Make McCarthyism Great Again

How the Left Covered Up Communism Then and Now

“The real, basic difference between our belief and Communism is this: we believe in the dignity of man, while they believe in the supremacy of the state.”
— Joseph McCarthy, 1950

The Original “You’re a Racist”

Call someone a racist today, and the argument is over. It doesn’t matter what you were saying or how carefully you said it. The label alone is enough to disqualify you from the conversation. Back in the 1950s, the word McCarthyism worked the same way. It was the political Left’s favorite tool for shutting down anyone who questioned where their loyalties really stood. If you raised concerns about Communist infiltration or the spread of Marxist ideas inside American institutions, you weren’t met with evidence. You were met with a smirk and one word: McCarthyite.

That tactic worked so well that it rewrote history. Senator Joseph McCarthy became the villain in a story where the actual villains were real but conveniently ignored. For half a century, classrooms and newsrooms have told us he ruined innocent lives chasing ghosts. Yet when the Venona Project was declassified in the 1990s, those “ghosts” turned out to have names, salaries, and government jobs. Between 1943 and 1980, American cryptanalysts quietly decrypted about 3,000 Soviet intelligence cables. Inside those cables were more than 200 Americans secretly working with or reporting to the Soviet Union.

These weren’t low-level clerks. They included senior officials in the State Department, the Treasury, and even the White House. Alger Hiss, Harry Dexter White, and Lauchlin Currie were all identified by codename in messages sent to Moscow. The same establishment that mocked McCarthy had been harboring Soviet assets for years. He didn’t have Venona, but he didn’t need it to sense something was wrong. What the documents later proved was that the threat was real, and the denial even more dangerous.

But the political Left didn’t apologize. It pivoted. The same academics, journalists, and bureaucrats who had insisted there was “no Communist problem” began treating McCarthyism itself as the greater danger. They redirected the outrage away from espionage and toward the man who exposed it. That pattern never went away; it only changed its vocabulary.

Look at the reaction to Donald Trump. The moment he began challenging the institutions that had long operated without scrutiny, the intelligence agencies, the media, the global donor networks, the chorus began: “Threat to democracy.” It’s the same reflex that turned McCarthy into a monster. They couldn’t afford to debate what he was uncovering, so they made him the story. The louder he exposed the rot, the louder the accusations became. That hysteria even earned its own diagnosis: Trump Derangement Syndrome. But the syndrome isn’t new. It’s just a modern version of McCarthyism, an establishment’s panic that someone might pull back the curtain again.

Left: Headlines from the Senate inquiry that branded McCarthy a liar and declared his “Red” charges a hoax. Right: A decrypted Soviet cable from the Venona Project, June 27, 1944 — evidence of the network Washington denied existed.

McCarthy’s story isn’t really about one man. It’s about how societies blind themselves when the truth becomes politically inconvenient. The Venona papers tore that blindness away, but by then the myth was set in stone. History had already been rewritten. The same people who buried those facts now run the cultural machinery that decides which truths are acceptable to say out loud. They used to call it McCarthyism. Now they call it progress.

The McCarthy Era — What He Really Said and Why

The story usually told about the McCarthy era begins and ends with one image: a reckless senator waving a piece of paper and claiming he had “a list of Communists in the State Department.” That single moment has been replayed for seventy years as proof that America once lost its mind. Yet if we strip away the mythology and look at the record, the world McCarthy stepped into in 1950 was not imaginary. It was already filled with confirmed Soviet spies, congressional investigations, and deep institutional denial.

The Second World War had barely ended when American counter-intelligence began uncovering Soviet networks that had operated through the 1930s and 1940s. In 1945, Elizabeth Bentley, a courier for the NKVD, defected and told the FBI about two dozen Americans passing information to Moscow. A few months later, Whittaker Chambers, a former Communist, named Alger Hiss, a senior State Department official, as one of his contacts. In Britain, physicist Klaus Fuchs confessed to giving atomic secrets to the Soviets. That same year, Canadian authorities broke up another spy ring linked to the Soviet embassy. All of this happened before McCarthy ever entered the scene.

