The Fire at the Gates
History, Reckonings and Rabbits in Headlights
Morning Comrades.
I have a tendency to get extremely involved in the small, minute detail of reality, it’s a wonderful little superpower but like everything else in life it causes a reaction and these days it’s mostly dread to be honest. The world as we have known it is drastically changing at a pace I never expected to experience in my lifetime and a lot what is happening is outside of our control, or at least it feels that way and that, arguably, is on purpose. There is a wonderful term for that in German, called “Fremdsteuerung” that inherently transports all the negative associations with being controlled externally, which would be a literal translation of the word, without it being an accurate one. If anything we are at the point where the reality of alienation in Marx’s terms is met with Lenin’s infamous point: “There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.” - and really, it feels like being caught in headlights travelling at light speed.
When the above happens, getting hyper-involved in the minuscule and responsively freezing up at the grand scale of violence rolling towards as well as the Sisyphean effort at hand to wrestle power from those inflicting the violence to create the world we want, I have to take a few steps and look at a larger picture, to re-instate the Gramscian force that keeps us going. With that, a few thoughts about what keeps us fascinated, almost paralysed at the death of the Western Empire, specifically, the unravelling of the US as the dominant force that has ruled the entire West for the last 80 years. Again, the fascinating part of this is that logic has always demanded the understanding of what this means, violence, a great deal of it, here, at home and yet without a real plan too many of us are gleefully cheering this on. A quote from Chris Hedges, a no - i disagree with his conclusions often, so no, this is not an endorsement - nailed what’s coming better than I could put it into words:
As the death spiral accelerates, phantom enemies, domestic and foreign, will be blamed for the demise, persecuted and slated for obliteration. Once the wreckage is complete, ensuring the immiseration of the citizenry, a breakdown in public services and engendering an inchoate rage, only the blunt instrument of state violence will remain. A lot of people will suffer, especially as the climate crisis inflicts with greater and greater intensity its lethal retribution.
The near-collapse of our constitutional system of checks and balances took place long before the arrival of Trump. Trump’s return to power represents the death rattle of the Pax Americana. The day is not far off when, like the Roman Senate in 27 BC, Congress will take its last significant vote and surrender power to a dictator. The Democratic Party, whose strategy seems to be to do nothing and hope Trump implodes, have already acquiesced to the inevitable.
The question is not whether we go down, but how many millions of innocents we will take with us. Given the industrial violence our empire wields, it could be a lot, especially if those in charge decide to reach for the nukes. - Chris Hedges
It is beyond the need to reiterate the need for organisation here, but for the record, again, only together can we use this moment in history to steer this momentum towards a world without the inherent violence of capitalism and away from this minority rule death cult.
Onto the Reckoning.
From the ruins of Rome to the decline of the British Empire and the spectre of American collapse, the downfall of great civilisations has long captivated the human imagination. Whether in history books, literature, film, or political discourse, the image of a once-mighty empire crumbling under its own weight evokes a mixture of dread, fascination, and even schadenfreude. But why do we find the spectacle of imperial decay so compelling?
One of the main reasons we are drawn to declining empires is the false perception that history moves in cycles. Ancient historians such as Polybius and Ibn Khaldun, and modern thinkers like Oswald Spengler, have argued that civilisations follow a natural life cycle—rising, flourishing, stagnating, and ultimately falling. This cyclical model suggests an inevitability to imperial decline, making it both predictable and tragic. When we study history, we search for patterns, hoping to identify warning signs in contemporary societies. The collapse of past empires offers a dramatic, real-world narrative that reinforces our sense of historical rhythm and recurrence.
For example, the fall of Rome has long served as a touchstone for understanding subsequent empires. Edward Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776) remains influential precisely because it presents a grand, almost theatrical unraveling of a once-unshakable civilisation. Rome’s decline—marked by corruption, decadence, military overreach, and internal strife—mirrors the anxieties of later societies, allowing each generation to see its own potential demise reflected in the past.
Beyond historical analysis, there is a deeper, almost aesthetic appeal to decay and destruction. The imagery of ruined cities, crumbling statues, and abandoned monuments evokes a sublime sense of transience and impermanence. Philosophers such as Edmund Burke and later, Walter Benjamin, have written about the beauty of ruins, suggesting that they remind us of both human ambition and its ultimate fragility.
This fascination extends to cultural narratives that depict decline as a form of poetic justice. We are drawn to stories of hubris punished—empires that grew too proud, overextended themselves, and ultimately paid the price. This impulse is especially strong when dealing with oppressive or violent regimes; the destruction of Nazi Germany or the disintegration of the Soviet Union are often framed as morality tales, reinforcing a belief in the triumph of justice over tyranny.
However, even in cases where an empire’s decline is not celebrated, there remains a morbid curiosity. Just as people slow down to watch a car accident, they are unable to look away from a collapsing civilisation. This is evident in modern popular culture, from dystopian films to speculative fiction that imagines the aftermath of imperial decline. Shows like Game of Thrones and The Last of Us draw on this deep-seated fascination with societal breakdown, turning it into a spectacle for mass entertainment.
