This chapter situates the communist victory in the Second Indochina War in the broader context of Third World revolution during the 1970s. It argues that 1975 represented a high-water mark of secular revolutionary activity in the global Cold War, and that the following years witnessed the retreat of left-wing revolutionary politics in the Global South. The period that followed saw the rise of a new model of political organization among Third World revolutionaries that largely abandoned secular progressive ideologies in favor of appeals to ethnic and sectarian identities as the basis of armed revolution. If Vietnamese communist fighters represented the archetype of Third World Revolutionaries in the long 1960s, the Afghan Mujahideen would come to symbolize the revolutionaries of the 1980s.

Drawing on the burgeoning scholarship on the Global 1960s, this chapter argues that the Vietnam War was a key historic event that internationalized radical social movements. The war did so in three main ways. First, through the conflict, activists in different parts of the world formed a global public sphere. Opposition to the war helped to transcend Cold War and colonial divisions, but the political movements that emerged resonated differently through various parts of the First, Second, and Third Worlds. Second, resistance against the Vietnam War fostered internationalism by foregrounding the agency of the marginalized. The war featured a David versus Goliath competition between a presumably backward, peasant society against the mightiest military in the world. Third, the wars in Southeast Asia helped to internationalize antiwar resistance by illuminating the interconnectedness of various systems of inequality. Imperialism and colonization became part of the activist lexicon, utilized to interpret cultural, racial, class, gender, and other forms of exploitation. The chapter concludes by reflecting on the agency of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and the National Liberation Front in consciously cultivating these antiwar internationalist affiliates.

Examining and contesting the emergence of ‘third world theatre’ in the mid twentieth century, Brueton traces how Jean-Marie Serreau, the director feted for his inaugural productions of absurdist plays by Ionesco and Beckett, sought to disrupt the Eurocentric nihilism of the post-war dramatic canon. Serreau brought the anticolonial drama unfolding throughout the Empire to Parisian stages. Producing seminal works by the Algerian playwright Kateb Yacine, Martinican poet, playwright and politician Aimé Césaire, and French iconoclast Jean Genet, Serreau pursued a radical new humanism that aimed to decentre the intellectual and artistic hegemony of the West. He envisaged a third world theatre that would not only eschew the ghettoization of major Francophone playwrights but also contest the very values of colonial humanism that had developed under France’s Third Republic. Brueton compares Kateb’s representation of the anticolonial uprisings in Algeria in Le Cadavre Encerclé (The Encircled Corpse, 1958); Genet’s critique of French imperialism and Algerian neo-nationalism in Les Paravents (The Screens, 1966); and Césaire’s tragic exposition of Congolese independence from Belgium in Une saison au Congo (A Season in the Congo, 1967), to argue that they refuse forms of understanding where cultural difference is reduced to one decolonial agenda.

This chapter examines the evolution of Soviet foreign policy from Stalin's death in 1953 until the 1956 Suez Crisis. It begins with a discussion of the power struggle in the Soviet leadership, which led to the arrest and execution of Lavrentii Beria. Beria, as well as his rivals in leadership, briefly explored prospects for detente with the West, including by effectively giving up on socialism in East Germany. By 1955, when Nikita Khrushchev consolidated power in his hands, such prospects faded for two reasons. First, the nuclear revolution emboldened Khrushchev, eliminating the need for concessions to the West. Second, decolonization in the “third world” opened new horizons for the Soviet leader as he embraced opportunities to project Soviet influence to remote shores, seeking a clientele and – through their recognition of Soviet greatness – a form of revolutionary legitimacy. The chapter offers an in-depth analysis of Khrushchev's bromance with Egypt's Gamal Abdel Nasser and an overview of the consequences of the Suez Crisis for Soviet foreign policy.

This chapter documents the constellation of films and literary works extending outward from the Eastern international in the late- and post-Soviet years when socialist internationalism pivoted from an east–west to a north–south axis and then dissipated (1960s–1990s). It affirms the enduring coherence of the Persianate literary space, now bound together by Soviet models of literary representation. The chapter samples the occasional poetry produced by Eastern literary representatives involved in Soviet–Third-World cultural diplomacy at Cold War literary congresses, especially through the Afro-Asian Writers’ Association. However, it also shows how artists gripped by classical Persianate forms continued to find and respond to each other after Soviet-backed literary institutions lost international legitimacy. The chapter discusses several Persian and Uzbek texts from the Soviet–Afghan War, including a leading Afghan communist literary bureaucrat’s mystical love poem to an Islamist insurgent, written continuously from 1980–2020. Its other central case study is the impact of the Soviet Armenian filmmaker Sergei Parajanov’s film The Color of Pomegranates as a model for Persianate poetics on film, including in the Islamic Republic of Iran, including in the art films of Muhsin Makhmalbaf. The chapter tempers the elegiac impulse of the post-Persianate left with an affirmation of the tradition’s continued vitality.

