The Dangers of Communism for Indonesian Democracy (9)

The protests in Nepal and Indonesia share certain similarities but also differ significantly in context, causes, and impact.

Both movements were largely driven by young people, particularly Generation Z, who mobilised around grievances related to corruption, nepotism, and economic frustration. In Nepal, the protests were ignited by a government ban on multiple major social media platforms, which was perceived as an attack on freedom of expression and transparency. Likewise, in Indonesia, youth-led protests have also targeted broader governance issues, including demands for political reform, social justice, and accountability. In both countries, social media played a critical role in organising protests, amplifying dissent, and exposing political elites’ privileges, such as the "Nepo Kid" phenomenon in Nepal.

However, the protests differ in scale, intensity, and political outcomes. Nepal experienced rapid escalation into violent unrest, with parliament and government offices set on fire, the resignation of Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli, and significant casualties including deaths and injuries. The unrest in Nepal reflects a political vacuum with ongoing instability and a precarious situation involving military deployment and curfews.

Meanwhile, Indonesia’s protests, although intense and involving significant participation, have not reached the same level of nationwide breakdown or government collapse. Indonesia’s protests tend to focus on specific policy issues, such as labour rights and corruption scandals, and the response, while at times forceful, has not yet toppled the government or led to similar levels of violence or institutional damage as seen in Nepal.

The creation of employment opportunities in Nepal and Indonesia reveals both similarities and differences shaped by their distinct economic contexts and development strategies.

In Nepal, job creation remains a vital challenge as the country struggles with high unemployment and underemployment, particularly among youth. The government has declared the decade from 2025 to 2035 as the Internal Employment Promotion Decade, signalling a commitment to generate more domestic jobs through partnerships with private sector organisations focused on skill development and entrepreneurship. Nepal's economy still heavily relies on agriculture, tourism, and remittances, while emerging sectors like IT and renewable energy offer new avenues for employment. Despite these efforts, youth unemployment remains critical, compounded by skill mismatches and limited opportunities in rural areas.

Indonesia, on the other hand, is projected to create over 67,000 new jobs in 2025, primarily driven by the relocation of global textile manufacturing companies to less developed provinces such as Central and West Java. The Indonesian government actively promotes equitable economic development by focusing on job creation in these regions, aiming to absorb a growing workforce amid ongoing layoffs in other sectors. Indonesia has a larger, more diversified economy with manufacturing, services, and digital sectors playing a significant role in employment generation.

Regarding economic inequality, Nepal has relatively lower income inequality compared to its level of economic development, with a consumption Gini index estimated around 0.33, showing stability over recent decades. However, income inequality, especially in labour and capital income, has increased over time, particularly in rural areas. In Indonesia, economic disparity remains more pronounced, with significant regional and sectoral inequalities despite overall growth. The government's job creation focus on less developed areas aims to reduce these imbalances and achieve more inclusive development.

Both Nepal and Indonesia face challenges of youth unemployment and economic inequality, but Nepal relies more on targeted government-industry partnerships amid a slower-growing economy, while Indonesia leverages foreign investment and industrial relocation to generate employment. Both nations recognise the need for job creation as central to addressing economic disparities and social stability.

The anger of the Nepalese people towards political officials and their families flaunting wealth stems largely from deep-rooted cultural values of humility, community, and respect that characterise Nepali society. Nepalese culture highly prizes modesty, patience, and social harmony, with an emphasis on collective welfare over individual extravagance. Nepalis are generally known for their warm hospitality and humility, reflecting traditions rooted in spirituality, religious teachings of Buddhism and Hinduism, and longstanding communal living practices.

Against this cultural backdrop, the conspicuous display of luxury—such as politicians' children flaunting expensive cars, foreign educational achievements, and lavish parties—clashes sharply with societal expectations. Most ordinary Nepalis live modestly, often facing economic hardships, and value respectful, discreet behaviour, especially among leaders who are expected to serve the public. Showing off wealth by elites is seen as arrogant and deeply disrespectful, especially when widespread corruption, nepotism, and economic struggles remain pervasive for the majority.

This cultural dissonance feeds a broader frustration: the political elite’s flaunting is not merely about wealth but symbolises entrenched corruption, inequality, and detachment from the everyday realities of the people. Public humility and the ideal of shared sacrifice are core values, so when elites choose to "flex" their affluence, it is viewed as a breach of social trust and an affront to communal solidarity. The anger is thus both a reaction to economic injustice and a cultural rejection of arrogance and moral failure among those in power.