When McCarthy gave his Wheeling, West Virginia speech in February 1950, the public already knew espionage was real. What they did not know was how deep it went. McCarthy’s now-famous “list” was not a random stunt. He had drawn on material from earlier congressional and loyalty-review files that identified federal employees whose backgrounds raised security concerns. His claim of 205 names referred to files that the State Department’s own security officers had marked as unresolved, not to people he had personally accused of spying. His argument was simple: the government’s internal vetting process was ignoring its own warnings.

That distinction mattered to him. McCarthy said repeatedly that he was not trying to prosecute crimes; he wanted people in sensitive positions re-evaluated. “I do not claim these men are spies,” he told the Senate. “I do claim they are bad security risks.” In other words, he was demanding prudence, not punishment. But once his statement hit the front pages, nuance disappeared. The press condensed it to “McCarthy says he has a list of Communists,” and the political circus began.

The Truman administration responded defensively. Rather than address whether those unresolved cases existed, it focused on McCarthy’s supposed recklessness. The Democratic-led Tydings Committee investigated him, not the security files, and declared his charges “a fraud and a hoax.” Years later, declassified FBI and Venona documents showed that several of the individuals McCarthy highlighted, including Laurence Duggan and others in the State Department, did in fact have verified Soviet contacts or appeared under codenames in Soviet traffic. The Senate never revisited those findings once the narrative had hardened.

By 1953, McCarthy chaired the Senate’s Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations and turned his attention to the Voice of America, the Army, and other agencies. Televised hearings made him famous and easy to caricature. His interrogations could be harsh, and his staff sometimes overreached. Yet the atmosphere did not appear out of nowhere; it reflected years of frustration with a bureaucracy that treated exposure of Communist influence as more dangerous than the influence itself. When the Army-McCarthy hearings aired in 1954, the tone turned against him. Attorney Joseph Welch’s rebuke, “Have you no sense of decency, sir?” became television history. The Senate censured McCarthy later that year, and his name became shorthand for persecution.

What the record now shows is that McCarthy’s methods were imperfect, but his warning was justified. Decades later, declassified intelligence confirmed that Soviet infiltration inside the U.S. government was real and significant. His opponents could not have known the full scope, but they were wrong when they insisted it was all a myth.

Why then did his name become toxic while the verified spies faded from memory? Because the fight was never only about espionage. It was about who defined reality in Washington. The political Left of that era had fused its identity with the New Deal legacy, and to admit large-scale infiltration was to admit that parts of that legacy were compromised. Turning McCarthy into a villain was easier than facing that possibility. Once the word took hold, it became political shorthand for heresy itself, a way to end a career without ever debating the evidence.

That veto language, accusation by definition, still shapes how politics works. Every generation has its forbidden subjects, and every bureaucracy finds a way to protect itself with moral outrage. McCarthy’s story is the classic case: a warning that when a society confuses prudence with paranoia, it invites the very corruption it refuses to see.

The Venona Proof

When the Venona decrypts were finally released to the public in 1995, they confirmed what Joseph McCarthy had been accused of inventing. Beginning in 1943, a small team of Army codebreakers quietly started reading the Soviet Union’s secret cables. Over the next three decades, they deciphered about 3,000 messages out of roughly 200,000 intercepted. In those cables, American analysts identified 349 U.S. citizens or residents who had contact with Soviet intelligence. Around 200 were credible sources or agents, and about 80 held or had recently held positions in the federal government.

