The Lost Language of the Working Class: Reviving Economic Populism in the Democratic Party

A detailed account of the Democrats’ alienation from working America and how candidates like Dan Osborn and Zohran Mamdani point the way forward.

Introduction

As a Research Assistant at the Center for Work and Democracy at Arizona State University throughout my time in college, I spent two years immersed in a project that tracked the full spectrum of American political ambition. We compiled every congressional candidate from 2010 to 2024—Democrat, Republican, and Independent alike. Winning incumbents with 80 percent of the vote, write-ins who earned two votes. My job was to code their biographical information, occupations, and messaging to answer a simple question: what kind of candidates actually convey a credible commitment to working people?

That research supported a broader collaboration with the Center for Working-Class Politics and later informed their report, “Trump’s Kryptonite: How Progressives Can Win Back the Working Class.” Our shared goal was to map the gap between the Democratic Party’s self-image and its actual electoral base to identify why the party that still calls itself the “party of the working class” keeps losing working-class voters. The data made one thing clear: when politicians talk about jobs, when they name corporate power as the enemy, and when they elevate candidates who come from non-elite backgrounds, they win more working-class votes across race and region. Yet, even as this evidence has piled up, the Democratic Party’s leadership seems unwilling (or unable) to internalize it.

Today the consequences of that failure are visible in the numbers. According to Gallup, the Democratic Party is polling at just 34 percent—lower than Donald Trump, lower than the Republican Party, and the lowest level in the decades Gallup has been asking the question. Fundraising has cratered, enthusiasm has evaporated, and the base itself is losing faith. In June, the Democratic National Committee reported only $15 million on hand, compared to the Republican National Committee’s $80 million, a shortfall driven by disillusionment and internal infighting. That matters. Enthusiasm matters. Trust in your own side matters. Democrats don’t just need people who want them to win; they need people willing to make them win.

The story this tells is one of alienation. Working-class voters have defected. They are waiting for a politics that speaks to their lives. The Democratic Party’s survival depends on rediscovering that voice and reviving an authentic economic populism rooted in working-class representation, not elite self-image.

How Democrats Lost the Working Class

The story of the Democratic Party’s decline among working people didn’t begin with Trump. It began decades earlier in the slow erosion of the party’s economic foundation. From the late 1960s through the 1980s, Democrats gradually drifted from their identity as the party of labor and industry toward one of professional-class liberalism. Deregulation, deindustrialization, and free-trade orthodoxy hollowed out the blue-collar core that once anchored the Democratic coalition. Factories closed, unions weakened, and the towns that had been the backbone of mid-century prosperity fell into economic despair.

In this period, Democrats embraced what political economists later called a “compensate the losers” approach. Rather than confronting the causes of job loss (offshoring, automation, and corporate consolidation) the party offered social programs and retraining as consolation. The implicit message was: We can’t protect your job, but we can help you adjust to losing it. It was a safety net without a ladder.

Here lies a crucial distinction that continues to define class politics today: predistribution versus redistribution.

• Predistributive policies such as higher wages, union rights, collective bargaining, industrial policy give workers power and status before the market divides winners and losers.

• Redistributive policies like tax credits, benefits, and welfare attempt to soften the blow after the damage is done.

Working people overwhelmingly prefer the former because it reinforces self-respect. They don’t want to be compensated for losing. They want a fair shot at winning.

As Democrats became more urban, educated, and professional, this economic estrangement evolved into cultural alienation. The party’s base shifted from factory towns to faculty lounges, and with it, the language of solidarity gave way to the language of expertise. Many working-class voters began to feel condescended to.

That resentment simmered until 2016, when Donald Trump converted this class grievance into cultural revolt. By railing against “global elites,” trade deals, and Washington insiders, Trump appropriated the emotional vocabulary of solidarity that Democrats had abandoned. In doing so, he reframed the class divide as a culture war and convinced millions of workers that the only way to be heard was to walk away from the party that once claimed to speak for them.

