Eighty years ago, the United States government exploded over the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki the only two nuclear bombs ever used in wartime against a civilian population. Never before in human history had a single weapon caused such widespread death and destruction.
A report by engineers and scientists of the Manhattan Project (the US project that developed the bombs), based on a 1946 investigation in both cities, estimated that more than two-thirds of Hiroshima’s 90,000 buildings had been destroyed or badly damaged, including everything within one mile (1.6km) of ground zero, aside from a few structures made from reinforced concrete. In Nagasaki, buildings with reinforced concrete walls 25cm thick, more than 600 metres from ground zero, collapsed.
In Hiroshima, the bomb destroyed 26 of 33 firefighting stations, killing or badly injuring three-fourths of their personnel. It killed or badly wounded more than 1,800 of 2,400 nurses and medical orderlies, and left only 30 of 298 registered doctors able to treat survivors. Many of those not killed immediately burned to death in the subsequent firestorm, or drowned trying to escape it in rivers, or died within hours or days of radiation sickness. 
The Manhattan Project report estimated that Hiroshima suffered 135,000 casualties—more than half its population—and Nagasaki 64,000 out of a population of 195,000. Both figures were underestimates because they did not include prisoners of war and other foreigners, such as thousands of Korean forced labourers present in both cities.
People who survived the immediate effects of the blasts were not necessarily safe. Two years after the bombings, there was a notable increase in the rate of leukaemia among initial survivors, which spiked four to six years later. The largest number of victims were children.
But while the power of the bombs was unprecedented, the mass slaughter of civilians was anything but new. All of the major powers involved in the war carried out or assisted deliberate massive attacks on civilians: Japan’s 1937-38 Rape of Nanjing, which killed up to 300,000 Chinese civilians and disarmed soldiers; the German Blitz of Britain, which killed around 43,000; the US-British firebombing of Dresden, which destroyed 90 percent of the city’s centre and killed at least 25,000 people, many of whom died of suffocation as all available oxygen was consumed by the conflagration; there are numerous other examples.
If the ruling classes of the warring countries had a similar amoral sense (the belief that any slaughter they engaged in was justified), the course of the war and a technological lead gave the US rulers the opportunity and confidence that they could get away with the greatest atrocities. In the last year of the war, US air raids systematically destroyed Tokyo, taking advantage of the large number of highly combustible houses to create firestorms. Early on 10 March 1945, some 279 US bombers firebombed most of eastern Tokyo, killing 90,000 to 100,000 people and leaving a million homeless; the destruction was even greater than that of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
In part, the atomic bombs were more “efficient” than earlier air raids: in the 10 March raid on Tokyo, fourteen US aircraft were shot down. But strategic decisions directed against the Soviet Union were a more important consideration. This was summed up by South Africa’s Nelson Mandela in 2003:
“Fifty-seven years ago, when Japan was retreating on all fronts, they [the US] decided to drop the atom bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Killed a lot of innocent people, who are still suffering from the effects of those bombs. Those bombs were not aimed against the Japanese. They were aimed against the Soviet Union. To say, look, this is the power that we have. If you dare oppose what we do, this is what is going to happen to you.”
Looking forward to the next war between the “allies” was also evident in a memo issued to British airmen on the night of the attack on Dresden:
“The intentions of the attack are to hit the enemy where he will feel it most, behind an already partially collapsed front, to prevent the use of the city in the way of further advance, and incidentally to show the Russians when they arrive what Bomber Command can do.”
When the Soviet Union tested its first atomic bomb in August 1949, considerably earlier than the US expected, the US quickly recognised a need to “outcompete” its rivals, beginning serious steps toward developing a thermonuclear (hydrogen) bomb. An investigation of the desirability and possibility of building the new bomb, chaired by Robert Oppenheimer, the physicist who had headed the Manhattan Project’s Los Alamos laboratory, concluded: “The extreme danger to mankind inherent in the proposal wholly outweighs any military advantage”.
The extreme danger to the human race was less important than the military needs of imperialism. US President Harry Truman approved the development of the hydrogen bomb in January 1950. The first thermonuclear bomb was tested on 1 November 1952. It was more than 450 times as powerful as the Nagasaki bomb, with an explosive force of 15 megatons of TNT.
The US thermonuclear monopoly lasted less than a year, the Soviet Union testing its first hydrogen bomb in the following August. And although 15 megatons was an already unimaginable force, the Soviet government in 1961 tested a bomb with a force of 50 megatons. Within the test zone, brick buildings 55km from ground zero were destroyed. The heat from the blast was capable of causing third-degree burns 100km away. 
That test was, in part, an experiment designed to discover whether there was any inherent limit to the potential explosive power of a nuclear bomb. There wasn’t; in a report for the US Atomic Energy Commission, physicists Enrico Fermi and Isidor Isaac Rabi concluded that hydrogen bombs potentially have “unlimited destructive power”.
At the time, the 50-megaton thermonuclear bomb was too heavy to be carried by any existing missile or aeroplane. But technological “progress” has since created hydrogen bombs light enough for ten or more to be carried by a single missile.
And yet, today, all of the nine nuclear-armed states—United States, Russia, France, United Kingdom, China, India, Pakistan, Israel and North Korea—are attempting to “modernise” their arsenals, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, “upgrading existing weapons and adding newer versions”.
SIPRI calculates the world nuclear arsenal at 12,241 warheads. “An estimated 3,912 of those warheads were deployed with missiles and aircraft ... Around 2,100 of the deployed warheads were kept in a state of high operational alert on ballistic missiles. Nearly all of these warheads belonged to Russia or the USA, but China may now keep some warheads on missiles during peacetime.”
In 2010, the USA and Russia agreed to a treaty (New Start) to limit their nuclear stockpiles and the number of warheads deployed on strategic missiles. But that treaty expires next February, and neither side has shown any real interest in renewing it, so the number of warheads able to be fired in minutes if not seconds is expected to increase.
Despite most nuclear arsenals being labelled “deterrents” by those who wield them, no government keeps nuclear bombs for peaceful purposes; they are intended for use when military and political conditions make that seem advisable. While the US and Russia have the biggest stockpiles, does anyone imagine that moral or humanitarian considerations would have more of a restraining influence on Benjamin Netanyahu than they have on Donald Trump or Vladimir Putin? At least one minister within the Israeli government has publicly advocated using an atomic bomb against Gaza—on which Israel has already inflicted destruction comparable to what was done to Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
In short, the danger of capitalist governments letting loose nuclear weapons has not significantly decreased since 1945; in many respects, it is greater.

