itself except in episodes of secondary importance. That socialism must renounce all ideas of dictatorship and of working-class hegemony and make itself the representative of the great masses among whom a socialistic consciousness is germinating, obscure and without doctrinal jargon. That the essential thing for the immediate future will be the restoration of traditional democratic rights, precondition for the rebirth of the workers’ and socialist movement; that we must try to break out of the void we are now in, to seek out the support and sympathy of the democratic masses wherever they are, make ourselves understood by them, bring our ideas up to date. That Stalinism, which has formed and nurtured armed resistance movements in France, Yugoslavia, Greece and elsewhere, constitutes the worst danger, the mortal danger that we would be crazy to claim we can face alone. That the years to come will be ones of confused struggles in which the socialist movement can do no more than re-establish itself—if it does not commit suicide through insurrectional demagogy. That it should seek influence on the terrain of democracy, in the Constituent Assemblies and elsewhere, accepting compromise in an intransigent spirit. That if the socialist left mires itself in an extremism bereft of influence, with a language barely intelligible to people and an out-dated ideology dating from 1920, the Stalinists will confect a fake socialism, subtle and without scruple, which might very well prevail.
No matter what I say, agreement is impossible, and the discussion difficult and sterile. Those who possess inner flexibility will change under the cudgel-blows of events; the others will vegetate in groupuscules on the margins of life (which offers many satisfactions) or will be crushed.
(Available online from the New Left Review at https://newleftreview.org/issues/ii82/articles/victor-serge-mexican-notebooks-1940-1947)
II
From the jurist and essayist, Carlos Moreno, re: political freedom, repression and humanitarianism:
The first proposition must be stated without qualification: the GDR had elements of an authoritarian state. It restricted political pluralism, controlled the press, restricted freedom of movement, imprisoned political opponents, and built a security apparatus that penetrated deeply into East German society. Chilean refugees [to East Germany] do not alter these facts, and the humanitarian assistance provided to them should not be used to rehabilitate the East German political system; to argue otherwise would be to replace one mythology with another. The GDR was not a democratic alternative to Pinochet’s Chile. But this is usually where the conventional Cold War narrative stops, treating that classification as though it explained everything that followed. It does not.
The second proposition matters equally: the GDR provided genuine protection to Chileans persecuted by the Pinochet dictatorship. For some, that protection was the difference between imprisonment and freedom, between torture and safety, between disappearance and survival; Carlos Altamirano’s experience makes the point with unusual clarity. Whatever the ideological calculations behind it, East German officials helped a major Chilean political leader escape a dictatorship that wanted him captured, and the fact that the GDR had political motives does not make the rescue unreal. States rarely act for one reason; humanitarianism and strategy are not mutually exclusive; a government can use a refugee’s story for propaganda while simultaneously saving the refugee’s life. To deny either fact because of the other is equally reductive. Nieves Ayress’s experience makes a related point with a different kind of clarity, because in her case there was nothing left to rescue, only someone left to treat; and the GDR treated her, hospitalized her, gave her work and a functioning life, and did not, by her own account, subject her to the surveillance some of her compatriots experienced. Altamirano’s case proves the GDR was capable of protection. Ayress’s case proves something logically prior to protection and easily overlooked: that the same state was also capable, once protection had already failed elsewhere, of care.
This is perhaps the central argument of the paper: the GDR’s solidarity with Chile was neither purely humanitarian nor merely cynical. It was political and human at once. The state had strategic reasons to oppose Pinochet, and the coup gave East Germany an opportunity to demonstrate its anti-imperialist credentials, strengthen its international propaganda, and define its own legitimacy against a violent alternative. All of this is true; and it is also true that East Germans and Chileans formed real friendships, that Chileans built real lives in East Germany, that East German institutions provided real education, employment, medical care, housing, and political space, and that many Chileans remembered the GDR not as an abstraction but as the place where they had survived. The historian’s task is not to decide which of these realities was the “real” one. It is to understand how they existed simultaneously; and to remember, in doing so, that one of these authoritarian states killed and disappeared thousands of its opponents while the other jailed and surveilled dissidents without approaching that scale of lethal violence. Proportion is not a minor footnote to this argument. It is close to the argument’s whole point. . . .
There is a temptation to resolve the contradiction at the heart of this history rather than sit with it. Was the GDR a refuge or a dictatorship? Both. Was its solidarity genuine or propagandistic? Both. Were Chileans grateful to the GDR? Many were. Did some become critical of it? Certainly. Did East German authorities monitor the people they had sheltered? The archival record, once fully assembled, can help answer the extent and character of that surveillance; this remains the paper’s most important piece of unfinished work. Did that surveillance erase the meaning of the refuge? No. Did the refuge erase the authoritarian nature of the state? No. The contradiction is not a problem for historians to solve; it is the historical phenomenon that needs explaining, and Chile provides a useful case precisely because it places two authoritarian systems beside one another without making them equivalent. Political freedom is not distributed neatly between opposing geopolitical camps. Neither is political repression, and neither, for that matter, is humanitarianism.
Carlos Moreno (2026), “From Allende to Honecker: Chilean Exile, Internationalism, and the Cold War -The Stories of Carlos Altamirano and Nieves Ayress” (August 07, 2026). Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=7501038 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.7501038 (my bold)
III
From the conclusion of yet another biting critique of capitalism:
If public and open markets are no longer the main mechanism of distribution of goods and services, if the allocation of financial resources is subject to the idiosyncratic whims of a few gargantuan corporations, if Big Tech companies acquire a significant part of their capital for free because consumers do not own their data – that is, if rent has displaced profit in our political economies – then indeed, are we still speaking of capitalism?. . .That is, [this means] facing up with the fact that along with neoliberalism, the familiar toolbox of progressive politics (e.g. taxation, regulation and mobilisation), has also become passé – or at least inadequate for the challenges that lie ahead. Perhaps we must think and act more radically.
Or we just ignore such conclusions. There is no “perhaps” when it comes to demanding details for our next steps ahead.