In Indonesia, the public reaction to political elites flaunting wealth shares similarities with Nepal in terms of cultural values emphasising humility, respect, and social harmony, but also reflects unique aspects shaped by Indonesia’s diverse cultural and religious landscape.

Indonesian culture traditionally places great importance on modesty (rendah hati) and respect for others, values deeply rooted in both indigenous customs and Islamic teachings, which is the dominant religion. Leaders and public officials are expected to act as role models by demonstrating simplicity and serving the community with integrity. Displays of excessive wealth or arrogance by elites often provoke public disapproval and are seen as violating these social norms.

However, Indonesia’s cultural diversity across its many islands and ethnic groups means expressions of these values can vary locally, even while the general disdain for ostentation among leaders is widespread. Moreover, public frustration in Indonesia is often intertwined with perceptions of corruption, abuse of power, and social inequality. When politicians or their families are seen flaunting luxury through expensive cars, lavish lifestyles, or public displays, it symbolises a detachment from the economic realities of the majority, who may struggle with poverty and limited opportunities.

Unlike Nepal’s more homogenous cultural context, Indonesia’s pluralism creates a complex social fabric where religious piety, community bonds, and cultural humility all intersect to shape public expectations. The Indonesian phrase "sopan santun" (courtesy and respectful behaviour) captures the societal demand for modesty, especially by those in power.

Thus, while both Nepal and Indonesia share cultural frameworks that value humility and community welfare, Indonesia’s response to wealth flaunting is compounded by religious ethics and the diverse nature of its society. In both countries, such flaunting by elites serves as a potent sign of social injustice and fuels wider public anger and demands for accountability and reform.

Both protests reflect youth-led demands for transparency and justice against political elites perceived as corrupt, but Nepal’s crisis has escalated into a severe political breakdown with a social media ban as a spark, while Indonesia’s protests, though serious, remain within a more controlled political dynamic without government collapse or widespread violent destruction.

The protests in both Nepal and Indonesia offer important lessons about governance, youth engagement, and the role of digital communication in modern political movements.

Firstly, these protests highlight the crucial need for governments to maintain transparency, accountability, and responsiveness to citizens’ concerns, especially those of younger generations. Ignoring or suppressing legitimate demands—such as freedom of expression, access to information, and economic opportunity—can rapidly escalate social tensions into wide-scale unrest.

Secondly, the events underline the power of digital platforms as tools for political mobilisation and citizen empowerment. Governments that impose overly restrictive measures on digital communication risk alienating large segments of their populations and provoking stronger resistance, as seen in Nepal’s social media ban triggering mass protests. Some might say Gen Z are brainless, but they’ve got AI in their pockets. And when it comes to digging up dirt on public officials, the info’s just a few taps away.

Thirdly, both cases emphasise the significance of giving youth a meaningful voice in political processes and decision-making. Young people’s frustration with corruption, nepotism, and unemployment must be addressed not merely by repression but through genuine reforms and opportunities to participate in shaping their countries’ futures.

Finally, while protests can serve as catalysts for positive change, they also reveal vulnerabilities in political systems. Managing dissent through dialogue, reform, and inclusive governance can prevent escalation into violence and instability. For both Nepal and Indonesia, the challenge lies in transforming protest energy into sustainable political renewal rather than prolonged conflict or authoritarian backlash.

In essence, the lessons are about respecting democratic rights, embracing youth participation, balancing regulation and freedom in digital spaces, and addressing root causes of discontent to build resilient and inclusive societies.

And now, it’s time to snoop around and dive into Karl Marx’s Das Kapital. But just to be safe, what we’ve got here is a chapter-by-chapter summary, taken from the unabridged version of Das Kapital based on the 1872 second edition, a copy of the 1932 Berlin edition published by Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag, with a preface by Karl Korsch.

In Das Kapital, Karl Marx does not merely critique capitalism—he performs a meticulous autopsy on it. With the precision of a surgeon and the disdain of a revolutionary, he dissects the system’s anatomy: its commodities, its labour relations, and its insatiable hunger for profit. Marx argues that beneath capitalism’s polished exterior lies a mechanism of exploitation, where workers are paid less than the value they produce, and the surplus is pocketed by the owners of capital. This isn’t just unfair—it’s systemic.