The messages exposed a network that reached into the highest levels of Washington. ALES appeared in multiple GRU cables and was later matched with Alger Hiss of the State Department. Jurist referred to Harry Dexter White, the top economist who helped design the International Monetary Fund. Page was Lauchlin Currie, a White House adviser who met regularly with Roosevelt. The Soviets had agents in the Treasury, the State Department, and the wartime OSS. Their reach extended to the atomic laboratories at Los Alamos and to journalists who helped shape public opinion at home.

For decades, these people were portrayed as victims of a national panic. Hiss was treated as a martyr. White was eulogized as a loyal public servant. Currie slipped quietly out of the country and was remembered fondly by the same press that condemned McCarthy. Yet Venona left little room for ambiguity. These were not misunderstood progressives. They were named in Soviet communications as sources of information, and the context of the messages left no doubt about what that meant.

What Venona really proved was not just that spies existed, but that the system designed to protect the truth failed. The same newspapers that dismissed the early warnings ignored the documents when they finally became public. Editors wrote about the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War, but barely mentioned that the old “Red Scare” had not been a scare at all. Professors who had spent their careers teaching that McCarthyism was the great American sin had no incentive to revisit the story. The silence was almost total.

By the 1990s, the myth had hardened. McCarthy was still the villain. The proven espionage was treated as a footnote. The moral lesson remained that suspicion, not betrayal, was the real danger. In other words, the cover-up outlasted the evidence.

The Venona documents did not make McCarthy a saint, but they made his critics look willfully blind. He lacked the proof, yet his instincts were closer to the truth than anyone dared admit. The real question Venona raised was not whether spies existed, but why so many people in power worked so hard to pretend they didn’t.

The Long Cover-Up — Rewriting History

The most revealing part of the Venona story isn’t in the cables. It’s in what happened afterward. The evidence was public, the names were known, and the Soviet Union itself had already collapsed. Yet the same voices that once denied infiltration simply changed the subject. The proof didn’t spark national reflection; it was quietly shelved.

By the mid-1990s, every major newsroom had access to the declassified material. The National Security Agency and the CIA both released summaries that were accessible to the public. Still, coverage was minimal. The New York Times devoted more space to the release of the Unabomber’s manifesto that year than to Venona. Textbooks continued to describe McCarthy as the villain of a national panic, while the hundreds of confirmed Soviet sources were mentioned, if at all, in a single line of fine print.

Academia was no different. Professors who had spent entire careers teaching that “McCarthyism” was America’s great shame had little interest in revising their lectures. To admit error would have meant re-examining the foundations of post-war liberalism itself. The myth of the innocent Left was too valuable to discard. So the story was rewritten once again: yes, a few people may have passed information to Moscow, but the real danger, they said, was the “climate of fear” that followed. Betrayal was reframed as a footnote to intolerance.

Hollywood followed the same script. Films like Good Night, and Good Luck or Trumbo portrayed blacklisted writers as moral heroes standing up to authoritarianism. The real context, that some of those writers were Party members taking cues from a foreign dictatorship, was erased. The audience learned that suspicion was evil and that skepticism toward the Left’s motives was the hallmark of a small mind. The message was clear: never question the narrative.

This rewriting had consequences. Once “McCarthyism” became shorthand for persecution, any serious look at ideology inside institutions became taboo. Journalists stopped investigating Communist ties, not because they disappeared, but because they no longer fit the moral framework. The media learned to treat accusations of subversion as inherently suspect, while the real lesson of the Cold War, how easily free societies can be infiltrated through their own goodwill, was forgotten.

That reflex is alive today. The same political and cultural class that suppressed the Venona revelations now controls most of the country’s information flow. They decide which topics are “settled,” which questions are “dangerous,” and which people are “beyond the pale.” The vocabulary has changed, but the tactic remains the same. Yesterday’s “Red Scare” has become today’s “disinformation campaign.” The goal is identical: to protect power by controlling what the public is allowed to believe.

