The book is about that word, that very word. The term neoliberalism is often criticized because it is used in various ways and understood differently by different people. It’s a slippery concept, but one could also say that about liberalism or democracy or conservatism. Each of these words is tricky and takes on different shapes in different times and places, and that’s true of neoliberalism as well. The same can be said for emotionally charged words like “fascism,” although I do suggest in the book that it’s time to bring that word out of the closet. In any case, even if it’s true that we often use terms like neoliberalism to express our frustration with aspects of late-stage capitalism or the state of the world, it’s more than just a pejorative.

My goal was to gain a deeper understanding of the various meanings of neoliberalism, especially considering its significant influence on how we think about the world, democracy, and our relationships.

At its core, it’s a philosophy of governance. The originators, like Friedrich Hayek, were concerned about the role of law and the state in ensuring economic freedom, competition, and exchange in a free market.

It’s interesting that, for the neoliberal architects, neoliberalism was not an economic theory. Hayek, for instance, argued that the economy — or the market — is inherently unknowable and that attempting to control it is futile. His focus wasn’t on understanding the market but on saving free-market liberalism from its own failures, specifically the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression.

Hayek also wanted to defend classical liberalism against the rise of Keynesianism or social democracy, which he thought were simply a pit stop en route to tyranny. He concluded that only though economic freedom in a free market could we defend ourselves from tyranny, but that required that the state play a role in protecting private property and setting the conditions necessary for the market to do its magic. The market had to somehow be protected from popular pressures, particularly the pursuit of social justice or economic nationalism.

However, neoliberalism isn’t just a philosophy of government; it’s also a political project where powerful interests hijacked the philosophy to consolidate their power. And it is a suite of policies through which government serves these interests, and a cultural project designed to reshape common sense. This involved redefining the role of government, integrating market principles into all aspects of society, legitimizing inequality, and promoting economic freedom as the highest value and the foundation of all freedoms.

So neoliberalism is a view of the world that puts private over public, commerce over the common good, and individual choice over collective action. This has meant governments of Right and Left which delivered tax cuts, privatization, deregulation, free trade, and monetary policy that puts low inflation over all other objectives, including full employment.

As a political project, the architects of neoliberalism saw themselves engaged in a battle for the soul of the world, viewing their struggle as a clash between good and evil. They had seen the rise of fascism, and they were worried about the rise of communism. And they were committed to protecting the world from tyranny. Their work was not merely theoretical; they aimed to fundamentally reshape thinking.

These thinkers were backed by powerful corporate interests, who saw in neoliberalism a means to challenge the expansion of the welfare state and consolidate their own power and wealth. This led to the creation of a strong transatlantic network dedicated to promoting the idea that the core value that had to be pursued for the future of civilization and for human well-being was economic freedom. Central to this vision was the belief in the need to constrain the state or, more accurately, redefine its purpose as protecting the market and, arguably, those who benefit most from it.

By the 1980s, neoliberalism had become the dominant force in both the United Kingdom and United States, with conservative leaders like Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, and Margaret Thatcher winning successive elections and implementing neoliberal policies. During this period, the Left struggled electorally, leading to the emergence of Third Way politics.

In response to their electoral losses, the “Left” in both countries began adopting New Labour and New Democrat policies, which sought to blend conservative language with their own agendas to win elections. This approach — referred to as “triangulation” — essentially sugarcoated neoliberalism.

I would argue that [Bill] Clinton and [Tony] Blair did more to consolidate and make neoliberalism seem inevitable than Thatcher and Reagan ever did. In fact, when Thatcher was asked what her greatest accomplishment was, she said it was Tony Blair. She had gotten Labour to buy into her views. Blair himself said he saw his role as building on Thatcher, not undoing her work.

The biggest privatizer in American history was Clinton; he did more to privatize than Reagan. The biggest cuts to welfare spending were Clinton’s, as was the launch of the war against crime, which led to mass incarceration, creating an underclass without actually contributing to public safety.

What you saw was neoliberalism transforming the Left, which lost the connection between inclusion and equality, between privilege and power. The Left lost its way. It treated fragmentation — social fragmentation — as inevitable. It gave up on the idea of society, the idea of a larger common good — in other words, it gave up on the idea of solidarity. We just accepted the idea that globalization and technology were immutable.

In essence, the Left adopted two key messages from Thatcher’s era: first, that “there is no alternative” to the current economic and technological realities; and second, that “there is no society” — obligations only extend to individuals and their immediate circles or “little platoons.” These ideas became central to the Third Way left.

That’s the central question. In the book, I explore a debate I’ve had with a close friend for years: Do we need a total collapse of our systems before we can rebuild, which is his view, or can we avoid the worst and make a turnaround? The issue is not whether change will come, but how much suffering we’ll endure before it happens.

I retired from public service and came back to Canada just after the financial meltdown. And there were books all over the place proclaiming the end of neoliberalism. Now you can find them languishing in bargain bins.

