A Good Life

The Case for Communism

Afternoon Comrades.

Again, this is coming from conversations between friends and comrades of late rather than it being some sort of reaction to current events, to give you some context. Aside from the multiple topics always at hand during these conversations, one struck as a friend, quite plainly asked, what had gotten me on this political path all that time ago, and it made me pause for a minute, because another conversation that was taking plac at the same time dipped into the non-linear reality of ageing, the work we had done and can still do, and I paused because I couldn’t give a straight answer. On the surface the motivation, or reasons rather that kickstarted my own little journey around 1990/92 seemed, obviously, juvenile to me today but in retrospect, all that happened since then is that the language has gotten more precise, the understanding deeper and broader, but the underlying idea of wanting to change the world hasn’t changed. Again, the scope has and the language has, but ultimately, it boiled down to, and still does, the fact that the life we are offered by the capitalists, structurally, materially and so on, is ultimately shit. Sure, privileges this, comforts that, we are aware of them, acknowledge them, but at the core, of it all, we exist to slave for the profits of a few selected few capitalists that have taken that position through violence and normalised this arrangement over centuries of indoctrination. Every aspect of our existence has been commodified for them to earn of our existence and it doesn’t have to be that way. Ultimately, we have the resources, the intelligence and capacity both within us and on this planet to live a life worth living where that parasitic class doesn’t exist and as Graeber said cleverly said a few years ago, the ultimate, hidden truth of the world is that it is something that we make, and could just as easily make differently. So rather than focusing on a minute for change, a step back for alignment, motivation and clarity.

To describe contemporary life under capitalism as merely unjust is insufficient; the deeper problem is more existential: the life organised by capitalism is structurally incapable of being a life worth living for the majority of humanity. The modern social order is constructed upon a simple but violent premise, that the labour, time, creativity, and even the survival of billions must be subordinated to the accumulation of wealth by a small minority who control the productive resources of society. This arrangement did not emerge naturally, nor is it the inevitable outcome of human nature. It is the historical result of conquest, enclosure, colonial plunder, and centuries of ideological conditioning designed to render exploitation not only tolerable but normal.

Capitalism presents itself as the culmination of human progress: a system of efficiency, innovation, and freedom. Yet beneath this narrative lies a far more brutal reality, the overwhelming majority of human beings spend their lives compelled to sell their labour power in order to survive, producing value that they do not control and which is appropriated by those who own capital. Work, rather than being a meaningful expression of human creativity and cooperation, becomes an obligation enforced by economic necessity. Life is reduced to a cycle of production and consumption whose primary purpose is not the flourishing of human beings or ecosystems, but the endless expansion of profit.

The consequences of this arrangement are visible everywhere. Vast productive capacities coexist with widespread poverty. Technological advances capable of drastically reducing necessary labour instead intensify exploitation. Ecological systems that sustain life on Earth are degraded in the pursuit of short-term accumulation. Even leisure, culture, and personal identity become commodities to be packaged, marketed, and monetised. Capitalism does not merely organise production; it colonises existence itself.

This colonisation extends into the realm of consciousness, through institutions such as education, media, and political discourse, the system reproduces the belief that no viable alternative exists. Exploitation becomes reinterpreted as opportunity; inequality becomes the natural result of merit; ecological devastation becomes the unfortunate cost of progress. In this ideological environment, dissatisfaction is redirected inward, toward personal failure, self-improvement, and individual adaptation, rather than outward toward systemic transformation.

Yet the contradiction at the heart of capitalism remains unavoidable. Humanity possesses the technological capacity, scientific knowledge, and productive resources necessary to provide a dignified life for every person on the planet while maintaining ecological balance. Scarcity, in many crucial domains, is no longer a natural condition but a socially produced one. The continued existence of deprivation and environmental collapse therefore reveals not a failure of possibility but a failure of social organisation.

If the conditions for a different world already exist materially, then the question becomes political rather than technical. What prevents humanity from organising production and social life around collective well-being rather than private accumulation? The answer lies in the power of the capitalist class, whose control over property and institutions allows them to maintain a system that serves their interests even when it threatens the future of humanity itself.