Allen Myers

A warning from history: ‘This is what is going to happen to you’

It’s a historic anniversary that the US ruling class and its allies around the world wish we would forget. Fifty years ago, on 30 April 1975, US imperialism suffered the worst military defeat in its history as troops of the North Vietnamese Army and South Vietnam National Liberation Front took complete control of Ho Chi Minh City (then called Saigon) and the few scattered areas of the south that had not yet been liberated.
The Vietnamese victory was the culmination of more than three decades of struggle against Japanese, British, French and American imperialism. At the time, the United States was, as it still is today, the world’s leading military power. And yet that incredible power was defeated by a small, underdeveloped, mostly rural society.
The US war against Vietnam at some stages involved well over half a million regular US troops. During the war, the US unleashed previously unimaginable firepower against the Vietnamese forces and the population in general. The tonnage of bombs dropped on Vietnam was approximately three times the total for all theatres in all of World War Two. The US also employed chemical warfare, such as defoliants containing dioxin, which are still today causing deaths and genetic damage. 
Vietnam received limited military supplies from China and the Soviet Union, but they were never enough to be decisive. Surface-to-air rockets, for example, increased the US Air Force’s military losses but never came close to stopping the US air war.
And yet all this firepower was unable to prevent Vietnamese victory. Something proved more powerful than massive weaponry. That reality is the lesson that the imperialists want us to forget.
The liberation of Ho Chi Minh City provided a striking emblem of the limitations of technological military power. As helicopters flew the remaining Americans and some of their Vietnamese agents to warships waiting offshore, the US Navy pushed each emptied helicopter overboard into the sea to make room for those still in the air.
What eventually defeated US military power? First and foremost was the heroism and endurance of the Vietnamese. The Vietnamese resistance gradually widened doubts and divisions in US society, opening time and pathways for opposition to the imperialist war within the US and eventually on a massive scale worldwide. 
Combined with the US’s inability to inflict a decisive military defeat, this continually growing political opposition contributed substantially to the US rulers’ calculation that continuing the war could cost them more than they were likely to gain. They could see that, around the world, oppressed and exploited peoples were concluding that the US was not invincible and that it could be successfully resisted.
Earlier struggles similarly influenced the antiwar movement. After the 1940s and ’50s era of McCarthyism and “red scare” reaction and house-breaking of most labour unions, things began to shift with the rise of the Black civil rights movement and the ’60s cultural and political radicalisation. The opponents of the Vietnam War who organised the early teach-ins at universities were, in part, following the example of the combination of propaganda and action of early fighters for Black rights, particularly in the US South.
The influence went in both directions. In April 1967, I was conscripted (“drafted”) into the US Army in Chicago. By chance, this occurred on the same day that boxing champion Muhammad Ali had been ordered to report for induction—which he had publicly announced he would refuse because of his religion as a member of the Nation of Islam and his ethical objections to the war. 
Ali, who had a talent for concise and colourful explanations, said, “Man, I ain’t got no quarrel with them Viet Cong. No Viet Cong ever called me nigger”. (“Viet Cong” was the name the US military and media gave to the National Liberation Front.) A week before his scheduled conscription, Ali added:
“I’m not going 10,000 miles from home to help murder and burn another poor nation simply to continue the domination of white slave masters of the darker people the world over. If I thought the war was going to bring freedom and equality to 22 million of my people, they wouldn’t have to draft me; I’d join tomorrow.”
There was considerable public interest in what Ali would do, and one of the soldiers staffing the Chicago induction centre had turned on a radio tuned to a news broadcast. With the report that Ali had refused to be conscripted, I heard one of the Black soldiers mutter, barely audibly, “Damn, wish I had done that”.
As Vietnamese resistance forced the US to increase its troop numbers in the country, conscription also necessarily increased, including of inductees who were either opposed to the war or at least suspicious of it. For thousands of young Americans and their friends, relatives and partners, the war stopped being a strange conflict in a distant country and became an immediate threat to their wellbeing. The impact was all the stronger for their ability to view scenes of the war on nightly TV news.
The US ruling class was beginning to learn something that had only begun to be evident during the 1950-53 Korean War: there is a significant difference between a “citizen army” in which the citizenry feels its interests are seriously threatened by a menace such as fascism, and one facing an abstract enemy such as “communism” that poses no immediate threat—or an oppressed people fighting for their liberation. People who had witnessed or participated in mass antiwar protests tended to have their opposition increased, not weakened, by induction into the military.
During my two years in the army, 1967-69, all within the United States, the challenge was not to convince fellow soldiers that the war was wrong. We had to persuade other soldiers that they could do something about it. This was the period during which the publication of rank-and-file antiwar “newspapers” (really newsletters) proliferated at military bases in the US and overseas. 
At Fort Dix in New Jersey, we called ours the Ultimate Weapon, because the base’s main function was infantry training, and the Army liked to call its infantry “the ultimate weapon”. In the early ’70s, the Student Mobilization Committee, the most radical of the antiwar coalitions, launched a GI Press Service, which sought to provide information, exchange and cooperation among the varied military antiwar publications. We eventually knew of more than a hundred of them.
The spread of antiwar activity in the US military was aided by higher-ups’ bureaucratic efforts to suppress it. A battalion commander who learned of “subversive” activity within his domain, fearing that it would hamper his chances for promotion, would arrange for one or several suspected “ringleaders” to be transferred to a different base, hopefully distant. It could not have been better designed if the object had been to encourage the spread of antiwar activity. The eventual situation was described by Colonel Robert D. Heinl, Jr., in Armed Forces Journal, 7 June 1971: 
“The morale, discipline and battleworthiness of the U.S. Armed Forces are, with a few salient exceptions, lower and worse than at any time in this century and possibly in the history of the United States. By every conceivable indicator, our army that now remains in Vietnam is in a state approaching collapse, with individual units avoiding or having refused combat, murdering their officers and non-commissioned officers, drug-ridden, and dispirited where not nearly mutinous. Elsewhere than Vietnam, the situation is nearly as serious.”
In short, the US rulers were worried about the effect of the war, not only on their troops in Vietnam, but on their armed forces more generally. President Nixon tried to ameliorate this situation through his program of “Vietnamization” of the war, which essentially meant withdrawing US troops from Vietnam and supplying the puppet “Republic of Vietnam” with sufficient weapons and financing to fight on for US interests. 
From the US standpoint, this was always a forlorn hope, which became increasingly evident after the departure of US ground troops in 1973. When the liberation forces launched their final offensive in early 1975, the “RVN” forces largely melted away or collapsed.
The impact of the Vietnamese victory is still with us, something that capitalist rulers are still trying to overcome. In the US, that impact was often called the “Vietnam syndrome”, as though it described some sort of unfortunate disease. In fact, it referred to the reality that large sections of the US public had seen that their rulers lied shamelessly about a major military conflict. Consequently, they tended to look sceptically at further military operations. 
It has since become standard US political doctrine that any new military adventure needs to be carried out quickly so that there is no time for large parts of the public to become really aware of it. To restore their ability to intervene militarily around the world, the US rulers found it necessary to abolish conscription and to rebuild their army as “voluntary”—meaning using social and economic coercion to enlist mainly the poor and oppressed racial minorities. 
The ending of conscription was a major setback for US imperialism, and its rulers are today, half a century later, wondering whether they can get away with reintroducing it.
You can see another lesson ruling classes have drawn from Vietnam in government responses to the widespread upsurge of solidarity with Palestinians against the genocidal Israeli war on Gaza and the West Bank. The speed and extremism of government reactions against the first university protest encampments showed their fears of protests growing and spreading as they did with Vietnam. It’s the reason for the attempts to suppress free speech and the almost hysterical attacks on protesters. And just as imperialist propagandists of the Vietnam War sought to discredit opposition as “communism”, today supporters of Zionist genocide try to label any opposition as “antisemitism”.
Our side has also drawn some lessons, which is a part of the reason the Palestinian protests have taken the form they have: both the initial encampments and reaching out to broader layers through large and vocal rallies and marches. Around the world, there are uncountable numbers of oppressed and exploited people who may know little or nothing of the Vietnam War but who have absorbed the understanding that imperialism is not invincible, that it can be defeated by determined struggle, and that “If you don’t fight, you lose”.

