Editoria
A few months ago, the world’s media were speaking of a war that was supposed to change the balance of power in the Middle East forever. From Washington to Tel Aviv, talk revolved around “final victory” and a “new regional order.” Today, however, those same governments speak of ceasefires, agreements, negotiations, and crisis management. Not because the crisis has come to an end, but because its continuation has generated costs whose containment has become a more urgent issue than the war itself.
A few months ago, the world’s media were speaking of a war that was supposed to change the balance of power in the Middle East forever. From Washington to Tel Aviv, talk revolved around “final victory” and a “new regional order.” Today, however, those same governments speak of ceasefires, agreements, negotiations, and crisis management. Not because the crisis has come to an end, but because its continuation has generated costs whose containment has become a more urgent issue than the war itself. This remains one of the central themes of the present issue of Political Courier.
Yet the Middle East is not the only stage upon which the crisis unfolds. In Albania, thousands have taken to the streets against a project associated with Jared Kushner, chanting “Albania is not for sale.” In Portugal, workers’ strikes continue. From the Balkans to the Middle East, and from Europe to North America, signs of a common reality can be observed: the crisis has neither subsided nor been brought under control; only its forms of manifestation have changed. These new forms of crisis, and the questions they raise before us, are also addressed in this issue through brief analyses of the Portuguese strikes and the so-called “Flamingo Revolution.”
The Iranian left, despite the transformations that have taken place in its appearance and notwithstanding the new polarizations that have emerged in the ways certain circles within the milieus of Council Communism and the European Communist Left express themselves, remains trapped within the framework of its inherited traditions. From this perspective, we will also examine the actions of the Iranian Left at the International Labour Organization. In this connection, the Internationalist Workers’ Organization has republished one of its historical documents, written twenty-five years ago as a critique of trade-unionism and similar forms of activism.
What we are witnessing today is not merely a collection of separate crises. War, economic stagnation, migration, the housing crisis, distrust of political institutions, the growth of populism, Trumpism, Eurocentrism, and the expansion of social protests are different expressions of a single process. It is a process in which existing political and economic structures are becoming increasingly incapable of resolving their own crises, while the dominant alternatives continue to operate within the framework of that same crisis-ridden order.
Contemporary capitalism functions not only through exploitation in the workplace, but also through a network of states, international institutions, ideological apparatuses, media systems, and political intermediaries. For this reason, class struggle is constantly confronted with the danger of being diverted from its own path and transformed into one of the mechanisms for managing the crisis of capital. During wartime, workers are called upon to support one camp or another. During strikes, their struggles are transferred to negotiating tables and institutional procedures. On the international level, their protests are delegated to organizations and institutions that are themselves integral parts of the existing order.
The articles in this issue of Political Courier approach this reality from different angles: from war and diplomacy in the Middle East to the protests in Albania, from workers’ strikes in Portugal to protest actions directed at the International Labour Organization. The common thread running through all these developments is not merely the existence of crisis, but the inability of dominant solutions to move beyond it. The fundamental question therefore remains:
Will the emancipation of workers be achieved through states, international organizations, political intermediaries, and professional representatives? Or will it emerge through the working class’s own capacity for independent organization, the expansion of its struggles, and the creation of internationalist links?
In a world where the crisis of capital has assumed global dimensions, class independence is no longer merely a slogan; it is a necessary condition for any emancipatory perspective.
An Agreement to Manage an Impasse
Only a few weeks ago, Donald Trump was speaking of the complete surrender of the Islamic Republic. Western media outlets predicted the collapse of the so-called “Axis of Resistance,” the dismantling of Iran’s regional networks, and the birth of a new Middle East. Israel pursued the war with the expectation that it could alter the regional balance of power once and for all in its favor. On the other side, the Islamic Republic sought to preserve its regional position, deterrent capabilities, and network of influence, while using the war as an opportunity to restore part of its eroded legitimacy both at home and across the region.
The War Ends, the Crisis Remains
Yet the survival of the Islamic Republic in this conflict should not be mistaken for a resolution of its deeper crises. Even if the regime succeeds in preserving part of its regional position and remains one of the major actors in the Middle East, the accumulated economic, social, and political contradictions within Iranian society will not disappear. War and militarization may temporarily function as a shield against social discontent, but they cannot eliminate the underlying tensions that shape everyday life. In the period ahead, the working class and other oppressed layers of society—the forces responsible for production, social reproduction, and the functioning of society itself—will continue to represent the most significant potential challenge to the existing order.
