The 2024 election served as a brutal reminder that ideology alone doesn’t shape the political landscape
As the results of the 2024 US presidential election began to roll in, revealing a dramatic shift in the nation’s political landscape, I sat with a colleague to unpack what had unfolded. What started as an analytical conversation soon devolved into a blame game. My colleague pointed fingers at non-college-educated voters, Palestinian supporters and Latino working-class communities—everyone but the root of the problem: White liberals.
When I called out their blind spots—arguing that the election outcome was not merely a reflection of voting patterns but of deeper failures like the abandonment of the working class, an overemphasis on Trump as a threat to democracy rather than tangible solutions, the ongoing genocide in Gaza and the stark reality that White women had overwhelmingly voted for Donald Trump—their response stunned me. My White colleague, unfazed, looked me dead in the eye and said, “As a born-and-bred American, I feel trapped in a bad marriage. They thought Trump would bring peace to Gaza. Look at what they have done. I am a liberal—always have been—but now I am considering leaving America. At least you have a place to go.”
As an immigrant and a woman of colour, the sharp comment wrapped in White privilege hit like a dagger, but it also encapsulated why the Democratic Party’s losses were so devastating—thanks, in large part, to the failures of a key segment of its base: White liberals. Often buoyed by a sense of moral superiority, this group had grossly misjudged the political terrain. They clung to optimism fuelled by grassroots successes and the resurgence of issues like climate change, economic inequality and reproductive rights. Yet, as the votes came in, it became glaringly apparent that this optimism was misplaced. The 2024 election, like those before, served as a brutal reminder: ideology alone doesn’t shape the political landscape. It is moulded by the lived experiences, needs and desires of a broad, diverse electorate—something too many White liberals continue to overlook.
The majority of White liberals continue to inhabit a powerful echo chamber where they engage with others who share similar values, opinions and experiences. For them, the world is often neatly divided into progressive versus regressive and virtuous versus ignorant. They see their candidates through the lens of moral righteousness, framing the political struggle as one of “good” versus “evil”. While such moral clarity can be invigorating, it is also perilous. This worldview often neglects the complexities and contradictions that define American society, particularly the challenges faced by working-class Americans, rural populations and voters of colour. In the 2024 election, these oversimplifications contributed to the erosion of support in key battleground states, which had previously been the Democratic strongholds—Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania.
The results mirrored those of 2016 in several alarming ways. While Kamala Harris had campaigned on progressive values, tapping into the anger and frustration stemming from the US Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, many voters—especially White women—reverted to familiar allegiances with the Republican Party.
In 2016, Hillary Clinton’s candidacy was heralded as a groundbreaking moment for women in politics. Yet, her defeat to Trump was a stark reminder of how fragile progress can be. Despite her credentials and experience, Clinton failed to resonate with significant segments of the electorate. White women, in particular, played a pivotal role in Trump’s victory, voting for him in numbers that surprised many analysts. This phenomenon was often attributed to a mix of socio-economic factors, cultural identity and a refusal to embrace a candidate perceived as a continuation of the establishment. Fast forward to 2024, and a similar pattern emerged. Harris, while advocating for women’s rights and attempting to galvanise the base around shared values, fell short in addressing the complexities of White women’s political behaviour. Many of these voters, disillusioned by the perceived extremism of progressive platforms and the failures of the Democratic establishment, leaned toward Trump.
One of the more perplexing aspects of Harris’ campaign rhetoric was her attempt to court suburban Republican women, particularly those disillusioned with Trump’s leadership. In theory, these voters could have been persuaded to support Harris if she had appealed to their desire for stability and civility and their frustration with Trump’s abrasive style. This strategy was epitomised by the inclusion of former Republican Congresswoman Liz Cheney as a potential symbol of crossover appeal. Cheney, who had publicly broken with Trump over his role in the January 6 Capitol riot, was seen as a figure who could bridge the divide between moderate Republicans and Democrats. The hope was that Cheney’s prominence in the anti-Trump movement could sway suburban Republican women into voting for Harris, even if it meant defying their Republican-leaning spouses.
During the campaign, kamala Harris failed to adequately address the economic struggles of millions of American working-class families.
