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The only way forward is to complete the unfinished revolution against feudalism—not through reactionary nationalism, but through systemic transformation.
In 1776, America declared independence not just from a king, but from an entire feudal order. The promise was radical: no more lords and vassals, no more aristocratic monopolies, no more inherited rule. It was a vision of self-governance, economic freedom, and political democracy.
As we know, this promise was deeply flawed from the outset—built atop the brutal reality of chattel slavery, which entrenched a racial caste system even as the revolution sought to break from feudal hierarchy.
Still, the revolutionary spark—that governance should belong to the people, not an inherited elite—set a course for future struggles, from abolition to labor rights to civil rights. The unfinished promise of 1776 has always been to extend that right to everyone, dismantling old forms of domination wherever they persist.
The fight against neo-feudalism must be reclaimed by a left willing to challenge entrenched power at its roots, not merely manage decline.
Yet nearly 250 years later, we find ourselves under the shadow of a system that eerily resembles the one we once revolted against. Power is no longer held by monarchs but by corporate oligarchs and billionaire dynasties. The vast majority of Americans—trapped in cycles of debt, precarious labor, and diminishing rights—are not citizens in any meaningful sense.
We talk around this reality. We call it “money in politics,” “corporate influence,” and “economic inequality.” But these are symptoms, not the disease. The disease is neo-feudalism—a system in which power is entrenched, inherited, and designed to be impossible to escape. And unless we call it by its true name, we will never build the movement needed to fight it.
Feudalism may have faded in name, but many of its structures remain. Today’s hierarchy mirrors the past in ways we can no longer ignore.
This is not the free society America was supposed to be. It is a highly stratified system in which the many serve the interests of the few, with no meaningful path to real power. And worse, the establishment left—rather than challenging this order—has come to represent it.
The Democratic Party was once the party of the working class. Today, it has become the party of the professional-managerial elite—the bureaucrats, consultants, and media figures who believe that governing is their birthright.
The establishment left has in many ways absorbed the role of the aristocracy—not just in terms of wealth but in the way it positions itself as the enlightened ruling class. They claim to stand for “equity” and “democracy,” yet do nothing to challenge the real structures of power.
Instead, they manage decline while maintaining their own privilege—careful not to upset the donor class that sustains them.
As newly elected Democratic National Committee Chair Ken Martin put it, “There are a lot of good billionaires out there that have been with Democrats, who share our values, and we will take their money. But we’re not taking money from those bad billionaires.”
Pronouncements from global elites certainly don’t help either. The now-infamous slogan “You’ll own nothing and be happy”—popularized by the World Economic Forum and widely interpreted as a blueprint for a hyper-managed future—only fuels growing resentment toward an emerging system where ownership, autonomy, and mobility are increasingly out of reach for the average person.
This is why figures like Steve Bannon and reactionary populists have hijacked the narrative of neo-feudalism. Despite his own ties to oligarchs, Bannon has correctly identified that America is no longer a capitalist democracy but a feudal order where power is locked away from ordinary people.
He explicitly frames this crisis as a return to feudal hierarchy: “The ‘hate America’ crowd… they believe in some sort of techno-feudal situation, like was in Italy, back in the 14th and 15th century… where they are like a city-state, and there are a bunch of serfs that work for them. Not American citizens, but serfs, indentured servants.”
He has also drawn direct comparisons between modern economic conditions and serfdom: “Here’s the thing with millennials, they’re like 19th-century Russian serfs. They’re in better shape, they have more information, they’re better dressed. But they don’t own anything.”
However, Bannon’s solution—a nationalist strongman government—represents just another form of vassalage.
Reactionary populists like Bannon, President Donald Trump, and Tucker Carlson exploit real economic grievances and redirect them into a revenge narrative. Instead of seeing neo-feudalism as a system that transcends party or nationality—one that has evolved from medieval serfdom to corporate vassalage—they reframe it as a nationalist grievance.
Bannon likens “globalists” (an ambiguous term) to feudal overlords, but insists that nationalism can break their grip. Trump labels the deep state and liberal elites as the enemy, but assumes the role of a strongman to restore justice. Carlson says the working class is being crushed, but blames cultural elites rather than the billionaire class as a whole.