Today, however, none of the objectives proclaimed at the beginning of the war have been achieved. Neither has the project of reshaping the Middle East under American and Israeli hegemony succeeded, nor has the Islamic Republic managed to conceal its profound internal crises behind the smoke and fire of war. What has emerged instead is not a path toward military victory but a growing effort to contain the consequences of the conflict itself. This shift is significant because it reveals the failure of the war’s original aims.
From “Complete Surrender” to Crisis Management
The same powers that only recently spoke of destruction, surrender, and the comprehensive reconstruction of the region are now discussing ceasefires, the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz, the release of frozen Iranian assets, a ceasefire in Lebanon, and a return to negotiations. The political meaning of this change should not be underestimated. A war that was expected to produce a decisive outcome through military force has reached a point where its continuation must now be managed through agreements, containment, and the temporary reconfiguration of the balance of power.
If the reports concerning the proposed agreement are accurate, the process appears to be unfolding in several stages. The first phase reportedly includes de-escalation in the Strait of Hormuz, the reopening of maritime routes, the release of part of Iran’s frozen assets—estimated in some reports at between twenty-four and twenty-five billion dollars—and preparations for a new round of negotiations. Other reports refer to a ceasefire in Lebanon, efforts to prevent a wider regional war, and commitments framed around national sovereignty and the principles of the United Nations. No official text has yet been published, and a distinction must therefore be made between media reports and any final agreement. Nevertheless, even these reported provisions are sufficient to indicate the political direction of current developments.
A war that began with calls for the complete surrender of the Islamic Republic, the destruction of its missile capabilities, and the restructuring of the Middle East is now moving toward an agreement in which the release of Iranian assets, the reopening of Hormuz, a ceasefire in Lebanon, and the acceptance of certain regional realities have become central issues. This cannot reasonably be described as a victory for the Islamic Republic. The regime emerges from the conflict having suffered significant military, economic, and political costs and will inevitably be forced into a period of internal reorganization and reconstruction.
At the same time, it would be equally misleading to ignore the fact that the declared objectives of the United States and Israel have also failed to materialize. What is taking shape today is less a victory for one state or another than evidence of the failure of a project that sought to impose political submission through military superiority.
The Limits of Military Superiority
The reasons for this political failure cannot be found solely in diplomatic calculations or behind-the-scenes negotiations. Much of it was determined on the battlefield itself. Iran’s missiles and low-cost drones, its capacity to disrupt energy routes, the threat posed to shipping in the Strait of Hormuz, the possibility of the conflict expanding into Lebanon, Iraq, and Yemen, and the resilience of regional forces aligned with Tehran all contributed to raising the costs of war.
The conflict has once again demonstrated that under contemporary conditions, overwhelming air power and technological superiority are no longer sufficient to impose political outcomes. Aircraft carriers, strategic bombers, and advanced missile systems retain immense destructive capabilities, but they cannot by themselves guarantee the political results their operators seek. It is precisely this reality that has pushed Washington and Tel Aviv away from the language of “complete surrender” toward the language of “crisis management” and negotiated arrangements.
Energy Routes and the Crisis of the World Order
Another factor behind the current impasse is the growing importance of energy routes and the reproduction of the global economy. The Strait of Hormuz is far more than a maritime passage. It is one of the vital arteries of global capitalism. Any disruption there affects energy prices, transportation costs, insurance markets, international trade, and production chains across the world. When the closure or insecurity of a single shipping route can destabilize global markets, the issue ceases to be merely a conflict between states. It becomes a crisis affecting the reproduction of the global economy itself.
Yet the present deadlock is not simply the product of conditions in the Middle East. The crisis at the center of the world system has also played a decisive role. The United States today faces one of the deepest political and institutional crises in its recent history. The rise of Trumpism is not merely the rise of a politician or an electoral movement. It reflects deep fractures within the institutions and power structures of the United States itself. The divide between Republicans and Democrats is no longer simply an electoral rivalry. It increasingly expresses conflicting views over America’s role in the world, the management of global crises, relations with traditional allies, and even the role of the federal state within the United States.
This crisis is also reflected in Washington’s relations with NATO, the European Union, and its regional allies. The world today is no longer the world of the 1990s—a world in which the United States could easily impose its political will through military superiority. We have entered a period in which regional powers, energy corridors, asymmetric warfare, low-cost military technologies, and global economic crises have all contributed to eroding the monopoly of power once enjoyed by the traditional centers of imperialism.