He portrays capitalism not as a neutral economic arrangement, but as a vampire-like entity that thrives by extracting value from human labour. The more efficient it becomes, the more alienated the worker feels. And yet, the system perpetuates itself, convincing everyone that this is the natural order of things. Marx’s ultimate claim is chillingly elegant: capitalism contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction, doomed by its own contradictions and the relentless pursuit of profit.

Preface and Introduction

Karl Marx begins by situating his work as a scientific inquiry into the fundamental laws of capitalist society. He stresses that his aim is not to offer moral judgments, but to reveal the inner mechanisms that drive the circulation of capital and the exploitation of labour.

Chapter 1: The Commodity

The narrative opens with an analysis of commodities, which are the elementary particles of capitalist society. Marx shows that every commodity possesses a dual nature: a use-value that satisfies needs, and an exchange-value that connects it to other commodities. This duality is the seed of capitalism’s contradictions.

Chapter 2: The Process of Exchange

The story continues as commodities leave the hands of their producers and enter the marketplace. Exchange appears to be a simple act, but Marx reveals that it masks social relations between people, transforming them into relations between things.

Chapter 3: Money, or the Circulation of Commodities

Money emerges as the universal equivalent, enabling commodities to circulate on a vast scale. What begins as a mere medium of exchange evolves into an independent power, dominating the very society that created it.

Chapter 4: The General Formula for Capital

Here Marx introduces his famous formula M–C–M’, where money is invested in commodities only to return as a larger sum of money. The secret of capital lies in this endless cycle of self-expansion.

Chapter 5: Contradictions in the General Formula

Yet this formula hides a paradox: how can money generate more money without violating the logic of exchange? Marx exposes the tension at the heart of capitalism, a tension that demands resolution.

Chapter 6: The Sale and Purchase of Labour Power

The resolution is found in the commodification of human labour power. Unlike other commodities, labour has the unique capacity to produce more value than it costs, thus becoming the true source of surplus value.

Chapter 7: The Labour Process and the Valorisation Process

Marx distinguishes between labour as a timeless human activity and labour as it appears under capitalism. In the latter form, the worker’s creativity becomes a means for the capitalist’s profit.

Chapter 8: Constant Capital and Variable Capital

Capital is split into two parts: the constant portion invested in machinery and materials, and the variable portion spent on labour power. Only the latter generates surplus value, highlighting the unique position of workers.

Chapter 9: The Rate of Surplus Value

The exploitation of workers can be measured as the ratio of surplus labour to necessary labour. Marx transforms the hidden brutality of the working day into mathematical clarity.

Chapter 10: The Working Day

In one of the book’s most vivid sections, Marx chronicles the struggle between capitalists seeking longer hours and workers demanding limits. The working day becomes a battlefield of social classes.

Chapter 11: Cooperation

The power of many workers labouring together reveals itself as a force multiplier. Cooperation, though seemingly natural, is harnessed by capital to enhance exploitation.

Chapter 12: Division of Labour and Manufacture

The division of labour increases productivity but at the cost of fragmenting the worker into a mere appendage of a task. The human being is reduced to a cog in the capitalist machine.

Chapter 13: Machinery and Modern Industry

The Industrial Revolution transforms production, yet machinery enslaves the worker instead of liberating him. Marx portrays machines as instruments of domination disguised as progress.

Chapter 14: Absolute and Relative Surplus Value

Absolute surplus value arises by lengthening the working day, while relative surplus value emerges from raising productivity. Together, they form the twin strategies of capitalist domination.

Chapter 15: Changes in the Magnitude of Labour Power and Surplus Value

Shifts in wages and labour conditions alter the balance of surplus value. The capitalist must constantly adjust, yet the system remains one of relentless extraction.

Chapter 19: The Transformation of the Value of Labour Power into Wages

Wages disguise the reality of exploitation. What seems like payment for work is in fact only the price of labour power, leaving surplus labour unpaid.

Chapter 20: Time-Wages

Wages appear tied to hours worked, but Marx shows how this system hides intensified exploitation behind apparent fairness.

Chapter 21: Piece-Wages

Payment per unit of output seems to reward productivity, yet it pressures workers to compete against one another, deepening their subjugation.

Chapter 22: National Differences of Wages

Marx turns to the global stage, showing how differences in wages across nations reflect not culture or climate, but the unequal development of capitalist relations worldwide.