To recognise this reality is not merely to criticise capitalism but to confront the necessity of transcending it. The argument for communism, in this sense, is not an abstract utopian aspiration. It emerges logically from the recognition that human life should not be subordinated to profit, that the resources of the Earth belong collectively to those who inhabit it, and that the purpose of social organisation should be the flourishing of humanity within the limits of the planet that sustains it.

It is vital to constantly remind ourselves that capitalism did not arise from peaceful exchange between equal participants. Its foundations were laid through processes of dispossession that violently separated populations from the means of sustaining themselves. Peasant communities across Europe were driven from common lands through enclosures that transformed shared resources into private property. Colonial expansion extracted vast wealth from the Americas, Africa, and Asia, providing the capital that would finance industrialisation. Enslaved labour, forced labour regimes, and imperial monopolies formed the economic infrastructure of early capitalist accumulation.

This history matters because it reveals a crucial truth: capitalism required the destruction of alternative ways of organising human life. Communities that previously sustained themselves through collective access to land and resources were compelled to enter wage labour markets because they had been stripped of the ability to live otherwise. The so-called “free labourer” of capitalism is therefore free only in a limited sense, free from ownership of the means necessary to survive.

Once this separation was established, the system reproduced itself through economic compulsion. Workers must sell their labour in order to live; capitalists purchase that labour in order to generate profit. The entire social structure revolves around this relationship.

Yet the system simultaneously obscures its own origins. Property relations that were historically imposed through violence are reinterpreted as natural rights. The wealth accumulated through centuries of exploitation becomes evidence of entrepreneurial virtue. What was once conquest becomes tradition; what was once coercion becomes common sense.

The normalisation of this arrangement is one of capitalism’s greatest ideological achievements. Generations grow up assuming that work organised around profit is simply the way society must function. The possibility that production could be organised differently, around collective need rather than private gain, appears unrealistic not because it is technically impossible but because the existing system has shaped the boundaries of political imagination.

The most profound consequence of capitalist organisation is not merely economic inequality but alienation. Human beings are creative and social creatures. Our capacities develop through cooperation, experimentation, and the transformation of the natural world. In principle, productive activity could be one of the primary ways in which human beings realise their potential.

Under capitalism, however, labour becomes estranged from those who perform it. Workers do not control the products they create, the processes through which they create them, or the broader social purposes their labour serves. Instead, these decisions are determined by the requirements of profitability ans this alienation manifests in several interconnected forms.

First, the product of labour confronts the worker as something external and hostile. The goods produced do not belong to those who made them; they belong to the firm that sells them on the market. Workers therefore produce a world of commodities that they themselves often cannot afford to enjoy.

Second, the act of labour itself becomes a form of compulsion. Rather than an expression of creativity or collective purpose, work becomes something endured in order to secure wages. Time, the most fundamental dimension of human life, is divided between hours that belong to employers and hours that remain for survival and recovery.

Third, individuals become alienated from one another. Capitalist competition pits workers against each other for employment, wages, and security. Solidarity is undermined by structures that reward individual advancement even when it depends upon the exploitation of others.

Finally, humanity becomes alienated from nature. The natural world is no longer understood as a shared ecological system of which humanity is a part. Instead, it becomes a reservoir of resources to be extracted and converted into commodities.

These forms of alienation are not accidental side effects. They arise directly from the organisation of production around profit rather than human need.

One of the most striking features of contemporary capitalism is the extent to which it has expanded beyond the workplace to colonise nearly every sphere of life.

Housing becomes a financial asset rather than a social necessity. Healthcare becomes a profitable industry rather than a public service. Education becomes an investment in human capital rather than a collective intellectual project. Even personal relationships and cultural expression become integrated into systems of advertising, branding, and digital surveillance.

Social media platforms monetise attention itself, transforming everyday communication into a source of data extraction and advertising revenue. Leisure activities are commodified into purchasable experiences. Cultural production is shaped by market incentives rather than artistic exploration.

In such a society, existence itself becomes an opportunity for profit extraction. The simple fact of being alive generates revenue streams for corporations that mediate basic human activities, from communication and transportation to entertainment and intimacy. The result is a form of life in which the boundary between economic activity and personal existence dissolves and individuals are constantly positioned as both producers and consumers, participants in a market logic that extends into every corner of daily life. This pervasive commodification reinforces the perception that life under capitalism is not lived for its own sake but for the reproduction of an economic system.

