The phenomenon of leftist support for authoritarian and even genocidal regimes, provided they oppose the United States, is one of the most perplexing and morally troubling tendencies in modern political thought. From the apologia for Stalin’s Soviet Union to the defense of contemporary regimes like those in Venezuela, Iran, or North Korea, a segment of the political left consistently aligns itself with forces that, by any objective measure, violate the very principles of justice, equality, and human dignity that leftism claims to champion.

At the heart of this phenomenon lies a deep-seated anti-Americanism that functions as a moral and intellectual shorthand for many on the left. The United States, as the preeminent global power since World War II, is often cast as the ultimate imperialist villain, responsible for all manner of global injustices—from economic exploitation to military interventions. This view, while grounded in historical realities such as the Vietnam War, CIA-backed coups in Latin America, and the Iraq War, becomes a totalizing narrative that flattens the complexity of global politics. For some leftists, opposing the U.S. becomes not just a policy stance but a moral imperative, a way of signaling solidarity with the oppressed. This reflex overrides critical engagement with the regimes they defend, which are often far more oppressive than the U.S. itself. Philosophically, this can be understood as a form of Manichaean dualism: the world is divided into good (anti-U.S. forces) and evil (the U.S. and its allies), leaving no room for nuance or moral ambiguity. Such binary thinking, as Hannah Arendt warned in her analyses of totalitarianism, distorts reality and enables complicity in violence by framing any enemy of the enemy as a friend, regardless of their actions. This dualism is compounded by a selective application of moral standards, a phenomenon that philosopher Isaiah Berlin might describe as a betrayal of the pluralistic values inherent in liberalism. Leftists who condemn U.S. drone strikes or economic sanctions often remain silent on, or even defend, the mass executions, gulags, or religious persecution perpetrated by regimes like Assad’s Syria or Maduro’s Venezuela. For example, during the Syrian Civil War, some leftist intellectuals dismissed reports of Assad’s chemical weapons attacks as Western propaganda, despite overwhelming evidence, because acknowledging them would weaken the anti-U.S. narrative. This double standard reveals a troubling moral relativism: human rights abuses are only condemned when they serve the broader ideological goal of critiquing American hegemony. When the perpetrators are anti-American, their crimes are minimized or rationalized as necessary resistance. This hypocrisy undermines the universalist principles of human rights that leftism historically claims to uphold, exposing a willingness to sacrifice ethical consistency for political expediency. Historically, this tendency traces back to the Cold War, when the Soviet Union served as a counterweight to U.S. power and a beacon for many leftists disillusioned with capitalism. The USSR’s brutalities—Stalin’s purges, the Holodomor, the invasion of Hungary—were often downplayed by Western intellectuals like Jean-Paul Sartre or George Bernard Shaw, who saw the Soviet project as a noble experiment in socialism. Sartre, for instance, refused to condemn Soviet labor camps, arguing that doing so would demoralize the French working class. This historical precedent reveals a pattern: the left’s support for repressive regimes is not a new phenomenon but a recurring feature of its ideological commitment to anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism. The Soviet Union’s collapse left a void, but the impulse to back any anti-American force—whether it be Cuba, Iran, or even non-state actors like Hezbollah—persists as a way of preserving the revolutionary dream. This suggests a form of ideological nostalgia, where the left clings to the idea of a global struggle against capitalism, even if it means endorsing regimes that crush dissent and impoverish their populations. Psychologically, this behavior can be understood through the lens of identity and tribalism. For many leftists, opposition to the U.S. is not just a political stance but a core component of their identity as radicals or anti-imperialists. Supporting regimes that challenge American power reinforces their sense of belonging to a morally superior vanguard. This tribalism, as philosopher Jonathan Haidt has argued, often overrides rational judgment, leading individuals to defend actions they would otherwise condemn if committed by their own side. The romanticization of figures like Che Guevara or Hugo Chávez exemplifies this: their flaws—Guevara’s role in executions, Chávez’s economic mismanagement—are glossed over because they symbolize resistance to the U.S. This romanticism is further fueled by a postcolonial guilt complex, particularly among Western leftists, who view any critique of non-Western regimes as a form of cultural imperialism. By refusing to judge authoritarian regimes by the same standards applied to the U.S., they inadvertently perpetuate a form of soft bigotry, implying that non-Western peoples are incapable of upholding democratic or humane values. Another philosophical angle to consider is the influence of dialectical materialism, particularly in Marxist-Leninist circles. This framework views history as a series of class struggles culminating in revolution, often justifying extreme measures as necessary for progress. Regimes like North Korea or Cuba are defended not because their conditions are ideal but because they are seen as transitional stages toward a socialist utopia. The suffering caused by these regimes—famine in North Korea, political repression in Cuba—is rationalized as a temporary sacrifice for the greater good. This teleological view, as Karl Popper critiqued in The Open Society and Its Enemies, is inherently anti-humanist, as it subordinates individual lives to an abstract historical process. By prioritizing ideology over reality, leftists who adopt this perspective become complicit in the very forms of oppression they claim to oppose, betraying the emancipatory spirit of their own principles. The practical consequences of this support are devastating. By amplifying the narratives of repressive regimes, leftists in the West provide them with ideological cover, enabling their survival and legitimizing their actions. For instance, the uncritical endorsement of Venezuela’s government by figures like Jeremy Corbyn or Noam Chomsky has contributed to a narrative that deflects blame from Maduro’s mismanagement onto U.S. sanctions, despite evidence that Venezuela’s collapse began well before sanctions were imposed. This not only misinforms public opinion but also delays accountability for regimes that harm their own people. Moreover, it alienates potential allies within those countries—dissidents, workers, and activists—who seek genuine reform but find their struggles undermined by Western leftists who prioritize anti-Americanism over solidarity. Critics of this analysis might argue that focusing on leftist support for authoritarian regimes ignores the broader context of U.S. imperialism, which has undeniably caused immense harm. They might contend that opposing American hegemony is a strategic necessity, even if it involves uneasy alliances with unsavory actors. While this perspective has some merit—U.S. foreign policy has often been hypocritical and destructive—it does not justify the moral gymnastics required to defend regimes that systematically violate human rights. A principled left should be capable of critiquing both U.S. imperialism and authoritarianism elsewhere without resorting to selective outrage or apologetics. The failure to do so reflects not just a strategic error but a philosophical betrayal of the left’s own values.