On 5 October, at Donald Trump’s second rally of the 2024 election in Butler, Pennsylvania, he enthusiastically introduced Elon Musk, the richest person in the world, who is plunking down millions of dollars to help the former president.
Musk urged the crowd to “Fight! Fight! Fight!” – echoing words Trump uttered after the attack on his life there. Musk then shouted: “President Trump must win to preserve the constitution!” and he “must win to preserve democracy in America!” Musk ended his rant with the dark prediction: “If they don’t [vote], this will be the last election.”
Musk has established himself as the quintessential robber baron of the United States’s second Gilded Age.
In mid-August, during a conversation between Musk and Trump on Twitter/X, Trump praised Musk for firing workers who went on strike. “You’re the greatest cutter,” Trump said. “You walk in and say: ‘You want to quit?’ … They go on strike and you say: ‘That’s OK. You’re all gone.’” Musk responded, “Yeah,” and laughed.
More than a century ago, in the US’s first Gilded Age, the idea that someone running for president would feature at a rally the richest person in the country, let alone the world, would have been absurd. At that time, even Republican candidates sought to distance themselves from the robber barons.
Kamala Harris is waging a strong campaign but it could be even stronger if she wielded more anti-corporate and more anti-robber-baron economic populism.
As in the first Gilded Age, the most powerful force in US politics today is anti-establishment fury at a rigged system.
But because Democrats – with the notable exceptions of Senators Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Bob Casey, and Sherrod Brown – have not embraced economic populism, the only version of populism available to angry voters has been the Republican’s cultural one, which is utterly fake.
During the first Gilded Age, economic populism predominated because millions of Americans saw that wealth and power concentrated at the top was undermining US democracy and stacking the economic deck.
In 1910, Teddy Roosevelt thundered his warning that “a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men, whose chief object is to hold and increase their power” could destroy US democracy. Roosevelt’s answer was to tax wealth. The estate tax was eventually enacted in 1916, and the capital gains tax in 1922.
In the 1912 presidential campaign, Woodrow Wilson promised “a crusade against powers that have governed us … that have limited our development … that have determined our lives … that have set us in a straitjacket to do as they please”. The struggle to break up the giant trusts would be, in Wilson’s words, a “second struggle for emancipation”.
Wilson signed into law the Clayton Antitrust Act, which strengthened antitrust laws and protected unions. He also established the Federal Trade Commission to root out “unfair acts and practices in commerce”, and created the first permanent national income tax.
Years later, Teddy Roosevelt’s fifth-cousin, Franklin D Roosevelt, attacked corporate and financial power by giving workers the right to unionize, the 40-hour workweek, unemployment insurance, and social security. FDR instituted a high marginal income tax on the wealthy – those making more than $5m a year were taxed up to 75% – and he regulated finance.
Accepting renomination for president in 1936, FDR spoke of the need to redeem US democracy from the despotism of concentrated economic power. He warned the nation against the “economic royalists” who had pressed the whole of society into service.
On the eve of his 1936 re-election, he told the American people that big business and finance were determined to unseat him: “Never before in all our history have these forces been so united against one candidate as they stand today. They are unanimous in their hate for me – and I welcome their hatred.”
But by the 1950s, the Democratic party had given up on economic populism. Gone from their presidential campaigns were tales of greedy businessmen, unscrupulous financiers and monopolistic corporations.
There no longer seemed any need. Postwar prosperity had created the largest middle class in the history of the world and reduced the gap between rich and poor. By the mid-1950s, a third of all private-sector employees were unionized, and blue-collar workers were receiving generous wage and benefit increases regularly.
Keynesianism had become a widely accepted antidote to economic downturns – substituting the management of aggregate demand for class antagonism. Even Richard Nixon purportedly claimed: “We’re all Keynesians now.”
There was a second reason for the Democrats’ increasing unease with populism. The civil rights struggle and the Vietnam war had spawned an anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian New Left that distrusted government as much if not more than it distrusted Wall Street and big business.
The New Left viewed the war as a symbol of all that was rotten in the US, including the Democratic establishment that waged it. The Democratic establishment viewed the anti-war New Left as entitled children, who focused on personal expression and idealism rather than labor activism and the alleviation of poverty.
That split was dramatically revealed during the violent protests at the 1968 Democratic national convention in Chicago. It lived on: a half-century later, it could be seen in Bernie Sanders’ candidacy in the 2016 primaries and the struggle within the Democratic party between his populists and Hillary Clinton’s mainstream Democrats.
The Republican party, meanwhile, embraced cultural populism. In Ronald Reagan’s view, Washington insiders and arrogant bureaucrats stifled the economy and hobbled individual achievement. Cultural elites coddled the poor, including “welfare queens”, Reagan’s racist dog-whistle.
Reagan’s cultural critique took hold of the Republican party. In the 2004 presidential election, Republicans framed Democrats as an effete group of “latte-drinking, sushi-eating, Volvo-driving, New York Times-reading, body-piercing [and] Hollywood-loving” people out of touch with the real America.
By the 2020s, Republicans saw the culture wars as the central struggle of American public life. Trump has blamed the country’s problems on immigrants, Democrats, socialists, the mainstream media, the “deep state” (including the FBI, justice department, prosecutors, and unfriendly judges), “coastal elites”, and, wherever possible (and usually indirectly), women and people of color.
Republican cultural populism is bogus. The biggest change over the last four decades – the change lurking behind the insecurities and resentments of the working middle class, the change that animates America’s second Gilded Age – has had nothing to do with identity politics, “woke”-ism, critical race theory, transgender kids, immigration, or any other Republican cultural bogeymen.
It’s the giant upward shift in the distribution of income and wealth; in the power and status that accompany it; and the injuries to pride, status, and self-esteem suffered by those who have lost it.
The Democrats’ failure to critique this shift and adapt economic populism has made the Republicans’ fake cultural populism dominant by default.
Why haven’t Democrats embraced economic populism? Because for too long they’ve drunk from the same campaign funding trough as the Republicans – big corporations, Wall Street and the very wealthy.
“Business has to deal with us whether they like it or not, because we’re the majority,” crowed the Democratic representative Tony Coelho, head of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee in the 1980s when Democrats assumed they’d continue to run the House for years.
Coelho’s Democrats soon achieved a rough parity with Republicans in contributions from corporate and Wall Street campaign coffers, but it proved a Faustian bargain.
Now, Trump boasts the support of the richest man in the world, who’s viciously anti-union, even as Trump pretends to be the “voice” of working America – and the Democrats don’t even challenge the hypocrisy.
As I said, Harris is waging a good campaign. But she and many of her fellow Democrats could be more vocal about how ultra-wealthy individuals and giant corporations are undermining and corrupting America.
Robert Reich, a former US secretary of labor, is a professor of public policy at the University of California, Berkeley, and the author of Saving Capitalism: For the Many, Not the Few and The Common Good. His newest book, The System: Who Rigged It, How We Fix It, is out now. He is a Guardian US columnist. His newsletter is at robertreich.substack.com