For this reason, any future agreement should not be interpreted as the end of the war. What is emerging is not peace, but a reconfiguration of the conflict itself. The rivalry between Iran and Israel, tensions among competing power blocs, energy crises, and proxy wars will continue. Only their form of expression is likely to change. If Israel is ultimately forced to retreat from a broader confrontation with Hezbollah, this will not represent a solution to the Lebanese question. Rather, it will amount to a temporary recognition that regional actors and proxy forces remain an integral part of the balance of power in the Middle East.
War, Class Struggle, and Independent Organization
The recent conflict offers another important lesson. The expansion of war does not automatically mean that society is entering a revolutionary phase. As the war between Russia and Ukraine has already demonstrated, war can weaken the capacity of the working class for independent organization just as easily as it can intensify social contradictions. It can strengthen militarism, encourage nationalism, and push social struggles onto the defensive.
The current conflict, which has directly or indirectly involved more than ten countries, has so far done far more to strengthen states, expand security apparatuses, deepen poverty and social instability, and weaken independent class struggles than to advance the workers’ movement. This reality once again demonstrates that neither crisis nor war contains a solution in itself. What remains decisive is the ability of the working class to organize independently, maintain its political independence from all competing camps, and transform the crisis of capitalism into a conscious struggle against the system as a whole.
Otherwise, wars will not open a path toward emancipation. They will merely prepare the ground for a new cycle of destruction, militarization, and the reproduction of capitalist domination.
Temporary Agreements in a Permanent Crisis
The Middle East has entered a new phase—a phase in which no force is capable of fully imposing its will upon others and in which no crisis can be conclusively resolved. Under such conditions, agreements do not mark the end of conflicts. They are temporary pauses within a prolonged process of reconfiguring the balance of power.
What stands before us today is not the victory of one state or another, but a sign of a deeper crisis within the global capitalist order itself—an order increasingly incapable of producing stability and therefore forced to carry its crises from one war to another, and from one temporary agreement to the next.
Workers’ Strikes in Portugal: When Struggle Becomes Negotiation
Trade Unions, Political Parties, and the Limits of Workers’ Struggle
In recent months, Portugal has witnessed one of the most significant waves of workers’ protest seen in the country in recent years. The right-wing Portuguese government introduced a package of labor-law reforms known as “Labour 21” (Trabalho XXI), seeking to implement a series of changes affecting labor legislation, collective agreements, workforce flexibility, and employment relations. This direct attack on the living standards and basic rights of the working class took place under conditions in which rising living costs, a deepening housing crisis, the expansion of temporary contracts, and the declining purchasing power of wages had already placed broad sections of Portuguese workers under increasing pressure.
For this reason, discontent and protest among workers had been growing even before the latest reform package was proposed. The government’s new measures merely intensified grievances that were already widespread.
The nationwide strike of December 2025 was the first large-scale expression of this discontent. The strike was organized with the participation of the country’s two main trade-union confederations: the General Confederation of Portuguese Workers (CGTP) and the General Workers’ Union (UGT). Major disruptions in public transportation, education, municipal services, and sections of economic activity forced the government to speak of revising certain elements of the proposed package.
Nevertheless, this retreat remained limited. Although some provisions were modified and numerous negotiations took place between the government, employers, and trade unions, the fundamental framework of what was described as “labor-market reform” remained intact.
The continuation of social discontent and pressure from below, together with tensions and divisions within the unions themselves, ultimately led to a second general strike in June 2026. Once again, important sectors of transportation, education, healthcare, and public services were disrupted, revealing the depth of workers’ dissatisfaction with government policy.
Yet this strike, like the one before it, failed to become a platform for the expansion of independent working-class organization or for the generalization of resistance against the policies of the ruling class. On the contrary, the struggle was once again contained within the framework of negotiations, institutional pressures, and bargaining between trade unions, employers, and the state.
For this reason, despite two general strikes, large-scale worker mobilizations, and considerable social pressure, the offensive launched by the state and capital against working conditions was not halted. At most, it resulted in limited amendments and tactical concessions. This reality demonstrates that the central issue does not lie simply in the intensity of workers’ anger or the scale of participation.
The fundamental problem is the absence of independent class organization and the political horizon within which these struggles have been conducted—a horizon in which the existing trade unions and political parties continue to play the decisive role.