This misdirection is key. Rather than exposing the true architects of neo-feudalism—corporate monopolists, financial barons, and entrenched dynasties—these reactionaries redirect public anger toward an amorphous “cultural aristocracy” of media figures, academics, and bureaucrats. The real oligarchs escape scrutiny, while the working class is fed a narrative that pits them against cultural elites rather than the economic structures that keep them in servitude.
The only way forward is to complete the unfinished revolution against feudalism—not through reactionary nationalism, but through systemic transformation. The fight against neo-feudalism must be reclaimed by a left willing to challenge entrenched power at its roots, not merely manage decline.
The question is no longer whether neo-feudalism exists. The question is whether the left will finally recognize it—and act before it’s too late. If it fails, the fight will be lost to those who see the problem but offer only deeper subjugation as the solution.
The recent race for DNC chair raises questions about how the progressive wing of the party can and should move forward toward 2028.
Just before starting to write my lament about what a dramatic step backward the recent campaign for Democratic National Committee chair had been, I opened an Our Revolution email that told me, “We beat back the party establishment at the DNC.”
Now Our Revolution being a direct organizational descendent of the 2020 Bernie Sanders presidential campaign, and me having been a 2016 Sanders convention delegate, I feel pretty confident that our ideas of who “we” means are pretty much the same. So what accounts for the widely divergent takes?
For those who haven’t been following this, Minnesota’s Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party Chair Ken Martin was just elected to lead the DNC for the next four years, defeating Wisconsin Democratic Party Chair Ben Wikler by a 246.5–134.5 vote margin. There was no contested election four years ago, because by tradition a just-elected president selects the new chair; contested elections generally follow defeats. In the last one, in 2017, former Obama administration Secretary of Labor Tom Perez won the job, beating Minnesota Rep. Keith Ellison in a second round of voting, 235--200.
At the moment there is no one obviously positioned to take up the Sanders’ mantle in the 2028 presidential campaign.
Ellison’s candidacy came in the wake of his having been just the second member of Congress to support Sanders in the prior year’s presidential primaries, and the fact that Sanders people harbored serious grievances with the DNC over its perceived favoritism for the ultimate nominee, Hillary Clinton, lent a distinct edge to the election, bringing it considerably more buzz than the one that just occurred. At the time, former Massachusetts Rep. Barney Frank, a vociferous opponent of Sanders’ run—who had once declared, “The most effective thing liberals and progressives can do to advance our public policy goals... is to help Clinton win our nomination early in the year”—now thought there was “a great deal to be said for putting an active Sanders supporter in there,” so as to clear the air “of suspicions and paranoia.” But Clinton and Barack Obama apparently didn’t think so, and Clinton’s past Obama cabinet colleague, Perez, took up the torch in a race that produced a level of grassroots involvement seldom if ever before seen in this contest.
Although the office is traditionally considered organizational rather than ideological and the 2017 candidates did run on those issues, the underlying political differences were obvious to all. This time around, the race was generally understood to involve little if any political disagreement on the issues. By way of explaining its support for new party chair Martin, Our Revolution characterized runner-up Wikler, as “an establishment candidate backed by Nancy Pelosi, Hakeem Jeffries, and Chuck Schumer, and bankrolled by the billionaire class.” We understand that election campaigns are about sharpening the perception of differences between the candidates, but still this seems a rather thin, flimsy basis for hailing the vote as an anti-establishment triumph, given that Martin has publicly stated that he doesn’t want the party to take money from "those bad billionaires" only from "good billionaires;”and one of the two billionaires who gave a quarter million dollars to Wikler’s campaign was George Soros—probably the DNC’s model “good billionaire.” Besides Musk/Bezos/Zuckerberg probably aren’t thinking of donating anyhow. Oh, and Chuck Schumer actually supported Ellison eight years ago.
Actually, “we” did have a horse in the race—2020 Sanders campaign manager Faiz Shakir. Shakir, who has been running a nonprofit news organization called More Perfect Union, dedicated to “building power for the working class,” argued that Democrats needed a pitch for building a pro-worker economy to go with their criticism of U.S. President Donald Trump’s policy proposals. His viewpoint presented a serious alternative to that of Martin, who told a candidates forum that “we’ve got the right message... What we need to do is connect it back with the voters,”—seemingly a tough position to maintain following an election in which NBC’s 20-state exit polling showed the majority of voters with annual household incomes under $100,000 voting Republican, while the majority of those from over-$100,000 households voted Democrat. But even though Shakir was a DNC member and thereby able to get the 40 signatures of committee members needed to run, he entered the race far too late to be taken for a serious contender and ultimately received but two votes.