The justification for capitalism has often rested on the claim that it efficiently allocates scarce resources. Yet in the twenty-first century, this claim increasingly contradicts observable reality. Technological development has dramatically expanded humanity’s productive capacity. Automation, advanced logistics, and global communication networks make it possible to produce and distribute goods on an unprecedented scale. Agricultural productivity alone is sufficient to feed the global population. Nevertheless, millions experience hunger, homelessness, and preventable illness. These conditions persist not because society lacks the resources to address them but because access to those resources is mediated by markets and profit incentives.

Food may be destroyed to stabilise prices while people go hungry. Housing may remain empty because it functions as an investment asset rather than a living space. Medical treatments may be withheld because they are not profitable to produce. Such outcomes illustrate a central contradiction: capitalism generates abundance while simultaneously restricting access to it. Scarcity becomes socially manufactured in order to maintain profitability. The persistence of deprivation in the midst of abundance therefore exposes the irrationality of organising production around private accumulation.

Perhaps the most urgent contradiction of capitalism lies in its relationship with the natural world. The system depends upon continuous economic expansion. Firms must grow in order to remain competitive; markets must expand in order to sustain profitability; investment must generate ever-increasing return, yet the planet upon which this expansion occurs possesses finite ecological limits.

The pursuit of endless growth drives deforestation, fossil fuel extraction, industrial agriculture, and resource depletion on a scale that destabilises climate systems and biodiversity. Environmental destruction becomes rational from the perspective of profit even when it threatens long-term planetary stability. Capitalism attempts to address these crises through market mechanisms, carbon trading, green consumerism, and technological innovation and while such measures may mitigate certain effects, they rarely challenge the underlying imperative of growth.

A sustainable relationship between humanity and the Earth requires production to be organised according to ecological limits rather than financial returns. Such planning cannot occur within a system whose fundamental metric of success is profit.

If capitalism produces alienation, artificial scarcity, and ecological devastation, then the search for alternatives becomes unavoidable. Communism represents one such alternative, not as a rigid blueprint but as a principle of social organisation grounded in collective ownership and democratic control of productive resources. The basic premise is simple: the resources necessary for human survival and development should not be privately owned by a minority but collectively stewarded by society as a whole. Under such an arrangement, production would be organised according to social need rather than profitability. Decisions about investment, technology, and labour allocation would be made democratically rather than determined by market competition.

Work could be reorganised to reduce necessary labour time while expanding opportunities for education, creativity, and community participation. Technological innovation could focus on improving quality of life rather than generating new markets. Ecological sustainability could become a central criterion of economic planning. In essence, communism seeks to restore the relationship between human activity and human flourishing.

The possibility of a life worth living ultimately depends on reconciling humanity’s productive capacities with the ecological systems that sustain life. A society organised around collective stewardship rather than private profit would approach the natural world not as a commodity but as a shared inheritance. Energy systems can transition rapidly toward renewable sources without the constraint of fossil fuel profitability. Agricultural production can prioritise soil regeneration and biodiversity rather than monocultural export markets and urban planning can emphasise public space, community infrastructure, and ecological integration. At the same time, social relations could be reoriented toward cooperation rather than competition. Education, healthcare, and housing would become guaranteed aspects of collective well-being rather than market commodities.

Such a society would not eliminate all conflict or difficulty. Human communities will always confront challenges of coordination, disagreement, and scarcity in certain domains. Yet the fundamental structure of life would no longer be organised around the enrichment of a parasitic class. Instead, it would be oriented toward the shared project of sustaining and developing human life within the limits of the planet.

The argument for communism, then, does not arise from romantic idealism but from a sober analysis of the contradictions embedded within capitalism. A system that subordinates life to profit, produces scarcity amidst abundance, and destabilises the ecological foundations of civilisation cannot represent the final stage of human social development.

Humanity already possesses the material resources, technological knowledge, and collective intelligence required to construct a different form of society—one in which existence is not reduced to labour for the accumulation of capital.

The question that remains is not whether such a transformation is technically possible. It is whether human beings will choose to organise their world around the flourishing of life itself rather than the perpetuation of a system that treats life as a commodity.

We know what to do.

Yours, warmly,

V.