The Prediction of ‘Trumpism’ in Robert Silverberg’s Novel *Hawksbill Station*

Robert Silverberg is one of the most famous science fiction writers of the second half of the 20th century. He holds the title of ‘Grandmaster’. He is a winner of the Hugo, Nebula and Locus awards. He is best known to most fans for his series of novels set in Majipure.

1968 was a landmark year in 20th-century history. The ‘Prague Spring’ in Czechoslovakia; ‘May 68’ in France; the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy in the US; the Viet Cong offensive and the launch of ‘Apollo 8’ into lunar orbit.

So it is hardly surprising—and perhaps even symptomatic—that the end of the ‘turbulent 1960s’, that prologue to the ‘troubled 1970s’, gave rise to a work as unique within the science fiction of the time as *Hawksbill Station*. Then came Ursula Le Guin and Michael Moorcock, Thomas Disch and John Brunner.

30 years ago

But first there was a work which appeared in a Russian-language edition across the former USSR in 1993. I was at school at the time and was, so to speak, in the midst of actively forming my identity. I doubt I could have told the difference between the right and the left. I reckon the politicians themselves had no idea about the political spectrum back then.

At that time, I faced a completely different challenge, namely — finding the money for those 10–15 poor Russian translations of foreign science fiction authors, which were sold alongside soap, toilet paper and God knows what else, in a ten-square-metre space within a huge grey building in the even greyer administrative centre of a small town near Kyiv.

These books drew me in with some kind of magical force. That’s probably why I went to look at them almost every day. I would stand there and gaze sadly at the books, the soap, the toilet paper and the equally sad shop assistant, as there were only the two of us in that huge hall. Later, I managed to scrape together a whole 80 (!) coupons — the hryvnia hadn’t been introduced yet — and brought home Silverberg’s *The Anvil of Time* and Ursula K. Le Guin’s *A Wizard of Earthsea*.

The translations were rubbish, and the subject matter was complex. Nevertheless, I managed to get through both books, and whilst Ursula remained a thing of the past, I continued to read Silverberg.

And so, recently, driven by nostalgia, I reread *The Anvil of Time* specifically as an ideological work. The framework I employed in analysing the text consists of four parts:

1. The relationship between the text and its context.
2. The nature of the regime in the work.
3. The nature of the opposition ideology.
4. And, of course, the portrayal of the protagonist.

Text and context

Right, let’s begin. Although the work itself is rather short, a thorough ideological analysis of it is quite a process.

*Hawksbill Station* is a science fiction novel by Robert Silverberg, published in 1968. In short, it is a story of political exile, centred on what is arguably the defining trait of every true revolutionary: psychological resilience.

It is precisely this, as it turns out, that becomes the scarcest resource for those whom the regime exiles to a camp situated a billion years before our era, in the late Cambrian period. In a time and place where there is nothing but rocks, water and trilobites.

It is clear that the grey water, the grey rocks, the grey sky and the absolute absence of anything else—and, most importantly, any chance of return—wear down the psychological resilience of the camp community year after year.

Its members, most of whom hold left-wing beliefs of one sort or another, manage to organise themselves, but the monotony and lack of prospects are gradually sapping the sanity of one member of the community after another.

The reason they ended up in the camp lies in the gradual erosion of democracy in the US and the establishment of the so-called ‘syndicalist regime’ in 1984.

It is clear that the vision of a bleak future in Silverberg’s novel stems from the context in which he wrote it. A context in which the terms ‘human rights’ and ‘totalitarianism’ were not so much ideological clichés as topical slogans, on the one hand, and a sense of an impending conservative shift, on the other.

It is difficult—or, to be more precise, impossible—to say whether the novel actually contains a predictive element or whether the author simply guessed right. Moreover, by all accounts, he seems to have predicted not so much Reagan and Thatcher as Trump and Musk.

The Nature of the Regime

There are several reasons why I consider the ‘syndicalist regime’ depicted in the novel to be a prototype of Trumpism.