Chapter 23: Simple Reproduction

Capital reproduces itself by consuming labour and renewing its own conditions. Even without expansion, the system perpetuates exploitation.

Chapter 24: Accumulation and Extended Reproduction

Reinvestment transforms simple reproduction into expansion, driving capitalism to extend its reach across all aspects of society.

Chapter 25: The General Law of Capitalist Accumulation

The more capital accumulates, the more it produces a surplus population of unemployed workers. This “reserve army” ensures that labour remains cheap and docile.

Chapter 26: The So-Called Primitive Accumulation

Marx recounts the bloody origins of capitalism in expropriation, colonisation, and violence. Capital was born not from thrift, but from force.

Chapter 27: The Modern Theory of Colonisation

The book closes with a reflection on colonies as the laboratories of capitalism, where its contradictions are laid bare with stark clarity.

Appendices

Marx supplements his analysis with notes on his intellectual journey, bibliographies, technical tables, and a glossary, turning his work into both a theory and a reference.

Scholars and critics approach Das Kapital from several distinct angles — economic-methodological, logical-technical, empirical-historical, and political-ethical — and each cluster of critique surfaces different concerns about Marx’s argument and the practical consequences of applying Marxist ideas. 

From an economic-methodological perspective, the most wide-reaching criticism targets Marx’s use of the labour theory of value as the analytical foundation of his system. Critics note that Marx treats value as determined by socially-necessary labour time and builds surplus-value and exploitation arguments on that metric; mainstream economics after the marginalist revolution abandoned labour-time value in favour of subjectively founded price and utility theories, so many economists regard Marx’s basic measure as out of step with later theory.

A closely related technical critique is the long-running “transformation problem”: Marx’s account of how labour-values are said to convert into market prices in a competitive system has been judged inconsistent or incomplete by several influential critics. Beginning with early 20th-century interventions, and continuing through the Sraffa–Neo-Ricardian literature, scholars have argued that Marx did not provide a general, mathematically rigorous procedure to reconcile values and prices; defenders and revisionists continue to debate whether later formalisations (or iterative interpretations) rescue Marx’s claim. This debate is central for economic historians and theorists because it bears on whether Marx’s profit-and-price story is formally coherent. 

Classical and marginalist economists also levelled philosophical and logical objections. Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk famously argued that Marx’s theory contains internal contradictions — especially once Marx tries to reconcile a labour-based value measure with an average rate of profit across capital-intensive and labour-intensive sectors — and subsequent formal critiques (Bortkiewicz and others) sharpened that point. Later analytic work by Sraffa and his interpreters reframed the problem and forced a more careful reading of Marx’s assumptions about aggregates, prices and the role of capital as a measured magnitude. Those interventions do not necessarily “disprove” Marx’s social diagnosis, but they do show the economic theory in Das Kapital is technically contested and not part of the orthodox toolkit economists use today.

From the standpoint of economic policy and feasibility, critics in the Austrian and liberal traditions argued that even if Marx’s diagnosis of exploitation were correct, his prescriptions for abolishing private capital raise practical impossibilities. Ludwig von Mises and F. A. Hayek developed the “economic calculation” and “knowledge” arguments, respectively, which claim that comprehensive central planning cannot replicate the allocative information conveyed by free market prices and thus will fail to coordinate complex economies efficiently — a critique that many policy-oriented critics treat as a decisive practical objection to implementing Marx’s program.

Empirically, historians and political economists also point out that Marx’s most famous historical prediction — that advanced capitalist societies would produce revolutionary proletarian majorities and that capitalism would collapse from its internal contradictions — did not materialise in the simple form he expected. Capitalism proved to be unexpectedly adaptive: welfare institutions, labour organisation, technological change, and political reforms altered social dynamics in ways Marx did not fully foresee. That empirical failure (or at least drastic revision) is often marshalled by critics to argue that Marx’s teleological reading of history is over-deterministic and weak as a predictive theory. 

The political-ethical critiques identify what many academics call the book’s most dangerous elements when they are read as a political program rather than as a critical diagnosis. First, Marx’s and Engels’ rhetoric openly envisages the forcible overthrow of existing social conditions and speaks of a transitional “dictatorship of the proletariat” as the means to abolish class rule; such formulations, critics argue, provide rhetorical and conceptual openings that later actors could and did use to justify coercion. Lenin’s deployments of Marxist state theory in State and Revolution made such theoretical openings operational in the 20th century; academic critics therefore treat the link from Marx’s language about revolution to Leninist institutional forms as an intrinsically risky pathway when combined with single-party organisation and emergency powers.

