Election 2024: Signals, Shifts, and What’s at Stake for American Democracy

National elections not only set the course of history for the next several years, with consequences far into the future, they also offer us a detailed snapshot of the condition of American democracy. Emerging alignments, ideological shifts, changes in media and access to information, regional and demographic changes, the role of money in politics, all become more apparent in those infrequent moments when a majority of American adults look up from their daily concerns and engage in democratic decision-making.

While it’s difficult not to obsess about the binary outcome of the presidential election, especially in 2024 when democratic values and the rule of law are at stake, in the Political Reform program at New America we aspire to see the deeper structural changes and failings in the process by which we govern ourselves. We’re trying to understand how we got here, and how to get out of this bind. So in addition to the outcome of the election, here are some of the questions that we’ll be looking at on November 5, in hopes that they will help us see some solutions that will help strengthen democracy not just for the four years ahead, but for the next election and for the many that we hope will follow.

• Why America's Political Equilibrium Signals Danger Ahead – Lee Drutman
• What The “Boy-Girl Election” Portends for the Future of Democracy – Ilyse Hogue
• The Social Media Battle for Youth Engagement – Sarah Jacob
• Will the Pro-Democracy Coalition Save Democracy? – Oscar Pocasangre
• Reimagining Democracy Beyond the Ballot Box – Hollie Russon Gilman
• Can We Reconnect Policy and Politics? – Mark Schmitt
• Red Mirage Deja-Vu? – Maresa Strano

The math of American democracy has become unnaturally precise. In a nation of 335 million people, our elections repeatedly produce razor-thin margins between two bitterly opposed parties. This mathematical improbability signals something deeper: our political system is approaching a critical threshold.

Complex systems theory offers crucial insight into our predicament. When systems approach breaking points, they often display distinctive warning patterns. Our democracy is flashing three of these warning lights with increasing intensity.

First is what scientists call "the collapse of dimensionality." Our once-rich political ecosystem, with its multiple competing interests and cross-cutting divisions, has compressed into a single partisan axis. Sixty years ago, American democracy was genuinely pluralistic—state parties operated independently, and new issues didn't automatically map onto partisan divides. Today, every national issue, from agriculture policy to civil rights, aligns perfectly on the Democratic-Republican divide. This compression eliminates the natural shock absorbers that once kept our democracy resilient.

Second, we're witnessing "critical slowing down"—a classic warning sign of systems approaching failure. Like a spinning top about to topple, our political system has lost its ability to process and adapt to change. Despite massive disruptions—a global pandemic, constitutional crises, economic shocks, climate disasters—voting patterns remain eerily static. This isn't stability; it's a system so rigid it can only respond through increasingly extreme adjustments, like a tightrope walker making ever more desperate moves to maintain balance.

Third, and perhaps most alarming, is "flickering bi-stability"—rapid oscillations between states that signal an impending phase transition. Since 1992, control of government has swung between parties with mechanical regularity, each shift bringing more dramatic policy reversals and institutional strain. These oscillations show three worrying characteristics: increasing amplitude (more extreme policy swings), shortening recovery periods (less time to absorb changes), and accelerating institutional erosion (weakening capacity to govern).

This pattern mirrors the behavior of other complex systems approaching critical transitions. Think of a forest where decades of fire suppression create dangerous fuel accumulation. The system appears stable, but this very stability makes it increasingly vulnerable to catastrophic failure. Each small fire suppressed adds to the risk of an overwhelming conflagration.

Similarly, our political system maintains its surface equilibrium through increasingly unsustainable mechanisms. The logic of "minimal winning coalitions" forces parties to maintain impossibly stretched alliances. These coalitions can only hold together through shared opposition to the other side, creating a self-reinforcing cycle of polarization.

The path forward requires breaking this artificial equilibrium. Electoral reforms like proportional representation and fusion voting could create space for new political alignments and restore the multidimensionality our system needs. But time is running short. Complex systems can maintain seemingly impossible states far longer than expected—until they can't.

