Democrats Need to Fundamentally Rethink Everything

As the dust settles from the 2024 election, and we all prepare ourselves for the far-right onslaught of a second Donald Trump administration, one thing is clear: Democrats need to fundamentally rethink their approach to both politics and policy, and they need to do it now.

Kamala Harris faced a near-impossible task in 2024. Inflation and the cost of living were soaring, and the Biden-Harris administration had been struggling for years to show Americans how it had improved their lives. Working-class voters, in particular, wanted concrete changes they could see and feel, not just promises and statistics.

Trump, with his brash populism and conspiracy-laden rhetoric, was more than ready to fill that void. He framed economic hardships as proof of Democratic incompetence, tapping into the frustrations of working-class communities who increasingly felt alienated from a Democratic Party that seemed more concerned with elite agendas than with their daily challenges.

So yes, the hurdles for Harris were high. But this dynamic was not new. As far back as October 2020, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez warned the leaders of her own party that “if these people’s lives don’t actually feel different, we’re done. You know how many Trumps there are in waiting?” For many voters, the Democratic establishment’s cautious, incremental approach feels disconnected from the pressing economic and cultural pressures reshaping their lives. Ocasio-Cortez’s message was true then, and it is still true now: Without bold, transformative action, Democrats risk ceding these voters to populists who promise to dismantle a system that feels rigged and unresponsive—as they found out so calamitously on Tuesday.

Yet, even as millions of Americans made more and more noise about the depth of their discontent with the status quo, a significant portion of Democratic leaders and voters remained focused on preserving institutional stability rather than reimagining these institutions to reflect the values they were built to serve. In an era of growing inequality and instability, many Americans no longer take the necessity of maintaining “normal” governance as a given. They’re open to upending the system if they think that will make politics more responsive to their needs.

Now that voters have so emphatically shown that abstract warnings about Trump’s danger to “democracy” are not enough to make them reject his rule, Democrats need to urgently change course. They must move beyond merely defending institutions and start showing how they will actually make them work for the people they’re meant to protect. If the party fails to embrace real reform, it risks leaving the door open for another Trump-like figure to exploit dissatisfaction and promise radical change—no matter how reckless—long after Trump has left the political stage.

The party’s cloistered internal governance is also in drastic need of an overhaul. Joe Biden’s decision to remain at the helm instead of opening up a primary and passing the torch to a new generation is probably the defining piece of this election. In 2020, he positioned himself as a transitional figure, suggesting he would create space for fresh leadership. But by choosing to stay, he anchored Democrats to a status quo that many voters associate with malaise and stagnation, rather than change. And by failing to be honest with itself or the public about the need for Biden to drop out, the party let this malaise fester until it was too late.

Twenty twenty-four became, in many ways, a referendum on Biden himself, giving Republicans an opening to cast themselves as the party of change. And for many voters, the transition from Biden to Harris only heightened a sense that the Democratic Party operates as a closed loop, more attuned to the concerns of elite insiders than those of ordinary Americans. By tying their message to working-class frustration and disillusionment with an administration seen as disconnected from everyday struggles, Republicans managed to position themselves as the disruptors of an unresponsive system. The irony is palpable: The GOP, a party traditionally aligned with preserving the existing order, has successfully branded itself as the agent of upheaval.

Harris inherited the deep skepticism voters had toward Biden. Her adaptability, seen by supporters as an effective sign of political flexibility, was read instead as a lack of conviction—a signal that she was more of a steward of the establishment than a leader with a clear, independent vision. By establishing zero difference between her and Biden—even declaring that she couldn’t think of anything she would have done differently from him—Harris inadvertently confirmed doubts about her independence, leaving many voters wondering if she were truly her own person or just another avatar for the status quo. In contrast, Trump, for all his flaws, managed to project a consistent authenticity and a defiant stance that, to many, felt like real conviction.

Another hurdle Harris faced was the sheer breadth of the anti-Trump coalition she was trying to hold together. Forging solidarity across such a wide political spectrum isn’t just a challenge—it’s an acrobatic feat. This coalition stretches from The Squad to Liz Cheney, weaving together a patchwork of beliefs, priorities, and visions for America that sometimes barely overlap. To keep everyone on the same page, Democrats must find a way to bridge divides across race, class, ideology, and urgency, bringing together working-class Black, Latino, and Asian communities, suburban moderates, and anti-war and progressive youth.

But sometimes this balancing act makes the Democratic Party feel more like a patchwork of interest groups than a unified force with a clear direction. With factions pulling in so many directions, creating a shared vision can feel impossible. It deepens the impression that Democrats care more about managing competing demands than building a collective will. Meanwhile, the GOP’s streamlined message creates a sense of unity that resonates as strength and stability. While Democrats aim to hold the line between progress and pragmatism, they risk leaving some voters wondering if the party stands for anything cohesive at all. The GOP has a much simpler task. Its message—strength, tradition, a return to order—unites conservatives across the board, drawing from a playbook as old as power itself.

A key factor in Harris’s loss seems to be the significant drop-off in support from Biden’s 2020 voters, who simply didn’t show up for her. While Trump’s vote count remained largely stable compared to 2020, Harris’s numbers reveal a substantial dip—about 14 million fewer votes than Biden received in 2020. This decline suggests that Harris’s challenge wasn’t necessarily to convert the elusive Liz Cheney voters she spent so much time chasing but rather to energize the Democratic base that turned out in record numbers four years ago.

The 2024 election also shows a dramatic class realignment in American politics. According to exit polls, Harris won affluent voters earning over $100,000 by a margin of 54–45, reversing Trump’s 54–42 advantage with this group in 2020. But this swing in her favor wasn’t enough to offset Trump’s gains with voters earning $50–$100,000, where he captured the majority—a group Biden had comfortably held at 57–42 just four years prior.

Trump also made crucial gains with men, pitching a stark, patriarchal version of masculinity that resonated powerfully with disillusioned male voters. His campaign leaned heavily into themes from the “Manosphere,” an online space filled with content that glorifies traditional male authority and strength while positioning these qualities as threatened by modern social norms. Figures like Joe Rogan and Vice President–elect JD Vance amplified this narrative, offering a platform that embraced rugged self-reliance and unapologetic male confidence.

This approach filled a cultural void, particularly for younger men who may have felt sidelined by a liberal discourse focused on critiquing “toxic masculinity” rather than perhaps offering an alternative vision of masculinity. While Trump’s stance gave these voters a sense of purpose and belonging, Harris’s campaign largely struggled to connect with men, especially young ones. Her attempts to reach male voters through initiatives like “Dudes for Harris” fell short against Trump’s more visceral appeals.

Moreover, Harris’s stance on Israel and Gaza—especially her refusal to break with any aspect of Biden’s policies— was toxic to many young, progressive voters, as well as Arab and Muslim voters. Cities like Hamtramck and Dearborn, once Democratic strongholds, became symbols of a realignment, as longtime Arab and Muslim Democrats not only grew disappointed but actively mobilized against her. Meanwhile, youth are vital messengers for any movement, carrying its energy across generations; their disillusionment with Harris, particularly over Gaza, broke a crucial link in that chain of support.