Across much of contemporary Europe, the word revolution has become politically radioactive. It evokes memories of violence, collapse, authoritarian regression, and historical trauma. Social democratic parties, in particular, have learned to treat the term with caution, preferring the language of reform, stability, and responsibility.

Yet this aversion has come at a cost.

By abandoning the concept of revolution altogether, much of the European left has quietly surrendered something far more consequential than rhetoric: the struggle over who gets to define reality itself. In the absence of a left-led vision of transformation, definitions of what is “inevitable,” “responsible,” and “realistic” have been monopolised by markets, technocrats, and increasingly, the nationalist right.

The result is not moderation, but strategic disarmament.

If the left no longer contests definitions, it does not depoliticise society — it merely allows others to politicise it on their own terms.

The decisive struggles of the 21st century are not fought over palaces or parliaments. They are fought over interpretation.

A definitional revolution does not begin with the seizure of institutions, but with the re‑ordering of meaning. It operates on three interlocking levels.

Every political order rests on descriptions that present themselves as neutral facts:

• “Fiscal discipline is unavoidable.”

• “Globalisation leaves no alternative.”

• “Industrial decline is a natural process.”

Such statements rarely describe objective necessity. More often, they describe political choices that were never defended.

What is framed as inevitable becomes unquestionable. What is unquestionable becomes unchangeable.

To redefine reality is not to deny constraints, but to expose their contingency — to show that what exists is not synonymous with what must exist.

For decades, progress has been measured by proxies detached from lived experience:

• Growth without security

• Stability without justice

• Efficiency without dignity

When progress is reduced to aggregate indicators, welfare states are reinterpreted as costs rather than achievements, and social rights become expendable in moments of “adjustment.”

A politics that accepts these definitions has already conceded defeat, even while governing.

The most consequential definition concerns who is allowed to decide.

Who is considered capable of understanding the future? Who must simply adapt to it?

Technocratic governance, financial markets, and vanguardist traditions all share a common assumption: foresight must be monopolised to be effective.

Yet any politics that monopolises foresight eventually monopolises power.

Rejecting violence is often misread as moral restraint or political moderation. In reality, it reflects a structural diagnosis.

Complex societies cannot be redesigned through singular acts of force. Violence creates emergency conditions, and emergency conditions concentrate power. Concentrated power, in turn, resurrects the very logics of domination that revolutionary movements historically sought to abolish.

Non‑violence is therefore not a concession — it is a refusal to reproduce failure.

But this revolution is not gentle.

To contest definitional power is to confront:

• Capital’s authority to define value

• States’ authority to define necessity

• Nationalists’ authority to define belonging

Definitional power operates slowly, but once established, it reshapes institutions, expectations, and possibilities. It is less dramatic than violence — and far more difficult to reverse.

Social democracy’s historic failure was not its willingness to reform, but its gradual withdrawal from the struggle over meaning.

By limiting itself to redistribution within externally defined parameters, it allowed others to determine:

• What counts as affordability

• What counts as competitiveness

• What counts as realism

A non‑conservative welfare state cannot survive as a purely distributive mechanism. It must become a definitional actor — capable of shaping how societies understand work, security, progress, and responsibility.

This is where its revolutionary potential still resides:

• In redefining welfare as collective power, not passive compensation

• In redefining industry as social infrastructure, not national trophies

• In redefining internationalism as institutional solidarity, not moral abstraction

These are not symbolic shifts. They determine what policies become thinkable long before they become voteable.

Definitions do not float freely — they require organised social bases to become durable.

Narratives only acquire material force when they are anchored in institutions capable of sustaining them over time. In the context of a non‑violent, definitional revolution, this anchoring role falls not to vanguards or charismatic leaders, but to organised collective actors:

• Trade unions that translate abstract rights into enforceable standards

• Cooperatives that embody alternative ownership in everyday economic life

• Public institutions that stabilise social meaning beyond market volatility

• Transnational party and labour networks, including the Socialist International, that allow definitions of dignity, labour, and progress to travel across borders

Without such organisational substrates, definitional victories remain symbolic and reversible.

The 20th century taught the left that invoking the future to justify present suffering leads to catastrophe. The 21st century poses a quieter but equally dangerous temptation: allowing others to define the future entirely.

If the future cannot justify present suffering, who has the right to speak in its name?

This question marks the boundary between emancipation and domination. Any movement that crosses it — whether in the name of revolution or reform — ceases to be democratic, regardless of its intentions.

The struggle ahead is not over whether societies will change. They will.

The struggle is over who gets to say what that change means.