Trade Unions and the Politics of Representation
The General Confederation of Portuguese Workers (CGTP) has historically maintained the closest relationship with the Portuguese Communist Party (PCP), a party rooted in the tradition of the former pro-Soviet communist parties and the campist left. In contrast, the General Workers’ Union (UGT) is more closely aligned with the traditions of social democracy and the Portuguese Socialist Party (PS), and has consistently emphasized social dialogue and tripartite cooperation between the state, employers, and trade unions.
Despite their historical and ideological differences, the campist left and social democracy share one fundamental characteristic: they do not primarily understand workers’ struggle as a process of expanding independent class power. Instead, they view it as a means of exerting pressure on the state and influencing political decision-making. The differences between the campist left and social democracy have not prevented both from directing workers’ struggles toward the horizon of social dialogue, reform, and the management of conflicts within capitalism. Their disagreements concern less the transcendence of this framework than the methods through which it should be managed.
Negotiation or Independent Class Power?
From this perspective, the central problem of these unions should not be sought in the sincerity or insincerity of their leaders. The issue is more fundamental. Over the course of decades, these unions and political parties have become integrated into the established mechanisms through which social conflicts are managed within capitalist society. They operate within a historical tradition of the European workers’ movement that separates economic struggle from political struggle and channels workers’ resistance primarily through trade-union apparatuses, political representation, and tripartite negotiations among governments, employers, and unions.
Within such a framework, the strike does not function as the beginning of an expansion of independent organs of struggle. Rather, it becomes an instrument of negotiation and bargaining. As a result, workers remain in the position of a pressure force from below, while the actual management of the struggle is transferred to representative institutions and bureaucratic structures. Instead of gaining direct control over the direction of their struggles and the decisions that shape them, they are once again placed in a subordinate position within mechanisms designed to mediate and contain conflict.
For this reason, the strikes in Portugal are not merely an arena in which workers’ anger and resistance can be observed. They also provide an opportunity to examine the historical limitations of official trade unionism and the politics of representation within the contemporary workers’ movement. Recent experience has demonstrated that even the most extensive strikes, if confined within the boundaries of trade-union bureaucracy, institutional negotiations, and the calculations of political parties, can rarely move beyond limited reforms and tactical concessions.
Beyond Official Trade Unionism
Yet the historical crisis in the overall reproduction of capital has neither ceased nor have the attacks on the living and working conditions of the working class come to an end. On the contrary, the deepening economic and social crisis, combined with wars, militarization, and geopolitical rivalries, is likely to intensify class polarization even further.
Under such conditions, the necessity of developing independent forms of working-class organization becomes more evident than ever. These forms must be based upon workers’ circles, general assemblies, elected and recallable committees, direct links between workplaces, and independent networks of class solidarity. Only through such a process can social discontent move beyond the level of pressure upon governments and institutional bargaining and become an expression of independent working-class power.
The strikes in Portugal do not mark the end of a struggle. They are a sign that the question of labor and class is once again returning to the center of Europe’s social contradictions. At the same time, however, they serve as a reminder that without overcoming the historical limitations of official trade unionism and the politics of representation, even the most radical protests risk being drawn back into the orbit of managing discontent and reproducing the existing order..
The “Flamingo Revolution” in Albania
Between Trumpism and Eurocentrism
The spark for the protests was a project associated with Jared Kushner, Donald Trump’s son-in-law, and backed by the Albanian government in one of the country’s coastal regions. Supporters of the project spoke of economic development, foreign investment, and the expansion of tourism. But for the protesters, the issue was not merely environmental destruction or the construction of a new tourist complex. What transformed the protests into a nationwide movement was a growing sentiment that has also been seen in many countries in recent years: the transfer of land, public resources, and social spaces to large-scale capital, while broad sections of society have neither a role in decision-making nor a share in the benefits produced by it
.For this reason, the movement quickly moved beyond the limits of an environmental protest, and the slogan “Albania is not for sale” became its central rallying cry. This slogan also revealed the internal contradictions of the movement: on the one hand, a real protest against the seizure of land and public resources in the interests of major investment projects; on the other, tendencies that sought the solution not in a critique of existing social relations, but in joining a more European version of the same economic order.
Yet the significance of the flamingos is not confined to Albania itself. This movement reveals one expression of a crisis that today encompasses the whole of global capitalism. It is a crisis in which the traditional boundaries between the state, capital, media, and political power are increasingly collapsing, while new forms of domination and competition are taking shape.
