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Our first responsibility is not to prescribe Venezuela's political course, but to challenge the coercive power our own government exercises over it.
Ever since Hugo Chávez became Venezuela’s president in 1999 and initiated the Bolivarian Revolution, the country has been under siege by the US. The aggression escalated with the kidnapping of its lawful president, part of a larger and accelerating assertion of US imperial power worldwide. The Bolivarian Revolution survived but is in a forced tactical retreat.
For progressives outside Venezuela, this presents a difficult question. How should we respond when a government resisting US domination makes compromises that we may oppose, but does so under conditions largely imposed by Washington?
This article argues that criticism has its place. But it also needs to be contextualized in the larger struggle over Venezuela’s sovereignty and the consequences of weakening a government confronting overwhelming US power.
Tension between solidarity with an actually existing revolutionary process and criticism of its compromises has recurred throughout the Bolivarian Revolution. Among the first on the left to part company with the Chavista government were anarchists, who proclaimed that they were second to none in supporting revolutions against imperialism—until those projects succeeded in achieving state power.
We can all agree that the Rodríguez government faces demands backed by overwhelming US power and unite to oppose the continuing imperialist siege. Those of us living in the imperial core must aim the main blow at the conditions that have necessitated such retreats.
This tendency still affirmed their abstract solidarity with “the people” but not with their chosen representatives. They felt betrayed because the Bolivarian leadership failed to fulfill their expectations to build a workers’ state on a suitably expeditious timetable.
Riding a global commodities boom, the Bolivarian Revolution funded major social welfare programs, prioritizing poor and working people. To finance these measures, over half of Venezuela’s oil exports and 60% of its overall exports were sold to the US. Dependency on oil sales deepened, with oil accounting for over 95% of the country's foreign earnings.
Chávez proclaimed the goal of a socialist future, although he pardoned the unsuccessful 2002 coup plotters in an effort—perhaps mistaken—to encourage a cooperative domestic business class. He pragmatically sought opportunities to negotiate with them.
When Chávez died in March 2013, his chosen successor Nicolás Maduro won the snap presidential election. Maduro carried the Bolivarian project forward but under geopolitical conditions markedly different from his predecessor. Venezuela scholar Steve Ellner argues that there were no substantive political differences between the two leaders.
During Chávez’s illness, economic problems had accumulated (e.g., a dysfunctional currency exchange system). Maduro was under intense pressure from the moment he entered office.
Immediately, the US-backed and funded opposition started the guarimbas, demonstrations intended to accomplish by violence what they had failed to achieve at the ballot box. Washington, meanwhile, stepped up its hybrid war. Soon oil prices crashed and the US, under President Barack Obama, initiated ever more punishing sanctions in 2015.
Under these coercive measures, the Venezuelan economy by 2019 was in free fall with inflation over 100,000%. Never had an economy contracted so much in modern peacetime.
At this time of maximum weakness, a faction of the Venezuelan Communist Party developed a strategic disagreement with the governing coalition. It argued that the revolution should confront its class enemies more aggressively and expropriate major corporations, rather than seek a temporary rapprochement.
The nearly overwhelming task of righting the economy was ultimately achieved under Maduro's leadership. After precipitous economic contraction, Venezuela has experienced positive economic growth since 2021. Never had a petro-economy achieved such a turnaround, which included near food sovereignty. To do so, the government relied foremost on the strong Chavista base. It also had to appeal to nationalistic elements among the bourgeoisie and offer them economic incentives to secure their cooperation.
Venezuela was not unique in making such accommodations. During this period, Cuba and Nicaragua—the two other Latin American countries striving for socialism—also introduced market-oriented reforms. With all three countries, the measures were pragmatic adjustments to a world economy dominated by the US and hostile to socialism.
The events leading up to Maduro’s abduction on January 3 involved an ever-intensifying regime-change campaign by the US in concert with its allies: asphyxiating sanctions, stolen assets, diplomatic isolation, cyberattacks, assassination attempts, mercenary invasions, among other measures. The last two months saw a total naval blockade on Venezuelan oil shipments, cutting the country’s economic lifeline.
Regardless, Maduro repeatedly maintained his longstanding willingness to negotiate with Washington. Just two days before his abduction, Maduro outlined a program of accommodation in his annual New Year’s interview with Ignacio Ramonet. This is the program that his successor Delcy Rodríguez has followed, including the amnesty and hydrocarbons laws.
The Bolivarian Revolution persevered. Its accommodations may be understood as tactical responses to unfavorable conditions rather than as a full abandonment of the project.
The fact that Maduro did not waver and the Bolivarian Revolution did not break presented a dilemma for Washington. The US—especially as its aggression against oil-rich Iran was heating up—needed access to Venezuelan oil. Neither country benefited by keeping the oil in the ground.
Yet the US had painted itself into a corner. The Trump administration had demonized Maduro as a narco-trafficker. Even though Maduro was more than willing to negotiate, the US had precluded that option. The kidnapping followed.
The US invasion of Venezuela on January 3 demonstrated to both the leadership and the Venezuelan grassroots that they were alone—no country came to their defense. Whatever guardrails had existed before on the hegemon were down.
Yet the Bolivarian Revolution did not collapse. The highly polarized nation did not fall into civil unrest between Chavistas and opposition—if anything, it unified. The far-right María Corina Machado did not make her triumphal return to Caracas. Instead, that part of the opposition found itself discredited and in disarray.
In a seamless constitutional transition, Maduro’s vice president was sworn in as president. The Chavista movement united behind Acting President Delcy Rodríguez. Venezuela’s national recovery continues under a negotiated sovereignty where the US now bargains—with the ever-present threat of an even more lethal military action—over matters that should be the sole purview of Venezuelans.
The Bolivarian Revolution persevered. Its accommodations may be understood as tactical responses to unfavorable conditions rather than as a full abandonment of the project.
For international solidarity activists, the central question is how to forge a stance that advances the anti-imperialist struggle under these conditions. Those of us who support national sovereignty and self-determination should understand that what Venezuela is suffering relates to our failure to constrain our own imperialists.
Aiming the punch at the target. We can all agree that the Rodríguez government faces demands backed by overwhelming US power and unite to oppose the continuing imperialist siege. Those of us living in the imperial core must aim the main blow at the conditions that have necessitated such retreats.
We can all unite on actions to demand freeing President Maduro and “First Combatant” Cilia Flores from jail in New York City, ending sanctions, and returning stolen assets.
Differences among progressives. A useful distinction can be made between disagreements within the “left camp” and the fundamental conflict with imperialism. This does not mean suppressing differences or assuming that they are unimportant. Rather, it suggests approaching tensions among forces resisting imperialism in ways that seek common ground and avoid turning secondary differences into antagonistic ones.
Contextualizing criticism. Under pressure from Washington, the Rodríguez government deported former Venezuelan diplomat and minister Alex Saab and has established consular relations with Israel. These are among the bitter pills to swallow. Criticism of such actions may be entirely warranted, but should be assessed in light of the extraordinary constraints under which the Rodríguez government is operating.
A related example is Cuba, which is forced to tolerate a US military base and torture center in Guantánamo, has had the indignity of having the US secretary of war and the commander of the US Southern Command visit, and has introduced pro-capitalist economic reforms. Those reforms should be understood as “strategic adaptation” according to an article in Black Agenda Report. While not welcoming these accommodations to the US siege, international solidarity activists still unite with and defend Cuba.
Considering the alternatives. For example, the US and its allies waged wars of aggression and deposed Iraq’s Saddam Hussein in 2003, Libya’s Muammar Gaddafi in 2011, and Syria’s Bashar al-Assad in 2024. There were left critiques of these leaders but, in all instances, there were no viable left alternatives to them; nor were conditions for their people improved by their removal. There is no “third way” in a war.
This suggests that the relevant question is not whether a preferable government can be imagined, but what forces actually stand to replace the existing government. For Venezuela, if not the Rodríguez government, what is the actual alternative?
After 26 years of siege and domestic polarization, the Venezuelan people yearn for peace, reconciliation, and reconstruction—more so than ever after the devastating twin earthquakes on June 24. For those of us abroad, we can only imagine the difficulties of life under sanctions from the US and its allies.
Regional trends. Developments in Venezuela reflect a broader shift in Latin America under the “Donroe Doctrine,” where Trump’s reactionary wave has flooded the former Pink Tide. Venezuela should therefore be understood in the context of this region-wide sea change.
Not since Maduro’s election in 2024 has a leftist won in the region. We have witnessed a succession of far-rightists replace center-left presidents in Latin America. Last year, Nasry Asfura replaced Xiomara Castro in Honduras, José Antonio Kast replaced Gabriel Boric in Chile, and Rodrigo Paz replaced Luis Arce in Bolivia. This year, Abelardo de la Espriella replaced Gustavo Petro in Colombia. Coming up in October is the Brazilian presidential election pitting Flávio Bolsonaro against incumbent Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, with Trump actively interfering as he did in the other contests.
In all cases, the incumbents faced considerable criticism from the left. Yet whatever their shortcomings, the alternatives have been, or would be, less desirable.
Venezuela is not an isolated case. How progressives weigh criticism against solidarity, assess governments operating under US pressure, and consider the actual alternatives is increasingly relevant throughout the region.
