Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Nostromo presents class inequality as a foundational reality of Sulaco. The clearest site of exploitation is the San Tomé silver mine, owned by Charles Gould, whose rhetoric of order and progress masks a system built on the production and maintenance of a permanent underclass of laborers whose economic vulnerability renders them exploitable. Gould conceives of the mine not simply as property but as a civilizing force, insisting that the success of the mine will bring stability to Costaguana. This belief frames inequality as necessary: The stable order Gould idealizes takes the form of a rigid social and economic hierarchy, with capitalists like himself at the top and laborers in a position of permanent dependency.

The laborers who work the mine appear only intermittently in the narrative, but their absence is itself significant. They are rendered invisible as individuals, absorbed into what Gould repeatedly calls “material interests” (374), a repeated phrase that abstracts human labor into economic function. They wear green-and-white uniforms that effectively mark them as property of the mine—sparing them from the routine abuse to which poor people in Sulaco are typically subject, but rendering their individual humanity invisible. Gould’s moral certainty allows him to dissociate himself from the human costs of extraction. His belief that the mine represents progress depends on ignoring the inequality it produces. The local elite, clustered around foreign capital and inherited privilege, treat labor as an expendable resource. Their sense of superiority is reinforced by social distance and cultural refinement, which justify exploitation as the natural order of things. Nostromo thus portrays class exploitation not as overt cruelty but as structural indifference, maintained by pride, ideology, and the normalization of inequality.

Nostromo himself occupies a paradoxical position within this system, serving as a mediator between capital and labor while remaining excluded from both. Celebrated as the “perfectly incorruptible” (94) man of the people, he is indispensable to the elite precisely because he commands the loyalty of the working classes. His physical strength, charisma, and reputation allow him to manage dockworkers, lead dangerous missions, and suppress disorder. In this sense, Nostromo functions as a buffer, absorbing class tensions without resolving them. The frequent revolutions in Sulaco play a similar role. They provide an outlet for popular frustration while leaving the underlying structure untouched. These uprisings are cyclical and performative, moments of violence that rearrange political offices but preserve the underlying apparatus of colonial extraction. Nostromo participates enthusiastically in these events, enjoying the visibility and recognition they grant him. Yet his actions ultimately reinforce the status quo. He restores order on behalf of the very elites who benefit from exploitation. Nostromo’s role within this cycle highlights the tragic irony of his position. He believes himself to be a man of the people, yet his labor is consistently mobilized to protect elite interests. His pride in his usefulness blinds him to the fact that he is instrumentalized, valued only so long as he remains obedient and effective.

The significance of Nostromo’s pride emerges most sharply in his growing sense of personal exploitation. As he undertakes dangerous tasks, he begins to feel that his sacrifices are taken for granted. He resents the way his courage and loyalty are assumed rather than rewarded. This recognition marks a crucial shift in his self-perception. Nostromo becomes aware that he is exploited, but he understands this exploitation only in individual terms. His grievance is not with the system of labor extraction but with the lack of acknowledgment accorded to him personally. This limitation is central to his tragedy. He does not extrapolate his experience to the broader class of workers whose labor sustains Sulaco. Instead, he imagines himself as exceptional and thus as uniquely wronged. His pride prevents him from feeling solidarity. Rather than questioning why labor is systematically undervalued, he seeks what he believes is his proper share of the mine’s wealth. Nostromo’s sense of injustice becomes inward and possessive rather than collective. He internalizes the values of the elite, equating worth with ownership and recognition. In doing so, he mirrors the logic that exploits him. His failure to connect personal grievance with structural exploitation underscores the bleak vision of class consciousness in Nostromo. Ambition transforms a potentially revolutionary awareness into private resentment. The novel thus suggests that exploitation persists because natural leaders like Nostromo are encouraged to envision themselves rising above their peers rather than working toward equality for all.