Anger, not just inequality, drives white working-class voters—progressives must face uncomfortable truths to push back.
The criticism of Donald Trump and the actions of his administration since taking office has been intense, to say the least. Trump’s aggressive approach towards Volodymyr Zelensky, his repeated falsehoods about who instigated the war in Ukraine, the pardoning of violent criminals convicted for attacking Congress in January 2021, assertions that as president he is above the law, threats directed at Denmark and Canada, and the dismantling of longstanding US aid policies are among the actions that have drawn sharp condemnation. This criticism, and indeed more besides, is entirely justified and necessary.
Yet, there is a crucial question missing from the broader conversation: What exactly has America’s liberal, democratic, and culturally engaged elite done to provoke such profound anger—indeed, outright hatred—from large sections of the predominantly white working class and lower-middle class, driving them towards a politician like Donald Trump? It is astonishing to consider that it was not long ago that Barack Obama secured a second presidential term in 2012, suggesting that something significant must have occurred in the intervening years to prompt this dramatic reversal in American politics.
Economic inequality and hardship have frequently been cited as explanations for Trump’s rise. However, this cannot fully explain his appeal, as Obama secured re-election just four years after the global financial crisis. Similarly, racism, though deeply embedded in American society, is hardly a new phenomenon. Immigration is another often-cited factor, yet the United States has always been a nation of immigrants. While these elements have undoubtedly contributed, there must be another critical factor that enabled Trump not only to win but to win again—even after orchestrating an illegal attack on the US Congress.
To fully understand this shift, one must return to the 2016 presidential election. Early in the campaign, most informed commentators did not seriously consider Trump a viable Republican candidate. He lacked support from the party’s leading figures, had never held political office, and did not have access to the significant financial resources typically required for a successful presidential bid. However, one person who recognised Trump’s potential early on was Jim Clifton, then head of Gallup in the United States.
As early as January 2016, eleven months before the election, Clifton highlighted a deeply troubling finding from Gallup’s polls: 75 percent of voters in the United States agreed with the statement that “corruption is widespread throughout the government in this country”. Clifton described this perception as a “big, dark cloud” hanging over America’s progress, suggesting it could fuel the rise of a “non-traditional” candidate like Trump. In hindsight, Clifton’s insight was remarkably accurate. Allegations of corruption against Washington’s political elite and other perceived “elitist” groups became central themes of Trump’s successful 2016 campaign, as well as his 2024 run.
Corruption, in the public’s view, extends beyond simple bribery. Many Americans have a broader definition that includes various forms of favouritism, particularly within the public sector. On an everyday level, this might involve leveraging personal connections to gain admission for children into popular public schools or securing public sector employment despite not being the most qualified applicant. Americans widely hold the belief that public decisions should be characterised by impartiality and equal treatment.
My argument is that the perception of corruption as undue favouritism may have been crucial to Donald Trump’s election victories in both 2016 and 2024. This view is supported by sociologist Arlie Hochschild’s highly acclaimed book Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right (The New Press, 2016). Hochschild spent five years with white working-class communities in the American South, discovering that many of these individuals believed they had long been waiting patiently in line for the “American dream”—expecting their economic conditions to improve. Yet, they found themselves continually disappointed, blaming this stagnation on various programmes introduced by Democrats to specifically support minority groups. According to Hochschild’s informants, people claiming minority status could effectively “jump the queue.” Affirmative action, in their eyes, represented ethnic favouritism rather than merit-based selection.
Surveys have also indicated that a majority of white Americans believe discrimination against themselves is a more significant issue than discrimination faced by Black Americans. Although I consider this perception disconnected from reality, it nonetheless shapes voter decisions, as perceptions, rather than objective realities, guide voting behaviour.
How has this perception become widespread? One critical factor is the Democrats’ extensive reliance, particularly from their left-wing faction, on identity politics. Practically, this has meant the establishment of targeted programmes designed to benefit various minority groups and sometimes women. Hochschild’s research reveals that such programmes are often viewed by working-class whites as unjust quotas for desirable jobs and educational opportunities. In response, many companies, universities, and public institutions have created specialised departments dedicated to Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI). It is significant that one of Trump’s earliest actions upon returning to office was to dismantle these DEI initiatives across the US federal government.
Rather than adopting universal policies that would benefit broad sections of society, Democrats have inadvertently cultivated an image among white working-class voters of favouring minority groups—an approach perceived by many as akin to corruption. Targeted programmes frequently arouse suspicion of unfairness due to the complex and subjective nature of determining eligibility—deciding who qualifies as “White,” “Black,” or somewhere in between, and managing nuanced decisions regarding preferential treatment.
Consider, for example, a young Black applicant for university whose parents are both professors compared with a young white applicant raised by a single mother working as a cleaner. Such dilemmas highlight the difficulties and potential legitimacy issues involved with targeted initiatives. In contrast, universal programmes rarely encounter these issues since they do not require significant discretionary powers or a large bureaucracy. Additionally, contrary to common belief, universal social programmes tend to be highly redistributive. Benefits provided are generally equal or nominal, but taxation remains progressive or proportional. Consequently, high earners pay more than they receive, whereas working poor individuals gain more benefits than they contribute. Known as the redistribution paradox, this phenomenon explains why countries employing universal programmes typically achieve greater redistribution than those explicitly trying to “tax the rich and give to the poor.” Moreover, programmes designed exclusively for the poor frequently deliver lower-quality services.
Therefore, the fundamental issue with identity politics lies not in mobilisation—historically, European Social Democratic parties heavily relied on working-class identity—but rather in implementation. Identity politics fosters division by pitting one group against another, undermining general trust and societal solidarity. At its core, identity politics revolves around raw group self-interest—”more for us.” It also violates core liberal values of equal treatment and creates fertile ground for suspicions of corruption and unfairness. While the widespread protests against brutal police violence in the United States were entirely justified, framing these protests as “Black Lives Matter” rather than “All Lives Matter Equally” may have inadvertently reinforced perceptions of ethnic division. There are numerous other instances of ethnicity-based political missteps.
The current risk is that necessary criticism of Trump’s administration could obscure the equally crucial need for critical self-reflection by the political groups that suffered electoral defeat. Clearly, mistakes were made if so many white working-class and lower-middle-class voters felt compelled to support an openly illiberal figure like Donald Trump. European progressives must also heed this lesson; failure to learn from the American experience could lead Europe down a similarly troubling path.
Bo Rothstein is Senior Professor of Political Science at the University of Gothenburg.