We face a stark choice: begin the difficult work of structural reform now, or wait until our rigid stability shatters catastrophically. History and complex systems theory suggest that sometimes collapse precedes renewal. But if we understand these warning patterns, we might still choose a less destructive path of transformation.

*For more on this, read my Substack post, "Perfectly Balanced, Totally Unstable."

An emergent theme from this election is growing alarm about the stark gender divide in the electorate. Men—of all races and ages—are breaking for Trump and women are solidly with Harris. Racist and misogynist backlash to the first woman of color to headline a major party ticket is certainly a factor among some Trump voters. But an examination of history and data shows a more complicated picture. In April, when President Biden was still at the top of the ticket, the red flags were waving: Trump was winning men in a head-to-head match up in key swing states, so the gap did not begin with Harris.

Political gender gaps are not new; men have leaned more conservative than women in almost every election since 1980. Backlash to civil and women’s rights powered the coalition behind Ronald Reagan’s then longshot bid for president. Reagan’s campaign–fresh on the heels of the defeat of the ERA–was the first to actively run on an anti-abortion platform, beginning the long fight leading to the 2022 Dobbs decision.

Male backlash powered Donald Trump’s first election in 2016. A group of young misogynists forged in the culture wars of the internet emerged as a political force for the kindred spirit they saw in Trump’s unapologetic vitriol towards women. Those men were the heirs of the earlier men’s rights advocates that emerged in the 70s as a response to the repeal of no-fault divorce and custody laws that favored women.

So, why is this causing so much alarm now? The short answer is that this is no longer a problem for Democrats, but for democracy. Young men—once considered a reliable voting bloc for Democrats—are now emerging into political life with a rightward bent. Gen Z has the largest gender gap of any generation–a stunning 51-point spread–outpacing the Boomers and Gen X, creating knock-on effects in civil and social life. A majority of young Democrats and Republicans feel increasingly undervalued and underrepresented in social and civic life.

This sentiment has been a boon to nefarious actors both domestically and abroad. Social media algorithms promote grievance politics as an answer to the growing insecurity of young men, while authoritarian foreign governments foment discord between the sexes, inflaming social chaos. The Trump campaign has leveraged these dynamics for political gain, while the Harris campaign, despite late-breaking efforts, has struggled to keep up.

Underlying all of this is a growing apathy towards democracy among young people. An alarming number of them are warm towards military rule and feel comfortable with leaders who ignore elections and legislative consultation. American young men feel more pessimistic about the potential for democracy to deliver than their female counterparts. These compounding dynamics, left unaddressed, will leave us with a generation of men prone to authoritarian views.

Fortunately, young men remain aligned on policy priorities of the traditional liberal coalition: they back abortion rights; they care about poverty alleviation and economic advancement; they support LGBTQ rights; they back universal healthcare. The challenge is one of affective polarization, not one of ideological polarization. Solving this is essential to the future of our democracy.

With 40.8 million eligible Gen Z voters, young Americans represent a formidable force of the electorate. Campaigns are acutely aware of their power and are increasingly engaging this demographic through platforms like TikTok and Instagram. But beyond the virality and internet trends, how will youth engage in this election, and what will bring them to the polls?

Both presidential campaigns have consistently used social media platforms and internet culture to reach young voters. Among TikTok users aged 18 to 29, 48 percent cite keeping up with politics as one reason they use the platform, which may explain Harris’s campaign decision to establish an “under 25” digital rapid-response team dedicated to creating content for it. With over 5 million followers on TikTok, KamalaHQ produces fancams of Harris or reaction-style videos featuring political soundbites. These KamalaHQ accounts are well known for tapping into meme culture to capture the attention of young audiences. Additionally, Harris has reached young female audiences online through platforms like the "Call Her Daddy” podcast and has also connected with young male viewers by engaging figures like AOC and Tim Walz on Twitch.