Vietnam: a victory never to be forgotten

In a speech marking the 75th anniversary of NATO at the organisation’s summit in Washington on 9 July, Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg called it “not only the most successful and strongest, but also the longest-lasting alliance in history”.
Certainly, in terms of the military firepower wielded by its members, NATO is indeed the strongest such alliance ever. But some historians might dispute whether NATO’s 75-year endurance might have been exceeded by alliances that the French and English monarchies formed against each other during the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453). And success or lack it of course depends on goals, which should be discussed in a little detail.
When NATO was formed with a dozen members in 1949, the ostensible purpose was to defend Western Europe in the event of a Soviet invasion, which was only slightly more probable than an invasion from Mars, given the enormous military, population and economic losses the USSR had suffered in World War II. The eagerness of Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin for a lasting accommodation with Western capitalism was shown by his 1944 agreement with British PM Winston Churchill that postwar Greece should be a British “sphere of influence”, which meant that Greek Communists and other leftists were left without any external support as they were slaughtered in the country’s 1946-49 civil war, and by the Italian and French Communist parties, under instructions from Moscow, collaborating in the re-establishment of their respective capitalist states.
So, in terms of the alleged goal of preventing a Soviet invasion of Western Europe, NATO was certainly successful, if probably unnecessary. And this goal was achieved with remarkably little military effort: while NATO conducted military exercises that should more accurately be called “war rehearsals”, it conducted no actual military operations during the entire Cold War.
Some naive people might have thought, after the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, that NATO, having succeeded in its proclaimed goal, would be closed down, perhaps after a celebratory champagne reception. No. Having been deprived of one enemy, NATO went looking for more. Unsurprisingly, these enemies were always countries or organisations doing things the US government didn’t want them to do. The collapse of the Soviet “threat” made it easier to pursue openly the real aim of NATO, which was never defensive, but aggressive: extending the power and domination of the US and its allies further into Europe and Asia.
Governments of the participating countries generally refer to this military alliance by its initials, not by its name: North Atlantic Treaty Organization. In 1949, the name made some geographical sense since its dozen members were the US, Canada and ten Western European countries. But “North Atlantic” was never intended to limit the alliance’s scope of military interventions.
Moreover, NATO was not the only imperialist alliance that the US had in mind. The 1950s were a particularly active period. Greece and Turkey were added to NATO in 1952, and West Germany in 1955. Also in 1955, the US launched two not very successful military alliances in Asia. In February of that year, under the urging of the US and with the carrot of US economic and military assistance, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan and Turkey established with Britain the Middle East Treaty Organization or Central Treaty Organization (CENTO). The US joined its military committee in 1958. CENTO accomplished very little, partly because of conflicts between Turkey and Iraq, and the Pakistan government’s annoyance at CENTO’s unwillingness to join Pakistan’s wars with India. The organisation was wound up in 1979, after the Islamic Revolution led to Iran’s withdrawal.
1955 was also the year of the founding of the South-East Asia Treaty Organization. This included exactly two South-East Asian countries—Thailand and the Philippines—one South Asian country (Pakistan) and five Westerners: the US, Britain, France, Australia and New Zealand. While this alliance did very little, it claimed to “protect” South Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, which was later a pretext used by both the US and Australia for their war against Vietnam. It was dissolved in 1977.
Beginning within months of the dissolution of the USSR, NATO began more than a decade of military interventions (1992-2004) in the former Yugoslavia, involving naval, air and ground troop operations. This was part of a more general strategy of expansion into Eastern Europe.
One formal or legal obstacle for NATO expansion concerned Germany, which was divided into two states, West and East, until the end of 1990. Under the 1945 Potsdam agreement, Germany was under the ultimate control of the four WW2 allies: the US, UK, France and USSR. This meant that Moscow had a right to demand conditions on the absorption of East Germany by the West—and there were still Soviet troops stationed in East Germany. The US and West German government got around this problem by lying to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev about their intentions.
The National Security Archive (NSA) at George Washington University in the US has published declassified documents that show numerous assurances from NATO members that there would be no eastward expansion following German reunification. These promises were not written into a treaty, but they were recorded “in multiple memoranda of conversation between the Soviets and the highest-level Western interlocutors”, including US President George H.W. Bush, Secretary of State James Baker, CIA Director Robert Gates, West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl and Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher, French President François Mitterrand, UK Prime Ministers Margaret Thatcher and John Major and NATO Secretary General Manfred Woerner. In reality, the Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland were invited to join in 1997 and Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia and Slovenia in 2002. NATO now includes 32 countries, and hopes to include Ukraine in the future.
Article 5 of the treaty establishing NATO commits member countries to a joint defence of any member that suffers an armed attack. It has been invoked only once in 75 years: by the US after the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks organised by Osama bin Laden. Since bin Laden was not acting officially on behalf of any state (and was a citizen of US ally Saudi Arabia), the US decreed that it was at war with an enemy called “terrorism”. This absurdity has served a purpose: any military intervention by NATO members, anywhere in the world, if it can be portrayed as fighting terrorism, can then be justified as an obligation under Article 5.
Thus in October 2001, “to detect and deter terrorism”, NATO launched naval patrols in the Mediterranean that have continued under different names to the present day. From 2009, NATO naval patrols were expanded to the coast of Africa. More recently, NATO members the US and UK have been involved in fighting the Houthi forces in Yemen, supported by NATO members Canada and the Netherlands.
NATO forces were involved in Afghanistan for 20 years (2001-21) as either combatants or “trainers” of the government military. In 2011, NATO aircraft enforced a “no-fly zone” that aided in the overthrow of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi. Since 2012, NATO has provided Patriot missile systems to help defend Turkey against Syria if the latter launches missiles in response to Turkey’s frequent and ongoing incursions to attack Kurds in Syria.
More recently, as the US seeks additional allies and prepares for a possible war with China (which Australia is now enlisted in through AUKUS), NATO is stepping up “partnership” with US allies in Asia. As the NATO website puts it, “NATO is strengthening dialogue and cooperation with its partners in the Indo-Pacific region—Australia, Japan, the Republic of Korea and New Zealand ... NATO and its partners in the region share common values and a goal of working together to uphold the rules-based international order”.
Upholding the “rules-based international order” is the US code for its trade war against China and the construction of military alliances and bases. The recent NATO summit issued a communiqué that accused China of “ambitions and coercive policies that continue to challenge our interests, security and values” and said that Russia and China were seeking “to undercut and reshape”—guess what—“the rules-based international order”. You will seldom find such a blunt admission that “the rules-based international order” and US/NATO interests are the same thing.