Firstly, it is a rather complex, patchwork, eclectic and contradictory system known as ‘syndicalist capitalism’, which emerged as a result of the constitutional crisis of 1982–1984.

Its main feature is the combination of centralised management methods with a capitalist economy. And here an analogy springs to mind with some form of social democracy or, rather, with something akin to the modern ‘Chinese model’, but no.

And here’s why.

‘…The new rulers could be described as neither conservatives nor liberals. They espoused a philosophy of active government with an emphasis on public works and centralised rule, and for that reason they could be regarded as Marxists.

But they themselves were true capitalists, insisting on the dominance of the private sector in the economy. It was, to put it mildly, an extremely eclectic ideology,” the author writes of them.

To which Janet, Barrett’s friend, replies: ‘You can’t combine Keynesian capitalism and Rooseveltian socialism, call this mixture syndicalist capitalism, and hope to govern a country of this size with it’ — though, in the original, she says: You can’t paste together McKinley capitalism and Roosevelt socialism…

In other words, the point is that it is impossible for a focus on 19th-century unbridled capitalism and Roosevelt’s policies to coexist organically and simultaneously.

Secondly, an important part of the ‘syndicalists’ state ideology is the prioritisation of stability over freedom. It is precisely this that the regime uses to justify its repression.

‘…They were also convinced of the need to suppress dissent for the sake of social harmony, which was incompatible with the ideology of the liberals,’ the author continues.

In essence, the regime rests on two pillars: the secret police and control over information.

“Firstly, it maintains a secret police force that will stop at nothing and which it uses to stifle the opposition. Secondly, it exercises strict control over all the media and thereby perpetuates itself, hammering home to citizens the idea that they have no other choice,” says Jack Bernstein, who would later defect to the regime’s side himself.

Thirdly, there is economic pragmatism and the ‘welfare state’.

This refers to a focus on technological progress and economic prosperity, which, in the protagonist’s view, have largely marginalised revolutionary ideas amongst the country’s population.

‘Who is actually against the syndicalists’ rule now? The country is thriving. Most people have permanent jobs. Taxes are low. The stream of technological marvels, which had been interrupted, has resumed…’ — reflects the protagonist after twenty years of struggle.

Fourthly, foreign policy.

In this sphere, the ‘syndicalists’ position themselves as ardent reactionaries, advocates of isolationist policies and pathological anti-communism.

However, even this rather obvious set of ideological tenets fails to convince some of the book’s main characters, as expressed in the phrase: ‘This isn’t an ideology at all… It’s just a gang of thugs with strong fists who were lucky enough to find a power vacuum and fill it. They have no fundamental government programme. They simply do what… is necessary to stay in power for as long as possible.”

‘Syndicalism’ is Trumpism

Let us summarise the characteristics noted above:

1. Capitalism based on a one-party system — ‘syndicalist government’.
2. The absence of opposition as a condition for social harmony.
3. Control over the media and repressive institutions.
4. Technocracy, profit orientation.
5. Geopolitical isolationism.

Theoretically, I repeat, this resembles modern-day China or one of the ‘Asian Tigers’ in the early stages of their existence. But there is one significant ‘but’. That is isolationism: the deliberate rejection of globalisation as a factor in development and a sign of progress.

Now replace all five points with:

1. Criticism of ‘democrats’, centralisation of power, demands for loyalty.
2. Less opposition with its ‘identity politics’.
3. ‘Fake news’ as a ‘byword’ and a touch of ICE with its ‘hunt for migrants’.
4. MAGA and America First with their unabashed mercantile archetype, embodied in a love of striking deals. Plus pressure from ‘corporate America’ in the form of the so-called ‘tech-fascists’.
5. The DONRO doctrine, with its drive to divide the planet into spheres of influence and dominate its own sector.

One gets the impression that, ideologically speaking, the syndicalist regime is a form of totalitarian technocratic capitalism, using social guarantees and economic success to legitimise its control over the individual.

The centralisation of power, the drive for control, the persecution of opponents, a profit-driven mindset and isolationism point almost infallibly to modern ‘Trumpism’, which seeks to monopolise administrative functions, oust opponents and return to a sort of ‘golden’ autocratic age.