Remarkably, given the intense pressure from the imperialists, the core Chavista leadership, the Socialist Party (PSUV), the civil-military union, the high courts and legislature, and the communes and grassroots organizations have all remained unified. Preserving that unity is particularly important; Bolivia’s experience of left fragmentation offers a cautionary example.
Our tasks are to educate the broader public about what is happening in Venezuela under extreme duress and to take collective action against the imperialist siege.
Between the Rubio State Department and corporate media, on one hand, and rejection of the Rodríguez government by some on the left, on the other, there is a vast intermediate terrain that needs to have a voice.
Whatever disagreements progressives may have with decisions made in Caracas, those decisions belong ultimately to Venezuelans. Our first responsibility is not to prescribe Venezuela's political course, but to challenge the coercive power our own government exercises over it. The Venezuelans have not told us how to make our revolution; we should do the same for them.
Our tasks are to educate the broader public about what is happening in Venezuela under extreme duress and to take collective action against the imperialist siege. The Bolivarian Revolution has not failed. But the project urgently requires relief.
The solidarity movement must unite in the broadest alliance around the defense of national sovereignty and the right to self-determination, strongly opposing the farcical New York trial of Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores, demanding the lifting of all sanctions, and calling for the return of stolen assets.
“Nothing is easier than to be idealistic on behalf of others.”—Karl Marx, 1858
Under cover of night, the US military kidnapped the lawful Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife and National Assembly deputy Cilia Flores on January 3, 2026. Collateral damage included over 100 fatalities of civilians and Cuban and Venezuelan guards.
This unprovoked surprise attack flagrantly violated international law. The hegemon acted in full expectation that it could operate with impunity. Even the neighboring left-leaning governments of Brazil and Colombia offered only mild rebukes. Then Venezuelan Foreign Minister Yván Gil said, “We found ourselves alone.” That is the context in which subsequent developments need to be understood.
The egregious military action culminated a quarter of a century of US and allied (particularly Canada and the UK) machinations against Venezuela: asphyxiating sanctions, stolen assets, diplomatic isolation, cyberattacks, assassination attempts, mercenary invasions, and establishing an ersatz parallel government. For the two months preceding the invasion, the US navy blockaded oil shipments. Still the empire’s goal of regime change was not achieved.
Washington and its allies failed to destroy Chavismo, the movement founded by Hugo Chávez and carried forward by his successor Nicolás Maduro. Venezuela did not collapse or degenerate into chaos after the decapitation. Domestic peace prevailed.
The US-backed and funded far-right opposition did not seize power, but found itself ever more marginalized and in disarray.
The Chavista leadership continued in a seamless constitutional succession with Vice President Delcy Rodríguez sworn in as acting president. The unity of the top command held firm, backed by the National Assembly and supreme court. Likewise, the civic-military union and the communes and grassroots Chavista institutions fully supported the government.
Notably, the core Chavista leadership, the military, Socialist Party, and communal formations have remained united under tremendous pressure—pressure designed to fracture that unifying accord.
Relying on its overwhelming military superiority, Washington made a Mafia-style offer you can’t refuse. US Secretary of State Marco Rubio called Rodríguez on that day of infamy and delivered an ultimatum to collaborate with the US or face the country’s military destruction and the murder of her and other leaders. Variations of this scenario are corroborated by both the corporate press and Chavista sources.
President Donald Trump explicitly threatened, “There is more where that came from.” The alternative was the devastation currently being rained down on Iran, a country with far greater military capacity. With US forces deployed throughout the region and off its coast, a military confrontation would have meant annihilation, including the destruction of the oil industry. Rodríguez did what any responsible leader would do given the existing options; she made a tactical retreat in the face of overwhelming force.
All the Chavista state institutions and the powerful universe of grassroots organizations that sustain the revolution remain intact. Yet US imperialism, by having a gun pointed to the government’s head, is in a position to exert substantial coercion leading to unpalatable decisions, such as Alex Saab’s deportation.
These accommodations reflect pressures that those of us on the outside can only imagine. How the solidarity movement should respond is a central question.
Former Chávez official Sergio Rodríguez Gelfenstein describes the current negotiations as an exercise in essential national self-preservation. He observes, “What is at stake is the survival of the State and the republic, which if lost, would make the discussion on any other topic banal.” As former Venezuelan Foreign Minister Jorge Arreaza said, “Everything is now negotiated,” with Washington obliged to be in daily give-and-take with Caracas.
Legislative reform had long been on Maduro’s agenda. However, revisions to laws governing the exploitation of hydrocarbons and hard minerals involved offering generous conditions to international capital in order to attract much-needed foreign investment (which Cuba is also doing).
The new amnesty law, another planned initiative, is a key instrument promoting reconciliation and denying extremist elements arguments to incite violence. The law strictly excludes “anyone who has committed war crimes, human rights violations, homicide, drug trafficking, or treason.”
The government is in negotiations with the moderate opposition. Such successive rounds of dialogue were a recurring feature of the Maduro presidency.
Rodríguez has counseled prudence and strategic patience. Notably, the core Chavista leadership, the military, Socialist Party, and communal formations have remained united under tremendous pressure—pressure designed to fracture that unifying accord.
The US has reversed itself and in practice recognizes the Venezuelan government as legitimate. The Bolivarian project has not only persisted but forced its greatest adversary to come to some accommodation.
Not since 2019 had the US allowed transactions with Venezuela’s central bank and major state banks. US restrictions had previously cut Venezuela off from the global financial system, preventing access to dollar-denominated transactions and US financial channels. Oil sales to the US have resumed, with some revenues returning to the domestic economy. The US-dominated International Monetary Fund (IMF) is again engaged with Venezuela. Rodríguez has stated that Venezuela is not seeking IMF loans, but access to its own frozen funds.
As a Venezuelan activist friend said, “You gringos tell us how to make our revolution when our problem is you have failed to make yours.”
Although sanctions largely remain in place, special licenses and a temporary easing of economic restrictions for earthquake relief have provided some breathing room for Venezuela’s besieged economy while also facilitating oil flows to the US. The concessions are limited and reversible, leaving the broader structure of US economic warfare intact. Still, the arrangement is preferable to the total oil blockade imposed immediately before the January 3 assault.
Rodríguez has repeatedly demanded that Venezuela be free of sanctions, while formally seeking the release of Venezuelan assets abroad to address the devastation caused by the earthquakes. She has even appealed to King Charles III for the return of 31 tons of Venezuelan gold held by the Bank of England.
The balance of forces confronting today’s Venezuelan leadership is substantially less favorable than under Chávez, so judging its compromises by an idealized Chávez-era standard is mistaken.
Some internationals invoke Chávez to discredit the current leadership. Overlooked is that during Chávez’s presidency, Venezuela sold oil almost exclusively to the US, when dependency was significant. Ignoring the changed context, infantile leftist claims are made that Chávez never compromised and that “one does not negotiate with the enemy,” forgetting the famous advice from Fidel Castro during the 2002 coup: “Don't immolate yourself, Hugo.”
Chávez governed during a commodities boom that provided the Bolivarian project with resources for material benefits markedly unavailable today under sanctions. The geopolitical context has shifted significantly since Chávez’s time, especially under the present “Donroe Doctrine.” Not since Maduro’s victory in July 2024 has a left-leaning candidate won in Latin America. The last seven presidential elections have been swept by the right. Until this broader reactionary trajectory is reversed, further retreats are likely.
The purpose and cumulative impact of the illegal unilateral coercive measures have been to erode public support for the government. Years of comprehensive sanctions—despite the 2021-2025 economic recovery following an approximately 75% GDP contraction—have left Venezuela in a vulnerable position. Currently the Venezuelan economy is operating at roughly 30% of its pre-sanctions level.
The Rodríguez government is trying to buy time to recover the economy, although the June 24 earthquakes dealt a terrible blow. According to the United Nations, direct physical damage is estimated at over $37 billion, representing over one-third of Venezuela’s gross domestic product.
Most Venezuelans want domestic peace and a return to prosperity, not a confrontation with the empire.
Those were the words of Fidel Castro as he was organizing the Cuban Revolution in 1956. Most dangerous for the sister Bolivarian Revolution is the suggestion that the current leadership has betrayed the cause and that a truly leftist “third way” can be fostered to replace them. There have always been competing factions within the Bolivarian movement. But political choices must ultimately be resolved within Venezuela itself, without interference from internationals.
These “third way” analyses, rejecting both Caracas and Washington, typically fail to address what Venezuelans could realistically do at this historical juncture—long on what’s wrong but short on viable alternatives.
Venezuelans will determine their path without foreign interference, either right or left. Solidarity necessitates efforts to accompany and uplift, not dictate.
It was not so long ago that it was the likes of far-right María Corina Machado who highlighted “cracks and fissures within the Chavista ranks” and anticipated “the beginning of a social explosion” against the elected Venezuelan government. Now some solidarity activists are saying the same.
The “tragic essence” of left disunity in Bolivia should be a cautionary lesson of what could happen in Venezuela. The Chavista leadership is painfully aware of this, hence their vigorous effort to establish the broadest united front against US colonization. Rather than being traitors to the cause, the Rodríguezes and Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello represent the most militant Chavistas—fighters from the very inception of the revolution.
Constructive criticism and solidarity activism need not be counterposed. Dissident opinions are appropriate when contextualized and given as part of a collaborative effort to advance common goals—not as individualistic venting.