What is NATO?

When the US secretary of defense, Lloyd Austin, told an audience in Singapore recently that the US would not allow “coercion and bullying” of its allies by China, he must have been counting on a lack of historical knowledge (or a tolerance for hypocrisy) in his audience. Bullying and coercion, including threatened and actual military attacks, are not something new; they have been part of US policy in Asia (and elsewhere) for two centuries.
In the early years of US independence, its capitalists were of course mainly concerned with issues such as European wars, securing westward expansion by expelling or killing Native American peoples, and the developing conflict with the southern slavocracy. But they also never lost sight of the profits to be made from Asian markets and resources, and the danger that their European competitors would get in first and establish “spheres of influence” that excluded US capital. One sign of this was that the US Navy began creating a Pacific Squadron in 1821—almost two decades before official United States territory first reached the Pacific coast.
The Navy’s Pacific Squadron—and its East India Squadron, created in 1835—didn’t have long to wait before being put to use. During Britain’s First Opium War against China, which began in 1839, the East India Squadron intervened on the side of Britain, creating the conditions for the US to impose a commercial treaty on China in 1844. But the biggest plum at the time was Japan.
In the mid-nineteenth century, Japan had been ruled for 250 years by the Tokugawa shogunate, a feudalistic government that brought political stability and considerable economic and cultural progress after a period of civil wars. The shogunate maintained a firm policy of isolation from foreign influences, including trade. The only permitted foreign commerce was conducted through a government monopoly in the single port of Nagasaki. (The reluctance concerning foreign trade was strengthened by the example of British commerce—the opium trade—which had led to the First Opium War.)
US capital, eager to get as much as it could out of the developing exploitation of Asia, sent two US warships that arrived at Edo (Tokyo) Bay in 1846 with a letter requesting the opening of trade between Japan and the US. The request was rejected, so in July 1853, the US sent four warships under Commodore Matthew Perry with a similar letter from the US president.
This time, the Americans refused to accept “no” for an answer. Perry rejected the Japanese instruction to land at Nagasaki and threatened to burn Edo (the Japanese capital) to the ground, at which point the Japanese permitted him to land at a port near Edo. The US warships then proceeded to survey Edo Bay despite Japanese objections. After several displays of US firepower, Perry’s fleet departed, promising to return in a year.
In fact, it returned the following February, now boasting eight warships. Perry made it clear that the fleet wasn’t leaving until a treaty for the “opening” of Japan was signed, which happened at the end of March.
US Navy warships participated in the Second Opium War against China, which ended in 1860 with the US, Britain, France and Russia being granted direct access to Chinese ports and to Peking (Beijing). Citizens of these four powers were also given extraterritoriality regarding Chinese laws.
Even the US Civil War of 1861–65 did little to slow US expansion into Asia. The US bought Alaska from Russia in 1867, gaining a strong presence in north Asia. In 1893, the US seized control of the Hawaiian Islands, providing an important economic and military stepping stone for its interventions in Asia.
US capital faced considerable competition in pillaging the wealth of China. Its intervention largely lagged those of other major powers, such as Britain, which led the way in looting China, as well as France, Germany and Japan. This led US capital to fear that European powers would partition China into separate spheres of influence, excluding the US. In an effort to catch up, the US secretary of state (foreign minister) in 1899 announced the “Open Door policy”. This sought to have US competitors commit to allowing equal access for other countries in their spheres of influence.
That would have contradicted the whole point of a sphere of influence, so the other powers never gave more than lip-service to the policy, but the US continued to cooperate with them when it came to controlling China. Thus the US sent 1,200 marines as part of the international force that suppressed the 1900 Boxer Rebellion.
The US must have thought that sending those marines to China was a generous gesture to its imperialist allies, since at that time it was heavily involved in a much larger war against the Philippines. In the 1890s, to US capital, the remains of the declining Spanish empire looked ripe for the picking, with an ongoing 30-year uprising in Cuba and a growing independence movement in the Philippines. In April 1898, the US declared war on Spain, and on 1 May, a US fleet defeated the Spanish Navy in Manila Bay. 
In December, the treaty ending the war gave the US the title to the Philippines. The US was already in control of Manila, but the Philippine independence forces were in control of the rest of the country, and on 12 June they formally declared independence. They had hoped that the US would withdraw once the war with Spain was concluded, but it soon became evident that hope was in vain. On 21 December, the US president issued a proclamation in effect annexing the Philippines.
Years of brutal warfare ensued as the US sought to take control of its new colony. Its overwhelming military superiority allowed the US to defeat the organised Philippine forces, but guerrilla resistance continued until 1906. US anti-insurgency tactics were strikingly similar to those used six decades later in Vietnam. Civilian peasants were forcibly relocated into concentration camps (called “strategic hamlets” in Vietnam), and the surrounding areas were declared free-fire zones. 
After a US infantry unit was ambushed with heavy losses on the island of Samar, General Jacob H. Smith ordered a march across the island, commanding his troops to “kill everyone over the age of 10” and to leave the island a “howling wilderness”. An estimated 2,000 to 2,500 civilians were killed.
Letters home from US soldiers often described atrocities they witnessed or participated in, including the widespread use of torture, and some of these accounts were reported in the press. For example, one such letter read:
“The town of Titatia was surrendered to us a few days ago, and two companies occupy the same. Last night one of our boys was found shot and his stomach cut open. Immediately orders were received from General Wheaton to burn the town and kill every native in sight; which was done to a finish. About 1,000 men, women and children were reported killed. I am probably growing hard-hearted, for I am in my glory when I can sight my gun on some dark skin and pull the trigger.”
The US state department estimates that the war “resulted in the death of over 4,200 American and over 20,000 Filipino combatants”, adding that “as many as 200,000 Filipino civilians died from violence, famine, and disease”. The latter figure does not include the estimated 150,000–200,000 deaths from a cholera epidemic at the end of the war.
The US remained the colonial master of the Philippines until evicted by Japanese troops in World War II. In the meantime, it continued trying to ensure its exploitation of China, both by intervening in that country’s civil war and by countering Japanese capitalism’s attempts to conquer large parts of the country.
A US Marine Corps regiment was stationed in Shanghai for more than a decade leading up to World War II, mainly to protect imperialist settlements from troops of the Chinese Communist Party. US aid to the Nationalist forces of Chiang Kai-shek was directed against both the CCP and Japan, and was a factor in the eventual Japanese decision to go to war with the US.
Within days of the Japanese surrender, the US had sent 50,000 soldiers into north-eastern China to ensure that weapons taken in the disarmament of Japanese troops went to Chiang Kai-shek’s forces. But US efforts to secure more of the spoils were badly hampered by a large and mutinous “bring us home” movement that swept through US regiments in both Asia and Europe. The government was forced to spend several years essentially rebuilding its forces before risking another major military intervention.
Its next such Asian deployment occurred in Korea, which had been arbitrarily divided by the US and the Soviet Union to manage the disarming of Japanese troops there. As the Cold War developed, the two zones were hardened into competing autocratic governments, both claiming to be the sole legitimate government of all Korea, which went to war with one another in 1950. The US immediately intervened, in what was supposedly a United Nations operation but in which the US supplied 90 percent of the troops.
In the next three years, US bombers so flattened North Korea that pilots complained they had run out of targets. After US forces approached the border with Manchuria, and China intervened on the side of North Korea, the US Joint Chiefs of Staff drafted orders to drop atomic bombs on air bases in Manchuria and in Shandong province if China used them to launch air strikes against US forces.
Space doesn’t permit, and it is perhaps unnecessary, to detail more recent events—like the long US war against Vietnam (and Laos and Cambodia); Washington’s encouragement and support of Indonesia’s General Suharto, and his regime’s slaughter of a million suspected communists and leftists; and United States backing for the Indonesian invasion of Timor-Leste. (For more on US intervention in China and Taiwan, see my article in the 8 May Red Flag.)
The inescapable conclusion is that neither former president Barack Obama’s “pivot to Asia”, nor the economic warfare against China by presidents Trump and Biden, nor the current preparations for a possible shooting war are in any sense a departure from the long-term US goal of dominating Asia economically and—to the extent necessary to ensure economic domination—politically and militarily. The strategic importance and difficulty of that goal, compared to pursuit of the same goal in Europe, the Middle East or other regions, can of course change with circumstances, requiring “pivots” by Washington administrations. But one thing is certain: US capital will not pivot away from coercion, bullying and open warfare until it is finally defeated.