The conclusion reviews the arguments developed throughout the book. This summary is framed by a consideration of the changing meanings of the poetic figures of the rose and nightingale in the Persianate twentieth century. Accordingly, each chapter is elucidated through a reading of that chapter’s classical Persian or Turkic epigraph.

This chapter explores the limits of Lyndon Johnson’s capacity to empathize with and understand the peoples of the decolonizing world during his presidency and the implications of his experience for the America he left behind. It traces Johnson’s view of the decolonizing world in the context of the Cold War, showing how his understanding of revolutionary nationalism and the social, political, and economic problems left behind by European colonialism evolved – or failed to evolve – alongside his increasingly progressive definition of democracy at home. Acknowledging his truly ambitious vision of a “global Great Society,” which promised innovative global health, education, and anti-poverty initiatives to the Third World, the chapter ultimately shows how Johnson failed to fulfill his promises to redefine US national interests in the world around compassion for the marginalized. Instead, in his dealings with Third World leaders, he often reverted to the kind of transactional power politics that had served him so well in the Senate, failing to see how central the value of self-determination was to anti-colonial movements and their representatives. In the final analysis, this chapter uses Johnson’s example to investigate the limitations of compassion in US foreign relations more broadly.

The notion of a ‘Third World’ rose to prominence in international political discourse around 1960 and vanished around 1990. I argue in this article that the term needs to be situated in a larger history of the perception of global difference. I take the ‘Third World’ to be an effect of theory. That is not to play down the material weight of inequality between rich and poor parts of humanity. The point is rather to highlight the importance of discourse in historical change. To what extent were colonial and imperial formations functional for the emergence of the said notion? The peculiar career of the concept is connected to the history of economic thought. The paper thus focuses on the emergence of the term around 1960 and investigates the irrelevance of economics in late colonialism as opposed to the prominence of economic experts in the post-1945 world order.

By early 1965, new dynamics were taking shape within the international communist movement. Cuba and North Korea were at the forefront of this challenge. Relations between the two countries date back to the Korean War, when many Cubans, like young people across Latin America, mobilized to prevent their countries from joining the US-led war effort. When the Cuban Revolution of 1959 brought the island into the socialist camp, a bond began to grow between the Cuban and North Korean leaderships reflective of their shared history of anti-colonial struggle, and their common interests as small countries within a community of socialist states dominated by the Soviet Union and China. Political, cultural, and economic cooperation between Havana and Pyongyang grew steadily, including Che’s historic visit to North Korea in December 1960. By 1965, a nascent Third Worldist tendency affirming its independence from the two major socialist powers was coalescing around North Korea, Cuba, and North Vietnam. At its core was the conviction that it was those on the frontlines of the anti-imperialist struggle which most clearly recognized the true historic task at hand: the defeat of US imperialism.

Cuba’s shift to a more pragmatic and Soviet-aligned foreign policy in the early 1970s had major implications for its relationship with North Korea. Moreover, it influenced radical changes in North Korea’s own foreign policy. Pyongyang announced the “era of chajusŏng” (independence) and an apparent new faith in what could be achieved through peaceful diplomacy, multilateralism, and non-alignment. Key events influencing these shifts were the de-escalation of the Vietnam War, the defeat of the Latin American insurgencies of the 1960s, Nixon’s troop withdrawal from South Korea, Sino-US rapprochement, and the growing power of the Third World in the United Nations General Assembly. As both North Korea and Cuba adapted to a rapidly changing international environment in the early 1970s, the basis for their special partnership dissolved. Cuba and Vietnam moved closer to the Soviet Union, and North Korea reconciled with China, while repositioning itself as a member of the non-aligned Third World. The possibility that the militant Third Worldism of the Tricontinental Conference might grow and coalesce to constitute a real force in global politics appeared to fade away with the 1960s.

In 1966, more than 600 people from 82 countries travelled to Havana for the Tricontinental Conference. The unprecedented event defined a new, radical Third Worldist political tendency that reverberated throughout the international Left and provided a militant alternative to the old communist and socialist parties. Tricontinentalism rested on the belief that what was demanded by the current historical moment was the broadest possible united front of political forces willing to wage militant struggle against US imperialism. Cuba and North Korea stood at the forefront of this disruption, which correlated to a major shift in North Korean foreign policy, and the beginning of a new high point in DPRK–Cuba relations. By 1966, North Korea, Cuba, and North Vietnam were widely recognized as constituting a new, informal bloc within the socialist camp, increasingly bold in its willingness to speak on behalf of the Third World and to challenge the authority of Moscow and Beijing.