Second, critics in political philosophy (notably Karl Popper and later liberal critics such as Hayek) argue that Marx’s historicism and economic reductionism can narrow political imagination: if historical laws supposedly determine outcomes, then pluralistic, incremental democratic methods and checks on coercive power are downplayed, which — in their view — creates intellectual space for authoritarianism. These critiques stress that ideas that treat teleological social laws as normative guides increase the chance of political actors treating “the ends” as justifying harsh means.

Those warnings are bolstered by historical experience, which academic historians debate vigorously: large studies of 20th-century communist regimes document systemic patterns of repression, famines, and political terror in multiple countries, and books like The Black Book of Communism give one controversial quantification and narrative of those crimes — a narrative that many historians accept in part and challenge in details — and which academic defenders of Marxism reply to by distinguishing Marx’s texts from later, contingent, and frequently brutal state projects. The debate is not simply about numbers; it is about whether the violent outcomes were necessary consequences of Marx’s doctrine or reflect specific historical choices, organisational pathologies, and geopolitical pressures.

The phrase “forcible overthrow” is most famously associated with The Communist Manifesto (1848), co-authored by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. In the final section, they declare: “The Communists openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions.”

The original German wording is: “Die Kommunisten erklären es offen, daß ihre Zwecke nur erreicht werden können durch den gewaltsamen Umsturz aller bisherigen Gesellschaftsordnung.”

Here, the key expression is “gewaltsamen Umsturz”, which literally means “violent overthrow” or “forcible overthrow.”

It is important to note that this formulation appears in the Manifesto, not in Das Kapital. In Das Kapital, Marx analysed the dynamics of capitalism and accumulation but did not use that exact rhetorical flourish. The call to “forcible overthrow” is part of the explicitly political, agitational text of 1848.

Karl Marx used the phrase “dictatorship of the proletariat” to describe a historically transitional form of political power in which the working class (collectively) suppresses the former ruling classes while reorganising social property relations and production. The original expression Karl Marx used is “Diktatur des Proletariats”, a German phrase that directly translates to “dictatorship of the proletariat.”

Interestingly, Marx did not actually use the phrase inside Das Kapital (1867). In that monumental work, he focused on analysing commodities, value, surplus value, and capital accumulation rather than providing detailed political blueprints. The exact phrase appears in his political writings and correspondence, most clearly in his 1875 work, Kritik des Gothaer Programms (Critique of the Gotha Programme). There he speaks of the “revolutionary dictatorship of the proletariat” (revolutionäre Diktatur des Proletariats) as a necessary transitional stage between capitalism and communism.

Marx also used the term in an 1852 letter to Joseph Weydemeyer, where he emphasised that his contribution was proving “the necessity of the dictatorship of the proletariat” as part of the historical materialist framework. 

In his Critique of the Gotha Programme Marx stressed that the dictatorship of the proletariat was not an endorsement of permanent despotism but a phase in which the state — understood as an instrument of class rule — would be used to abolish class antagonisms and ultimately “wither away” once class distinctions disappeared. Marx, therefore, framed the concept as a normative stage in the road from capitalism to a classless society.

Vladimir Lenin reinterpreted and operationalised Marx’s idea during the revolutionary crisis of 1917. In The State and Revolution, Lenin insisted that the bourgeois parliamentary state could not be peacefully reformed into socialism, and he argued that the proletariat must smash the old state and build its own new form of power: the revolutionary dictatorship of the proletariat. For Lenin this meant, crucially, organisation through a disciplined vanguard party, the arming of the proletariat, and the use of state coercion against counter-revolutionary classes. Lenin framed the dictatorship as a form of proletarian democracy for the majority that nonetheless required the suppression of the exploiting minority. This reworking made the concept operational in the short term while leaving open a distant ideal of the state’s eventual disappearance.

The translation from Lenin’s programme to the political reality of the Soviet Union reveals several decisive steps and choices that bear directly on how the concept came to be associated with single-party rule and large-scale repression. Key factors include the Bolsheviks’ monopoly on political organisation after 1917; the civil-war context and emergency measures that centralised power in the party and state apparatus; the suppression of rival socialist parties and independent labour organisations; and the institutional development of secret police organs and party discipline that concentrated command within the centre. These structural and contingent choices turned the doctrinal phrase into an apparatus that could be, and often was, exercised by a small cadre rather than the broad proletarian mass. Scholarly overviews of the period emphasise the interaction of ideology, organisational form, crisis conditions, and individual agency in producing this outcome.