The US in Asia: a long history of aggression

In the years following World War Two, as numerous direct colonies won formal independence, there was a widespread belief, or at least a hope, that political independence would lead fairly rapidly to significant economic progress. No longer under the control of foreign exploiters, the ex-colonies would be free to undergo economic development like that which had occurred in the wealthy capitalist countries. With assistance from benign international institutions and former colonisers who had seen the error of their ways, the “underdeveloped” global south, renamed “developing countries”, would soon “catch up”, and the huge economic differences between countries would be overcome.
As is obvious today, it didn’t happen. In 2015, not quite 1 billion people in twelve “first world” countries had a per capita GDP of US$44,392; 6.2 billion people in 148 “third world” countries had a per capita GDP one-tenth that size. Why, and how?
The “why” is relatively easy, while the “how” requires a bit more detail and analysis. Despite the nonsensical propaganda they produced, European imperialists didn’t colonise Africa, Asia and the Americas out of noble motives. Their motive, pure and simple, was greed. When a combination of their weakening in the world war and the uprisings of colonised peoples forced them to grant political independence, that didn’t make them stop being greedy. It just made them modify their techniques of exploitation.
The underdevelopment of the global south was not some kind of natural misfortune, like a drought or poor soil or geographical isolation. It was something inflicted on the colonies by their Western colonisers—something concisely summarised 50 years ago by the Guyanese Marxist Walter Rodney in the title of his book, How Europe Underdeveloped Africa.
Of course, it was easier for imperialists to plunder the southern countries when they had direct political control over them. They could engage in what amounted to looting and piracy: forced labour or slavery, direct expropriation of land and other wealth, taxes remitted to the imperialist centres, destruction of industries that might compete against imperialist companies.
Forced to give up direct political control, the imperialists nevertheless continued exploiting the former colonies in more subtle ways. Capitalist competition, promoted as a pathway to growth, was in reality a deliberate dead end. The wealth extracted from colonies over decades or centuries had built large, technically advanced businesses in the imperialist centres. Conversely, the exploitation meant that the former colonies lacked the capital that would have been necessary to create industries that could compete with the imperialists.
No problem, declared the ideological servants of imperialism: the former colonies can borrow the capital they need in order to develop; then they can repay the loans from the profits of their new industries. One of several flaws in this argument was that many citizens of former colonies thought it a bit unfair that they should have to borrow money that had been stolen from them, and then pay interest to the thieves.
This is where international bodies such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund come in. They pose as independent, well-meaning sources of capital for the “developing” economies. In reality, they are, and have always been, controlled by the governments of the wealthiest imperialist countries. This ensures that loans go only to governments that don’t rock the boat—the boat that is carrying the enormous interest payments that poor countries must make to both bilateral “donors” and to the IMF/WB mafia.
These interest payments are transfers from poor countries to wealthy ones, and are a significant part of what keeps the global south poor. A 2020 study of 63 “impoverished countries” by the Jubilee Debt Campaign, based on IMF and World Bank figures, found that their external debt servicing in 1998 consumed an average 16.6 percent of government revenue. Partial debt relief for some of the most indebted countries reduced that figure to 5.5 percent by 2011, but it then started rising again, reaching 11.1 percent in 2018. The COVID pandemic will have undoubtedly raised it further. The World Bank notes of the pandemic’s impact: “Low- and middle-income countries’ external debt-to-GNI [gross national income] ratio rose to 29 percent in 2020 from 27 percent in 2019, and the debt-to-export ratio increased to 123 percent from 106 percent in 2019”.
These figures stand like an ironic commentary on the idea that “development” loans would make it possible for poor countries to build industries that increased their incomes and repaid the loans. Even if these countries were to do the impossible for a year and devote all of their export revenues—that is, every cent of export sales, not just the profits—they would still not be able to pay off their full foreign debts.
The owners of the imperialist economies of course never intended for their governments to help poor countries create industries that could compete against them; imperialist corporations are not suicidal. So “development” in the poor countries is restricted to fields that continue the transfer of wealth to the rich countries: direct imperialist investment, the profits of which of course go to the investing corporations; and natural resource extraction and industries characterised by low- or at best medium-level technology, which have correspondingly low rates of profit.
Capitalists in the global south are confined to the least productive, and therefore least profitable, fields. As a result, much of the value created in the south is transferred to the imperialist countries in the course of trade: the poor countries import overpriced goods and sell their own products for less than their real value. The amounts of money transferred in this way, called “unequal exchange” by economists, are staggering. 
A recent article in the journal New Political Economy attempts to quantify the sum for the years 1960-2018. The authors write: “Over the whole period, drain from the South totalled $62 trillion (constant 2011 dollars) ... Appropriation through unequal exchange represents up to 7% of Northern GDP and 9% of Southern GDP”. That is not a typo: the global south was deprived of $62 trillion. Such value transfers are the underlying cause of situations such as the current disaster in Sri Lanka.
If imperialist corporations seem to have arranged everything for their own benefit, it must be recognised that they can’t do it all on their own. Even in the time of direct colonies, to maintain control, the colonisers needed collaborators within the colonial population. After political independence, imperialism still required a social layer that would cooperate to keep the system ticking over profitably.
It found the components of that layer among local capitalists, large landowners and would-be capitalists. In some cases, they might have come from among the open collaborators. In others, they came out of the movements for independence, from those leaders whose visions didn’t go beyond a change of personnel at the top.
Because of the huge sums of value appropriated by the global north, the capitalists of the global south generally cannot compete with the major imperialist industries. Aside from situations of natural monopoly (oil, for example), capitalists in the poor countries have to rely on low-profit areas such as manufacturing consumer goods that northern capitalists have abandoned or assembling electronics for high-tech imperialist companies. In these labour-intensive industries, the poverty and low wages of the south allow them to compete, and they are driven to maintain those low wages as a matter of their own survival.
So, while southern capitalists might sometimes feel that they are oppressed by imperialism and, if they have the opportunity, might put some pressure on imperialist corporations for improved terms of their collaboration, they know well that they share class interests with the imperialists and have a common enemy in the working class. If Marx called competing capitalists a “band of warring brothers”, we might call imperialists and southern capitalists a “band of squabbling big brothers, little brothers and occasional distant cousins”.
This is why southern capitalists are never reliable allies of working people and poor farmers in any struggle against imperialism. It is why the possibility of a radical popular movement forming government in a third world country always arouses the threat of imperialist intervention against it, to ensure that the country’s capitalists remain in charge.

Why is the global south still poor?