The fall of empires is not only a historical phenomenon but also an ideological battleground. Different political perspectives interpret imperial decline through their own lenses, reinforcing their broader worldviews. For Marxist and anti-imperialist thinkers, the collapse of empires is a necessary and inevitable consequence of their own contradictions. Lenin, for example, saw imperialism as the "highest stage of capitalism," a system that, by its very nature, would generate resistance and eventually self-destruct. The revolutions and decolonisation movements of the 20th century were seen not just as historical events but as confirmations of this broader theory.
On the other hand, conservative and reactionary thinkers often see decline as the result of moral and cultural decay. Writers like Spengler and James Burnham have argued that empires fall not because of material contradictions but because of internal weakness—loss of civic virtue, decadence, and the erosion of traditional values. These narratives continue to shape political discourse today, particularly in discussions about the supposed decline of the United States or the European Union.
Our current moment is particularly rife with comparisons to past imperial collapses. As economic inequality grows, political institutions falter, and global conflicts intensify, many people see echoes of Rome, Britain, or other fallen powers in today’s world. The question of American decline is a recurring theme in academic and political debates, with analysts pointing to military overreach, economic stagnation, and internal polarisation as symptoms of an unraveling empire.
The Fire at the Gates: Western Decline and the Reckoning of Empire
For centuries, the West waged war, imposed its will, and shaped the world in its image, convinced that power was its birthright. The nations of Europe and later the United States built empires on the backs of colonised peoples, exploiting land, labour, and resources to fuel their wealth. In the post-Cold War era, they pivoted from direct colonial rule to economic subjugation and military intervention under the banner of "human rights" and "democracy." They toppled governments, orchestrated coups, and bombed nations into submission, believing that the violence they unleashed could be contained—confined to distant lands, affecting only those they deemed expendable. But history is dialectical; consequences are not confined to the periphery. The fire they set has reached home, and the West now finds itself in a crisis of its own making.
The Delusions of Empire
From Iraq to Afghanistan, Libya to Syria, each Western intervention was built on the fantasy that war is a controlled exercise in power, a game of chess played without consequence. But war is not a game—it is material destruction with social, political, and economic reverberations that extend beyond the battlefield. Millions displaced, entire nations thrown into chaos, and militant networks fostered under Western sponsorship—these are not abstract tragedies; they are the material realities of imperialism.
The refugee crises that now define European politics are not accidental; they are the direct result of Western aggression. Those fleeing war-torn nations are not invaders—they are the human consequences of neoliberal plunder and military intervention. Yet, rather than reckoning with their role in creating these crises, Western leaders scramble to deflect blame. They scapegoat migrants, demonise Islam, or conjure narratives about "liberal weakness" as if the disasters unfolding in their societies stem from anything but their own imperial arrogance.
But even this misdirection cannot hide the deeper crisis. The very ideological pillars of Western supremacy—its rhetoric of liberal democracy, free markets, and "rules-based order"—are crumbling under the weight of their contradictions.
The West’s imperial project was always predicated on two myths: first, that its dominance was a reflection of inherent superiority, and second, that its actions would never bring consequences to its own doorstep.
Both are now unraveling. Economically, the post-war capitalist consensus is in decline. The neoliberal order that defined the late 20th century—outsourcing production, financializing economies, and privatizing public goods—has hollowed out the very societies that claimed to lead the world. The working classes in the U.S. and Europe, once pacified by imperial spoils, now find themselves in precarity, victims of the same extractive logic that devastated the Global South.
Politically, the ruling elites can no longer contain the fractures within their own systems. The rise of right-wing nationalism, the decline of faith in institutions, and the explosion of social unrest are not isolated phenomena; they are symptoms of a system unraveling. The West, for so long the centre of global stability (at least for itself), is now gripped by internal crises. The very tools it used to maintain order abroad—economic coercion, political manipulation, and militarised suppression—are now turned inward as ruling classes scramble to maintain control.
The end of the Western empire does not mean the immediate triumph of socialism, nor does it guarantee a linear path toward liberation. The decline of an imperial power is a chaotic process, one that can breed reactionary violence as much as revolutionary potential. As capitalism deteriorates in its Western strongholds, its rulers will not simply relinquish power; they will double down on repression, war, and division. The rise of fascist movements, the militarisation of police forces, and the scapegoating of marginalised populations are all signs of a system fighting to prolong its lifespan.
But decline also opens new possibilities. The unraveling of Western hegemony creates space for alternative centres of power, from socialist movements to anti-imperialist coalitions in the Global South. The task ahead is not simply to watch the empire burn, but to actively organise for what comes after—to ensure that the future is not one of rebranded oppression but of genuine liberation.
Marxist analysis teaches us that no empire, no ruling class, no mode of production is eternal. The West, for all its claims of exceptionalism, is no different. Its crisis is not an anomaly but an inevitability, the result of contradictions reaching their breaking point. And as the fire spreads, as the empire loses control, the question is not whether the old world will fall—it is what new world will rise in its place.
We serve the Revolution.
Yours,
V.