The Kushner project in Albania is an example of precisely this process. What we see here is not simply a foreign investment. A network of economic, political, media, and diplomatic relations has come together to advance a massive project. From this perspective, Trumpism cannot be understood merely as a political current or a right-wing tendency in the United States. Trumpism expresses a stage in the development of capitalism in which capital, the state, media, and political power become more deeply integrated than ever before. The president, the capitalist, the media celebrity, and the representative of major economic networks converge at a single point, while the boundaries between the public and private spheres gradually disappear.
From this angle, the flamingos are not merely a protest against a construction project. The movement also became a scene of conflict between different factions of capitalism. On one side stood the Trump–Kushner network and the Albanian government; on the other, forces that defined themselves in connection with the European Union, liberal institutions, and Eurocentric narratives. This explains why parts of the protests were accompanied by European Union flags, pro-Brussels slogans, and hopes for intervention by European institutions.
The flamingos did not merely become a field of competition between the Trump–Kushner project and its European rivals. At the height of the protests, the Albanian government also attempted to attribute parts of the movement to “foreign interference” and even to the role of Iran. Regardless of the credibility of these claims, the very fact that such accusations were raised shows that the protests were no longer seen merely as a social movement, but had become an arena of political, diplomatic, and geopolitical conflict. Just as sections of the opposition tried to turn the support of Brussels and European institutions into a political backing for the movement, the government also sought to connect the protests to regional and international rivalries. The flamingos, therefore, were not only a confrontation between the state and protesters, but became a field in which the narratives and interests of different forces collided at both national and international levels.
The reactions of different political forces to the movement reflected this situation. A large part of Albania’s liberal opposition tried to interpret the protests within the framework of a struggle against corruption, mismanagement, and the authoritarianism of the Rama government. In this narrative, the main problem is not capitalist social relations, but the inefficient or corrupt form in which they are administered. The solution is therefore sought in reforming the state, strengthening democratic institutions, and moving closer to the model of the European Union.
On the other side stood forces loyal to the old traditions of the Albanian left and the Hoxhaists. Yet they too offered nothing in response to the present crises beyond nostalgia for the past and a return to old forms of state capitalism. If the liberals seek salvation in a European future, the Hoxhaists seek it in a bygone past. Both, however, are incapable of responding to the real problems of Albanian society.
The reality is that the flamingos reflected real crises: the crisis of ownership, the housing crisis, mass migration, the depopulation of rural areas, the crisis of political participation, and the crisis of legitimacy of official institutions. The importance of this movement lies less in the fate of a single project, or even of a single government, than in the way it brought these crises to the surface.
Generation Z, Social Media, and the Representation of the Movement
Under these conditions, international media also tried to explain the movement through their familiar narratives. Some spoke of the “awakening of civil society,” others saw it as a reaction to Trump and Kushner, while others wrote of a “Generation Z” revolt. Yet these narratives, rather than explaining the reality of the movement, highlight certain aspects of it while concealing others.
The concept of “Generation Z” is a clear example of this kind of representation. In this narrative, young people appear not as part of specific social forces with definite class positions, but as an independent cultural identity. In this way, the questions of ownership, power, inequality, and social crisis are displaced by lifestyle, generational behavior, and cultural identities.
This narrative is familiar to Iranian readers. When university and school students in Iran entered the field in support of workers’ struggles with the slogan “We are the children of workers; we will stand with them,” the social and class content of that movement was clear. But in later periods, alongside the rise of right-wing and nationalist tendencies, the concept of “Generation Z” became a tool for erasing class boundaries and redefining social movements in terms of cultural identities.
But the issue is not limited to the media. Behind this narrative lies a deeper transformation in the forms of social organization. The new generation has grown up in a world in which social networks and digital platforms play a decisive role in everyday life. These spaces make rapid communication and mobilization possible, but at the same time they are part of the mechanisms of capital accumulation. Contemporary capitalism is not present only in factories and centers of production. A large part of social life has been transformed into a field for the production of data, attention, and profit.
For this reason, social networks cannot be understood as merely neutral tools. They simultaneously merge organization, propaganda, the shaping of public opinion, and the production of profit. They can help expand protests, but they can also represent and direct those same protests within narratives that correspond to their own logic and interests.
Eurocentrism and the Absence of an Independent Workers’ Horizon
Yet perhaps the most important feature of the flamingos was neither Trumpism nor the Generation Z narrative. The most striking scene of this movement was the dominance of Eurocentric narratives within parts of the opposition and the Bashkë movement. Here we are dealing with a phenomenon that has been seen in recent years in many Balkan countries and even in parts of Asia: the belief that the way out of crisis lies not in a critique of existing relations, but in joining a more European version of the same economic and political order.