Some among the left have appointed themselves as guardians of the faith judging negatively from afar the very difficult and risky tactical retreat undertaken by the Bolivarian leadership, even though it prevented a suicidal military confrontation with US imperialism.
The international left’s angst and disappointment regarding Venezuela’s retreats is understandable. But the Global South is not about to fulfill the revolutionary aspirations of those living in the belly of the beast. That, it should be clear, is the task for people in the imperial core.
As a Venezuelan activist friend said, “You gringos tell us how to make our revolution when our problem is you have failed to make yours.”
Venezuelans will determine their path without foreign interference, either right or left. Solidarity necessitates efforts to accompany and uplift, not dictate. Internationals living in the US, Canada, and the UK need to place the primary focus on our own imperialists. All other contradictions are secondary.
The solidarity movement must unite in the broadest alliance around the defense of national sovereignty and the right to self-determination, strongly opposing the farcical New York trial of Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores, demanding the lifting of all sanctions, and calling for the return of stolen assets.
El pueblo unido jamás será vencido.
(A united people will never be defeated.
How the state uses conspiracy charges to crush social movements.
On the morning of June 10, 2026, the FBI, together with an ensemble of local and state police departments, including the University of Michigan Police Department, conducted a series of simultaneous raids and arrests in Michigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin in spectacular militarized fashion. The operation targeted eight individuals engaged in Palestine solidarity activism at the University of Michigan.
That afternoon, FBI director Kashyap Patel announced that the targeted individuals “engaged in a coordinated campaign of violent, criminal acts seeking to pressure University of Michigan leaders and other businesses in the Eastern District of Michigan to cut off all ties with Israel.” The alleged violent, criminal acts in question? Property damage. The coordinated campaign in question? Per their indictment, “using encrypted messages, social media, and overseas collaboration platforms […] [and] the internet and social media to broadcast their message.”
To be clear, the Michigan Eight are not being charged with property damage or vandalism. Instead, they are facing charges of conspiracy to transmit a threat, conspiracy to tamper with a witness, and destruction of property to prevent seizure. Less than a week after the raids against the Michigan Eight, 15 individuals were similarly indicted in Minnesota on various conspiracy charges for their participation in community activism and mutual aid in the context of Immigration and Custom Enforcement’s (ICE) Operation Metro Surge that saw 2,000 ICE agents deployed in Minnesota, leading to over 3,000 arrests, two protesters shot by ICE agents, and one individual dead in ICE custody. The conspiracy charges faced by the Michigan Eight and the Minnesota 15 carry a maximum sentence of 5-20 years and, when there are multiple counts of it, defendants face potentially decades in prison. A week after the Minnesota 15 indictments, anti-ICE protesters were sentenced to between 30 and 100 years in prison after being convicted of various conspiracy charges related to protest activity at the Prairieland Detention Center in Alvarado, Texas.
These are just three out of several other recent cases involving social movements and conspiracy charges. What links them is not the recurrence of some crime called “conspiracy,” but the conversion of ordinary political association into proof of unlawful intent. Conspiracy charges are among the most common charges brought against social movements precisely because they represent an extremely broad, far-reaching, and powerful tool of the state. You do not need to have taken any action, nor do you need to know the other alleged co-conspirators to be found guilty. Federal prosecutors simply have to establish that at least one alleged conspirator has taken an overt (legal or illegal) act toward the alleged plan. Needless to say, virtually anything can be claimed to be an overt act.
The only conspiracy related to the Michigan Eight or the Minnesota 15 is the one that has been constructed by the federal government.
Aside from formal charges of conspiracy, there is also the more diffuse concept of conspiracy that the prosecution in these cases use more generally to paint activists as dangerous, terroristic individuals engaged in a plot against the state. For example, during the detention hearing on June 12, 2026, for four of the Michigan Eight, one of the federal prosecutors, Margaret M. Smith, assistant United States attorney at the Department of Justice, made several references to the defendants being part of a revolution and a “revolution organization.” This language, as we shall see, has a long association with conspiracy charges. It does more than just describe the alleged beliefs of defendants. It represents the bridge by which belief, affiliation, and collective organization can be made to stand in for actual evidence of particular criminal acts.
But what does the nebulous concept of conspiracy mean and why does the government keep using it and who is it meant to target? The late Michael Parenti once noted that “conspiracy means to collude together in secrecy for what are potentially illegal or immoral ends and [the ruling elites] do this all the time and they talk about the necessity of it and they even give it a name, they call it national security.” Indeed, the only conspiracy related to the Michigan Eight or the Minnesota 15 is the one that has been constructed by the federal government. In fact, across more than a century of American history, the recurring pattern that has shaped the state’s response to dissent and protest has been the tendency to treat collective organization itself as a crime. The First Amendment may protect the freedom of speech and assembly as the very conditions of democratic politics, but conspiracy charges have long made these supposed rights conditional.
The state has a long history of using the concept and charge of conspiracy as a weapon against social movements that have sought to expand democratic freedoms. We must therefore place the particular case of the Michigan Eight and the Minnesota 15 in a longer history that involves the Haymarket Trial (1886-1887), the Espionage Act (1917), the Smith Act (1940), the Anti-Riot Act (1968), RICO (1970), and more contemporary post-9/11 developments such as the Patriot Act (2001). These historical moments represent the cumulative expansion in what the state can make conspiracy mean: from attributing responsibility for an unidentified act to an entire radical milieu, to treating speech as dangerous, group membership as suspicious, mundane logistical organization as evidence of criminal intent, and decentralized movements as racketeering enterprises. While, in case of the Michigan Eight, the targets are Palestine solidarity activists, and while in the case of the Minnesota 15, the targets are anti-ICE organizers, the tools that have been assembled and are still being expanded and perfected can and will be applied to other groups. What is at stake here is no less than ability to collectively organize to create a better and more just world and to resist oppression.
In 1941, the legal scholar Albert J. Harno wrote that, due to its “elasticity” and “vague boundaries,” the concept of conspiracy “presents serious potential dangers of abuse.” Only, there is nothing “potential” about its dangers. From some of its earliest applications right to the last two weeks, the charge of conspiracy has been the bane of organized labor and other broad social movements that the state has sought to repress. One facet of the seemingly endless elasticity of the concept of conspiracy relates to the category of unindicted conspirators. In the case of the Michigan Eight and the Minnesota 15, this term is constantly invoked in the indictments. Aside from the fact that unindicted conspirators cannot testify on behalf of the defense, prosecutors can introduce the out-of-court statements of unindicted conspirators in court as evidence against the defendants without these statements considered hearsay. Prosecutors can thus introduce texts, emails, phone calls, et cetera, involving unindicted conspirators as evidence against the defendants even if the defendants were not a direct party to these communications. Moreover, the shadow of not knowing whether one is or is not an unindicted conspirator introduces even more fear into social movements. This uncertainty is a feature of conspiracy law and one of its political effects, thus extending the coercive reach of an indictment beyond the courtroom.
Nineteenth-century labor cases show where this logic first acquired its legal form and political function. Labor Studies scholar Risa Lieberwitz notes that the charge of conspiracy has historically “provided a powerful weapon against groups advocating political and social change [and] the labor movement [in particular] was the target of many criminal conspiracy prosecutions during the 19th century, beginning with the Philadelphia Cordwainers’ Case of 1806, which was both the first criminal conspiracy trial in the United States, and the first recorded labor case.” If the Cordwainers’ Case demonstrated that workers coming together to demand higher wages could be a criminal conspiracy, the trial of the Haymarket Eight showed how conspiracy could make an entire political milieu culpable for an act that the state could not directly attribute to any one defendant.
On May 4, 1886, a bomb was thrown during a labor demonstration at Haymarket Square in Chicago. Till this day, no one can say for certain who threw that bomb. During the trial, prosecutors could not prove who threw it nor prove that the defendants had planned the bombing. They could not even, in some cases, prove that they had been present when the bomb was thrown. What they could prove was that the Haymarket Eight had given speeches, written articles, edited newspapers, belonged to radical organizations, and broadly advocated for a social revolution.
The concept of conspiracy was what allowed the prosecution to transform this into evidence of collective responsibility for the bombing. The prosecution did not need to identify the bomber; it only needed to argue that the Haymarket Eight had been part of a conspiracy to create the conditions in which such a bombing became likely. In other words, the defendants were guilty of belonging to and contributing to a radical workers’ milieu that the state had defined as dangerous. Haymarket helped established what would become a recurring pattern where membership in particular groups (whether well-defined or as vague as “antifa”) and speech (like posting messages on social media) and acts (like organizing a meeting or using the internet) can become evidence of a conspiracy.
Haymarket thus supplied the basic argument that the state would repeatedly adapt: When direct proof of individual action was absent, prosecutors could substitute much fuzzier ideas. World War I expanded this basic framework under the sign of national security. The federal government used the Espionage Act of 1917 against socialists, labor organizers, anti-war activists, and others who opposed conscription or otherwise criticized the war. During this time, the Department of Justice conducted a series of mass raids and arrests, collectively known as the Palmer Raids (1919–1920), in more than 30 cities and towns, targeting thousands of individuals, particularly Italian-American and Jewish-American socialists, the so-called “hyphenated Americans” that President Woodrow Wilson railed against, warning that “any man who carries a hyphen about with him carries a dagger that he is ready to plunge into the vitals of this Republic whenever he gets ready.”