Mind you, none of this critique comes as a criticism of the work of the two state party chairs who were the principal contenders. Martin touts the fact that Democrats have won every statewide election in Minnesota in the 14 years that he has chaired the party, and anyone who understands the effort that goes into political campaign work can only admire that achievement. Nor is Our Revolution to be criticized for taking the time to discern what they thought would be the best possible option in a not terribly exciting race that was nevertheless of some importance.
At the same time it’s hard not to regret the diminished DNC presence of the “we” that Our Revolution spoke of, after “we” legitimately contended for power in the last contested election. Certainly this lack of interest was in no small part a consequence of the extraordinary circumstances that produced a presidential nominee who had not gone before the voters in a single primary—for the first time since Hubert Humphrey in 1968.
More importantly, it raises a serious question for those of us who believe that the structure and history of the American political system require the left’s engagement in the Democratic Party—uncomfortable and unpleasant as that may be at times. As the social scientists like to say, politics abhors a vacuum, and absent a national Democratic Party presence for the perspective that motivated the Sanders campaigns, people seeking action on the big questions on the big stage may start to look elsewhere. And elsewhere always looms the possibility of the cul-de-sac of yet of another third party candidacy that holds interesting conventions and debates, but ultimately receives only a small share of the vote, but a large share of the blame for the election of a Republican president.
At the moment there is no one obviously positioned to take up the Sanders’ mantle in the 2028 presidential campaign. But we may have to make it our business to find one.
If harnessed effectively, regional disillusionment with U.S. imperialism could propel Latin America toward true autonomy and bottom-up development.
In late January, the Trump administration forcibly repatriated Colombian nationals via military aircraft, allegedly shackling them and depriving them of basic necessities, all without trial. In a racist nod to his nativist base, U.S. President Donald Trump boasted on Truth Social that the migrants were "CRIMINALS."
While Trump's behavior is outrageous, and should be condemned widely, it also presents an opportunity for the left in Colombia, and Latin America, to push for further autonomy.
In a nation of militarized borders, hypersurveillance, and a cruel immigration system, millions of Latin Americans enter the U.S. illegally seeking refuge or economic opportunity. Latin American borders, by contrast, tend to be more porous, with irregular crossings common during geopolitical crises. When the Simón Bolívar International Bridge between Colombia and Venezuela closed amid diplomatic tensions, "Colombovenezolanos" regularly crossed through jungles and mountains to trade, study, work, and visit loved ones. I witnessed this firsthand at the bridge's reopening in the early days of Gustavo Petro's presidency.
To ensure this transition benefits the region, the left must actively counter right-wing efforts to realign Latin America with fascist, oligarchical U.S. interests.
Most Colombian immigrants (including irregular migrants) to the U.S. are not criminals; the majority crossing are economic migrants and asylum seekers. Yet Trump's imagery equates them with convicted terrorists bound for Guantánamo Bay—ironic given that he just issued an order to sending 30,000 migrants to the island for extrajudiciary detention.
There is a clear double standard here. Trump, himself civilly liable for rape and closely tied to serial rapist Jeffrey Epstein, has supported far-right terrorist groups and pardoned 1,500 insurrectionists who attempted to overthrow a democratic election on January 6, 2021. He prioritizes prosecuting brown immigrants over actual criminals.
Colombian President Gustavo Petro condemned the flights as violations of Colombian sovereignty and human rights, initially refusing to accept them. In retaliation, Trump imposed severe economic measures: a 25% tariff on all goods, a travel ban, sanctions on government officials and their allies, and extra screening at all U.S. ports of entry. Facing economic devastation and fearing further mistreatment of 1.5 million Colombians in the U.S., Petro relented.
In a passionate rebuke, the former M-19 guerrilla leader implored Trump to recognize Colombians' humanity, noting that despite U.S. efforts to repress its neighbors, Colombia has long resisted foreign domination, and thrived while doing so.