A Party of Workers Without Workers

To the extent the Democratic Party has a shared identity, it’s as “the party of the working class.” That’s the story Democrats tell about themselves—the party of lunch pails and union halls, of Roosevelt and the New Deal, of ordinary people banding together against concentrated power. But by every measurable standard (income, education, and occupation), that story no longer describes reality. The Democratic coalition has inverted. It is now the party of the professional class, while the Republican Party increasingly claims the mantle of working-class representation.

The data from 2024 makes the break unmistakable. Donald Trump won voters earning less than $50,000 a year and voters without a college degree—two groups that once formed the backbone of the Democratic base. And these were not just white, rural, or industrial voters. Trump made massive gains among working-class Hispanic voters and meaningful inroads with Black men. The GOP is assembling the multiracial working-class coalition that Democrats have long imagined themselves leading. It’s not that these voters suddenly fell in love with Republican policies. They simply stopped believing Democrats meant what they said.

In the vacuum left behind, the Democratic Party’s strength has become concentrated in metropolitan, high-income, highly educated enclaves. Lawyers, consultants, nonprofit professionals, and college graduates now constitute the party’s most reliable voting bloc. But that coalition, while powerful on paper, is unstable and insufficient. It lacks the geographic reach and cultural connection that once allowed Democrats to speak to the broad American middle.

Two Sides of a Spectrum

Ask any Democrat why the party keeps bleeding working-class voters, and you’ll hear two competing explanations.

The first is the Economic-Populism Theory. It holds that Democrats lost their footing when they abandoned their old, hard-edged economic populism. From the New Deal through the 1970s, Democrats defined themselves by confronting corporate power, protecting unions, and guaranteeing good jobs. Over time, that commitment softened into technocratic management like means-tested programs, market tweaks, and rhetoric about opportunity rather than power. In this view, the path back is simple if not easy: revive class-based economics, name the villains, and make working people the center of the story again.

The second is the Cultural-Representation Theory. It argues that the working class hasn’t misread Democrats’ policy preferences. They understand the party supports redistribution, higher taxes on the rich, and expanded social programs. What alienates them isn’t economics. It’s attitude. Many feel dismissed or looked down upon by a party that increasingly speaks in the language of educated elites. On issues of culture, religion, guns, immigration, and patriotism, Democrats have often sounded as if they were talking about ordinary Americans rather than to them. Even sympathetic voters have come to see the party as one that champions the poor, protects the marginalized, and flatters the professional, but forgets the people who still work with their hands.

In reality, both theories describe the same wound from different angles. Economics supplies credibility while culture supplies relatability. Working-class voters don’t want pandering. They want proof that Democrats understand their lives and share their fights. Economic populism without cultural humility sounds performative; cultural empathy without economic backbone sounds hollow. To rebuild trust, Democrats have to bridge both halves of the divide.

From the Field

The Center for Working-Class Politics set out to answer a question that the Democratic establishment has mostly avoided: what actually moves working-class voters? Through large-scale surveys and candidate experiments, the findings were striking in their clarity and consistency.

First, jobs-focused platforms outperform every other kind of message. Candidates who run on guaranteeing work for all—whether through industrial investment, public employment, or a federal jobs guarantee—score higher not only with Democrats but with Independents as well. Across race, gender, and geography, voters respond most favorably to those who frame politics as a fight for secure, dignified work.

Second, “us versus them” economic rhetoric—naming political and corporate elites as the problem—works. When candidates identify concentrated wealth and power as the obstacle to a fair economy, working-class voters across party lines lean in. This kind of populism doesn’t alienate moderates but instead energizes them. In testing after testing, candidates who adopted a populist tone outperformed those using generic unity or policy-heavy messaging.

Third, who delivers the message matters. Voters consistently prefer non-elite candidates and people with manual, service, or blue-collar backgrounds over polished professionals or career politicians. Authenticity drives connection. Blue-collar Democrats are viewed as more trustworthy, relatable, and credible when they talk about economic struggle.