Glenn Greenwald is justly known for his journalism exposing the crimes of empire and the establishment, including the liberal establishment. This made all the more surprising and disappointing his recent article titled, “<a href="https://greenwald.substack.com/p/the-bizarre-refusal-to-apply-cost">The bizarre refusal to apply cost-benefit analysis to COVID debates</a>”. Greenwald claims that “rational cost-benefit analysis” regarding COVID “has been bizarrely declared off-limits”. He writes that there is a “pervasive and deeply misguided refusal to assign any costs to the harms caused by anti-COVID policies themselves”.
What is rational or otherwise in particular analyses can be a matter of dispute, but it is obviously false to say that there is a paucity of public discussion of the costs of anti-COVID policies. Just to take the United States, on which Greenwald’s article focuses, from the very first lockdowns, there have been a huge number of media and business complaints about the measures destroying “the economy”. Greenwald does not even mention this campaign, let alone its success in forcing the premature easing of public health restrictions, which has resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths.
Instead, he cites only psychological-social harms to children from school closures and other anti-COVID health measures. But it is equally false that the discussion of such harms has been “declared off-limits”. Is Greenwald not aware of the US state governors and legislators who are not only forcing schools to reopen regardless of circumstances but also trying to ban masks because of their supposed harm to children?
Greenwald is here following the economic elites and their political agents. They shifted emphasis from harms to “the economy” to harms to children when it became evident that the former campaign failed to persuade enough working people that they are selfish if they put concern for their own and their children’s health and lives ahead of the profits of their employers.
A meaningful comparison of the costs and benefits of policy choices is possible only if there is a reasonable degree of knowledge about what their sizes will be. Regarding COVID, there can only be speculation on that. Greenwald stresses that deaths of under-18s in the US since the start of the pandemic total only 361. Such a low number, he says makes unjustifiable health measures such as school closures. However, that statistic doesn’t help much, because those deaths were neither a cost nor a benefit of anti-COVID measures.
They are one indicator of the danger that COVID represents for the young. But a calculation of the benefits of anti-COVID measures would have to compare the current death toll with what it would have been if no public health measures, such as school closures, had been adopted. Nobody knows what that would have been, except that it could have been large (and may still be). Children in lockdowns are generally more isolated than adults, many of whom are still working and are involved in a household’s shopping and other external activities. It could be argued that at least some of the reason for fewer COVID cases and deaths among children is due to the effectiveness of anti-COVID policies.
Furthermore, Greenwald limits his argument to the number of child deaths. Yet long COVID is serious problem, even though children may not be as severely affected as adults. 
“Evidence from the first study of long covid in children [in Italy] suggests that more than half of children aged between 6 and 16 years old who contract the virus have at least one symptom lasting more than 120 days, with 42.6 percent impaired by these symptoms during daily activities”, notes a March article (i.e. before the rapid spread of the Delta variant) in New Scientist. 
“The UK Office for National Statistics’s latest report estimates that 12.9 percent of UK children aged 2 to 11, and 14.5 percent of children aged 12 to 16, still have symptoms five weeks after their first infection. Almost 500,000 UK children have tested positive for covid-19 since March 2020.” 
On those figures, in less than half a year, something like 60-70,000 UK children have contracted some degree of long COVID. And no-one yet knows how long long COVID will last.
The situation is becoming more serious with Delta. Already, Florida and Texas, and possibly other US states, have no unoccupied paediatric hospital beds—so it is likely that there will be indirect child deaths caused by COVID.
Then there are family members, who are also ignored by Greenwald. Children can obviously be a vector for transmission of the virus to the adults in their homes. The 27 August New York Times reported on a recent study of an outbreak at a California primary school. There, a teacher not wearing a mask spread the virus to twelve of her 24 pupils. Another six children in a different classroom were also infected, as were eight family members of the students.
Finally, the more children there are infected, even if not seriously ill, the greater is the likelihood of the virus mutating.
Even if we had reliable figures on the children harmed by anti-COVID measures and those who would die or suffer prolonged illness in the absence of those measures, how would we compare the two? A corporation considering a change in production methods, for example, can normally calculate the likely costs and benefits in dollar terms. But how many children with psychological injury A equal y dead children? How many cases of B caused by school closure are equivalent to z cases of child long COVID?
Insurance actuaries would answer by converting everything into money: estimating how much injury A will cost in the individual’s lost productiveness and medical expenses, and the value of the production lost by the child who dies or suffers long COVID rather than spending a lifetime at work. That is, cost-benefit analysis in this case depends on regarding human beings as capitalism regards them: nothing but sources of income or expense and disregarding any other aspect of human life.
This relates to a central problem of Greenwald’s proposed COVID cost-benefit analysis. In the corporation’s calculations, costs and benefits accrue to the same “person”—the corporation; this makes the decision easy if one of the two magnitudes is significantly greater than the other. But in an analysis regarding all or a large part of a society, the cost-bearers and the beneficiaries are likely to be quite different groups. They might even be different classes.