Joseph Stalin’s rule exemplifies how the rhetoric and institutional instruments associated with the dictatorship of the proletariat were adapted into a personalising and highly repressive regime. Under Stalin, the Soviet state pursued forced collectivisation, industrialisation by directive, and massive political purges including show trials, mass arrests, deportations and executions in the 1930s (the Great Terror). Historians documenting this period emphasise a mix of ideological rationales (rapid transformation and defence against perceived internal enemies), bureaucratic incentives (party and security apparatuses seeking scope and autonomy), and individual choices and cruelties. The result was not simply the “withering away” of the state but the consolidation of an expansive coercive state that exercised near-total control over society.

Academic critics identify several specific elements in Marx and Lenin that are considered politically risky when extracted from the context of contested democratic controls. First, Marx’s rhetoric about revolutionary overthrow and the need for “suppression” of former ruling classes provides moral and conceptual cover for coercive action if actors choose to read the language as endorsement for permanent compulsion. Second, Lenin’s stress on a highly disciplined, centralised vanguard with the legitimacy to suppress opposition created organisational mechanics that — under sustained emergency conditions — can outlive temporary crises and institutionalise authoritarian norms. Third, the idea of a party claiming to act in the name of a class majority makes it tempting for leaders to treat dissent as treachery, thereby legalising severe measures against political pluralism. These are not mechanical or inevitable translations from theory to practice, but they are warnings scholars routinely cite as plausible pathways through which revolutionary theory can be transformed into repressive governance.

At the same time, many historians and political theorists caution against simplistic causal claims that Marx or Lenin “caused” Stalinist terror by textual fiat. They emphasise contingency: international isolation, civil war, economic collapse, geopolitical threats, bureaucratic dynamics, and personal rivalries all shaped Soviet decision-making. Important scholarly debates therefore centre on the balance between intentionalist readings (which stress ideological or leadership choices as primary) and structuralist or functional readings (which emphasise institutional pressures, social structures, and external constraints). Recent nuanced scholarship tends to combine these modes: ideas matter, organisational forms matter, and material and political crises create opportunities in which authoritarian outcomes become more probable.

To conclude: the phrase dictatorship of the proletariat in Marx is a transitional, normatively justified concept within a teleological account of historical development, but Lenin’s adaptation turned it into a practical programme that prized party monopoly and coercive suppression of opponents. The Bolshevik experience — and Stalin’s subsequent consolidation — shows how theoretical terms can be embedded in organisational rules and crisis practices that produce outcomes (single-party rule, purges, mass coercion) which many contemporary critics call “dangerous.” Scholars therefore treat the subject as a complex causal story in which text, institution, crisis, and agency jointly explain how a revolutionary doctrine sometimes led to authoritarian governance rather than to the stateless classless society Marx envisaged. 

To summarise the scholarly verdict succinctly: economists and methodologists call Das Kapital an ambitious and powerful critique of capitalist categories but also highlight formal problems (labour-value, transformation to prices) and empirical limits; political philosophers and historians warn that some of Marx’s formulations — especially his violent revolutionary rhetoric, his notion of a transitional dictatorship, and his economic determinism — are intellectually useful for critique but politically dangerous if adopted without robust democratic safeguards, and twentieth-century history shows how such ideas were sometimes adapted into repressive practices. 

The essence of Karl Marx’s communist doctrine is most clearly articulated in The Communist Manifesto, co-authored with Friedrich Engels in 1848. It is not a dry academic treatise, but a fiery declaration—a political pamphlet designed to ignite the consciousness of the working class. In it, Marx lays bare the historical struggle between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, arguing that all of history is the story of class conflict. He asserts that capitalism, though once a revolutionary force, has become a system of exploitation that alienates workers from the fruits of their labour.

The manifesto calls for the abolition of private property, the centralisation of production under communal ownership, and the dismantling of class structures. It is unapologetically radical, demanding not reform but revolution. Its famous closing line—“Workers of the world, unite!”—is not a slogan, but a summons. Marx’s vision is of a world where economic power no longer rests in the hands of the few, but is shared by all.

[Part 10]
[Part 8]

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