Is Economic Nationalism Fading Among Voters?

Until the U.S.-Israeli war in Iran took center stage, Trump’s unyielding faith in tariffs had become his party’s chief liability heading into the midterms. In some ways this was unsurprising, given their broad scope and negative impact on grocery prices and other household goods. Yet the discontent also reveals the growing chasm between the allure of economic nationalism in the abstract and support for its practice à la Trump. Trump, it must be remembered, owed his rise to the liberal establishment’s conflicted response to the twin forces of deindustrialization and globalization. On top of his pledge to radically curb immigration, he successfully campaigned on overturning the global trade order in 2016 and did so even more emphatically in 2024.

Many economists warned that his agenda threatened to reignite inflation, scramble supply chains, and raise input costs for domestic manufacturers. But it was to no avail. Despite the Biden administration’s attempts to piece together its own “post-neoliberal” trade and industrial strategy, millions of Americans—not least younger men who had no memory of the debates over NAFTA and China joining the WTO—appeared willing to try Trump’s brasher approach, regardless of the turbulence and complications likely to transpire.

Trends since Trump’s return to office suggest the appetite for such experimentation has waned precipitously. Sixty percent of Americans “strongly or somewhat approve” of the Supreme Court’s ruling against Trump’s “Liberation Day” tariffs, according to a recent YouGov survey; a new survey commissioned by The Guardian shows seven in ten Americans believe they are paying higher prices because of tariffs. Other polls similarly indicate around two thirds of Americans oppose Trump’s handling of trade policy, with strong pluralities reporting they don’t think it will revive manufacturing at all. Trump’s base has become restive, too. In recent weeks, Trump has received some of his lowest approval ratings among working-class whites since he first galvanized their swing to the GOP.

Trump remains defiant, boasting his administration will find ways to circumvent the Supreme Court’s decision and impose levies as it sees fit. But as the sharp decline in consumer confidence underscores, his main economic policy besides corporate tax cuts has exasperated many of the same voters who gave him the benefit of the doubt. Combined with the calamitous energy and fertilizer price shocks inflicted by the new war, angst over Trump’s tariff gamble is very likely to fuel Democratic gains in November.

It may also have a more lasting effect on US politics and the direction of the Democratic Party as it attempts to shift the political terrain. The deepening unpopularity of tariffs, the main weapon of protectionism, amid a spiraling war of choice suggests industrial policy may no longer be so salient—that after years of shaping party competition, support for economic nationalism is actually fading among American voters. While it is perhaps too soon to say definitively, the votes that propelled Trump to victory in key industrial states seem in hindsight to have been the “last wave” of a losing, fifty-year battle against a fundamental, irreversible reorganization of the American economy. If that is the case, policymakers hoping to formulate a social democratic alternative to Trump’s erratic and increasingly empty vision of industrial renewal must think anew about how to build economic agency in an age where all of life’s anchors are under threat.

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The notion that sympathy for economic nationalism is plummeting may seem counterintuitive at first. Trump didn’t conjure an “America First” movement out of the blue but tapped into something that had been brewing for many years (and had largely sprung from the Old Left at that). Since the early 1970s, in fact, each decade has seen a period of intense activity, usually led by labor unions, in favor of import quotas, targeted tariffs, tougher labor and environmental standards in trade agreements, buy-American requirements in federal contracts, and complementary ideas to preserve domestic manufacturing jobs and induce fixed reinvestment. Although many of the subsectors that made these demands have virtually disappeared from domestic production, the United Auto Workers, United Steelworkers, and Teamsters continue to support some combination of protectionist measures and exert political influence in this policy area.

Generational change had not dampened the backlash to globalization either, as politicians from both parties had blithely expected at the turn of the century. Instead, the severe contraction in manufacturing jobs and union membership, which the China shock and Great Recession hastened, intensified the hunger among blue-collar households for the “old” Fordist system and the relative stability it provided. Towns and small cities convulsed by the shattering of their economic anchor intuited correctly that advanced tech and tourist-driven hospitality jobs wouldn’t miraculously follow. Their link to the national economy was broken, and they yearned for a political champion who would read the riot act to multinationals, the shareholder class, and “trade cheats.”