In Schenck v. United States (1919), the Supreme Court unanimously held that the First Amendment did not protect Charles Schenck, who had distributed anti-draft and anti-war flyers to draft-age men, from prosecution under the Espionage Act precisely because, as Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. concluded, "The words used are used in such circumstances and are of such a nature as to create a clear and present danger that they will bring about the substantive evils that Congress has a right to prevent.” In other words, the Supreme Court ruled that otherwise lawful speech could be punished if it was thought likely to obstruct or encourage resistance to government aims.
In Brandenburg v. Ohio (1969), the Supreme Court did not expressly overrule Schenck v. United States, but it effectively superseded Schenck's clear-and-present-danger standard and, on the surface, introduced a more expansive interpretation of the First Amendment, holding that advocacy of illegal action cannot be punished unless it is “directed towards inciting or producing imminent lawless action and is likely to incite or produce such action.” Yet, the so-called Brandenburg test still reveals the subjective nature of, well, law in general, its interpretation, and its enforcement. In this case, the key subjective terms are “imminent” and “likely.” Whether an action is imminent and whether speech is likely to produce an action requires a level of guesswork that is wholly reminiscent of the trial of the Haymarket Eight.
Described as a “prison for ideas” by the National Committee to Win Amnesty for the Smith Act Victims in 1954, the Smith Act of 1940 would extend this logic within the context of the Cold War. Among other things, the Smith Act criminalized “knowingly or willingly advocate, abet, advise, or teach the duty, necessity, desirability, or propriety of overthrowing any government in the United States by force or violence.” In the late 1940s and 1950s, communists in particular were prosecuted under the law, not because they had launched an armed insurrection, or even taken material steps toward an armed insurrection, but because they belonged to organizations that taught Marxist theory and advocated for communist revolution.
Like their predecessors in 1886 who did not have to prove that the Haymarket Eight had thrown the bomb, prosecutors in these cases did not have to prove that communists had entered into an agreement to commit a crime (the most basic definition of conspiracy), but that the Communist Party itself was a criminal enterprise. The state did not need to demonstrate that any communists had agreed to carry out a specific unlawful act in the near future. Instead, their membership in the party and their ideological beliefs were sufficient proof of criminal liability. Charisse Burden-Stelly summarizes it well, writing that “membership in the CPUSA automatically meant conspiracy of insurrection.”
In the context of popular protests and anti-war mobilization, the Anti-Riot Act of 1968 made it a federal offense to cross state lines or use interstate facilities with the intent to incite, organize, or encourage a riot. If the Smith Act treated membership as evidence of insurrectionary conspiracy, the Anti-Riot Act adapted the same logic to the mass movements of the 1960s by treating travel, communication, planning, and assembly as evidence of an intention to produce disorder. The Chicago Seven would be the first to be prosecuted under the Anti-Riot Act and charged with conspiracy to incite a riot and crossing state lines with intent to incite a riot. Again, we see the danger in the elasticity of the key terms of the act that allowed the federal government to frame lawful activities taken to organize a protest, in this case at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, as evidence of unlawful intent, namely, to incite a riot.
On February 18, 1970, seven defendants were acquitted on conspiracy charges, two were acquitted on all charges, and the remaining five were convicted of travelling across state lines with intent to incite a riot and sentenced to five years in prison. Over two years later, those convictions would be overturned by an appeals court panel that found numerous errors made by the judge. Yet, the damage to the defendants’ lives and to the broader public had been done. Even when defendants are acquitted or have their convictions overturned, conspiracy charges succeed in the ideological work for which they are perhaps best designed, leaving behind a public narrative in which dissent and protest are not cornerstones of democracy, but dangerous, hidden plots conducted by shadowy figures.
Even unsuccessful prosecutions impose a real material and mental cost on defendants and, more generally, they impose a heavy cost on the public at large, forcing all of us to consider whether participation in collective protest or forms of dissent may expose us to repression.
The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organization (RICO) Act of 1970 would give an even more expansive tool for prosecutors to bind heterogeneous individuals and acts under the label of a single, criminal enterprise. RICO has increasingly been used by federal and state prosecutors to target labor unions and broad social movements. The statute’s breadth gives prosecutors considerable flexibility in defining a criminal enterprise and explaining how otherwise separate acts fit together.
In September 2023, Georgia prosecutors brought a sweeping state RICO indictment against dozens of activists associated with opposition to the Atlanta Public Safety Training Center, commonly known as Cop City. The indictment alleged that a broad protest movement constituted a criminal enterprise and cited a wide range of activities, including alleged acts of property destruction, distribution of literature, mutual aid, reimbursements, fundraising, communications among activists, and protests and demonstrations.
Prosecutors used the flimsiest of evidence to rope even more people into this “conspiracy” as “co-conspirators.” Signing a petition was enough to get a visit by the police and having mud on one’s shoes in a forest was taken as evidence of participation in alleged acts of property damage at a construction site. The significance of the Stop Cop City case lies less in the specific allegations, but in the indictment’s construction of a broad social movement as a unified, organized criminal enterprise. Social movements are almost by definition heterogenous and decentralized. They always comprise individuals with different goals, tactics, and levels of commitment.
The dismissal of the RICO charges against the defendants in December 2025 does not make this case any less troubling (the state could refile charges or repeal the dismissal). On the contrary, the dismissal sharpens the stakes of indictments like this. While the dismissal shows how weak the charges were in the first place, the state successfully punished the defendants. Even unsuccessful prosecutions impose a real material and mental cost on defendants and, more generally, they impose a heavy cost on the public at large, forcing all of us to consider whether participation in collective protest or forms of dissent may expose us to repression. From this perspective, it does not matter much that a court may eventually reject prosecutorial overreach when the threat of prosecution may shape the way we behave.
One lesson that we can learn from the historical continuity between each of these episodes is that movements for economic and racial justice, movements against wars and imperialism, and anti-fascism as a concept (through the targeting of “antifa”) have all been described, in different moments, as threats to public order. In each case, the state and its prosecutors have been able to portray individuals participating in these movements as public enemies. The language of conspiracy is especially useful in this process because it turns ordinary features of collective life into suspicion. Each of these historical cases has contributed to the ever-expanding use of conspiracy charges in state repression of social movements. Across these cases, the object of prosecution moves further and further away from identifiable unlawful acts to the social relations that make collective action possible. This past should inform our understanding of the recent cases and remind us not to take at face value the charges against the Michigan Eight and the Minnesota 15.
Like the cases from the past, the present charges are an attack on political speech and, more broadly, all those who seek to collectively work toward a more just and freer future. Isaac Sant, one of the Minnesota 15, has noted that what they are facing is “not a normal criminal trial; this is a political case, this is political repression against organizers.” The long history of conspiracy charges and state repression suggests that political repression cannot be defeated alone in the courtroom. This is because conspiracy cases do not just target the named defendants; the broader targets are concepts like trust, collective organization, and solidarity, that is to say the very bases of social movements.
Like previous generations of workers faced with political repression, we must seize the current crises as an opportunity to revitalize the labor movement from the ground up. That revitalization is not going to come from union leadership, but from you and other rank-and-file worker-organizers. As the veteran labor organizer Daniel Gross recently noted, in Unions of Our Own (2026), “A truly just society with reliable economic security, where we can live freely on a healthy planet, simply cannot happen without organized workers and liberatory unions.”
This moment threatens our very ability to collectively organize for a better world at the same time as it represents an opportunity for workers everywhere to double down on collective organization, whether it is to keep our fellow workers safe from abductions; to organize toward divestment from companies profiting from war and genocide; or to fight the daily struggles of autonomy, respect, and dignity on the shop floor. In all cases, every victory, big or small, is not a concession, but a privilege that workers have wrested from state and capital. The stakes of not meeting this moment could not be heavier.
Correction: The piece has been updated to reflect the fact that Brandenburg v. Ohio superseded, rather than overruled, Schenck v. United States.
The support shown for Palestinians has been especially inspiring at a World Cup that, like others, has been tainted by more signs of corruption.
The Palestinian national soccer team isn’t playing in this year’s World Cup. But despite a national and global crackdown on pro-Palestinian protest and speech, the games have witnessed an outpouring of support for Palestinians. Fans, players, and coaches from the likes of Egypt, Scotland, Brazil, South Korea, Morocco, Mexico, Turkey, Norway, Senegal, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Algeria, Spain, and perhaps all 48 countries playing have publicly shown support for Palestinian lives and their struggle for freedom and a return to lands taken since 1948.
This comes after nearly three years in which the world has watched the Israeli government respond to October 7, 2023 Hamas attacks on Israel, which killed around 1,200, with a war that has killed more than 73,000, mostly civilians, and is widely considered a genocide by international experts.
Games have featured Palestinian flags held aloft in stadiums and by players and coaches on the fields. Chants of “Free Palestine” have come from the stands and the streets surrounding games. People have attended games wearing the Palestinian national team jersey. Others have flown banners reading, “Kick Israel Out of FIFA” and “Red Card Israel.” (FIFA is the infamously corrupt international organization that runs the tournament; a red card is given to soccer players ejected and banned from games for foul play.)
The support shown for Palestinians has been especially inspiring at a World Cup that, like others, has been tainted by more signs of corruption. Most recently, President Donald Trump called FIFA’s president to overturn a red-card ban for a US player so that he could participate in what turned out to be a lopsided loss for Team America. The FIFA president also awarded Trump a meaningless “peace prize” not long before the United States joined Israel in an illegal and historically unpopular war in Iran.