In reality, this strategy did not materialise as expected. Despite Harris’s efforts to connect with moderate Republicans, particularly suburban women, the election saw a significant gender gap. While some suburban women defected from Trump, the overall trend among White women remained mainly in the former president’s favour. According to exit polls, a majority of White women—around 53%—voted for Trump, compared to 47% who voted for Harris. This result was surprising given that Harris, as the first woman of colour on a major party ticket, was expected to draw strong support from women, particularly those who had become disillusioned with Trump’s misogynistic rhetoric and behaviour. In retrospect, the attempt to lure suburban Republican women away from Trump by focusing on his personal deficiencies rather than on tangible policy solutions was an overly simplistic approach.
The lessons from both the 2016 and 2024 elections are stark. White liberals, in their eagerness, often failed to engage with the realities of the voters they sought to mobilise. Assumptions about shared values, particularly among White women, proved dangerous and oversimplified. This demographic, often viewed through identity politics, is not monolithic; their decisions are influenced by many factors, including race, class and regional identity. The fallout from the Dobbs decision, which overturned Roe v. Wade, created a complex emotional landscape for many women. While reproductive rights were a critical issue; they were not the sole determinant of political allegiance. The overwhelming support for Trump, even in the wake of anti-abortion rulings, suggests that many women are grappling with conflicting loyalties—between their rights and a perceived cultural identity. For many, this creates a sense of betrayal, as the very rights women fought for are increasingly under siege. The challenge for liberals is not merely to mobilise around these rights but to foster an environment where women feel empowered to make decisions based on their unique circumstances and values. This requires a radical shift in framing the conversation and moving beyond a binary narrative of good versus evil.
One of Harris’ most significant failures during the 2024 campaign was her failure to adequately address the deep economic struggles facing millions of American working-class families. In many ways, her rhetoric mirrored that of her predecessor, Hillary Clinton, whose infamous characterisation of certain working-class voters as “deplorables” in the 2016 election alienated large swathes of the electorate. By failing to recognise the struggles of these voters, Clinton inadvertently fuelled resentment and disengagement from the political system, particularly in rural and industrial areas where economic dislocation and job insecurity were paramount concerns.
Harris, too, missed the opportunity to connect with voters based on economic hardship. Instead of articulating a concrete agenda that could improve the lives of working-class Americans, much of her rhetoric was centred around the spectre of Donald Trump. While this approach successfully consolidated the anti-Trump vote, it did little to address the pressing issues that voters cared most about, such as healthcare, labour rights, affordable childcare and wage stagnation.
At a time when workers across America were grappling with job insecurity, rising healthcare costs and a lack of affordable childcare options, Harris had an opportunity to present a bold, progressive vision for strengthening the rights and well-being of American workers. Instead of delivering a message about how her policies could improve the material conditions of ordinary Americans, Harris spent a significant portion of her campaign warning about the existential threat of Trump’s policies. While it was essential to critique Trump’s failure to shift the focus to concrete solutions for working-class families, it was a glaring missed opportunity.
The sentiment was echoed by Senator Bernie Sanders, who issued a pointed critique of the Democratic Party, accusing it of abandoning the very working-class people who once formed the backbone of its support. In his statement, Sanders argued that it was no surprise that many working-class Americans had turned away from the party, given its failure to address their needs. He accused the Democratic Party of being complicit in defending the status quo—a status quo that is no longer tenable in a nation where growing inequality and economic hardship are defining the lives of millions. Sanders emphasised the widespread anger among Americans, particularly the working class, who are fed up with a political system that seems more concerned with preserving the interests of the wealthy elite than enacting meaningful change. He also warned that the US is rapidly heading toward an oligarchy, where a handful of the richest individuals and corporations exert disproportionate control over the economy and politics. Meanwhile, most Americans—nearly 60%—live pay cheque to pay cheque, struggling to make ends meet in an economy that increasingly benefits only the wealthiest citizens.
The 2024 US presidential election results should serve as a potent reminder that White liberals need to learn to listen, engage and adjust to the complexities of a nation that is far more diverse in its needs and concerns than they often acknowledge. The election revealed the limits of politics driven by identity and cultural issues, particularly at the expense of economic and material concerns. If the Democratic Party and White liberals are to regain relevance and build a genuinely inclusive coalition, they must move beyond the echo chambers of their progressive enclaves and understand the lived realities of those who do not share their privileged positions.
In the years ahead, White liberals will have to recognise that the fight for social justice cannot be waged in isolation. If they are to win back the support of the electorate and restore the power of the Democratic Party, they must recognise that the solutions to America are not one-size-fits-all. They need to embrace a politics of empathy, inclusion and practical solutions to the real issues faced by voters across the nation.
Souzeina Mushtaq is Assistant Professor of Journalism at the University of Wisconsin-River Falls