In November 1917, the Bolshevik-led October Revolution shattered the old Tsarist order and immediately struck at the heart of imperialism. The new Soviet government began withdrawing Russian troops from Persia (modern-day Iran), repudiating the unequal Tsarist-era treaties that had carved up Iran into spheres of influence with Britain. On November 15, 1917, the Bolsheviks issued the Declaration of the Rights of the Peoples of Russia, proclaiming the equality of all peoples, the right to self-determination (including secession), and the complete abolition of all national and religious privileges rooted in empire. This was not mere rhetoric. It marked a historic break: the first time a major power voluntarily dismantled its colonial apparatus in the name of the oppressed. The workers and peasants of Russia declared that empires built on exploitation had no future.
Fast-forward to February 14, 2026. At the Munich Security Conference, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio delivered a speech that openly celebrated the very empires the Bolsheviks had opposed. Rubio lamented the “terminal decline” of the “great Western empires” after World War II, blaming “godless communist revolutions” and “anti-colonial uprisings” for shrinking them. He praised five centuries of Western expansion—missionaries, soldiers, explorers building “vast empires”—and urged North America and Europe to stand together unashamedly as heirs to this “great civilization,” forged by “shared history, Christian faith, culture, heritage.” He rejected any “guilt and shame” over the colonial past and called for renewed Western dominance. Critics rightly saw this as an overt admission: the US-led alliance has always been anti-freedom and pro-colonial at its core. Once the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, removing the main counterweight to imperialism, the recolonization project accelerated.
The record since 1991 is clear. The United States invaded Iraq in 2003 under false pretenses, destroying a sovereign nation and plunging the region into chaos. It led the destruction of Libya in 2011, turning a stable country into a failed state and slave market. In both cases, and in Syria and elsewhere, the US and its allies promoted or tolerated forces like al-Qaeda, the Taliban, and ISIS when it suited their goals of regime change and resource control. Now, in January 2026, the US launched a direct military operation in Venezuela, capturing President Nicolás Maduro and seizing control of the country’s oil resources—open resource plunder dressed as “narco-terrorism” enforcement. Threats to “acquire” Greenland (with maps showing it, Canada, and Venezuela under the US flag) and economic/military pressure on Canada reveal the same pattern: the Western Hemisphere must submit to US dominance. Threats of war against Iran and unconditional protection of Israel’s actions in Gaza—widely condemned as genocide by human-rights observers—complete the picture. This is not “defense of civilization.” It is recolonization in the 21st century.
A clear dividing line has emerged. On one side stand the forces of imperialism, led by the US and its Western allies, seeking to reassert control over resources, markets, and peoples. On the other side, China has consistently defended the sovereignty and independence of nations against this onslaught—supporting multipolarity, opposing unilateral interventions, and standing with countries resisting external dictation. The contrast could not be sharper: workers and oppressed peoples worldwide are once again hearing the call to unite against imperialism, just as in 1917.
Religion has once again proven itself a reliable servant of this anti-freedom, anti-human project. Rubio repeatedly invoked “Western Civilization” and “Christian faith” as the sacred glue binding the US and Europe, the moral justification for pride in empire rather than repentance. Christianity has long served colonialism—from the Crusades and the Doctrine of Discovery that justified the conquest of the Americas, to the missionary vanguard that softened resistance in Asia and Africa. Islam has been weaponized similarly: from Ottoman caliphates and modern extremist groups (often initially tolerated or armed by Western powers when convenient) to justifications for theocratic control that suppress workers’ rights and women’s equality. Judaism, in its Zionist political form, has been tied to the settler-colonial project in Palestine, where religious claims underpin displacement and occupation. Hinduism, through Hindutva ideology, has fueled majoritarian nationalism in India that marginalizes minorities and justifies expansionist or repressive policies under the banner of “civilizational” revival.
In every case, religion divides people along imaginary lines—faith, sect, chosen people—while the real divide is class: exploiters versus exploited. It preaches obedience to earthly powers (“render unto Caesar”), sanctifies hierarchy, and distracts from material suffering with promises of otherworldly reward. Whether the cross, crescent, Star of David, or saffron flag, these ideologies have historically aligned with rulers, empires, and capital against the common people. Rubio’s speech is only the latest example: Christian faith is invoked not for humility or love of neighbor, but to bless Western supremacy and dismiss the crimes of colonialism.
Civilization is not defined by geographical proximity or shared religious ancestry. North America and Europe do not form a sacred bloc by blood or Bible. The workers of the world—factory laborers in Detroit and Dhaka, peasants in Latin America and Africa, miners in China and Russia—share the same fundamental demands: decent wages, safe conditions, education, healthcare, peace, and control over their own resources and destinies. Their needs are universal, not confined to any “civilization.” The Bolshevik Declaration of 1917 understood this. True civilization advances when empires fall, privileges are abolished, and the working masses unite across borders.
Today, the collapse of the Soviet Union removed one check on imperialism, but new forces—China’s rise, global South resistance, and renewed working-class movements—are creating the conditions for a new anti-imperialist wave. Rubio’s Munich speech was not a defence of freedom; it was a confession of intent to recolonize. The response must be the old rallying cry, updated for our time: Workers of the world, unite! Against empire, against religious division that serves the powerful, and for the real equality and self-determination the October Revolution first proclaimed. The dividing line is drawn. History is once again on the side of the oppressed.
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