I could never see Donald Trump's appeal. How could he say and do things that were so clearly sexist, misogynist and xenophobic, and still, people flocked to him? Reading the “concepts of a plan” he had for governing only left me even more baffled. The policies were inconsistent with his words. But, close to a month of campaigning in the United States, of standing on the doorsteps in Pennsylvania, made me see why so many people were captivated by him.
I arrived in Philadelphia, southeastern Pennsylvania three weeks before election day in November, beady-eyed and ready to fight for democracy. A script in hand, debates mentally logged, ready to convince people Kamala Harris was the best candidate for the job. I came to talk, but I spent most of my time listening.
For the most part, I was going door-to-door in low-income neighbourhoods. As a Brit who grew up working class, even homeless at a point, I thought this was a setting I was familiar with—but what I saw shocked me: rubbish bins and their contents lining the street; decomposing food trapped in the cracks of the shattered pavement; half of a rotting raw chicken left in an open suitcase; dilapidated houses and homeless encampments stretching across an alley. One encampment bore the warning, “Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.” These were scenes far removed from the glossy images of the American Dream that the US believes about itself. And they were stark reminders that, for many, that dream has never been within reach.
Over hundreds of conversations, I began to understand a tiny fraction of what life was like for the people I was talking to. For them, generational cycles of poverty, systemic racism and deprivation weren’t just academic terms, but lived experience. I could see how the government, local and federal, had left these people behind, in decisions which were actively made not in just one or two presidential terms, but across decades.
It wasn’t that these were new concepts to me—I had spent hours reading books and articles on these topics—but suddenly those texts were transformed into a lucid reality, which felt so distant from what I had heard from media figures and academics talking about the issues in the US election.
While pundits discussed that the biggest thing at stake for Americans was liberal democracy being overtaken by a totalitarian regime, I was on the ground talking with a woman who couldn’t pay the $6 cost for four small bell peppers, or the 70-year-old lady who returned to work in a diner for minimum wage because she couldn’t otherwise afford to live. The stark reality of the gap between the public discourse and the deprivation I was seeing highlighted to me how many of these people and their issues were being forgotten. Communities had been left behind after key industries were shut down, left behind by technological progression, and not provided with any substantial alternative opportunities.
As I sat in southeast Pennsylvania, I couldn’t help but think of how these same issues existed across the nation, in rural and urban places, from east to west. What would be the consequences of this unaddressed poverty, and lack of opportunity, for those who were living it? What would be the consequences for the country?
There is no magic wand to fix poverty or inequality immediately. Republicans and parties of the right have tried to use immigration as a scapegoat to distract people as they continue to get comparatively worse-off. But when the Democrats continue to not make poverty an urgent matter, people will look for radical alternatives that seem to offer something better. And Trump offered exactly that: a theatrical show which tempted people by its vast promises of transformation.
Nearly all the Trump supporters I spoke with shared an idea that he would transform the country and, more importantly, their lives. Of the hundreds of conversations I had, very few times did someone say they supported Harris, believing she would make things better. The promises she was offering weren’t enough to convince people that the Democrats represented change.
Speaking with Trump supporters who were people of colour brought it home. For them, the racism that came out of Trump’s mouth didn’t matter, because he represented something far larger than his words. He represented change, not just of the incumbent but of American society.
The difficulty is that these Trump voters are, in part, right. If Harris had won the election, the ship of America would remain on a steady course. Yes, there would be more jobs, greater bodily autonomy and cheaper food costs, all meaningful policies, but the Democrat nominee offered nothing that would have shaken things up substantially. A new manufacturing job would put food on the table, but it wouldn’t be enough to mean you are no longer poor. The money saved expanding caps on insulin at $35 will disproportionately help Black and Brown people, who are more at risk of diabetes, but wouldn’t give you the spare cash to start a business. Her plans included impactful ideas, but they were absent any significant structural changes.
On the other side is a man who promised major change through a vision laden with nostalgia. He promised to take the nation back to a time when it was whiter and less complex, bringing back industries of old. He said he would bring in never-seen-before tariffs, healthcare ideas no government would touch, peace in every war, and all while he would be dismantling the “deep state.” All his promises were made to communities that feel left behind, who feel that the “system” doesn’t listen to them.
The policies Trump offered to achieve this will, in reality, very likely make many of his voters’ lives worse, only enriching the star-spangled fortunes of the wealthy. But, as politicians and pundits stumbled over each other to point out the flaws in his makeshift manifesto, their arguments landed on deaf ears. They had missed the fact that it didn’t matter if he was right or wrong. Enough voters felt the gamble was worth it given the options in front of them: a near certainty they, and their children, will remain poor, or the slim chance that Trump will deliver on his promises.
For the Democrats, this is an inflexion point. It is possible to win another election with policies similar to the ones the party put forward this year. But, if the Democrats want to do more than just win, if they want to put populism to bed, they have to start to offer solutions to the root cause of voters’ problems—poverty.
What I witnessed in America has implications far beyond its borders. As inequality rises and the middle class shrinks, the disaffected grow in number. We’re already seeing the consequences in Europe, where the far right has this year gained ground—scapegoating new immigration and Muslims as the cause of decades of poverty.
The challenge for social democratic and liberal parties who fear fascism is clear: they need to rethink how we address poverty. Incremental change isn’t enough when people are drowning. Without a serious commitment to ending cycles of poverty, the appeal of radical alternatives—no matter how flawed—will only grow. Political leaders must be willing to confront inequality and enact policies that truly uplift the marginalised, before desperation drives even more people to extreme choices. Unless we act soon, what we have seen in America will only be the beginning.