The entire polarization of the Albanian left in the context of this movement was effectively crystallized in two main tendencies. On one side stood the Bashkë movement, a parliamentarist current that pursues the struggle against corruption, oligarchy, and mismanagement within the framework of the European model of democracy. On the other side stood the Hoxhaists, who remain trapped within the horizon of nostalgia for state capitalism. Neither of these two tendencies is capable of offering an answer to the fundamental crises of which the flamingos are only one expression.
Under such conditions, the social anger produced by land seizures, economic insecurity, migration, and distrust toward political institutions is directed away from the structural roots of the crisis. The issue is no longer the negation of existing relations, but the pursuit of a more “European,” more “modern,” and less “corrupt” version of the same existing order. In other words, the problem is not seen in capitalism itself, but in the fact that the existing capitalism is not European and civilized enough.
This Eurocentric fantasy is reproduced precisely at a time when Europe itself is struggling with deep economic, political, and social crises, and when the working class in France, Germany, Italy, and other European countries is under pressure from the very policies designed and implemented by the institutions admired by sections of the Balkan opposition. Eurocentrism, therefore, is less an answer to the crisis than an expression of the inability to see the crisis on a global scale.
In this sense, the Flamingo Revolution was not merely a protest against a construction project or a foreign investor. The movement simultaneously exposed the crisis of ownership, the crisis of the state, the crisis of political legitimacy, the crisis of the traditional forms of the left, and the crisis of media narratives. Yet behind all these contradictions, one absence stood out above all: the absence of an independent horizon capable of formulating these crises from the standpoint of the historical interests of the working class, beyond the competition among different factions of capitalism.
In the conflict between Trumpism, Eurocentrism, liberalism, Hoxhaism, and media narratives, the working class appears not as an independent political force, but as the great absent presence of the scene. For this reason, the flamingos are less an answer than a sign of a larger question: the reconstruction of independent working-class politics and proletarian internationalism in an age when the crisis of capitalism deepens every day, while emancipatory horizons have not yet been transformed into a material and organized force.
11 June 2026
Internationalist Workers’ Organization
International Solidarity or the Politics of Representation?
Reflections on the Action of Left-Wing Forces and Trade Unions in Geneva
At the same time as the 2026 conference of the International Labour Organization (ILO) was being held in Geneva, a number of Iranian left-wing organizations, political and labour activists in exile, and several European trade unions once again gathered in front of the conference venue. Protest actions outside the International Labour Organization have a history of more than two decades among sections of the Iranian left. These gatherings emerged during a period when Iranian migrant and refugee workers were attempting to continue their political and labour activities in various European countries. Supporting workers’ struggles in Iran, defending independent organization, and building networks of international solidarity were among the original aims of these initiatives .
Over the years, however, the political landscape of the Iranian left has undergone significant changes. The disintegration of the ideological cohesion that once characterized Stalinist, Maoist, and Trotskyist traditions, together with the emergence of tendencies identifying themselves as advocates of council communism, the radical left, or left communism, reflects genuine transformations within the left and a growing critique of past failed traditions.
Yet the annual gathering outside the International Labour Organization remains one of the few arenas around which a broad range of these forces continue to converge, alongside some Iranian labour circles and organizations as well as several European trade unions.
The demands raised at this year’s demonstration ranged from opposition to war and protest against the presence of the Islamic Republic at the ILO conference to calls for the release of political prisoners, the abolition of the death penalty, and the defence of workers’ rights in Iran. The organizers presented the action as an effort to bring the voice of Iranian workers to the global labour movement and to mobilize international solidarity in support of their struggles.
At first glance, many of these demands appear entirely legitimate and defensible. No person committed to freedom can remain indifferent to the repression of workers, the imprisonment of labour activists, the execution of political opponents, or the devastating consequences of war.
The central issue, however, is neither the intentions of the organizers nor even the content of some of the demands themselves. The essential question is what political horizon this form of activity presents to the workers’ movement and, after more than two decades of repetition, what concrete political achievements it has produced for the independent and internationalist organization of workers.
Has this type of activity strengthened the independent power of workers in Iran? Has it altered the real balance of forces between workers and the state? And above all, has it contributed to the reconstruction of an independent class-based and internationalist politics?