“Palestinian families don’t get their homes back because people flew a flag in a stadium. But movements build over time and through moments of visibility, through the accumulation of pressure, and through the refusal to let the issue disappear.”
Expressions of solidarity at soccer games don’t change anything on their own. During the days of the tournament alone, the Israeli government, which receives extensive military backing from the US government, has killed dozens of people in Gaza. Before a match between Argentina and Egypt, Israel killed Mohammed al-Wahidi, a representative of an Egyptian humanitarian organization in Gaza, along with two children and another person, on the day al-Wahidi was organizing a Gaza City viewing party to watch the game. (Al-Wahidi is one of more than 1,000 Palestinians, including hundreds of women and children, reported killed by the Israeli military in Gaza since the officially declared “ceasefire” last year.)
A soccer tournament, alone, doesn’t solve anything, Palestinian journalist Dina El-Kurd has said: “Palestinian families don’t get their homes back because people flew a flag in a stadium. But movements build over time and through moments of visibility, through the accumulation of pressure, and through the refusal to let the issue disappear.”
Egypt’s coach Hossam Hassan has been one of the most bravely and consistently outspoken. “Before being Arab, Muslim, Christian, or anything else, I am a human being,” he said in a press conference when he might have only spoken about playing against probably history’s greatest-ever player in Lionel Messi and Argentina. “Through football—the world’s soft power—I want to send a message,” he said. “Please let the Palestinian people live. I ask athletes and journalists everywhere to help deliver that message.”
Along with coaches, journalists, and players—including, one hopes, the likes of Messi—isn’t that a message to share at viewing parties, bars, and family gatherings during the World Cup’s final matches—and beyond?
The red, green, and black colors of the Palestinian flag are easy enough to apply as face paint. I’ll be taking some small steps by wearing a Palestine jersey and using the games to raise funds for humanitarian relief in Gaza. Discussing the morality of continuing US military support for the Israeli government is a start.
Journalist El Kurd says she’s felt a kind of hope seeing the flag waived in stadiums: “It’s not the hope that this will be resolved soon or easily, but the hope that says Palestinians are not alone and the cause is not forgotten.”
As our precarious working and living conditions increasingly resemble those of the original Wobblies, the principles and strategy of solidarity unionism and industrial unionism are now more critical than ever.
This summer, the Industrial Workers of the World, or IWW is once again going on tour nationally. Wobblies in multiple cities have organized the Fire Your Boss Tour to, well, show all workers how to fire your boss and to spread the principles of industrial unionism, solidarity unionism, and radical workplace organizing.
The Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) was once feared by capitalists and the state. The IWW, often referred to as the “One Big Union,” represented a fundamentally different vision of working-class power than had existed. At its peak in 1917, the union counted roughly 150,000 members, nearly half a percent of the entire United States’ working class. Half a percent might sound small, but that amounted to 150,000 or more worker-organizers, across industries and across the country, all working to build a revolutionary union. Imagine what that would mean today. If even half a percent of the modern working class were organized around the same vision, it would amount to nearly 1 million worker-organizers fighting together for the same goal.
Today, as workers across the country face renewed repression and new (or old) forms of exploitation, we would not be ill-served to look to the example of the IWW for inspiration. We do not seek to romanticize the past, but the conditions the early IWW confronted then are strikingly familiar today: massive concentration of wealth; rampant inequality; and a divided, collaborationist labor movement. Against this world, the early IWW offered a bold vision, one in which workers organized as a class, across every artificial division imposed on them, and fought capitalism right where it hurt: at work. The IWW’s scale, industrial approach, and insistence on worker-led organizing still offer powerful lessons for worker-organizers seeking to break through the barriers that divide us and unite the working class to build a force capable of real, transformative change.
So, how did the IWW become such a powerful force back in 1917? What drew so many workers to this union and inspired them to organize under its banner?
Workers do not need to wait for permission from employers, courts, or labor boards to act collectively; our power begins at the precise point when we collectively recognize our shared conditions and organize to change them.
First, the IWW was committed to a united working class. While other unions excluded workers based on their skill level, gender, race, ethnicity, or trade, the IWW welcomed all workers. Its grand vision was “an organization formed in such a way that all its members in any one industry, or in all industries if necessary, cease work whenever a strike or lockout is on in any department thereof, thus making an injury to one an injury to all.” The IWW sought to break down the divisions that existed among the working class and unite against our common enemy, the employing class, and it was working. That is precisely why the ruling class feared the IWW.
Second, the IWW was committed to radical democracy and rank-and-file control. Rather than building a union that depended on paid staff, the IWW developed worker-organizers on the shop floor, and all decisions were made by the workers themselves. This model is critical for building a mass movement. It engages large swaths of workers in the struggle; empowers them to take direct, autonomous action; and creates a sustainable model by continuously developing new organizers rather than relying on charismatic leaders or “superhero” organizers. We still see traces of this organizing culture today. The Starbucks Workers United campaign, which was preceded by an IWW Starbucks workers campaign nearly 20 years earlier, has been driven by baristas organizing democratically at the shop level, with workers themselves taking the lead and engaging in collective decision-making rather than relying on external union staff as is still too often the expectation in other unions.
One famous story from 1916 captures this culture of rank-and-file democracy:
In 1916 in Everett, Washington, a passenger ferry loaded with Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) free speech activists attempted to dock. On the dock, the local sheriff, along with armed deputies and armed guards hired by local businesses, attempted to block the ship from docking. According to lore, when the sheriff asked, "Who are your leaders?" the response from the ferry was a shout from everyone aboard, declaring, "We are all leaders here." As folk musician Utah Phillips explains, "That scared the tar out of the ol’ law you know’"
The power of the early IWW did not lie in any single leader who could be arrested, bought off, discredited, or removed. Its power lay in the collective capacity of everyday rank-and-file workers to lead themselves.
Finally, the IWW was committed to working-class dignity in its deepest sense. The Preamble to the Constitution of the IWW (1905) famously declares: “Instead of the conservative motto, 'A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work,' we must inscribe on our banner the revolutionary watchword, ‘Abolition of the wage system.’ It is the historic mission of the working class to do away with capitalism.” When the IWW said it wants more of the good things in life, they were not just talking about getting the bosses to fork over a bit more cash. The IWW’s goals are bigger than that. We want a better life here and now. This can be contrasted with the trade union movement, which disheartened (and continues to dishearten) workers by making shady backroom deals with bosses.
The IWW is, was, and will always be a union for and by the working class.
The contemporary IWW is still committed to all of these things, and the grand vision that it set forth in the early 1900s is just as relevant and necessary today as it was then. Its contemporary form is not identical to that of the early 20th century, but the grand vision it set forth remains urgently relevant.
In 1911, Big Bill Haywood, a founding member of the IWW, gave a speech about "the general strike as a weapon of the working class." In response to a question from the audience about political action and what distinguishes the IWW from the AFL, he replied:
The Industrial Workers of the World is an economic organization without affiliation with any political party or any non-political sect. I as an Industrialist say that industrial unionism is the broadest possible political interpretation of the working-class political power, because by organizing the workers industrially you at once enfranchise the women in the shops, you at once give the black men who are disenfranchised politically a voice in the operation of the industries; and the same would extend to every worker. That to my mind is the kind of political action that the working class wants. You must not be content to come to the ballot box on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, the ballot box erected by the capitalist class, guarded by capitalist henchmen, and deposit your ballot to be counted by black-handed thugs, and say, “That is political action.” You must protect your ballot with an organization that will enforce the mandates of your class. I want political action that counts. I want a working class that can hold an election every day if they want to.
As Haywood made clear, the IWW did not reject politics so much as it rejected reducing politics to the electoral kind. For the Wobblies, the workplace itself was a political arena. In fact, it was the political arena. It was and remains where workers spend most of their waking hours (and often their sleeping hours). Industrial unionism for the Wobblies was a means of democratizing power where workers actually lived, labored, and were disciplined. Industrial unionism could also extend real political power to workers excluded from or marginalized within formal citizenship. The ballot box is an institution shaped, guarded, and constrained by capitalist power. What mattered, then, was not simply the right to vote, but the collective capacity to enforce working-class demands through organization at the point of production. When Haywood says that he wants a working class that can hold an election every day if they want to, he means that his vision of democracy is not one in which (some) workers get to delegate periodic representation within capitalist institutions, but rather one in which continuous collective power is exercised directly by workers who have wrested control of their workplaces.
For the founding members of the IWW, the fundamental flaw in established labor organizations like the AFL extended far beyond mere conservatism. They argued that the very structure of trade unions was inherently incapable of addressing the monopolistic tendencies of modern capitalism. In the Preamble to the Constitution of the IWW (1905), the founding members of the IWW observed that, as capital became increasingly concentrated into the hands of a few monopolies, the trade union model, focused narrowly on specific skilled crafts, was no more than an obsolete barrier. Faced with the overwhelming power of an employing class that had consolidated industries into vast monopolies, the IWW believed that the AFL's approach of protecting only skilled workers served only to fragment and ultimately weaken the working class.
