Christine Rosen documents the return of “sentimental” socialism.
There are many ways of looking at the recent political successes of the Democratic Socialists of America. Thoughtful analysts have compared the DSA to the earlier Tea Party movement and the later rise of President Trump’s MAGA movement—groups that moved the GOP more firmly to the right, as the DSA is moving the Democratic Party to the left. Others have viewed young Americans’ positive views of socialism as a legitimate expression of concern about economic opportunity and social mobility that DSA candidates have cannily capitalized upon. Still others have noted the DSA’s skill in turning itself into a political movement with a very broad tent, where haters of Israel and haters of landlords can all peacefully coexist at the same hip pool parties and where embittered graduate students can mingle with content creators and children of wealth and privilege such as far-left streamer Hasan Piker, all while discussing the evils of late-stage capitalism.
But one aspect of the DSA’s appeal has been too often overlooked, particularly by conservative critics: its appeal as a form of instant community for a generation that often lacks one. DSA supporters are a highly homogenous group: 85 percent of DSA members are white, and 80 percent of them have college degrees. But it turns out that one of the things this knowledge-class proletariat is seeking (besides the abolition of prisons and the end of landlords) is . . . friends?
Reporting from the recent DSA summit, the New York Times noted that “for many of its members, the DSA is both a political and a social home.” One DSA leader told the paper that “the DSA fills the same social function for him that the Catholic Church played for his parents when they were in their 30s.” Another young DSA leader echoed the sentiment: “Our generation is so alienated—when you go to a canvas [canvassing for a political campaign], it’s a huge social affair.”
