The phenomenon of poor Americans electing wealthy individuals to positions of power is both perplexing and deeply revealing, highlighting profound fractures within society. The image of a billionaire president celebrated by a chorus of the ultra-rich at a moment when millions are struggling to make ends meet starkly illustrates the contradictions inherent in modern democracy. This dynamic is not merely a failure of economics but a deeper crisis of collective awareness—a breakdown in solidarity among those most affected by inequality.
Antonio Gramsci’s reflections on unity and revolution resonate here. Gramsci believed in the transformative power of collective action, asserting that an individual alone can achieve little, but united with others pursuing the same rational change, they could multiply their power. And yet, this unity—so essential to Gramsci’s vision—seems more like an ideal than a reality. Among the poor, there is often a failure to “connect” with others who share their struggles. This failure is compounded by the fierce competition for limited resources: jobs, benefits, and opportunities. In this dog-eat-dog world, the solidarity necessary for systemic change dissolves into mutual suspicion and resentment.
This lack of solidarity is not an accident. It is perpetuated by a cultural narrative that glorifies individualism and self-reliance while stigmatizing dependence on collective solutions. The working class is encouraged to see themselves as temporarily embarrassed millionaires rather than as part of a broader social class. This narrative undermines efforts to build the kind of unity Gramsci envisioned. Instead, people remain isolated, atomized, and unable to mount a challenge to the structures that oppress them.
This disunity among the oppressed is not new. Historical observations from thinkers like Machiavelli and Hobbes paint a similarly grim picture of human nature. Hobbes’ “Homo homini lupus”—man is a wolf to man—captures the ferocity with which people turn on each other rather than uniting against a common oppressor. In a brutally competitive environment, solidarity becomes not a strength but a liability. In such a world, the idea of fraternity is foreign, and survival depends on individual cunning rather than collective power.
This fragmented environment creates fertile ground for the rich to exploit. Wealthy candidates often frame themselves as saviors, above the fray of partisan politics and untainted by the systemic rot they themselves may benefit from. Trump, for instance, appealed to voters not as a member of the elite but as a self-made outsider who understood the struggles of “ordinary” Americans. This ability to present themselves as both part of and separate from the system is a classic tactic of maintaining power. The ruling class legitimizes its dominance through narratives that mask raw power, framing it instead as divine right, populism, or proven competence.
This formula works because the dominated often internalize it. The election of the rich by the poor is driven, at least in part, by a kind of psychological “stress” that comes from living in a world of contradictions. The poor may hate the system but find it easier to align themselves with a powerful figure who promises to navigate it for them rather than dismantle it entirely. The promises of systemic change, often advocated by intellectuals and activists, seem remote and abstract compared to the visceral appeal of a charismatic leader who claims to understand their pain.
The harsh reality is that solidarity, the bedrock of any revolutionary or transformative movement, is difficult to foster in an environment shaped by scarcity, mistrust, and individualism. The revolutionary slogans “The people united will never be defeated” or “Workers of the world, unite” are aspirational rather than descriptive. They reflect what could be, not what is. In practice, the people in the “lower” strata of society often remain disconnected, isolated by their struggles and suspicious of those who might share their plight.
Machiavelli’s and Hobbes’ “pessimistic” views on human nature—particularly the idea that self-interest trumps collective good—find troubling confirmation in these dynamics. In this context, it becomes easier to understand why the poor might elect the rich: the hope that a wealthy leader can serve as a protector or guide outweighs the fear that their policies might be harmful. This decision is not irrational but rooted in the brutal realities of a fragmented society where unity is scarce and survival is paramount.
The tragedy of this phenomenon lies in its self-perpetuating nature. Without solidarity, systemic change remains elusive, and the cycle of inequality and domination continues. It is this grim realization that thinkers like Gramsci sought to challenge, but the failure to build lasting connections among the oppressed leaves them vulnerable to manipulation by those in power. The election of the rich by the poor is not just a political oddity—it is a reflection of the deep fractures in a society where collective action is replaced by the desperate pursuit of individual salvation.