Consequently, the Wobblies championed a radically different vision of worker power, described by William Trautmann at the 1905 IWW founding convention as one in which workers refused to be "bound by the sacredness or the sanctity of a contract." Instead, the IWW sought to unite all workers, regardless of trade, whether capital and state deemed them skilled or unskilled, into a single, cohesive force capable of achieving true economic justice, and thus social and political justice, through industrial unionism. This vision of industrial unionism relied on what Alice and Staughton Lynd would later describe as solidarity unionism, namely a form of organizing in which workers learn to be in solidarity with each other, rejecting the many divisions imposed on them by employers and the state, in order to directly take collective action to improve their lives. For the Wobblies, the union was not to be a service organization that represented workers from above, but rather the self-organization of workers themselves, capable of forming and enforcing their own demands through various forms of direct action that they would collectively and democratically decide. The point was not simply to win better contracts within capitalism, but to cultivate the everyday practices of true working-class democracy and power that would eventually challenge capitalist authority at its source.
Consolidating our power and coming together across entire industries opens up a world of opportunities for what workers can achieve. Our bosses (or our owners, as a co-worker once quipped) already understand this. Capital is always consolidating: Four corporations own a third of all grocery stores in this country, and just 12 corporations own virtually every product and brand on those shelves. The wealth and power accumulated by these corporations is staggering, but the structure is not new. In many ways, the conditions of the 21st century resemble those of the early 20th century, when the IWW emerged in response to monopolies, deskilling, precarious work (what we call gig work is, of course, a new name for an old form of exploitation), and, above all, the concentration of entire industries in the hands of a few powerful capitalists. Then, as now, workers were divided by job, workplace, race, gender, citizenship, whether they were deemed skilled or unskilled, while capital operated across all of those divisions.
If capital organizes industrially, workers must do the same. What if we did the same and organized into a One Big Union? What if we formed cross-workplace organizing committees that brought together workers from different shops within the same industries? It is by building these connections and structures that we will lay the groundwork for industrial solidarity, thereby creating working-class networks that make any one group of workers that much harder to isolate, intimidate, and, ultimately, defeat. Above all, like our Wobbly ancestors, we must begin to practice the basic principle of solidarity unionism: that workers do not need to wait for permission from employers, courts, or labor boards to act collectively; our power begins at the precise point when we collectively recognize our shared conditions and organize to change them.
From another perspective, while wealth inequality is at an all-time high, government repression against activists is at an all-time high as well. That too is another key similarity between our time and that of the early Wobblies. From Prairieland to the FBI raids in Minnesota and Michigan, the government is once again trying to quash dissent; building a militant, industrially organized labor movement is one of the most effective ways to fight back against these attacks. We have to build the power necessary to defend ourselves as a class. Imagine if when the FBI or ICE came to Minneapolis, the entire country came to a screeching halt and we actually shut shit down. Imagine if we went on the offensive instead of always reacting. That is what is possible through revolutionary, industrial unionism.
The Fire Your Boss Tour marks the first coordinated national organizing event by Wobblies in recent history. In Portland, Oregon; Seattle, Washington; Sacramento, California; Denver, Colorado; Burlington, Vermont; Boston, Massachusetts; Chicago, Illinois; Ypsilanti, Michigan; New York City; and potentially additional cities, Wobblies will once again preach the Wobbly Gospel of industrial unionism, solidarity unionism, and revolutionary unionism. Unlike a traditional speaking tour, where a few "experts" deliver speeches nationwide, this is a decentralized initiative in which local IWW branches organize their own events while collectively coordinating the tour. Depending on the city, events during the tour include workshops on workplace organizing, discussions on organizing strategy, and sessions where workers can share experiences.
Most importantly, each stop on the tour is an opportunity to connect with fellow workers in your region who are committed to building a stronger labor movement. As our precarious working and living conditions increasingly resemble those of the original Wobblies, the principles and strategy of solidarity unionism and industrial unionism are now more critical than ever. Workers of the World, Unite (and RSVP to the tour)!
From Costa Rica to Colorado, wildlife corridors have been about the connections people make when they care about animal mobility.
Driving on the Interamerican Highway from Monteverde Biological Reserve to Rincón de la Vieja National Park, I couldn’t help but notice a series of rope bridges that crossed the six lanes of traffic. Each crossing structure featured traffic warning signs with silhouette images of monkeys or sloths as nonstop flows of diesel semitrucks and electric cars zoomed by.
Costa Rica is known for its protected areas, which cover one-third of the country and function as core zones for conservation, but the “green republic” should also be recognized for its corridors. What started as an NGO effort in the 2000s when organizations like Kids Saving The Rainforest started installing aerial bridges to improve habitat connectivity later became national policy with a 2024 presidential decree requiring electrical companies to build crossing structures so that animals like howler monkeys and kinkajous avoided electrocution from using power lines. These monkey bridges also keep tropical rainforest more intact for mobile creatures.
Beyond Central America, wildlife corridors are popular in the western United States. According to recent surveys from the Environment America Research and Policy Center and the Pew Charitable Trust, respondents approve creating more wildlife crossings at rates of 85-90%. And that support spans the political spectrum. In March 2026, the Idaho State Legislature passed Senate Concurrent Resolution No. 124, officially supporting the development of wildlife crossing infrastructure, such as highway overpasses and underpasses, to reduce animal-vehicle collisions. In December 2026, California’s Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing is set to be completed across 10 lanes of Los Angeles freeway, making it the largest structure in the world.
Wildlife corridors could receive a financial boost by the bipartisan BUILD America 250 bill, considered by US House Transportation and Infrastructure Committee this week. If passed, it would increase funding for the Federal Highway Administration’s very popular Wildlife Crossings Pilot Program (WCPP) to $80 million annually ($400 million total). The 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act allocated $350 million to 35 projects across 30 states, but demand far exceeded with $500 million in requests.
Today, the benefits of conserving wildlife corridors might be just as much about the social as the biological.
If we’re living in a worldwide golden age for wildlife corridors, where did this idea come from? I trace the origins of this dominant conservation strategy in my new book, Borders of Biodiversity: How Gray Wolves, Monarch Butterflies, and Giant Sequoia Transformed Large Landscape Conservation, published by University of North Carolina Press.
In the 1970s and 1980s, new technologies provided windows into animal mobility. For wolves, radio- and satellite- telemetry allowed US biologist Diane Boyd and Canadian biologist Paul Paquet to track the interchange of dispersing juveniles along the Rockies. For example, Boyd collared wolf #8551, named Kay, west of Glacier National Park; the wolf turned up six months later dead after it was legally shot near Pouce Coupe, British Columbia. The 600-mile movement northward was interesting scientifically because it was two-thirds of the way to the Yukon Territory, but Kay’s movement also had major conservation implications. Wildlife corridors facilitated wolf dispersals; transborder dispersals could facilitate wolf recovery under the Endangered Species Act.
In the 1990s, wildlife corridors were thought of as proactive tools against habitat fragmentation. Responding to Boyd and Paquet’s work, conservationists in Alberta, British Columbia, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming created the Yellowstone to Yukon Conservation Initiative in 1993 to keep core areas—like Yellowstone National Park or Banff National Park—connected. Projects included lobbying the Canadian government to build wildlife overpasses and underpasses along the Trans-Canada Highway, which Y2Y founder Harvey Locke called the “Berlin Wall of Biodiversity” for its high rate of wolf and elk fatalities. Or investing in predator-deterrence tools like range riding and electrified fladry fencing for ranching communities so wolves and grizzlies could use rural spaces as biological passageways.
By the 2000s, however, wildlife corridors were also understood to help with climate adaptation in a warming world. A scientific meta-analysis documented that of 4,000 animals recently tracked, almost three-quarters of them shifted their ranges to cooler lands or waters. Terrestrial species, on average, were moving 12 miles (or 20 kilometers) every decade toward the poles. Animals relocate to adapt.
Today, the benefits of conserving wildlife corridors might be just as much about the social as the biological. In 2012, Ben Bobowski of Rocky Mountain National Park and Yaxine María Arias Núñez of Santa Elena Biological Reserve created a series of personnel exchanges between the two protected areas called the Naturalmente Juntos-Naturally Together Project. Their connection was based on bird banding studies that revealed 150 bird species, like yellow warblers, migrated along the Continental Divide between Colorado and Costa Rica. In 2015, Rocky and Santa Elena entered a formal sistering agreement.
From Costa Rica to Colorado, wildlife corridors have been about the connections people make when they care about animal mobility. In an era of border-hardening nationalism, corridors can help people of different nationalities facilitate solidarities among shared species.
What some may regard as unjustifiable compromises by the Venezuelan government pale in comparison with our obligations as international solidarity activists: defending Venezuela and Cuba against the policies of imperialism.
In response to recent developments in Venezuela under imperialist siege, international solidarity activists should adopt a stance that does not inadvertently reinforce Washington’s drive for domination. Our central responsibility is not to adjudicate every tactical decision made under siege conditions, but to oppose the imperialist aggression that creates those conditions.
The overwhelming structure of US hybrid warfare against Venezuela remains intact, continuing to suffocate the country’s economic recovery and undermine its sovereignty. Washington continues to exert decisive pressure over the country’s principal source of national revenue, the oil sector. It uses sanctions, financial coercion, and domination of global banking systems, as it has against other targeted states such as Iraq and Syria.
At the same time, the threat of direct military escalation remains ever present, a danger underscored by continuing military deployments, aggressive rhetoric, and repeated threats.