History is rarely erased all at once. It’s rewritten a sentence at a time, in classrooms, newsrooms, and studios that all repeat the same comforting lie. In the case of McCarthy and Venona, that lie was simple: the danger was never the enemy within, but the people who tried to expose it. By the time the Venona papers surfaced, that word had hardened into the language itself, a permanent defense mechanism against scrutiny.

The Modern Parallel — The New “Invisible Party”

History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often graduates to the next level. What began in the 1940s as ideological infiltration has reappeared in a new form, less about spies stealing files and more about activists capturing institutions. The modern Left doesn’t need secret couriers or coded cables. It owns the bureaucracy, funds the research, and writes the rules that shape what everyone else is allowed to say.

The method has changed. Yesterday’s infiltration worked in secret; today’s works in daylight. It doesn’t rely on spies sneaking into offices but on ideologues running them. The new power brokers don’t need coded cables or foreign handlers, just a compliant culture that rewards conformity and punishes curiosity. That is infiltration perfected: it no longer hides because it no longer has to.

In McCarthy’s day, Soviet agents tried to influence policy from inside the State Department. Today, that same role is played by unelected officials who treat global consensus as more legitimate than national sovereignty. The vocabulary has changed, with terms like “equity,” “climate justice,” “sustainable development,” and “global citizenship,” but the purpose remains the same. The goal is to replace individual judgment with ideological compliance. What was once called subversion is now called virtue.

The new ideology isn’t directed from Moscow. Still, it shares the same moral DNA: the belief that ordinary people cannot be trusted to govern themselves, and that power should rest with an enlightened elite. In the 1940s, the elite took its cues from Soviet utopianism. Today, it takes them from transnational bureaucracies and corporate foundations that push the same collectivist logic under different branding. The slogans are softer, the funding more sophisticated, but the outcome is identical, a centralized class deciding what is true and who is expendable.

Consider how dissent is handled. When a scientist questions climate orthodoxy, he’s labeled a “denier.” When a parent questions curriculum, she’s an “extremist.” When a journalist exposes corruption, he’s spreading “misinformation.” The words change, but the tactic is familiar: delegitimize the critic instead of addressing the criticism. It is the modern equivalent of calling someone a “McCarthyite.” The accusation ends the conversation before it begins.

Money, too, has replaced ideology as the delivery system. Foundations named after philanthropists bankroll “civil society” projects that align perfectly with the political Left’s objectives: open borders, gender ideology, speech policing, and centralized control of information. The same pattern repeats: a cause that sounds noble, a movement that claims moral superiority, and a set of policies that erode accountability. What used to come from party cells now comes from NGOs and corporate task forces, but the effect is the same transfer of power from the public to the self-anointed.

The irony is that many of the people driving this believe they are defending democracy. They repeat slogans about inclusion and equality while building systems that punish dissent and reward obedience. They are the new “invisible party”, not underground in basements or backrooms, but sitting in cabinet meetings, tech boardrooms, and university offices. Their weapon isn’t secrecy, it’s moral intimidation. Their code words aren’t in Cyrillic, they’re in HR memos.

The modern era has perfected what the Cold War only began: ideological capture without overt conspiracy. It doesn’t require a KGB officer or a stolen microfilm. It just requires enough citizens who are afraid of being called the wrong names. The Left learned long ago that you don’t need to hide your agenda if you can shame everyone else into pretending it doesn’t exist.

Reclaiming McCarthyism — Vigilance Without Witch Hunts

To make McCarthyism great again isn’t about dragging people into hearings or chasing ghosts. It’s about recovering the instinct that keeps a free nation alive, the courage to call a lie a lie, even when the whole world pretends not to see it.

The same crowd that mocked McCarthy in the 1950s has simply changed its wardrobe. The liberals who apologized for Stalin in the 1930s became the professors who romanticized Marx in the 1960s, and their students are the bureaucrats and journalists running institutions today. They still speak in the language of compassion and progress, but the product never changes. It is always some form of control, the expert, the planner, the committee deciding what the rest of us are allowed to think or say. They still call it “helping” humanity. It still ends with less freedom and more power for them.

