Our so-called “social democracies,” those flickering gaslights in the gathering dusk of capitalism, are a hall of mirrors, a funhouse distorting the true revolution. They dangle participation, a rubber chicken of reform, to distract the proles from the rigged carnival of exploitation that churns beneath the painted smiles.

Meanwhile, the neoliberal carnies cackle, hawking their wares of austerity and deregulation. This rigged roulette wheel spins ever faster, spewing out winners in silk top hats and losers who choke on the dust. The proles, faces pinched with the gnawing hunger of manufactured scarcity, begin to mutter. A low, dangerous hum courses through the midway.

From the shadows, a figure emerges, a carny with a sharper glint in his eye, a barker with promises of order and scapegoats. The fascist spiel, a siren song laced with nostalgia and nationalist paranoia, finds fertile ground in the wreckage of social democracy’s hollow promises.

Is it any surprise? The contradictions inherent in the system, the rigged games and rigged wheels, all explode outward when the flimsy facade of reform crumbles. Social democracy, in its desperate attempt to hold back the tide, has only created a dam behind which the pressure builds. And when it bursts, the fascist wave will come crashing down, a monstrous child of capitalism’s own twisted creation.