Finally, social issues divide where economic populism unites. Democrats and Republicans may part ways on abortion, guns, or immigration, but a shared sense of economic injustice cuts across those lines. The data shows that a jobs-first populism can bridge cultural divides that no purely ideological campaign can.

The lesson is simple: class matters more than ideology, and authenticity matters more than orthodoxy. Voters are not looking for perfection. They’re looking for proof that someone understands what it means to work, to struggle, and to fight for fairness in a system that rarely rewards either effort or loyalty.

The Democratic Penalty

Jared Abbott, director of the Center for Working-Class Politics, calls it the “Democratic Penalty.” It’s the quiet but devastating reality that the party’s own label has become a liability and shorthand for elitism that alienates precisely the working-class voters Democrats need most. To many Americans without college degrees, “Democrat” no longer means the party of jobs, wages, or unions. It signals a cultural and class divide, a distant, moralizing institution that speaks about people like them but not to them.

Abbott’s research shows that working-class voters who agree with progressive economic policies often recoil when those ideas are explicitly branded as Democratic. The label itself triggers skepticism. Candidates can say they’ll fight corporate greed, raise wages, or guarantee jobs. But once they sound like “a Democrat,” many persuadable voters stop listening.

That dynamic was central to the Dan Osborn campaign, a test case in how to neutralize the penalty. Running for US Senate as an Independent in Nebraska, Osborn combined blistering economic populism with cultural moderation and a refusal to wear the party badge. Democrats quietly supported him but stayed out of the spotlight, allowing Osborn to present himself as an authentic outsider to both political machines. The strategy worked: he reached voters Democrats had long written off. If the party wants to win back working-class voters, it must be willing to experiment outside its own brand.

When the party’s label evokes suspicion rather than solidarity, it both repels swing voters and it drains enthusiasm from its base. Loyal Democrats become less likely to donate, volunteer, or identify proudly with the party. A toxic brand depresses not only crossover appeal but also the energy that sustains campaigns.

Dan Osborn and Zohran Mamdani

Dan Osborn represents one face of that rebellion. A college dropout and former mechanic turned union leader, Osborn led his fellow Kellogg workers on strike before running for office as an Independent populist in Nebraska. He’s culturally moderate but economically blistering, running not as a partisan but as a working man fed up with both parties’ neglect. He talks about wages, health care, and corporate greed in the language of lived experience. His campaign is rooted in the conviction that the Democratic brand has become too toxic to carry the populist message that once defined it. By rejecting the label, Osborn reclaimed the voice.

Zohran Mamdani, meanwhile, represents the other face of the movement—one grounded in the heart of the urban left. A democratic socialist and state legislator from Queens, Mamdani is culturally progressive yet relentlessly focused on affordability and economic justice. He talks about rent, transit, and the price of living in New York City as moral questions of who gets to belong. And unlike many of his progressive peers, Mamdani doesn’t just run against Republicans; he runs against elite Democrats who he argues have presided over a broken, exclusionary system.

On paper, Osborn and Mamdani could not be further apart. One from the industrial Midwest, the other from New York City; one independent, the other avowedly socialist. Yet together, they point toward a coalition Democrats desperately need: a politics that marries Osborn’s populist fire with Mamdani’s progressive conviction. One speaks to the alienation of the rural and industrial working class; the other channels the frustration of an overburdened, overcharged urban generation. Both offer authenticity, class consciousness, and a sense of moral urgency missing from the party’s mainstream.

If Democrats can build a bridge between these two poles—rural populism and urban progressivism—they could rebuild the broad, multiracial working-class coalition that once defined American liberalism and result in an electoral college landslide we haven’t seen since the 1980s.

What Authenticity Looks Like

At the core of every campaign is a question voters rarely articulate but almost always answer instinctively: “Do I see myself in you?” Authenticity is the invisible currency of politics—the quality that allows a candidate to sound like their community rather than like a consultant.