McCarthy’s sin wasn’t that he looked for enemies; it’s that he found them in the wrong places, inside the clubs and agencies that thought they owned the country. The same dynamic is playing out now. Question the border, and you’re a xenophobe. Question the data, and you’re a denier. Question the bureaucracy, and you’re an insurrectionist. The details change, but the impulse is the same one that drove the New Deal intellectuals to protect their Soviet friends: the belief that their side is too virtuous to be questioned.

That’s why reclaiming McCarthyism matters. It’s not nostalgia; it’s survival. We’ve traded one ideology of control for another. The people who once excused the gulag now excuse censorship, surveillance, and the silencing of political opponents. They never learned the difference between disagreement and disloyalty because they’ve never been forced to defend their own loyalties. They hide behind moral slogans while treating anyone who disagrees as an enemy of the state.

A free country cannot live like that. It cannot continue to pretend that appeasement is civility. McCarthy’s real warning, the one buried under decades of ridicule, was that evil doesn’t need to invade when it can simply be invited. It walks through the front door wearing a smile, speaking the language of fairness, until the day it locks the door behind you.

Reclaiming McCarthyism means refusing to play that game again. It means demanding accountability from the people who lecture the loudest about justice while operating with the same arrogance their predecessors showed when they swore there were “no Communists here.” It means standing up to the modern version of that lie, the one that insists the real danger is the citizen who notices.

Suppose America still has any instinct for self-preservation left. In that case, it will have to find that courage again because the same ideology that once served a foreign master now marches under domestic banners. And the people selling it are still convinced they’re the heroes.

The Cycle of Denial

Every generation swears it would have stood taller than the last. Every generation says it would have seen the danger coming. Then the moment arrives, and the same people who congratulate themselves on moral courage start repeating whatever slogan keeps them comfortable.

That is how it worked in the 1930s, when journalists and academics excused Stalin’s terror because it fit their politics. It is how it worked in the 1950s, when the press made McCarthy the villain to protect its own credibility. And it is how it works now, when the modern media class and their political allies perform outrage on cue while preserving the same corruption they claim to expose.

Today’s “mainstream” press is the most powerful shield the new ruling class has ever built. It decides which facts are fit to print and which disappear in silence. It calls censorship “content moderation,” propaganda “fact-checking,” and political favoritism “democracy defense.” Liberal politicians repeat those headlines as if they were scripture, and bureaucrats enforce them as if they were law. It is the same old alliance of arrogance, writers, professors, and officials who believe they are too enlightened to be questioned.

The cycle never changes. First comes corruption, disguised as compassion. Then come the denials, framed as decency. Finally comes the punishment of anyone who refuses to lie. That is the real McCarthyism of our age, only this time it wears makeup for television and quotes poll numbers instead of Party doctrine.

Venona proved that the old narrative was a lie. The media ignored it. The politicians shrugged. The universities changed the subject. The cover-up became tradition. And now the same pattern repeats under new banners, “equity,” “climate justice,” “misinformation control.” Different words, same contempt for the ordinary citizen.

If America wants to survive, it has to stop letting journalists write morality and letting politicians define truth. Freedom cannot live in a country where speech needs permission and facts need approval. The next McCarthy will not carry a list; he will carry a microphone, and the media will try to turn it off.

The question will still be the same one he asked, even if he never said it aloud: Who owns the truth?

If the answer remains “them,” then this republic will not be lost to invasion or poverty. It will be lost to denial, written, printed, and televised in real time by the people who swore they would never let it happen again.

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Why This Work Matters

History doesn’t correct itself; people do. The lies that buried McCarthy are the same kind that bury truth today: rewritten, repackaged, and sold to a public too distracted or too afraid to question them. That’s why I write what I write, not for clicks, not for comfort, but to reclaim the truth they keep trying to erase.

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