Trump has adopted similar tactics by leveraging the influence of internet stars like Logan Paul and Adin Ross, who are popular among young male audiences. By appealing to a base of disaffected young men, Trump has positioned himself as a prominent figure within this online space. His personal TikTok account aligns with this approach, presenting him as an influencer of sorts, featuring videos with rappers, appearances with Jake Paul at a cryptocurrency conference, and clips showcasing his wealth, such as filming on his private plane. This content follows a style similar to that of figures like Joe Rogan, Andrew Tate, and Logan Paul, aiming to capture the interest of young male viewers within this internet subculture.

Despite these efforts, it’s unclear whether digital outreach will translate to actual voter turnout. While digital strategies can effectively reach large audiences, they face significant limitations in translating into sustained political engagement. Outreach can often feel superficial, relying more on viral content and meme culture than on informative material. Efforts to “meet people where they are” online may inadvertently isolate youth voters by lacking the depth and connection that in-person engagement provides. In an age where third spaces are dwindling, civic deserts persist for rural youth, and political disillusionment is rising, the need for meaningful in-person civic engagement remains critical. Although both campaigns have conducted events on college campuses, it’s uncertain if this will suffice for young voters to feel genuinely seen and heard.

As the 2024 election results come in, we will begin to understand if these digital efforts were perceived as authentic by young voters—and whether they succeeded in bringing them to the polls.

Kamala Harris’s campaign has drawn an unexpectedly diverse coalition, uniting progressive figures like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders with unlikely allies like former Republican representative Liz Cheney and even former Trump administration officials. This coalition is kept together not by shared policy preferences but by a shared conviction that democracy is preferable to capricious authoritarian rule. It’s a coalition of “loyal democrats” – people committed to the rules of the democratic game – and it’s a coalition betting on rallying enough voters to turn out and save democracy at the ballot box.

Except, it might not be enough. Even if Harris wins the presidential race and American democracy endures for now, the threats remain. A key problem is that the loyal democrats are in the wrong places: out of office and out of power.

For democracy to survive, it needs politicians in power to be the loyal democrats, it needs elected Republicans to commit to respecting electoral outcomes, condone violence, and violations of democratic norms. Instead, elected officials are behaving as “semi-loyal democrats” – as political scientist Juan Linz calls politicians who support democratic norms only when convenient.

History has shown over and over that semi-loyal democrats are a grave danger for democracy. Writing about the breakdown of Chilean democracy in the 1970s, Arturo Valenzuela notes that the political extremes had always been present in the political system but they became a genuine threat when alleged democrats failed “to see the logic of escalating crisis, or for that matter, foresee the dire consequences of a repressive authoritarian regime. As group stakes, narrow stakes, prevailed, the room for maneuvering was drastically reduced.” Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt write about semi-loyal politicians in France who in defending and justifying an assault on parliament on February 6, 1934, empowered antidemocratic forces that led to the eventual collapse of French democracy.

The existential challenge for American democracy is to find ways to convert elected officials from semi-loyal to loyal democrats. This is done by reforming electoral institutions, moving them away from the winner-take-all system that gives too much to winners and nothing to losers, which makes it tempting to exploit power when victorious and painful to consent to losing. If political parties are assured representation even if they do not get the most votes or if they know they’ll have a chance of victory in the next election, they might not be so desperate to win an election that they would hitch their electoral fortunes to would-be authoritarian candidates simply because they are popular. A more permissive electoral system would also allow for new and viable parties that can be political homes for conservatives like Liz Cheney who support democracy.

A resounding rejection of authoritarianism on election day could invite reflection among elected officials and the realization that authoritarianism is not a winning strategy. But research finds that in these polarized times, Americans tend to put party over democracy—we’ll see if this election, voters will prove some of this research wrong. But regardless of whether the pro-democracy coalition is successful on election day, there will be a lot of work to be done to improve American institutions so that it’s appealing for elected officials to respect elections, reject violence, and uphold democratic norms.

