With every tick, the election clock feels like dread closing in on Americans.
A recent Forbes Health survey shows that over 60% of participants consider their mental health to be under siege, grappling with everything from mild anxiety to deep distress as the political circus intensifies. A LifeStance Health survey backs this up, revealing that a staggering 79% of Americans feel anxious about the upcoming presidential election, exposing a nationwide mental health crisis fueled by political chaos. Younger generations are taking the hardest hit, with nearly two-thirds of Gen Z and millennials feeling serious stress. Many are changing their social media habits and hitting pause on major life decisions.
There’s even a text hotline to help stressed-out voters cope. According to the American Psychological Association, politics has become a significant source of chronic stress, significantly impacting our physical and mental health—and it’s only getting worse.
A future we never wanted is being forced on us. Just like a self-driving car follows a programmer’s instructions, we find ourselves without real control.
This election has devolved into a nightmare of fierce partisanship, marked by assassination attempts, courtroom battles, and the threat of prolonged battles over a contested outcome, even possible violence. Social media feuds, strained family dinners, and alienated neighbors only make it worse. The left warns about “fascism” and “the last free election,” while the right screams about “woke elites” and a “Communist takeover.”
Staying politically engaged feels like swallowing broken glass. How did we get here?
While it’s undeniable that the 21st century has handed us a parade of dystopian delights—9/11, the 2007-2008 financial crisis, and the Covid-19 pandemic—leaving ordinary folks feeling trampled, betrayed, and thoroughly disempowered by the responses—the truth is, the rabbit hole goes much deeper.
Take, for instance, a little nugget you won’t hear most politicians mention—America has been slipping into the mold of a developing nation for quite a while now. For decades, we’ve seen something emerge in place of the more egalitarian, hopeful America we once knew, and it’s not a Communist or fascist America (yet). It’s a Third World America: a country divided not by party membership, but by economic realities. Noted economist Peter Temin has shown that U.S. citizens now live in two distinct sectors: roughly 80% in the low-wage sector and about 20% in the affluent sector.
People get sorted not so much into red and blue worlds but into different financial systems, living conditions, and educational opportunities. When they get sick, deal with the law, travel—you name it—their experiences are like night and day. They exist in separate spheres. Pretty much the only way for someone in the low-wage sector to break into the affluent one is through a top-notch education—but that path is riddled with obstacles, even if you can find the money.
For most, escape is a distant dream.
The well-educated affluent sector makes decisions, sets the agenda, while the rest are just trying to survive—and getting sicker and dying younger. One cohort makes moves, while the other is caught in the aftermath.
As a rule, here’s what usually happens when a country splits into a dual economy:
- The low-wage sector has hardly any say in public policy.
- The high-income sector keeps wages down in the low-wage area to secure cheap labor for their businesses.
- Social control is used to keep low-wage workers from pushing back against policies that favor the wealthy.
- The main goal for the richest in the high-income sector is to cut taxes.
- Social and economic mobility become rarer.
Does any of this sound familiar? Sure, social media magnifies divisions among Americans, but interestingly, ordinary people within the Republican and Democratic parties aren’t so very far apart in the basic things they want, never mind what Fox or MSNBC tells you.
And on it goes. Americans see very little real action from politicians in either party on these issues. In fact, they often see the opposite. Misleading rhetoric won’t make their concerns vanish.
The electorate is not stupid. Most Americans know perfectly well that their wages have not kept up with inflation, no matter how politicians try to spin it. They see the ever-rising costs of essential goods—keeping a roof over their heads, seeing a doctor, and going to college. They realize that the rich are profiting off their hard work and refusing to contribute their fair share in taxes. Black men, in particular, are worse off than they were before the pandemic—and people wonder why they aren’t supporting the status quo as they once did.
Americans sense the gap between the rich and poor is wider now than it used to be, and they are correct. No politician can erase the following facts: Over the past 40 years, the richest 1% of Americans have experienced the fastest income growth. From 1979 to 2021, the average income of the top 0.01%—about 12,000 households—grew nearly 27 times faster than that of the bottom 20%. By 2021, the top 1% earned, on average, 139 times more than the bottom 20%. Income inequality has reached extreme levels. The pie is being gobbled up by the rich, leaving miserable slivers for hard-working people.
The U.S. income divide wasn’t always this extreme. In the early 1900s, social movements and progressive policies fought Gilded Age inequality, advocating for fair taxes and unions. The New Deal provided crucial support for ordinary people, including social security and labor protections. But those efforts have faded since the 70s—or been crushed—deepening inequality and leading to serious social, health, and political consequences that Americans now recognize.
In theory, democracy is supposed to adapt to the needs of the people, ready to handle crises and promote peaceful political change. But how’s that working out? With wealth concentrated as it is and the rich able to manipulate the political system, not very well.