What some may regard as unjustifiable compromises by the Venezuelan government pale in comparison with our obligations as international solidarity activists: defending Venezuela and Cuba against the policies of imperialism. The US continues to intensify blockades, sanctions, destabilization efforts, and military threats against these revolutionary processes while simultaneously waging disinformation campaigns against the Chavista leadership and the Cuban Revolution.
The role of internationalists is to oppose imperialism at home, not to instruct Venezuelans on how to defend their revolution.
Both Fidel Castro and Hugo Chávez identified US imperialism as the principal enemy of humanity. Our primary political focus should therefore remain opposition to imperialist domination, rather than allowing secondary disagreements to obscure the central contradiction.
First and foremost, the main blow must be directed against US imperialism. Any discussion of shortcomings, compromises, or concessions should be understood within the context of relentless external aggression, destabilization efforts, and military threats.
That is why internationals vigorously campaign both for the safe return to Venezuela of President Nicolás Maduro and First Lady Cilia Flores and for the immediate and unconditional lifting of all sanctions.
The political choices made by the Venezuelan leadership must ultimately be resolved within Venezuela itself. The role of internationalists is to oppose imperialism at home, not to instruct Venezuelans on how to defend their revolution.
Support for Venezuela against US imperialism does not require agreement with every decision taken under conditions of coercion. Understanding political decisions made under such circumstances is to situate them within the realities imposed by imperialist military power. This includes the extradition of Alex Saab.
A longstanding objective of US policy has been to fracture the unity of the Chavista leadership, military, and popular base. Despite immense pressure, that unity has largely held. Attempts to counterpose solidarity with the popular base against solidarity with the leadership, however well intentioned, objectively strengthen imperialist aims.
We do not know the full extent of the pressures exerted on the Venezuelan government, nor the range of alternatives realistically available under present conditions. The Venezuelan leadership operates under severe geopolitical constraints. The US openly threatens Libya- or Iran-style retaliation. Another major military escalation remains entirely possible.
Unlike in earlier periods, Venezuela today lacks strong regional allies, while in the context of the ongoing Gaza genocide, so-called “international law” offers little meaningful restraint on US power.
In conclusion, under conditions of economic warfare, military threat, diplomatic isolation, and perpetual destabilization efforts, Venezuela’s contradictions cannot be analyzed abstractly or outside the realities of imperialist power.
Given the vast military asymmetry between the two countries, the consequences of direct military confrontation would be catastrophic for Venezuela, potentially including the destruction of vital infrastructure and long-term devastation of the oil industry upon which the country depends.
If the US succeeds in placing the extreme right-wing opposition in power, the likely result would be devastating political repression directed against Chavismo and the popular sectors.
While continuing to rely upon the Chavista base, the government also recognizes the necessity of building a broader patriotic bloc capable of resisting imperialist pressure more effectively.
Even amid forced compromises, the central achievements of the Bolivarian process remain significant: preservation of the revolutionary leadership, survival against destabilization efforts, and avoidance of a full-scale invasion.
Years of sanctions and economic warfare severely degraded Venezuela’s oil infrastructure. Restoring productive capacity, reestablishing trade, and attracting investment have therefore become vital imperatives.
The political transitions from Chávez to Maduro to Delcy Rodríguez largely reflect changes in the international geopolitical landscape. Yet there has remained substantial political continuity within Chavismo, evident in continued solidarity with Cuba, the vitality of the communal system, and the endurance of the revolutionary mass movement.
In conclusion, under conditions of economic warfare, military threat, diplomatic isolation, and perpetual destabilization efforts, Venezuela’s contradictions cannot be analyzed abstractly or outside the realities of imperialist power. The primary task of solidarity movements within the imperial centers remains what it has always been: opposing the aggression of our own ruling classes.
As scholars who have studied the Bible for decades, we believe transgender people—just like all people—are our sacred, precious, divinely cherished neighbors.
Far-right leaders in the United States are fighting tooth and nail to eliminate rights for transgender people.
Many couch their claims in language like “protecting children” and “freedom of religion.” But buried beneath these rhetorical flourishes is another pernicious philosophy: that being transgender is a sin, and that the government should punish it.
Case in point: Conservative Christian organizations like the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC) and the Liberty Council are pushing the Supreme Court to allow states to ban transgender athletes from women’s sports.
In a press release defending ERLC’s position, interim president Gary Hollingsworth proclaimed: “We serve an infallible God. The same God who made the universe made humanity in His image with intentionality and purpose. He gave humanity two immutable genders, man and woman, as gifts reflecting His own nature.”
There are conflicting, even incompatible interpretations of the Bible. But for us, the consistent messages of love, care, humility, and equity shine brightly.
Meanwhile, at the state level, far-right evangelicals in Colorado recently secured enough signatures to put anti-trans legislation on the ballot. And in Idaho, due to pressure from conservative legislators and organizations, the state is poised to implement one of the most extreme anti-trans bathroom laws in the nation.
If all one read were these stories, it would appear that the Bible is unequivocal in its condemnation of gender expansiveness and that all of Christendom is unflinching in its interpretation of that scripture.
Nothing could be further from the truth. As scholars who have studied the Bible for decades, we believe transgender people—just like all people—are our sacred, precious, divinely cherished neighbors. There’s no reason that one narrow religious interpretation should be able to dictate policy and structure our community.
The author of Genesis writes that “male and female [God] created them” (1.27). While some point to this scripture as confirmation of a gender binary, others identify it as a rhetorical device known as a merism, used frequently throughout the Bible to describe an expansive concept. For example, in Genesis 1:1, the Bible describes making “the heavens and Earth.” But this is widely understood to represent the entire cosmos—stars, comets, planets, and beyond—not just the heavens and Earth. Later in Genesis, the Bible uses both “evening and morning” and “night and day” to represent an entire day—including dawn and dusk. Similarly, male and female do not exhaust the diversity of gender identities and sexualities, all of which God blesses as good.
Moreover, the work of many Biblical scholars such as Dr. Esther Brownsmith, Dr. Joseph Marchal, and Dr. Linn Marie Tonstad has critically improved and expanded Christian theological studies by demonstrating that, as Brownsmith recently said, “We can’t do Biblical scholarship without [transgender people].”
Brownsmith’s scholarship on nonbinary readings of Hebrew Bible figure Mordechai, Marchal’s work on ancient conceptions of gender in Paul’s letters, and Tonstad’s formulation of the Holy Trinity as a framework for considering gender expansively—and vice versa—are just a handful of recent examples in a rapidly expanding discipline of thinkers helping us read scripture in more rigorous ways.
As Christians, we believe that, as the scripture tells us, humanity is created in God’s image. Our glorious variety and multitude is reflective of God’s own limitlessness. Indeed, transgender people’s embodiments and expressions mirror God’s intentional and enduring refutation of definition, binaries, and subjective stability. And they offer us a precious gift—the ability to look beyond strict structures and appreciate humanity in all its diversity and complexity. So, too, as theologian Virginia Mollenkott suggests, because God created humanity in God’s own image, we might well speak of God as gender nonconforming or “omnigender,” the God of all genders and of none.
For some, the Bible mandates a strict gender binary, and that belief guides their participation in public life. However, that interpretation is not the only one—and hardly the only one rooted in history and theological tradition.
As Jesus proposed in the parable of the Good Samaritan, the question we must ask is twofold. First: who is my neighbor, whose rights I am obligated to affirm and defend? Second: Who is the one who proves neighborly, the one who acts in loving, compassionate, and just ways?
There’s no question: There are conflicting, even incompatible interpretations of the Bible. But for us, the consistent messages of love, care, humility, and equity shine brightly. To love the neighbor—including our trans family members, friends, coworkers, and congregants—means to advocate for that neighbor’s right to be; to love and be loved; and to enjoy a healthy, fulfilling life in dignity and safety.
Minnesota's artists aren't that different from artists anywhere, but there are some unique parts of Minnesota's ecosystem that explain the breadth and depth of the creative response to the federal immigration enforcement surge.
Two thousand of us were standing on a frozen lake in the dark.
My mittened hand was gripping the mittened hand of a stranger; tears were freezing on my cheeks. It was not a particularly Minnesotan thing to hold hands with a stranger, especially while expressing emotion so openly. But we were not in normal times.
We were there to light ice lanterns, to spell out "ICE OUT" on the lake in the hopes that the planes flying above would see our message. After long days of school patrols, protests, grocery deliveries, and trying to figure out how to raise more money to help neighbors pay rent, we needed to be together in person. We needed to sing, we needed to move, we needed to feel. And so we did, led in a call-and-response by Brass Solidarity, a community brass band: "Hold on, change is coming!" It was powerful and beautiful and deeply connected to our culture, holding this community together. This is what a creative response looks like when artists are already woven into the fabric of a community before the crisis arrives.
This Sunday, May 31, the people of the Twin Cities will accept the John F. Kennedy Profile in Courage Award in Boston, an honor previously awarded to former Vice President Mike Pence and the September 11 first responders. The Kennedy Foundation cited the neighbors who risked their safety to protect their community from an unprecedented federal law enforcement operation: the 30,000 who trained as observers and rapid responders; the schools that organized patrols; the parent group chats, book clubs, and faith groups that became webs of mutual aid, delivering groceries, raising rent and legal funds for neighbors trapped in their homes.