Elections are just one avenue for injecting civic voice into the political system. Beyond the important work to drive voter turnout, we need more opportunities for everyday people to actively engage in governance. Building a multi-racial, multi-ethnic society in which everyone feels that their voice matters requires creativity and imagination. How do we make democracy part of everyday life, rather than something that happens every two or four years? How can we make it an experience of joy, agency, and empowerment?

Building civic power is difficult.

Trust in the government has plummeted to its lowest point in nearly seven decades. Two out of three Americans say they consistently feel "exhausted" by politics. The top two words they use to describe U.S. politics are “divisive” and “corrupt.” Even young people are feeling disillusioned. There is a general sense of pessimism about our country’s future.

Where does this leave the state of civic engagement in America? Despite their dissatisfaction in electoral politics, there is consensus among Americans on two fronts: the urgency to address climate change, and faith in local governments over federal oversight. Although views generally differ across partisan lines, nearly three-quarters of Americans “support U.S. participation in international efforts to reduce the effects of climate change.” And 67 percent trust their local governments to handle local issues, which is over double the percentage of Americans who trust the federal government.

As a way to build on these sentiments, many localities are turning to citizens’ assemblies to help engage people locally on the issues they care about, and engage them in the long haul rather than in a one-off election year. These assemblies bring together a randomly selected and demographically diverse group of individuals to participate in a democratic decision-making process, discussing specific issues facing their communities.

Citizens’ assemblies and similar models, such as community assemblies in Washington State, are powerful tools for reimagining the role of individuals and the state. However, they are not the only ones. We need to experiment with a variety of bottom-up, participatory processes to enable people to engage in collaborative action, community problem-solving, and collaborative governance at the local level. We need to spark civic joy in communities and empower people to be agents of change.

During the first Trump administration, and into the early Biden years, a debate emerged among progressive Democrats about two political strategies, similar but different in one respect: “Popularism,” an idea promoted by some young pollsters, was simply the idea that Democratic candidates should advocate policies that appeared to have broad public support. The alternative, called “Deliverism,” argued that a Democratic administration needed to do more than promise good things; it needed to actively improve people’s lives. Think of it as the difference between Bill Clinton’s politics, full of symbolic but immaterial gestures, and FDR, in which big moves like rural electrification transformed people’s expectations of what government could do for them.

These were actually unduly complicated terms for a basic story we’ve all been told about how politics and government works. When the economy does well for most households, and when programs help create security and opportunity for more people to participate in that economy, political rewards follow. It’s a simple feedback loop. It’s the story we tell about FDR, but also about Ronald Reagan, for example—after a sharp recession in his first term, the economy recovered and voters gave him credit for it, credit that extended to his party for years.

What I’m looking for in the 2024 election is some indication of whether this feedback loop still works at all, and if not, whether we can ever hope to recreate some connection between policies—what government does—and politics—the process by which people express what they want government to do, and who they trust to do it. If there’s no longer a connection between policy and politics, or people are so locked into political identities that neither policy successes nor policy failures that directly affect their lives can shake them, then there’s no accountability in government, and little incentive for politicians to actually improve people’s lives.

Much of politics since Trump appeared almost a decade ago has cast doubt on this common-sense theory about politics and policy. That the 2020 election was so close, after Trump’s mishandling of the pandemic and with unemployment still over 6 percent, was as mystifying as the fact that a majority of Americans today describe the economy as poor despite an unemployment rate that’s remained near or below 4 percent for three years, sustained economic growth, the highest labor force participation rates ever recorded, and real wage growth in the lower and middle portions of the economic ladder. Further, legislation enacted under Biden generated real investment—and jobs—in the very counties and regions that had been left behind during the decades before. The administration supported unions and challenged neoliberal dogma on trade. And while there’s terrifying conflict and tragedy in the world, and the US must do more to end it, it’s also true that after two decades, U.S. troops are not directly involved.