The research is unequivocal. Working-class voters respond best to candidates who are plain-spoken, self-deprecating, patriotic, and rooted in community life. They trust people who sound like their neighbors, who talk about work, family, and fairness without condescension or jargon. The messenger matters as much as the message: a candidate who has fixed cars, run a small business, or taught in a public school carries an authority that no degree can substitute for. This is why I said that Tim Walz was a fantastic choice for Vice President at the time he was tapped for the role.

You can see this authenticity in candidates like Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, the auto-shop owner from Washington State who talks about trade schools and broken cars with the ease of lived experience; Gabe Vasquez of New Mexico, whose border-town upbringing shapes his pragmatic tone on labor and opportunity; and Jared Golden of Maine, a Marine veteran who speaks with the bluntness of someone allergic to political theater. None of them sound rehearsed. They sound real and voters reward that.

By contrast, too many Democratic candidates approach voters with the tone of moralizers, speaking in the careful, abstract language of policy or moral duty rather than shared struggle. Candidates like Mikie Sherrill in New Jersey or Debbie Wasserman Schultz in Florida or Chuck Schumer or Hakeem Jeffries of New York. It’s not that voters reject intellect or empathy. They reject the performance of both. Just listen to videos of Washington’s Perez versus videos of New Jersey’s Sherrill. Their approach is night and day.

That emotional connection is the foundation of political energy. Authentic candidates don’t just win votes. They generate belief. They inspire thousands of small-dollar donors, local volunteers, and the kind of trust that no Super PAC can buy. Enthusiasm is built on conviction voters can feel. And when they believe a candidate means it, they’re willing to do all they can to make them win.

Recruitment, Funding, and Experimentation

The Democratic Party’s working-class crisis is institutional as well. The DCCC and DSCC—the official campaign arms for House and Senate Democrats—prioritize self-funders and proven fundraisers, not mechanics, teachers, or union organizers. This pipeline bias ensures that the very candidates who could reconnect Democrats to the working class are filtered out before they ever get a chance to run.

Rebuilding that connection requires a new approach to recruitment, funding, and experimentation. Instead of relying on consultants and donor lists, the party should invest in talent discovery: visiting union halls, community colleges, firehouses, and small-business networks to find credible leaders who reflect their communities. The goal should be to elevate people who already have the trust of those the party has lost.

In deep-red states, Democrats should be open to nontraditional alliances and independent bids, following the Osborn model in Nebraska. When the party steps aside and supports genuine economic populists—even those who don’t wear the label “Democrat”—it can begin reclaiming credibility. Over time, these candidates could form a worker-oriented caucus or mini-party, supported by major industrial unions and local chapters. A bloc of authentic, union-backed representatives could speak with more legitimacy to both parties than any D.C. consultant class ever could.

Ultimately, reforming recruitment is about rebuilding faith. A party that looks like working people will once again earn their trust. And when trust returns, enthusiasm follows—volunteers, small donors, and the emotional investment that sustains a movement. As the data shows again and again: you don’t buy enthusiasm; you build it. You rebuild trust first and the money follows.

Conclusion

At 34 percent, the Democratic Party stands on the edge of a cliff of its own making. After decades of drifting away from factories and union halls, toward boardrooms and think tanks, the party has lost the credibility, relatability, and representation that once made it the natural home of the American worker.

Voters want candidates who fight for jobs, name economic elites as the problem, and come from the same world they do. They don’t need a new message. They need a new messenger. A politics that sounds like lived experiences. A party that empowers.

Economic populism, rooted in real working-class voices and predistributive policies that build dignity through power, offers Democrats the only bridge between moral purpose and majoritarian strength.

If Democrats can learn to sound, look, and live like the people they claim to represent, they can rebuild the coalition that once defined them.

If they can’t, they won’t represent them for much longer.