Across much of contemporary Europe, the word revolution has become politically radioactive. It evokes memories of violence, collapse, authoritarian regression, and historical trauma. Social democratic parties, in particular, have learned to treat the term with caution, preferring the language of reform, stability, and responsibility.

Yet this aversion has come at a cost.

By abandoning the concept of revolution altogether, much of the European left has quietly surrendered something far more consequential than rhetoric: the struggle over who gets to define reality itself. In the absence of a left-led vision of transformation, definitions of what is “inevitable,” “responsible,” and “realistic” have been monopolised by markets, technocrats, and increasingly, the nationalist right.

The result is not moderation, but strategic disarmament.

If the left no longer contests definitions, it does not depoliticise society — it merely allows others to politicise it on their own terms.

The decisive struggles of the 21st century are not fought over palaces or parliaments. They are fought over interpretation.

A definitional revolution does not begin with the seizure of institutions, but with the re‑ordering of meaning. It operates on three interlocking levels.

Every political order rests on descriptions that present themselves as neutral facts:

• “Fiscal discipline is unavoidable.”

• “Globalisation leaves no alternative.”

• “Industrial decline is a natural process.”

Such statements rarely describe objective necessity. More often, they describe political choices that were never defended.

What is framed as inevitable becomes unquestionable. What is unquestionable becomes unchangeable.

To redefine reality is not to deny constraints, but to expose their contingency — to show that what exists is not synonymous with what must exist.

For decades, progress has been measured by proxies detached from lived experience:

• Growth without security

• Stability without justice

• Efficiency without dignity

When progress is reduced to aggregate indicators, welfare states are reinterpreted as costs rather than achievements, and social rights become expendable in moments of “adjustment.”

A politics that accepts these definitions has already conceded defeat, even while governing.

The most consequential definition concerns who is allowed to decide.

Who is considered capable of understanding the future? Who must simply adapt to it?

Technocratic governance, financial markets, and vanguardist traditions all share a common assumption: foresight must be monopolised to be effective.

Yet any politics that monopolises foresight eventually monopolises power.

Rejecting violence is often misread as moral restraint or political moderation. In reality, it reflects a structural diagnosis.

Complex societies cannot be redesigned through singular acts of force. Violence creates emergency conditions, and emergency conditions concentrate power. Concentrated power, in turn, resurrects the very logics of domination that revolutionary movements historically sought to abolish.

Non‑violence is therefore not a concession — it is a refusal to reproduce failure.

But this revolution is not gentle.

To contest definitional power is to confront:

• Capital’s authority to define value

• States’ authority to define necessity

• Nationalists’ authority to define belonging

Definitional power operates slowly, but once established, it reshapes institutions, expectations, and possibilities. It is less dramatic than violence — and far more difficult to reverse.

Social democracy’s historic failure was not its willingness to reform, but its gradual withdrawal from the struggle over meaning.

By limiting itself to redistribution within externally defined parameters, it allowed others to determine:

• What counts as affordability

• What counts as competitiveness

• What counts as realism

A non‑conservative welfare state cannot survive as a purely distributive mechanism. It must become a definitional actor — capable of shaping how societies understand work, security, progress, and responsibility.

This is where its revolutionary potential still resides:

• In redefining welfare as collective power, not passive compensation

• In redefining industry as social infrastructure, not national trophies

• In redefining internationalism as institutional solidarity, not moral abstraction

These are not symbolic shifts. They determine what policies become thinkable long before they become voteable.

Definitions do not float freely — they require organised social bases to become durable.

Narratives only acquire material force when they are anchored in institutions capable of sustaining them over time. In the context of a non‑violent, definitional revolution, this anchoring role falls not to vanguards or charismatic leaders, but to organised collective actors:

• Trade unions that translate abstract rights into enforceable standards

• Cooperatives that embody alternative ownership in everyday economic life

• Public institutions that stabilise social meaning beyond market volatility

• Transnational party and labour networks, including the Socialist International, that allow definitions of dignity, labour, and progress to travel across borders

Without such organisational substrates, definitional victories remain symbolic and reversible.

The 20th century taught the left that invoking the future to justify present suffering leads to catastrophe. The 21st century poses a quieter but equally dangerous temptation: allowing others to define the future entirely.

If the future cannot justify present suffering, who has the right to speak in its name?

This question marks the boundary between emancipation and domination. Any movement that crosses it — whether in the name of revolution or reform — ceases to be democratic, regardless of its intentions.

The struggle ahead is not over whether societies will change. They will.

The struggle is over who gets to say what that change means.