Greenwald ignores that reality, writing as though it were a question of total costs and benefits for US society as an undifferentiated whole. This is particularly obvious when he employs a rather silly analogy with private automobile usage. Americans, he says, are okay with car crashes being the number one cause of death for people under the age of 55, because a “rational cost-benefit analysis” tells them that banning or severely restricting the use of private cars would make things even worse (ignoring that US society restricts private automobile usage in numerous ways, such as traffic laws).
Most people in the US have a car for the simple reason that that is the only practicable way for them to go about their daily lives. Analysis, whether rational or otherwise, has nothing to do with it: they have no real choice.
The main beneficiaries of private automobiles are not the individual owners; indeed, taking account of all the costs (depreciation, insurance, registration fees, petrol, taxes for road construction and maintenance, the danger of death or serious injury), it seems likely that their benefits are considerably outweighed. The chief beneficiaries of public dependence on private automobiles are the big automobile and oil corporations, the manufacturers of tyres and other automobile equipment, the construction companies paid to build the ever-expanding networks of highways, the banks that finance car purchases—in short, the very wealthy people whose lobbying and money determine what is acceptable and unacceptable in public policy.
Similarly, regarding COVID, we should think about who benefits and who pays. Greenwald’s one concession to class in the article is that it is easier for rich people than for poor people to avoid the inconveniences of COVID restrictions. He doesn’t seem to notice that it is also easier for them to avoid death or severe illness.
Lockdowns and similar measures certainly affect working people and the poor. That’s why we should insist that such measures be implemented in a way that minimises harm—for example, by governments paying an adequate subsidy to laid-off staff. But it is also the case that a large part of the cost of lockdowns and similar anti-COVID measures falls on capitalists. Not all of them, and not equally, but when businesses can’t exploit their workers, they can’t make profits. 
So while the world’s wealthiest people have increased their wealth during the pandemic, some large and very large corporations, like airlines, have suffered major losses. Also among the losers are many medium-sized and small businesses—layers often under economic stress even before the pandemic struck. This explains why the most ferocious COVID deniers and anti-vaxxers tend to be concentrated among the right-wingers and racists attracted to demagogues and conspiracy theories about the causes of their financial difficulties.
For leftists, or for honest journalists with no particular political viewpoint, it is a serious mistake to be taken in by the capitalists’ feigned concern for the welfare of children.

When it comes to COVID, Glenn Greenwald sings from the ruling-class songbook

As governments fight over which country will get the most vaccines soonest (and at the best price) and whose pharmaceutical companies will make the most money, it’s easy to think that there’s no other realistic way of producing and distributing the vaccines needed to roll back and, hopefully, eventually stop the coronavirus epidemic. In December, the People’s Vaccine Alliance reported that rich countries, with 14 percent of the world’s population, had bought up 53 percent of all the vaccines likely to be successful—which was enough to vaccinate their populations three times over.
So it is not surprising that the increase of vaccines approved or nearing approval—I think there are now around seven or eight—seems not to have done much, if anything, to reduce the cutthroat competition or the prices.
The propaganda claims that only the prospect of huge profits can persuade pharmaceutical companies to invest in developing and producing vaccines, and so, in the end, the market has to rule in this situation (even though some of the privately patented vaccines were developed wholly or in part by government subsidies).
But there is evidence that it could be done differently. Cuba—a poor country with about half the population of Australia, and which has been labouring under a United States economic blockade for six decades—has begun a Phase 3 test of Soberana 2, the vaccine considered the most effective among the four that its scientists have been developing and testing. Soberana 2 is a recombinant protein vaccine, which does not require extreme refrigeration.
If the Phase 3 test is successful, the Cubans hope to inoculate their entire population by the end of this year. But they are planning to produce up to ten times the number of doses that are required for Cuba. The country—partly because of the US blockade—does not have the capacity to produce the planned 100 million doses in one year. The government is therefore seeking to partner with pharmaceutical companies in Europe or Canada to produce Cuba’s patented vaccine.
The extra vaccine is to be exported, but not at the excessive prices demanded by Big Pharma. Cuba’s past practice with its patented medical treatments is that it seeks to recover its costs: it provides the treatments free or at concession prices to poor countries and charges near market rates for licences to wealthy countries. This approach is part of Cuba’s well-known medical missions to scores of countries around the world. The United Nations estimated in 2019 that 30,000 Cuban doctors were providing health services in 67 countries in that year. This is one of the factors that has won Cuba much international good will and support against the US.
Cuba’s development of a vaccine is certainly not a “miracle of the market”. It’s a matter of what a society considers important. As part of a strategy to survive against the blockade and ongoing threats from the US, not long after Cuba’s 1959 revolution, the government decided to specialise in medicine and microbiology. It is not a coincidence that the name of the vaccine, Soberana, is the Spanish word for “sovereignty”.
Perhaps, in the not too distant future, “soberana” might become an international term meaning “Health doesn’t have to depend on pharmaceutical company profits”.

