How the Right Hijacked the Working Class for Culture Wars

The alliance between reactionary forces and the working class is not built on shared economic interests but on a manufactured sense of cultural identity.

In an age defined by culture wars, political divisions increasingly revolve around identity rather than material concerns. The focus has shifted from economic struggles to issues of recognition and status. Unlike the post-war era’s material politics—marked by fair wages, strong social safety nets, and democratic expansion—the culturalisation of politics does not lead to tangible material change. While cultural politics have achieved significant progress in advancing the rights of women and ethnic minorities, they also risk devolving into performative status battles, often driven by a longing for the comfort of tribal belonging.

This transformation recasts political issues as cultural ones, not only diverting attention from material concerns like wages and social security, but also reshaping fundamentally economic matters into cultural narratives. The latest casualty of this shift is the worker—once defined by economic conditions, now reimagined as a cultural identity. In this process, the category has regained prominence, drawing renewed attention and recognition. Yet, this resurgence fails to deliver what is truly needed: a politically potent class consciousness.

Collar Colours

Two competing ideas about the worker dominate contemporary discourse. The first—predominantly found in the United States—is cultural; the second, once prevalent in Europe, is material. The cultural definition, often reflected in self-identification surveys, hinges on the colour of one’s collar. It distinguishes between blue-collar and white-collar workers—those who work with their hands versus those in bureaucratic or intellectual roles. Under this framework, even a small business owner can be considered a worker. The only criterion is a sense of cultural belonging tied to one’s type of work.

This vague and malleable definition leads to absurd outcomes: a brash, orange-hued billionaire with a neoliberal agenda can be hailed as the champion of the working class.

In contrast, the European tradition has historically adhered to a materialist, Marxist perspective. A worker, in this view, is someone who owns nothing but their labour power and is therefore compelled into what Marx termed “relations of production” with those who control the means of production. Marx described the worker as doubly free—free from external coercion to labour, yet also free from ownership of the resources necessary for survival. This condition creates structural dependency and limits individual freedom. By this definition, liberal democracy has yet to fulfil its promise of liberty for the working class.

This framework does not rely on cultural identity or habits but on economic position. It sees the term “worker” as a measure of dependence.

Marx’s distinction does not need to be understood in strictly binary terms. The dependency of a salaried professor, a civil servant, or a member of parliament is certainly different from that of an Uber driver. These differences deserve structural analysis, but they should not be viewed through a cultural lens. The unemployed, for instance, are also workers—people whose only asset is their ability to sell their labour, even if no one is willing to buy it. In the end, the distinction between blue- and white-collar workers is not as stark as it appears. Salary levels, workplace hierarchy, and social prestige may vary, but both groups remain dependent on those who control capital and are therefore in the same structural position.

The misconception that the political right represents the working class stems from the confusion caused by the cultural definition. When identity becomes the central axis of political classification, the struggle for economic justice is reduced to a battle for recognition. The fact that the term “worker” originally denoted a structurally disadvantaged position is now lost in the shallow glow of tribal belonging.

The Common Man

Under neoliberalism, the concept of the working class was first ignored, then dismissed. Economic classes were rebranded as “social layers,” and eventually, as merely individuals seeking success in the lottery of social mobility. Neoliberalism denies the fundamental contradiction between capital and labour.

The right, however, has reintroduced the term “worker”—but only in a politically toothless, tribal sense. Where the left traditionally saw politics as a contest of material interests, the new right reduces it to a culture war.

In right-wing discourse, the worker is not a structural position but a cultural figure: the honest, conservative, religious, often male labourer. He wears overalls, drinks beer, and rejects gender-neutral language. This nostalgic, populist ideal of the “common man” is a deliberate political construct—one designed to make material politics impossible.

For figures like J.D. Vance, the culture war is presented as a class war. He argues that resisting progressive elite values is key to defending the economic and political interests of workers—though he never specifies what those interests are. In reality, what would materially benefit workers are strong unions, high wages, robust labour protections, good public infrastructure, and universal unemployment insurance to give workers the ability to refuse exploitative jobs—forcing employers to raise wages. Instead, Vance offers only the hollow currency of recognition.

The alliance between reactionary forces and the working class is not built on shared economic interests but on a manufactured sense of cultural identity. This serves to obscure material interests. The result is a political mirage in which the economic priorities of the wealthy—lower taxes, deregulation, a weaker social safety net—appear to align with the cultural grievances of the working class. This is achieved by pitting different groups against each other: the employed against the unemployed, native workers against migrant labourers. The outcome is a hollow anti-elitism, reduced to performative opposition, with no substantive policies to improve workers’ lives.

Cultural Capital

Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu described the cultural distinctions of the upper classes as an invisible barrier to social mobility. Economic disadvantage, he argued, often manifests as cultural exclusion. While cultural discrimination has material roots, it must also be addressed on its own terms. The culture of the working class is shaped by the absence of privilege, and eliminating these barriers is both a cultural and a material imperative—so long as one is not used as a substitute for the other.

The right’s rebranding of the worker seeks to redistribute cultural capital rather than economic power. It is an attempt at cultural levelling—a pushback against the professional and academic elite. Indeed, the left may have become culturally estranged from the communities it aims to represent, leaving a gap in recognition. But the solution is not to abandon material politics in favour of a cultural struggle.

The rise of the MAGA movement and similar populist forces reflects a rejection not of economic power but of cultural elites. It does not target capital or those who wield actual influence. Instead, it directs its ire at the “new middle classes”—the so-called “ivory tower” of urban, university-educated professionals. It is a revolt against cultural status, not economic inequality. This redistribution of cultural capital does not flow from top to bottom but from the centre to the periphery.

What to do?

The right-wing vision of the worker is a nostalgic, romanticised fiction. It focuses on cultural belonging while ignoring structural dependency and power imbalances. While its critiques of elite detachment are not entirely misplaced, its impact remains politically impotent.

The working class and the capitalist class are not cultural identities but economic realities. What genuinely improves workers’ lives are policies that strengthen their leverage against capital. While the political left may have lost cultural resonance with workers, it continues to fight for their material interests.

If there is a lesson to be learned from the right’s culturalisation of class, it is that status and recognition do matter. Perhaps the left must become a little more like Johnny Cash and a little less like Bob Dylan—more attuned to the realities of non-bourgeois, non-urban lives. But the real issues remain material. The blue-haired freelance journalist in Berlin and the factory worker in Leeds may differ culturally, but they share the same economic boat. The left’s task is to make that clear once more.