Answering these questions requires us to move beyond intentions and slogans and examine this form of political practice itself, together with the political horizon embedded within it.
The Islamic Republic Is Not an Exception
The central issue is not the presence of the Islamic Republic within the International Labour Organization; the issue is the International Labour Organization itself.
A large part of the discourse surrounding the Geneva conference is based on the assumption that the problem begins when the Islamic Republic sends its own representatives to the conference in the name of Iranian workers. Yet this narrative overlooks a fundamental reality: the Islamic Republic acts not in contradiction to the nature of this institution, but precisely within its logic.
The International Labour Organization is not an institution established for the abolition of wage labour or the emancipation of the working class. It is built upon the principle of tripartite cooperation between states, employers, and officially recognized labour representatives. Its purpose is not to overcome the contradiction between labour and capital, but to regulate and manage that relationship within the framework of the existing social order. From this perspective, the presence of representatives of the Islamic Republic is not an exception but a normal part of the institution’s functioning.
The House of Labour, the Islamic Labour Councils, and the other official labour organizations of the Islamic Republic are undoubtedly instruments for controlling the workers’ movement. Yet this very fact should lead to a more fundamental question: was the International Labour Organization ever created to represent independent and militant workers’ organizations? Or was it, on the contrary, established on the basis of cooperation between states, employers, and organizations capable of participating in the management and regulation of wage labour?
From this perspective, the issue extends far beyond the Islamic Republic. The difference between the House of Labour in Iran and the official trade unions of Europe is not the difference between capitalism and socialism. It is a difference in the level of political freedoms and in the forms through which labour is controlled. In both cases, however, the underlying principle remains participation in the regulation and management of wage labour within the framework of capitalist society.
For this reason, an internationalist critique cannot be reduced to the demand that the Islamic Republic be expelled from the International Labour Organization. Such a demand reproduces the illusion that the problem lies in the type of representatives attending the conference rather than in the institution itself, an institution founded upon cooperation between the state, capital, and official representatives of labour.
From the Critique of an Institution to the Critique of a Politics
The problem, however, extends beyond the nature of a particular institution. The more fundamental issue concerns the political practice that has been reproduced around such institutions for decades.
The annual gatherings in Geneva are usually presented as an expression of international solidarity. Yet the form this solidarity takes deserves closer examination. In practice, the action is based on the assumption that workers’ struggles can gain greater influence by appealing to international institutions, trade-union federations, human-rights organizations, or political representatives capable of exerting pressure on governments.
Within this framework, workers appear primarily as victims whose demands must be conveyed by others, represented by others, and defended by others. Political activity becomes focused on attracting the attention of institutions, persuading officials, and mobilizing support among organizations capable of exerting influence from above.
The problem is not that workers should reject solidarity beyond national borders. On the contrary, international solidarity is an indispensable condition for any serious workers’ movement in the contemporary world. The issue is the form that solidarity assumes.
There is a profound difference between solidarity based upon the self-activity and direct organization of workers and solidarity based upon representation by political organizations, trade-union apparatuses, and institutional intermediaries. In the first case, workers establish direct links with one another across borders, industries, and workplaces. In the second, the relationship is mediated by organizations whose role is to represent workers before institutions that remain part of the existing order.
This distinction is not merely theoretical. It has practical consequences for the development of working-class power. When the central focus shifts toward lobbying institutions, appealing to international organizations, or influencing political representatives, workers are once again placed in the position of those who petition others for support rather than acting as an independent social force.
The persistence of the Geneva actions over more than twenty years raises an unavoidable question. If these activities have been repeated annually for decades, what has been their cumulative political result? Have they contributed to the emergence of stronger and more independent forms of workers’ organization? Or have they primarily reproduced a political culture in which representation substitutes for self-organization?
These questions are particularly important because many of the organizations participating in such actions define themselves as defenders of workers’ self-emancipation. Yet the methods they employ often remain tied to a political logic in which institutions, representatives, and mediators occupy the central role.
Where Does Internationalism Begin?
This brings us to a broader question: what does proletarian internationalism actually mean?
Internationalism is often reduced to declarations of solidarity, joint statements, conferences, or appeals addressed to international institutions. Such activities may have symbolic importance, but they do not in themselves constitute internationalism.
Internationalism begins where workers recognize that their struggles are connected by a common social relation. The worker confronting exploitation in Iran, the dockworker in Greece, the transport worker in Portugal, and the factory worker in Germany confront different conditions, but they are all situated within the same global system of wage labour and capital accumulation.