This is nothing new. The Monroe Doctrine, framed as protection against European colonization, was weaponized to oppose Simón Bolívar's dreams of regional unity and independence. The U.S. backed the United Fruit Company during the 1928 Banana Massacre, pressured the Colombian government into violent crackdowns on labor strikes, and played a major role in counterinsurgency efforts during La Violencia. The War on Drugs further entrenched U.S. intervention, with operations like the killing of Pablo Escobar more about American dominance than narcotics control—with U.S. drug consumption continuing to increase and the government arming and financing drug traffickers in Latin America and elsewhere. The U.S. also supported far-right paramilitaries and corrupt leaders in Colombia, including former President Álvaro Uribe, whose administration faced numerous allegations of ties to death squads.
Such blatant nativism has a long-term cost: U.S. regional influence. Despite the U.S.-Colombia trade war cooling off, the wheels of shifting regional power have already been put into motion. Though Colombia remains a key U.S. ally, Trump's aggression accelerates a preexisting shift, namely, Latin America's decoupling from the U.S., and the rise of polycentrism, or multiple powers competing over influence within Latin America. Colombia is increasingly diversifying its foreign relations, seeking partnerships that align with its national interests, values, and autonomy.
Across Latin America, left-wing and center-left democratic governments—from Colombia, Mexico, and Brazil to Bolivia, Uruguay, Honduras, Guatemala, Chile, and Peru—are reducing their reliance on Washington. Many regional leaders are reconsidering U.S. arms purchases, shifting defense contracts elsewhere. MERCOSUR and U.S. free trade negotiations have stalled, replaced by deepening ties with the E.U., China, and internal regional alliances. U.S. infrastructure and economic initiatives pale in comparison with China's growing investment, while the E.U. expands its footprint in public projects. Several Latin American countries, including Mexico, have already issued threats of retaliation against Trump's tariffs and repatriation flights.
Some right-wing governments, though a minority, still kowtow to Trump. Argentina's Javier Milei and El Salvador's Nayib Bukele have become MAGA darlings. Meanwhile, far-right movements are gaining traction in Colombia, Chile, Peru, and possibly Brazil, threatening polycentrism's progress. Their electoral victories would erode regional leverage against Trump and other authoritarian figures pursuing nativist agendas. Still, the broader trajectory favors a regional shift, with right-wing governments struggling to reverse course against broader trends. That shift will be best ushered in by the pro-democratic left.
Latin America's history is one of continuous resistance against imperial powers—Spain, Portugal, Holland, France, and now the U.S. For over two centuries, Washington has acted as a bully in its own backyard, orchestrating coups, backing dictators, and fueling instability to protect military and corporate interests. Trump's aggression is simply the Monroe Doctrine on steroids. Yet this overreach may finally push Colombia and other Latin American nations toward genuine self-determination.
This moment presents a strategic opening for the Latin American left. Historically, even progressive leaders like Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva and Michelle Bachelet treated the U.S. as a well-intentioned partner. That illusion has now fully shattered. With Trump exposing the naked self-interest of American Empire, its moral credibility in Latin America has collapsed. Washington's warnings about Chinese, Russian, or Iranian influence in the region now ring hollow—despite those states' extensive human rights abuses and extreme authoritarianism. Leftists in the region have long opposed U.S. imperialism, but today, that skepticism is near-universal, save for local fascists, oligarchs, and their enablers. If harnessed effectively, this disillusionment can propel Latin America toward true autonomy and bottom-up development.
Bilateral cooperation between the U.S. and Colombia is important, but there is simply no middle ground with fascism, and democracy must be defended, regardless of political expediency in the short-term. Under Trump, the U.S. is not just seen as lacking any moral character but as politically unstable, led by an idiocratic elite class. Despite their own obvious flaws, China, the E.U., and other regional partners offer a lower-risk, higher-reward alternative. By doubling down on racism, imperialism, and aggression, Trump accelerates America's decline in Latin America.
Whether the U.S. makes this a seamless transition to polycentrism or, like many other dead Empires, decides to go down swinging by further opening up the veins of Latin America, remains to be seen. If history is any guide, the latter is more likely—to the detriment of peace, human rights, and self-determination everywhere.
To ensure this transition benefits the region, the left must actively counter right-wing efforts to realign Latin America with fascist, oligarchical U.S. interests. This means solidifying regional economic and political alternatives, bolstering diplomatic unity against American coercion, and deploying the grassroots base against U.S.-backed reactionary forces. Only through concerted action can Latin America fully unshackle itself from imperial influence and forge a future of genuine sovereignty, justice, and development for all.