In essence, the ‘syndicalist regime’ in the 1968 *Hawksbill Camp* is the technocratic wing of MAGA, which seeks to run the US as a corporation—or several. In Silverberg’s work, syndicates play the role of corporations. The name is different—the essence is the same. And they are led by a Council of Syndicalists headed by the Chancellor. Isn’t this exactly the dream of Trump and the techno-fascists with their corporate syndicates?

Opposition ideology

Let’s move on. Another rather significant indicator of the fascist nature of the syndicalist regime is the nature of the repression. Or, to be more precise, its victims.

In the story, they are left-wing. A very motley crew, very diverse, but predominantly left-wing. In particular, there are many communists amongst them.

‘There are communists galore here… of every shade, from pale pink to blood red. They go on and on about the relative merits of Plekhanov and Che Guevara…’ says Norton, ‘a Khrushchevite doctrinaire with Trotskyist leanings’ (!).

His dream is for the regime to send a ‘reactionary straight out of Adam Smith’, presumably a free-market advocate.

Mel Rüdiger, on the other hand, is a portly anarchist, whilst Ken Bellardi is a nihilist.

Barrett’s own ideological positions are less clear, as he started out in a group which, to paraphrase one of the novel’s characters, ‘leans towards the right of the political spectrum’.

‘Actually, our group is anti-communist, because we advocate minimal state interference in private life and thought.

In that sense, we’re more like anarchists. You could even call us right-wing radicals,” he says.

However, as far as I understand, this is not about the modern definition of ‘right-wing radicalism’, but rather something along the lines of libertarianism or social liberalism.

To a certain extent, this is reminiscent of the ‘Third Way’ concept popular in the 2000s, but only in broad terms.

“We are so far removed from the true left that we could be their right wing, and so far removed from the right that we could be their left wing,” says Jack Bernstein.

In essence, he is suggesting that the old modern ideologies have lost their meaning. Interestingly, the charge he levels at the ‘syndicalist regime’—eclecticism—applies no less to the underground. Which, it is worth noting, was initially labelled ‘counter-revolutionary’ — the antithesis of the ‘syndicalist revolution’ — and later as revolutionary.

The essence of the political process is simple: the constitutional order in the US is in decline. Representatives of corporate business come to power through a coup. They are opposed by various left-wing groups — from anti-capitalists to civil rights activists.

Of course, this is not an exact picture of how Trumpism came to power and has developed, but the number of parallels predicted almost 60 years ago is simply striking.

Repression as a method

Let’s move on. In Silverberg’s novel, the syndicalists deport political opponents. Trumpism, on the other hand, targets migrants, who often form the social base of its political opponents. They have one thing in common: exile beyond the country’s borders, whether in time or space, as a supposedly humane method of struggle.

‘The government was too civilised to execute people for subversive activities, and too cowardly to allow them to remain alive and at liberty. The compromise turned out to be burial alive at Hawksbill Camp,” the book states.

There is a way to do this. It is a time machine, invented by the brilliant Edmond Hawksbill, to send political opponents into exile from which there is no return.

But there is a problem: travel is only possible in one direction — into the past — which turns the station into a ‘dumping ground for revolutionaries’.

At least for a long time. Right up until the very end of the book.

***

And finally. Who is Jim Barrett — the station’s ‘uncrowned king’? He has been in the station for 20 years now, longer than anyone else. For this reason, though not solely for this reason, he is a moral authority for the community of political prisoners.

Mind you, in the past he was the leader of the underground movement across the entire coast, and now he is a cripple with a shattered leg who, amongst other things, is trying to protect his people from madness.

And madness is becoming an increasingly frequent visitor to the station. And, to be frank, this is hardly surprising: living in plastic huts and eating trilobite goulash is not the best way to maintain mental health. Especially when there is nothing else around.

Thus, the station’s main problem is mental disorders caused by isolation and, for some of its inhabitants, the absence of women. They have been banished several hundred million years into the past.