In the event, Trump has not by any stretch of the imagination jawboned his way to better prospects for manufacturing workers. His actions have narrowly aided steel producers in some cases, and he insists he’s secured several big “concessions” from trade partners and foreign corporations pledging to build in America. But the latest estimates suggest 100,000 manufacturing jobs have been lost since Trump returned to office. His tariffs, at once haphazard and sweeping, pushed up input, wholesale, and retail costs, much as experts warned, while his vindictive rollback of Biden-era incentives for renewable energy has stalled or eliminated projects that would have advanced the same workforce objectives “heterodox” conservatives profess to care about.

Still, dashed expectations aside, concerns about America’s industrial base have been eclipsed by the intractable crisis of affordability. While increasing the range of good-paying jobs matters to blue-collar voters, their impatience with tariffs—which can be experienced as both an explicit tax and as an opaque passed-on cost—shows they don’t think Trump’s economic nationalism is working out. They’re right. The anemic job creation of the last fourteen months makes clear that the vote of confidence many Rust Belt communities placed in Trump has not been rewarded through policies that restore their economic foundations. They have contended with more of the same, except with even fewer opportunities to stretch their paychecks and provide their dependents any semblance of middle-class comfort.

All these setbacks, combined with nationwide dread over the labor market effects of AI, have drained Trump’s strategy of support. Stagflationary conditions weren’t inevitable, however. Although Trump critics hardly expected otherwise, Trump could have considered a different combination of policies, in which carefully targeted tariffs played a more auxiliary role, to stoke manufacturing jobs. A new effort led by his US Trade Representative, Jamieson Greer, to deter trade in goods made with forced labor hints at what a more disciplined, genuinely pro-worker strategy might look like. Still, as on other fronts, the raw stubbornness that has thus far defined Trump’s course of action and seemingly undergirded his political fortunes may ultimately be his Achilles’ heel. A decade on from Trump’s first campaign, industrial decline appears insurmountable because Trump has shown no interest in addressing the larger problems perpetuating it: financialization, monopoly power, the boardroom obsession with quarterly profits, the multi-decade campaign to sabotage collective bargaining, and the worsening skills gap.

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Trump’s obstacles, however, are not merely self-inflicted—they reflect the structural constraints of the current party system as well. The same dynamic that allowed Trump to exploit rage over industrial decline—regional polarization—has also impeded his ability to impose a “collective” national endeavor, just as Joe Biden and his progressive allies could not rally the electorate to a scaled-down Green New Deal. Indeed, polarization has fed mistrust of government (or, more precisely, an ultra-partisan bureaucracy and regulatory capture) even as many voters across the political spectrum desire a level of state intervention in the economy not seen since World War Two. As a result, neither party has been able to convince a decisive majority that their respective plans to “rebalance” the economy genuinely put the country first.

This highlights one of the primary contradictions of our extended populist moment. Economic nationalism is typically understood as the key ingredient to achieving a political realignment due to its presumed resonance with left-behind counties and voters without a college degree. It elicits powerful emotions by channeling popular grievances and aspirations for a society in which Main Street’s interests override Wall Street’s. In theory, that could unite working-class voters across the country, from coastal service hubs to rural factory towns.

Yet when acted upon, it arouses fresh concerns about who stands to benefit most and whether it will devolve into a new form of crony capitalism. The average voter might agree in principle on the need for an industrial base that can withstand global shocks and the developmental benefits of value-added manufacturing and world-class infrastructure. Support wavers, however, once the main types of policies thought to achieve these objectives are introduced.

On the left and right, voters are suspicious of special tax credits, trade restrictions, and other de facto subsidies as well as “mandates” that spur sectoral change, especially if they reflect a strong ideological orientation. This skepticism, however, doesn’t solely reflect negative partisanship—that is, a fear that industrial policy in the hands of the other party will only reward its allies and powerful lobbies. Disagreements over how to kickstart a new era of development are also a constant source of intraparty conflict. Within progressive circles, there are endless debates over what mix of new regulations and regulatory reforms might simultaneously reduce greenhouse gas emissions, create high-wage jobs, build housing, relieve consumers of escalating energy costs, and help poorer countries attain sustainable development. Trumpian conservatives, meanwhile, oscillate wildly between statism and libertarianism—a function, undoubtedly, of their inconsistent view of when and how markets should serve the “national interest.” Put another way, even Americans of the same tribe can’t reach any consensus over what a proper industrial strategy should entail.