From this perspective, internationalism is not primarily a moral principle or a humanitarian commitment. It is a material reality rooted in the global character of capitalism itself.
The strength of internationalism therefore depends not on the number of resolutions passed at conferences or the visibility of protest actions outside international institutions. It depends on the extent to which workers are capable of creating direct forms of communication, solidarity, and organization that transcend national boundaries.
This was one of the central lessons of the historical workers’ movement. The First International did not emerge because workers sought recognition from existing institutions. It emerged because workers themselves attempted to establish practical links across borders in response to common conditions of exploitation.
Today, under conditions of globalized production, transnational supply chains, mass migration, and increasingly interconnected labour markets, the material basis for internationalism is stronger than ever. Yet the political forms capable of expressing that reality remain weak and fragmented.
The challenge, therefore, is not to obtain a more favourable hearing from international institutions. The challenge is to rebuild forms of organization capable of linking workers directly to one another across countries and sectors of production.
Workers Are Not Voiceless Victims
One of the most persistent assumptions underlying the politics of representation is the notion that workers are unable to speak for themselves and therefore require others to speak on their behalf. Within this framework, political organizations, trade unions, activists, and representatives become the necessary intermediaries through which workers’ demands are communicated to the world.Yet the history of workers’ struggles in Iran tells a different story.
Over the past two decades, workers in numerous sectors have repeatedly demonstrated their capacity to organize, articulate their demands, and confront both employers and the state. The struggles of the Haft Tappeh sugarcane workers, the workers of the Ahvaz National Steel Group, teachers, pensioners, transport workers, nurses, and many others have shown that workers are not passive victims waiting for representation from above.
In many cases, workers themselves have formulated demands, organized assemblies, elected representatives, coordinated collective actions, and developed forms of solidarity extending beyond individual workplaces. These experiences have emerged despite repression, arrests, dismissals, and severe restrictions on independent organization.
This does not mean that workers do not require solidarity. It means that solidarity should strengthen their independent capacities rather than substitute for them.
The problem with much of the politics surrounding international institutions is that it tends to reverse this relationship. Instead of beginning with workers’ own forms of organization and asking how international links can strengthen them, it begins with institutions and asks how those institutions can be persuaded to support workers.
As a result, workers often reappear not as active subjects of struggle but as objects of advocacy. Their role becomes that of providing evidence of suffering, while others assume responsibility for speaking, negotiating, and acting in their name.
The experience of workers’ struggles in Iran suggests a different path. The most significant advances have not resulted from international conferences, diplomatic pressure, or institutional lobbying. They have emerged from workers’ own efforts to organize collectively, build solidarity, and challenge existing relations of power.
For this reason, the central task of international solidarity is not to create new representatives for workers. It is to strengthen the ability of workers themselves to establish direct links with one another and to extend their struggles beyond the limits imposed by states, employers, and institutional mediators.
Two Conceptions of Internationalism
Ultimately, the debate surrounding the annual Geneva actions reflects the existence of two fundamentally different conceptions of internationalism.
The first conception understands internationalism primarily through institutions, representation, and political mediation. Within this framework, workers are represented by organizations, organizations appeal to international institutions, and political pressure is expected to produce change. International solidarity becomes a matter of advocacy, lobbying, and influence within existing structures.
The second conception begins from a different premise. It understands internationalism as the direct connection of workers across borders, based upon their common position within the global system of capitalism. Here, solidarity is not delegated to representatives. It is built through practical links among workers themselves, through shared struggles, mutual support, and the development of independent forms of organization.
The difference between these two conceptions is not merely organizational. It concerns the very meaning of working-class emancipation.
If workers are to free themselves through their own activity, then internationalism cannot be reduced to appeals directed toward institutions that exist to manage the relationship between labour and capital. Nor can it be reduced to symbolic demonstrations repeated year after year without producing stronger forms of independent organization.
The challenge facing the workers’ movement today is not simply to oppose repression, war, exploitation, or anti-worker policies. It is to rebuild forms of class organization capable of acting independently of states, political parties, trade-union bureaucracies, and international institutions.
From this perspective, the question posed by the Geneva actions is not whether those who participate are sincere or insincere, committed or uncommitted. The real question is whether this political practice contributes to the development of independent working-class power or whether it ultimately remains confined within the politics of representation.
More than two decades after these actions first began, that question remains as relevant as ever.
11 June 2026
Internationalist Workers’ Organization
