In an age where political categories have grown murky, and ideological labels are often worn like fashionable costumes rather than serious commitments, Slovenia’s political party Levica (The Left) offers a striking example of pseudo-leftism: a hollow mimicry of traditional leftist values cloaking an agenda that, in practice, undermines the very constituencies it claims to represent. While Levica postures as a radical champion of the working class and social justice, a closer analysis of its brief ten-year history reveals a shadowy underside, one that aligns—intentionally or not—with reactionary tendencies commonly associated with the far right on the global stage.
The most glaring contradiction within Levica’s platform lies in its claim to represent the working class. In theory, the party advocates for progressive labor policies, redistribution, and welfare expansion. Yet, in practice, their support for measures like open borders, decriminalization of hard drugs, and a reduction of police oversight disproportionately affects the most vulnerable in society—especially working-class Slovenians who bear the brunt of declining public safety, downward pressure on wages, and increased social instability.
For example, the party’s flirtation with open-border policies, usually couched in humanitarian rhetoric, has neglected the Russian weaponization of illegal immigration which is used as a tool to destabilise NATO countries. The unregulated influx of illegal migrants—many of whom are unemployable, even in low-wage sectors—adds fuel to fury on the poorest parts of the populace and splinters worker solidarity. Rather than defending workers, Levica contributes to fragmenting their class consciousness by pitting different vulnerable groups against each other, all under the guise of universalism.
Similarly, the party’s advocacy for the normalization and decriminalization of certain hard drugs—while marketed as harm-reduction—ignores the everyday social degradation visible in poorer urban neighborhoods. These policies tend to impact disproportionately the communities Levica claims to protect, while their intellectual architects remain ensconced in academic or urban-elite milieus largely insulated from such consequences.
One of the paradoxes of Levica is its capacity to mask a form of cultural authoritarianism behind a progressive aesthetic. This is most apparent in its rhetorical policing of acceptable speech and its implicit disdain for large segments of the Slovenian populace, particularly those who resist conforming to its cosmopolitan-progressive value schema. This includes farmers, small business owners, traditional laborers, and rural communities—many of whom are caricatured as backward, provincial, or even fascist-adjacent simply for opposing Levica’s urban-centric priorities.
Even more troubling is a specific ideological deformation that could be described as a covert anti-Semitism. This is not the crude racialist variety but a more veiled structural tendency, one that targets what Slavoj Žižek has previously called the “excessive” element—those parts of the population that do not fit the pre-established symbolic framework of the multicultural, anti-nationalist narrative. In Slovenia, this exclusion sometimes takes the form of subtle disdain for assimilated Jewish communities or pro-Western intellectuals, especially those who voice support for Israel or criticize Russia. Such figures are cast out not for their ideas, but for embodying positions that Levica cannot domesticate into its pseudo-leftist imaginary. The result is a structural scapegoating mechanism—an inverted form of othering in the name of tolerance.
Although Levica insists it stands as a bulwark against the far right, many of its positions echo global trends more commonly associated with the new far right or libertarian-populist currents. Consider its persistent refusal to condemn Vladimir Putin or the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Since February 2022, Levica has not issued a single unequivocal criticism of the Kremlin’s actions, choosing instead to muddy the waters with whataboutist rhetoric targeting NATO or the United States. In this, it mirrors the talking points of right-wing populists from Hungary to the United States, who frame Russia as a bulwark against Western decadence or neoliberal imperialism.
Likewise, the party’s position on NATO—advocating for its dissolution or at least Slovenian exit—is indistinguishable from the platform of radical-right parties like France’s National Rally or Germany’s AfD when they position themselves as anti-globalist. What is masked as anti-militarism often translates into a tacit alignment with authoritarian powers hostile to democratic and pluralist norms.
The cumulative effect of these policies is not a “radical democracy,” as Levica proclaims, but a destabilized social order in which the traditional working class is left disoriented and politically homeless. By severing the bonds of national solidarity and gutting effective civic authority, Levica paves the way for both reactionary backlash and growing authoritarianism—ironically, the very trends it claims to resist.
Formed in 2014 through the fusion of several smaller leftist movements, Levica quickly gained a foothold in Slovenian politics by capitalizing on post-crisis austerity fatigue and disillusionment with the centrist establishment. Yet in just a decade, the party has failed to build lasting coalitions among workers, rural citizens, or even students—groups it once claimed as its base.
Instead, it has retreated into the comfort zone of performative politics: symbolic gestures, endless discussions of identity, and digital activism. Legislative impact has been negligible. Worse, when Levica does manage to influence policy—such as opposing stronger border controls, resisting police funding, or undermining European integration—it often furthers the alienation of average Slovenians from their political system. This creates fertile ground for genuine far-right movements to gain traction, fueled by frustrations Levica has helped inflame.
To call Levica a “leftist” party is to misunderstand the nature of the contemporary Left. At best, it is a parody of its historical forerunners; at worst, it is an active agent in the erosion of working-class life, national sovereignty, and civic cohesion. Its symbolic anti-fascism veils a soft complicity with authoritarianism abroad and a quiet contempt for the Slovenian people at home. In the name of progress, it defends the regressive; in the name of solidarity, it cultivates division.
True leftism does not require ideological purity or revolutionary maximalism—but it does require fidelity to the lived realities of the working class, a sober internationalism rooted in peace and accountability, and a democratic ethos that does not mask exclusion with rhetorical inclusion. In failing all these tests, Levica reveals itself not as the Left, but as its counterfeit—an empty form, dangerously indistinguisable from the very reactionary politics it was meant to oppose.
Gros News 
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