Perhaps this is precisely why Ned Altman is trying to mould a woman out of mud and rotten mollusc meat.

Don Latimer meditates in search of a portal through which to escape.

Meanwhile, Barrett’s closest friend, Bruce Valdosto—who has spent just eight years in the camp—descends into complete psychosis.

Later, the tranquillity of the station is disrupted by the arrival of Lew Hannah — a prisoner who is far too young and ‘ideologically suspect’, and who, as it turns out, lacks even a basic understanding of ideological currents. At first, Barrett and his entourage suspect that Hann is a spy, and it eventually turns out that this is indeed the case.

Caught red-handed, Hann tells of a new revolution that took place several years ago: the fall of the syndicalist regime and, most importantly, the errors in Hawksbill’s equations, with whom Barrett was acquainted.

Now, the refined temporal theory allows travel through time in both directions. This is excellent, as a decision has been made ‘at the top’ to return the prisoners and rehabilitate them.

All of them. Except Barrett, who no longer hopes to see Janet again. And he doesn’t really have much to do in the 21st century anyway.

This seemingly straightforward book is about the CHOICE that the protagonist makes TWICE. And on both occasions, he chooses the idea, he chooses the person.

The first time was at the age of 16, when he decided to join a revolutionary group.

The second time, in his old age, is when he decides to stay at the station.

The motives behind his choices differ, but they share a common thread: self-sacrifice. One of the most revered virtues in the human ethos.

***

Appendix

One of the questions that arises throughout the work is that of Barrett’s own views. They are evolutionary in the sense that they are free from dogmatism and rigidity.

They evolve from youthful indifference to active radicalism, and then to complete political apathy and humanistic leadership.

His youth is pragmatic and characterised by political indifference. At the age of 16, he is interested in girls and beer and sees no ethical problem with this.

Later, he joins a group whose political ideals are rather eclectic but, most importantly, anti-authoritarian.

Barrett matures and becomes a coordinator. He systematically prepares for revolution, but rejects calls for terror and political assassinations.

He then realises that underground activity has become a habit, whilst real paths to change remain just as elusive. He notices that he has become jaded and has lost interest in the ultimate goal — the revolution.

In exile, he turns away from politics altogether and focuses on the survival of the community of political prisoners.

He returns once more to the pragmatism of his youth, but now under a different banner. Now he is driven by a sense of altruism uncharacteristic of his youth. It is precisely this that compels Barrett to work for the good of the camp, to look after his weaker comrades and, ultimately, to remain at the station.

As for his ideological views, I would venture to place them on a sort of left-libertarian, anti-authoritarian continuum.

In the text, he uses terms on several occasions that indicate, at the very least, his ideological literacy.

In particular, when Barrett attempts to engage in a political discussion with the newcomer Lew Hann, he realises that, over the decades spent in the camp, his grasp of theory has significantly weakened.

‘Over the years in the camp, my Marxism has become thoroughly rusty,’ he thinks.

However, this does not mean that he is a communist. Above all, Barrett uses ‘Marxism’ as a professional marker to understand exactly which group Lew Hann belongs to.

‘And his economic orientation? Purely Marxist, or one of the variants of Marxism?’ he asks.

It was precisely because Hann was confused in his answers and could not distinguish Keynes from Ricardo that Barrett became finally convinced: he was not dealing with a genuine revolutionary economist.

Moreover, he uses the word ‘Bolshevism’, though it seems more as a figure of speech.

‘I had lost faith that we would ever be able to overthrow the government, and realised that I was simply going with the flow… wasting my life on realising a futile Bolshevik dream, whilst maintaining a cheerful expression so as not to scare young people away from the movement,’ he reflects whilst under arrest.

In this context, the ‘Bolshevik dream’ for him is an outdated, unrealistic ideal of the 20th century, which he was trying to instil in people in the 21st century.

Thus, Barrett is not a ‘left-winger’ in the classical communist sense, as his group rejected state control. He is, in all likelihood, a revolutionary anarchist.

Hence his belief in freedom, for which he fought.

And the solidarity he practised after his imprisonment.