Capitalism promised abundance but left us with long hours, workplace surveillance, insecure jobs, and little control. Rather than delivering prosperity, it’s given rise to increasingly predatory entities that undermine the businesses we depend on and reduce us to sitting ducks—like private equity—an industry that lines the pockets of politicians from both parties while gaining control over everything from emergency rooms and nursing homes to classrooms and housing markets. We’re getting looted, but the private equity industry often operates behind the scenes, making it difficult to pinpoint why many businesses are delivering subpar services and taking advantage of consumers.
We know we’re being preyed upon, underpaid, and our work often strips us of our humanity. With scant parental leave and unaffordable childcare, it’s no surprise many are hesitant about having families. This year, 30% of 18-34-year-olds are unsure about having kids. Elon Musk giving away his sperm won’t change that.
Neoliberalism—where the market rules all—has crushed us by prioritizing profit over well-being, widening inequality, and dismantling social safety nets. As public services get privatized and deregulated, the basics we need to live become harder to access. This focus on market solutions leads to job insecurity, with workers facing unstable jobs and stagnant wages while the rich keep getting richer. Both Republicans and Democrats have jumped on the neoliberal bandwagon since the late 20th century. Conservatives were the initial champions, but many liberals jumped aboard, resulting in a bipartisan push for globalization, trade deals, and welfare reform that has entrenched neoliberal principles across the board.
The result is that with paths blocked to economic security, social status, and political influence, people feel loneliness, rage, and resignation—or all of the above. A future we never wanted is being forced on us. Just like a self-driving car follows a programmer’s instructions, we find ourselves without real control. We’re not in the driver’s seat—and we know it.
Politicians, fully aware of the deep alienation out there, spin narratives that frame policies benefiting the wealthy as vital for efficiency and economic growth, masking their true motives with fake promises of individual success that distract us from the widening wealth gap and completely ignore our collective well-being.
Meanwhile, in a world plagued by war, climate change, disease, and the chaos of demagoguery, the familiar is fading. The new—like advancements in AI—feels increasingly bewildering and downright frightening.
German sociologist Max Weber offers valuable insight into the psychic depths of our current dynamics, highlighting how rationalization distorts human behavior and shifts power. In a rationalized world, logic and efficiency overshadow community, family, and empathy. As these connections fade, relationships turn transactional, pushing us to prioritize personal success over collective well-being. This focus on efficiency leaves us feeling isolated in a society that values numbers over genuine experiences. We’re told this is progress, but it often feels instinctively wrong: We become cogs in a machine, disconnected from the meaning of our actions. Our emotional and ethical lives shrink, leading to disillusionment with our social and political worlds.
Weber warned that this shift could eat away at the trust and morals needed for good governance, anticipating that charismatic leaders would rise to challenge the lifeless norms created by elites. We find ourselves in a deep crisis in the ways we understand ourselves and relate to others and our circumstances.
Publisher Judith Gurewich, a sociologist and practicing Lacanian psychoanalyst, points out that our old tactics for pretending things are different no longer work. She argues that the work of Weber can shift our focus from individual experiences to a broader collective understanding.
Gurewich suggests that part of the anxiety of the electorate “comes from the fact that the stupidity of their leaders is so much greater than their own.” Plus, the current election has magnified feelings of helplessness. “All is exposed,” she points out. “We are completely at the mercy of some play of dice. It doesn’t matter where they land: It’s going to be bad or it’s going to be horrible, and people feel powerless to do anything. They can go in the street as much as they want, but they feel that nothing is changing. So there is a sense of implacable logic.”
We find ourselves in a bewildering, Kafkaesque world where words no longer seem to matter. Gurewich highlights “Verstehen,” a key concept from Weber that focuses on understanding social actions by grasping people’s motivations and meanings.
“Weber argued that if you give people a reason to suffer—one that is logical and meaningful—they will accept that suffering. He compared this to different types of religions, where people might refrain from eating because there’s a story behind it that makes sense. For instance, they may believe they must endure hunger for the salvation of their souls. The narratives people hold onto provide meaning in their lives, even if suffering is part of the equation. But current politics offers no narratives to make the suffering meaningful to anyone. Capitalism doesn’t even have to justify itself anymore.”
This may be why beyond the anxiety, a disillusionment has spread over the political processes—a dangerous environment where people become apathetic or, conversely, radicalized, seeking out alternative movements or leaders who promise change without addressing the underlying issues. Politicians can tap into this vulnerability, stoking fear and division to gain support, while genuine concerns get sidelined. Ultimately, the erosion of meaning in suffering can destabilize the political landscape, making it ripe for populism, authoritarianism, or other disruptive forces that thrive on discontent and chaos.
So here we are, looking over a political abyss, and it’s clear that this is about more than just electoral anxiety; we’re facing a crisis of meaning. Voters are fed up with a system that churns out candidates who offer little more than empty slogans and theatrical performances. The pain of disconnection—between our lived experiences and the hollow narratives spun by our leaders—leaves us disenchanted, lacking meaningful stories to anchor us, looking for something real.
If we really want to reclaim our democracy, we need leaders who not only grasp the depth of our suffering but also present a vision that speaks to our shared humanity. Otherwise, we’re just going to be stuck as passive spectators in a political theater that’s lost the plot and doesn’t serve us anymore.