The very process of globalization has further attenuated faith in collective action and common solutions. Americans don’t like to think of themselves as ungenerous and hyper-individualistic, but as their economic agency feels increasingly tenuous and superficial, and upward mobility becomes harder to attain, many have grown doubtful of sacrifices in the name of the whole. They are wary of “top-down” tools that in any way alter consumer behavior and threaten their purchasing power. And because of this mistrust, it is very difficult to make the case for either a “traditional” program of industrial renewal or a rapid energy transition.

This would very likely be true even if someone less divisive and impulsive than Trump occupied the Oval Office. After a quarter century of falling life chances, ordinary workers understandably resent the idea they might have to make do with less—whether through taxes, lifestyle changes, or a devalued dollar—to serve hard-to-measure ends like reclaiming economic sovereignty or preventing ecological tipping points. Overburdened by debt and inequality, many are simply disinclined to make new sacrifices for uncertain gains.

The cynicism is so ingrained that America’s warring political tribes can barely reach an accord over existing priorities like the federal budget. Each side accuses the other of picking winners and losers—as well as misguided prescriptions and misdeeds that have led to stagnation. Red state legislators caterwaul about blue states and their advocacy networks using regulation to strangle “free enterprise” and industrial expansion; blue state leaders increasingly inveigh against the red state “socialism” that is made possible through higher blue state tax contributions to federal programs, which red state residents disproportionately benefit from. Under the circumstances, it is hard to conceive of a New Deal-scale vision of national redevelopment earning broad acclaim, despite many Americans longing for a nation on the march once more.

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The lack of good-faith dialogue over what would put the country on a sounder economic footing bodes poorly for our future. But there is also the troubling question of what can be created that is “competitive” in a globalized economy that has also become more multipolar and less dependent on the American market. The Biden administration hoped it could nurture a comprehensive EV sector and other “clean tech” industries through strategic protectionism. Yet between Trump’s disdain for climate policy and China’s stunning technological advances and exploding market share, the window for America to produce EVs, solar panels, and related goods that American consumers will buy and that other countries want is quickly passing.

Unfortunately, as the disruptions from AI begin to accelerate, neither political party has an answer for what comes next. Even if there were a sudden transformation in US governance that emulated China’s state capacity and fueled a renaissance in American innovation, it is highly improbable the changes would support the mass production jobs that accompanied the age of America’s industrial primacy. Almost invariably, the new sectors would be highly specialized and thus unsuited to resolving the socioeconomic difficulties faced by millions of Americans.

Do all these constraints mean industrial policy is destined to fail? Is it a perpetual boondoggle, rather than the antidote to decades of rising inequality and disinvestment? Chastened by the failure of “Bidenomics” to lift Americans’ hopes, Democrats have refrained from unveiling new plans to tackle America’s developmental challenges, preferring instead to lambaste Trump’s tariff folly. It would be better, though, if Democrats tried a new tack, one that cleverly dispenses with both Fordist nostalgia and the unpersuasive “Green New Deal” framing while still articulating a vision of economic empowerment that finally beats “nationalist populism.”

Indeed, as the ominous fourth decade of the 21st century nears, perhaps the best “industrial policy” is downstream from a people-first agenda. Democrats don’t have to reinvent the wheel. But it is imperative that they finally raise the federal minimum wage, aggressively eliminate monopoly choke points, build abundant family housing, invest in vocational training, provide targeted wage subsidies and regulatory relief for new small businesses, use progressive taxation to fix our aging infrastructure, and actually secure our energy independence. While these actions won’t solve all of America’s economic imbalances and strategic vulnerabilities, they will go some way to restoring faith in the country’s potential.

In the face of multiplying crises, Democrats must do everything possible to get their chance—and not fumble it again. The cost of failure has already been too high.