It’s tempting to come up with a glib, knowing answer to the failure of this shining story of “deliverism” in practice. Maybe it was just inflation. Sure, inflation hits hard, and hits every household, but it’s been more than two years since price increases peaked and 15 months since the Consumer Price Index dropped to a familiar 3 percent level, while gasoline prices are barely over $3/gallon. Maybe it was just the media talking down the economy, or the influence of moneyed interests, or “vibes,” but people have a sense of their own well-being. Maybe we’re in a post-materialist era, when politics isn’t about “who gets what” (as a classic political science text of the mid-20th century put it) but about identity, alienation, disconnection from one another, or perhaps entirely unrelated anxiety about changing norms around race, gender, and sexuality.

I don’t want to rush to an answer. Sometimes it’s best to pause and admit what we don’t know, that the stories we’ve been told about how economics, policy, personal well-being, and political success interact with each other no longer make sense. But perhaps some clarity will emerge in the patterns of the election.

As Election Day approaches, a critical question looms: how will Republicans react if the results don’t favor them, particularly in swing states that rely heavily on mail-in voting? Given their strategy in 2020, there’s reason to worry that mail ballots could again become a scapegoat for election losers and wellspring of suspicion about the results for a sizeable chunk of the Republican electorate.

The 2020 election changed how many Republicans perceive mail-in voting. Then-President Donald Trump and his allies falsely claimed widespread fraud in mail ballots, leading to a surge in skepticism among GOP voters. Despite more than 60 lawsuits and numerous audits and investigations confirming the election's integrity, this skepticism about vote-by-mail persists. This lingering uncertainty manifests in Republicans in battleground states like Pennsylvania requesting mail ballots at significantly lower rates than Democrats.

Compounding the issue, Republican leaders are sending mixed signals about mail voting in 2024. While Trump has softened his messaging on mail voting on the campaign trail, the GOP is simultaneously pursuing a litigation strategy to undermine the voting method. RNC lawyers and various Trump-aligned organizations like United Sovereign Americans and America First Legal are laying the groundwork in swing states to subvert a Harris victory. In pivotal states such as Georgia, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin, Republican officials are deliberately slowing or changing election certification and tabulation processes, often under the pretense of addressing concerns about mail ballots. This sets the stage for, among other problems, a repeat of the infamous 2020 “red mirage” scenario, where initial Republican leads disappear as mail votes are tallied, reigniting conspiracy theories about election fraud.

These strategies are likely to resonate with voters primed to embrace a sequel to Trump’s 2020 “Stop the Steal” campaign. According to a recent Issue One survey, only 19 percent of Republicans say they would trust election results if their candidate loses, compared to 42 percent for Democrats (which is worrying in itself). In other words, 80 percent of Republicans express at least some doubt about Democratic victories—an alarming statistic that indicates a deeper failure in our political system.

The implications of uncertainty and distrust in electoral outcomes are well documented. Comparative politics scholars like Pippa Norris demonstrate that when trust in electoral outcomes erodes, it undermines the legitimacy of democratic institutions. In How Democracies Die, Levitsky and Ziblatt (whom Oscar cited for a different book above), underscore that a democracy’s survival is largely based on the shared belief in the legitimacy of electoral outcomes. In the U.S., deep partisan divisions and affective polarization exacerbate these risks. The longer millions of Americans continue to question the validity of election results, the worse hyperpartisan polarization becomes, the easier it will be for mis- and disinformation to spread, and the more volatile future elections will be—assuming they happen at all.

Solving this problem requires Congress and state governments to adopt structural reforms that produce fair representation and can therefore rebuild trust in the electoral system from the ground up. Unfortunately, for the foreseeable future, we’re stuck with knife’s edge national elections and winner-take-all election rules responsible for the wide winner-loser gap in satisfaction with democracy and institutional trust. So, as much as Americans appreciate the convenience of mail-in voting, one viable step toward rebuilding trust could be a return to in-person Election Day voting, particularly for Democrats. It’s not the ideal solution, nor is it what pro-democracy advocates would prefer, but it may help limit the impact of misinformation if and when Trump or another candidate down the road claims a stolen election due to mail ballots. How much more of this can we take?