The COVID vaccine you haven’t heard about

Americans are being told that the riot in the national Capitol building promoted by Donald Trump was the work of “extremists”. To some, the term may seem a handy catch-all to refer to the crowd of white supremacists, proto-fascists, misogynists, climate denialists, QAnon delusionists, evangelical terrorists and brain-damaged Twitterholics involved, but its vagueness makes it easily susceptible to misuse.
People who are the opposition to those various categories are, respectively, BLM supporters, anti-fascists, feminists, environmental activists etcetera. But what is the opposite of “extremist”? It can only be something like “centrist”, “moderate”, “middle of the roader”, “liberal” or “conservative”, or perhaps “Joe Biden”. None of these offer any serious and consistent support for the political forces fighting the ultra-right.
And if it’s a dangerous fault to differ from the centre, then it follows that BLM activists, anti-fascists and so on should be suppressed as much as (in practice, more than) the Capitol rioters. Both “left” and “right” varieties of centrism in the US (and in Australia and probably elsewhere) are already pushing the line that there is an equivalence between the Capitol racists and the millions who protested to demand an end to police murder of Black people. Australian Deputy PM Michael McCormack explicitly stated that the two “demonstrations” were the same, because both supposedly involved “violence”.
If there’s going to be a campaign against extremism, the term needs to be defined more precisely. Surely, a willingness to let others suffer and/or die when one has the means to prevent it has to count as extremism. But the centrist politicians defend a system that allows it to happen every day, every hour.
In rich countries, there is more than enough wealth to support the entire population through a lockdown sufficient to wipe out the coronavirus, for example. But it doesn’t happen because that would reduce profits, and even involve extra taxes on the rich. In Australia last year, the combined wealth of billionaires grew by more than 50 percent, according to Bloomberg. In the US during less than a year of the pandemic, the total wealth of the country’s billionaires increased by more than US$1 trillion. With the US death total approaching 400,000, every time an American has died, the wealth of billionaires has increased, on average, by $2.5 million.
Michael McCormack repeats the racist slogan “all lives matter”. The real position of the billionaires and their politicians is, “Only our lives matter”.
So who are the worst extremists?

'Extremism' in the centre

The federal government is planning to introduce a written test on “Australian values” for migrants seeking to become citizens. Media reports indicate that the test will involve multiple choice questions. While the government has not yet disclosed the precise questions, the Guardian’s account listed some examples of what they might be. I quote some of them below. Since the Guardian report did not provide any alternative answers to the questions, I have added my own.
 
1. Why is it important that all Australian citizens vote to elect the state and federal parliament?
a. You’ll be fined if you don’t vote. That goes for council elections too. 
b. Choosing the least objectionable person or party from a list of social misfits will train your powers of discrimination.
c. The candidates spend great quantities of lobbyists’ money to persuade you to vote for them, and we wouldn’t want all that money to be wasted.
d. Voting for people who won’t do what you want is better than you doing what you want.
e. All of the above.
 
2. Should people in Australia make an effort to learn English?
a. Yes. State and federal parliamentarians in particular seem unable to construct a sentence that makes any real sense.
b. What’s wrong with Newspeak?
 
3. In Australia, can you encourage violence against a person or group of people if you have been insulted?
a. Yes, but it’s much easier to do so if you own a major newspaper.
b. Not unless the insulters are poorer than you.
c. Yes, but it’s much easier to do if you’re a racist MP.
d. If they are Muslims, an insult isn’t necessary.
e. All of the above.
 
4. In Australia, are people free to choose who they marry or not marry?
a. Since December 2017, they are legally free to do so. That’s why we didn’t have a test question like this before then.
b. Yes, but watch this space. You don’t think the losers in that vote have given up, do you?
c. Yes, but if either of the spouses is political, or of a dark skin colour, the police may tell you that the wedding reception violates health regulations.
d. All of the above.
 
5. Do you agree that men and women should be provided equality of opportunity when pursuing their goals and interests?
a. Yes, equality with each other, but not equality with people of a higher social station. Ambiguities like this reinforce answer “a” to question 2.
 
6. Should people’s freedom of speech and freedom of expression be respected in Australia?
a. Yes. It will make us stand out from the rest of the capitalist world.
b. Yes, provided they can pay for it.
c. Yes, in NSW when permitted by Gladys Berejiklian-Petersen.
d. Yes, when there are enough police available to ensure that such expression doesn’t seriously threaten to change anything.
e. All of the above.

The new 'Aussie values' test: a sneak preview

One benefit – possibly the only one – of the UK government’s interminable Brexit negotiations/proposals/back stops/etceteras is the winged phrase of a “meaningful vote” by parliament on prime minister Theresa May’s deal(s) with the European Union.
Two or three votes on this issue are “meaningful”.
So what are the hundreds of other votes every year by the “mother of parliaments”? Meaningless? Political grandstanding? Paying off donors? Fooling the voters into thinking we’re doing something useful? Pretending that parliament is what determines things?
Probably “all of the above” would be the best answer, which would apply equally to Australia’s parliament and most other legislatures. Yes, we demand that parliaments enact particular progressive proposals into law. But such proposals derive their meaning from the ordinary people who have campaigned for them, not from parliamentarians.
If we normally had meaningful votes in parliament, we would also need to have meaningful parliamentary elections. Don’t hold your breath for either.

A warning from history: ‘This is what is going to happen to you’

Vietnam: a victory never to be forgotten

What is NATO?

The US in Asia: a long history of aggression

Why is the global south still poor?

When it comes to COVID, Glenn Greenwald sings from the ruling-class songbook

The COVID vaccine you haven’t heard about

'Extremism' in the centre

The new 'Aussie values' test: a sneak preview

Brexit benefit

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