In North Korea, Latin American leftist intellectuals and political leaders were forced to come to grips with an extravagant personality cult centred around Kim Il Sung. Part of what made the North Korean model of socialism palatable to some in the 1960s, is that the Cuban Revolution had given new credence to the concept of the “maximum leader.” The New Left often romanticized charismatic leaders from the global South like Fidel, Kim, Mao, and Ho Chi Minh, even while being critical of the autocracy they perceived in the Soviet Union. Admirers of North Korea’s political system argued it reflected the needs of a society in rapid transition from colonial-feudal backwardness to socialist modernity, and that ideas such as “freedom” were subjective and culturally determined. Such narratives of historical and cultural relativism were, ironically, also common among those critical of the North Korean model. This chapter looks at the different ways the North Korean political system could be interpreted within the Latin American Left, with examples from the Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Venezuela, and Chile.

The UN Fiscal Commission (1946–1954) is a void in international tax knowledge among the famed international bodies of the League of Nations’ Fiscal Committee, the OECD Fiscal Committee and the UN Group of Experts. Literature regarding it is fragmented, even perplexing, despite the Commission representing the only time in history when international tax policymaking took place under a genuinely universal forum, and when the Third World had entered the world stage. The Commission story, through an international relations lens, is central to understanding how the present international tax system came to be governed by developed countries, and is, accordingly, foundational to evaluating the fairness and inclusivity of developments on global multilateral tax cooperation.

Focusing on the world-making capacities of 1980s Black women writers, this chapter sheds light on a largely occluded constellation of actual travel and transnational imaginaries. A complex of somatic and imaginative expressions of geographic desire came to define contemporary Black women’s literature. The chapter tracks Black women’s increasingly self-determined and communal efforts not only to move and write across global spaces but also to bring such hemispheric, diasporic, and Third World spaces into being. A host of prominent Black women writers forged global identities and relations by engaging in progressively autonomous international travel in the 1970s and 1980s to places such as Nicaragua, North Vietnam, the Soviet Union, and Grenada. In doing so, they transgressed US foreign policies and State Department travel restrictions while also rerouting the Black internationalism of “race men” such as Robeson and Du Bois and rescripting Hemingway’s cosmopolitanism and Baldwin’s exile. Jordan, Lorde, and Bambara brought their geographic potency to bear on dominant geographies by prioritizing Third World self- and collective-fashioning, Third World care, and radical dislocation.

Although usually associated with events in Europe and North America, the events of the ‘global 1968’ were global in scope. This chapter shows how Tanzanian youths shared common ground with their contemporaries around the world in protesting against Cold War interventions in Vietnam and Czechoslovakia. In doing so, they drew inspiration from the landscape of radical ideas and texts of revolutionary Dar es Salaam. But in contrast to the dynamics of counter-hegemonic protest elsewhere, the Tanzanian government’s foreign policy meant that it could channel these radical critiques of superpower imperialism into its own nation-building project. The language of anti-imperialism could also be deployed against more immediate threats, as the case of Malawi’s claims to Tanzanian territory demonstrate. While recognising the significance of transnational Afro-Asian and Third Worldist solidarities in these movements, the chapter integrates these dynamics into a national story. The state circumscribed the autonomy of youth activism, especially when it risked upsetting Julius Nyerere’s carefully calculated foreign policy.

Chapter 3 focuses on the poetry of the Iranian Aḥmad Shāmlū and his pioneering imagination of what would eventually come to be called the Third World in his second collection of poetry, The Manifesto, from 1951. Shāmlū’s committed poetry goes beyond Nīmā’s prosodic innovations to reach past the borders of Iran in a bid to build solidarity with, for instance, a Korean soldier fighting against the United Kingdom and United States in the Korean War. The Manifesto, therefore, represents Shāmlū’s attempt to forge a Third World literary network within the Global South that predates later moves in this direction following the Bandung Conference in 1955. However, Shāmlū’s idealism was cut short in 1953 only weeks after the Korean War ended when these same imperial powers staged their coup against Mohammad Mosaddegh on August 15–19. The 1953 coup represents a momentous turning point not just for local politics in the Middle East but also for cultural production. Shāmlū tempered his political engagement following the coup, and the Iranian Left suffered a general malaise from which it never recovered.