There was a shake-up — people’s confidence in the system was deeply shaken. I think historians will have a very clear sense that the world changed. The world changed in part because the system’s fragility and hypocrisy became glaringly apparent. We saw the contradiction in bailing out banks and auto firms and businesses while neglecting mortgage holders and workers.

We saw the fragility; we saw the hypocrisy. People realized neoliberalism wasn’t delivering on its promise. Nobody was buying anymore — if they ever did — the notion that wealth somehow trickles down. And the idea that some companies were too big to fail showed how terribly badly privatization and deregulation had failed us — how instead of promoting competition, we had actually promoted corporate concentration and enormous corporate power. There was every reason to think that was the kind of situation that would bring about some kind of paradigm shift. But it didn’t.

Then there was the pandemic. And if you recall, everybody was talking about “building back better.” The pandemic showed how woefully unprepared we were to deal with these crises. And it also amplified the fault lines and cracks in the system. It revealed how undervalued and underprotected frontline workers were and how badly stretched our health care and care systems had become. The most vulnerable — indigenous and poor people — were paying a huge price. The privatization of long-term care led to many preventable deaths among the elderly.

Then two things happened that were really startling. First, governments stepped up in ways we hadn’t seen, with large-scale, billion-dollar programs providing financial support to citizens and struggling businesses. And as they were bailing out citizens, they were reducing poverty and inequality. They were making a real difference. Second, we were out looking after each other, looking for ways to help each other. There was for a brief moment a kind of solidarity. We were banging pots and pans to recognize frontline workers and health care workers, and they were suddenly being paid wages more closely commensurate with the important role they play in protecting and serving us.

For a moment, it seemed like there might be a real path forward. But then, before we knew it, build back better was dead. Because inflation did what inflation does, right? The fiscal hawks, who were silent during the crisis, were back demanding cuts to spending and tighter monetary policies.

Inflation was caused by supply chain problems and our dependency on outsourced manufacturing and aggravated by greed. When China decided on a zero-tolerance policy and closed down whole chunks of their economy during COVID, it meant we couldn’t get some stuff that we needed — even stuff to protect our health So, supply chain problems were a huge cause of inflation, aggravated by war that drove up food and oil prices.

Despite these factors, the neoliberal response was “cut back on spending, tighten up money, raise interest rates.” It was the same old refrain — there’s only one kind of inflation and only one set of solutions. But this was profit-driven inflation, not wage-driven. The old solutions just made things worse and stopped the idea of building back better. Neoliberalism refused to die.

And so I turned to [Antonio] Gramsci to make sense of this period. He described such times as in-between periods where the old world is dying, but the new world struggles to be born. Depending on the translation, it is, he wrote, a time of “monsters” or a time of “morbid symptoms.” I think both apply.

For me, the answer lies in rediscovering solidarity. We need to do the hard work to rediscover our common interests and find ways to unite the various progressive movements — making the link between identity and class, power and privilege — without forcing homogeneity. We should seek common ground that connects our diverse experiences and helps us rediscover our shared human experience — the sweet spot between diversity and common purpose. That’s what’s needed.

Achieving this requires a willingness to align our causes with others. It’s going to mean people without children fighting for childcare, old people fighting for free tuition, young people fighting for eldercare, all of us fighting for the right to housing and for democratic renewal. And it’s out there to be had. All the elements are there.

I’m constantly hearing that we failed to develop progressive alternatives after the financial meltdown or the pandemic — that we failed because, again, “there is no alternative.” I have two responses to this. First, I think it underestimates how neoliberalism contains the seeds of its own persistence, its own continuity. Neoliberalism divides and atomizes us, fostering distrust in one another, especially the stranger, and in government and even democracy itself. Neoliberalism focuses on constraining public power, concentrating power in private hands. Money always talks but now talks louder than ever. By focusing on individual freedom to consume and to compete, it narrows the definition of freedom to benefit only a few at the top, rather than fostering freedom from hunger and fear for everyone.

The real obstacles to change lie within us. When market principles prevail, cynicism grows and competition trumps cooperation; we have therefore neglected the core virtues of democracy and solidarity. Neoliberalism has powerfully disrupted our willingness and ability to cooperate. Real solidarity and real democracy are hard work, and overcoming these challenges requires us to recover and embrace these virtues — caring, generosity — that we have allowed to atrophy.

In Canada, we used to own vital public assets — like the best vaccine agency in the world. We used to own airlines. We used to understand that there is value in pooling ownership, in collectively managed risk. We need to remember these things. But second, we do have an alternative narrative based on sustainability, equality, inclusion, solidarity, and democracy.

Despite all the setbacks, the Left has been vibrant in recent years with figures like Bernie Sanders and Jeremy Corbyn and various social movements and increasingly powerful labor movements. These movements and a few political leaders committed to movement politics are the elements of a collective narrative of the change we need.

Big change usually begins outside of political institutions, but it will not happen if politics is ignored. With a coalition of movements and political leaders ready to bridge those efforts, who knows what’s possible.