It is not just what Minnesotans did in this crisis. It is what they had already built: a state that had spent decades recognizing artists not as a luxury or an afterthought, but as neighbors with something essential to contribute.
Journalists and historians have spent months trying to explain why Minnesota responded as it did. Was it the history of the cooperative movement that helped build a state where people looked out for one another? Or the recovery community and the Minnesota Model's belief that people heal together? Almost no one has asked why the artists were ready. That's what I want to share.
Minnesota's artists aren't that different from artists anywhere. But there are some unique parts of Minnesota's ecosystem that explain the breadth and depth of the creative response here.
Minnesota spends more on the arts per capita than any other state, $9.67 per person, backed by the Legacy Amendment, a 25-year constitutional commitment to the state's arts and cultural heritage, alongside other quality of life investments like clean water, parks, and trails. That's not a program. That's a value system encoded into law. A blend of public support and private philanthropy has built statewide artist fellowship programs, regional arts councils serving every county, and local governments that regularly hire artists to address community challenges. The nation's longest-running Guaranteed Income Pilot for Artists, launched in Minnesota with private funds, gives artists a monthly stipend with no strings attached. Participants have reported volunteering more, deepening their roots in their communities, and taking on creative work they never could have afforded before.
But money alone doesn't explain what happened here. Minnesota’s arts support is rooted within an ecosystem of support for organizers, activists, and community leaders, creating an arts community with a deep understanding of the skills, values, and ethics of effective community work. Artists in Minnesota view their artistry as integral to, not separate from, their identity as a neighbor and community member.
In 2013, when St. Paul installed a new light rail line, hundreds of artists were engaged alongside businesses and community groups on the construction corridor, turning disruption into connection. Those artists didn't just make murals. They staged performances, built installations, and animated storefronts. They learned who worked at City Hall. They built relationships with power structures. Because artists in Minnesota have had numerous opportunities like this to bring their creativity to critical community issues, and had spent years doing that work, they weren't strangers to this movement. They were already inside it.
Drive down any street in the Twin Cities today, and you will see house after house with signs: "ICE Out." "We Keep Us Safe." "We Love Our Immigrant Neighbors." Nearly all are artist designed, many of them handmade prints. This doesn’t only represent the beauty and creativity that artists bring to a movement, but also symbolizes a movement that has turned away from mass production and corporate extraction, and toward the handmade and the local. As Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents photograph us and catalog our faces in AI databases built for harassment and intimidation, artists like Sean Lim, Marlena Myles, and D Guzman have worked through the night to generate human-made expressions of resistance.
This is what Minnesota's artists have been doing for months: showing up, leading, organizing, making the movement visible and felt. Thousands gathered in the cold with Singing Resistance to send a message to ICE agents that they could change their minds and join a loving community. Their tactics were rooted in Otpor, the student movement that brought down Slobodan Milosevic's authoritarian regime in 1990s Serbia by spreading one simple message: "You might not join us today, but you can join us tomorrow." Singing Resistance is now sharing training tool kits with communities across the country.
Brass Solidarity, formed at George Floyd Square in 2020, has played at hundreds of gatherings, connecting this moment to the movement for Black lives and bringing joy and resolve to these spaces. Mixed Blood Theater has trained neighbors to speak clearly and confidently about their constitutional rights. Drummers have organized mass protests. Poets have told our story, including Renee Good, who was herself a poet. Art spaces and creative businesses have become food pantries, coat donation sites, and whistle distribution points. I've lost track of the sold-out cabarets, concerts, and pottery sales to benefit the immigrant legal aid and rental assistance, often appearing in hours, without marketing campaigns. Neighbors talk to neighbors.
The art being made for our community is happening outside the competition of grants, outside formal arts institutions, outside the commodification of collectors, outside the pressure for clicks. It is urgent and rooted in our community's needs. It feels sacred.
Many of Minnesota's artists put their lives on hold for months at great cost to their economic stability and at great risk to their safety. The thing I have said most when people outside Minnesota ask how I am: It is so much more terrifying than the media can show you. Every noise sounds like a whistle. Every unknown car could be bringing horror to our doorstep. The damage to our community's sense of safety will take years to repair.
But it is so much more beautiful than the media can show you, too.
There is a reason the Kennedy Foundation recognized the people of the Twin Cities with one of the most storied honors in American civic life. It is not just what Minnesotans did in this crisis. It is what they had already built: a state that had spent decades recognizing artists not as a luxury or an afterthought, but as neighbors with something essential to contribute, as vital to a community's health as any doctor, organizer, or teacher.
When the moment came, Minnesota's artists were ready, gathering us on frozen lakes, calling on us to hold hands with strangers, and spelling out in light for all the world to see what it means to take care of one another.
It’s difficult not to see the renewed imprisonment of Alex Saab as a disappointing capitulation to US coercion after so many of us fought for his freedom, but we cannot forget the task at hand.
The recent deportation of Alex Saab from Caracas to the US on May 18, 2026 has generated shock, confusion, anger, and intense debate across sectors of the international solidarity movement and many Venezuelans themselves.
Alex Saab, a Colombian businessman who became closely associated with the Venezuelan government during the years of heavy US sanctions, is seen by many Venezuelans as someone who helped the country bypass sanctions, obtain fuel and food, open financial channels, and resist economic collapse under blockade conditions.
The US accuses Saab of corruption and money laundering connected to Venezuelan state contracts, but for many people in Venezuela and across the international left, Saab came to represent something larger than an individual businessman: the broader struggle over sanctions, sovereignty, and Venezuela’s ability to survive under extraordinary economic and geopolitical pressure.
The Venezuelan revolution did not survive the last decade of US economic warfare without contradictions. It survived through improvisation, exhaustion, loyalty, fear, sanctions, migration, stubbornness, and an almost unbearable national fatigue that few outside the country truly understand.
Reducing every painful decision to betrayal while ignoring the enormous machinery of coercion surrounding Venezuela risks reproducing the very fragmentation that external aggression was designed to create in the first place.
The United States did not merely sanction Venezuela. It attempted to break it. It froze national assets, it openly pursued regime change, backed parallel governments, economically strangled the country, and ultimately launched a military operation to kidnap President Nicolás Maduro and First Lady Cilia Flores from Venezuelan soil.
To understand why Saab became such a powerful figure, one must first understand what Venezuela became under sanctions: a country forced into survival mode.
And now, after the deportation of Saab to the United States and the growing accusations against Delcy Rodríguez, I watch many people speak with the confidence of hindsight. As if everything had always been obvious. As if Venezuelans navigating one of the most aggressive campaigns of economic warfare, destabilization, and military coercion in modern Latin American history had the luxury of moral purity.
As a Venezuelan American, I am struggling too to understand and process this moment. I stood there too. I called for Alex Saab’s freedom when he was detained in Cape Verde during the height of the Trump administration’s maximum pressure campaign against Venezuela. At the time, the reality that existed for many of us was that Saab was a Venezuelan diplomat helping the country navigate sanctions.
Recently, Venezuelan National Assembly President Jorge Rodríguez publicly stated that Alex Saab has maintained relationships with US agencies since 2019. These revelations, combined with Saab’s deportation, have generated painful questions for many people who spent years defending him publicly.
What did we actually know?
What kinds of compromises were going on inside a country trying to survive under siege?
These are painful questions. And at this moment, there are still far more questions than answers.
Maybe painful compromises were made.
Maybe Saab was never what many believed him to be.
Maybe serious betrayals occurred.
Maybe the deportation was justified.
Maybe realities existed behind closed doors that ordinary Venezuelans never had access to. Or maybe decisions were made inside an impossible reality where preventing wider war, deeper collapse, and even greater harm for ordinary Venezuelans became more urgent.
Because since the kidnapping of Maduro, Venezuela has not been operating in an atmosphere of freedom. It is operating under threat.
And it is easy to demand uncompromising heroism from a country under attack when you are not the one responsible for preventing millions of people from falling into even greater catastrophe.
People who defended Saab for years are now confronting the possibility that parts of the story may have been hidden from them. Others are immediately translating uncertainty into accusations of betrayal against Delcy Rodríguez and the entire Bolivarian process.
But I think there is something dangerous about how quickly so many people are rushing toward absolute conclusions while fragments of information, accusations, leaks, and political narratives are still colliding in real time.
Maybe there will come a moment for deeper criticism of Delcy Rodríguez and others within the Bolivarian process. Maybe new information will eventually clarify realities that today remain obscured by contradiction, secrecy, pressure, and war.
But I think there is a certain political myopia in discussing Venezuela's internal contradictions while removing the broader reality of US pressure and coercion from the story entirely.
Because regardless of what may eventually be revealed about Alex Saab, the larger reality remains unchanged: Venezuela was subjected to years of sanctions, destabilization, economic strangulation, coup attempts, international isolation, and eventually direct military intervention.
The aggressor has not disappeared from the story.
And reducing every painful decision to betrayal while ignoring the enormous machinery of coercion surrounding Venezuela risks reproducing the very fragmentation that external aggression was designed to create in the first place.
It’s difficult not to see the renewed imprisonment of Alex Saab as a disappointing capitulation to US coercion after so many of us fought for his freedom, but we cannot forget the task at hand. If we are serious about ending US aggression toward Venezuela, we cannot allow our solidarity with the Venezuelan people to be deterred. They have shown us how to sustain a revolution amid contradictions, and that is what we must do.