Over 100 years ago, German sociologist Werner Sombart famously asked, “Why is there no socialism in the United States?” For Sombart, the answer was America’s unusual prosperity, social mobility, and weak class consciousness.
It is that weak class consciousness that truly separates America from much of the rest of the world. Like any nation, the U.S. has always had rich and poor, but Americans have not traditionally thought of themselves primarily as “rich” or “poor.” Compared with people in many other countries, Americans have been less likely to see themselves as members of fixed classes set apart from one another. One big reason is that America has long had a common culture.
From the beginning, revolutionary America had a remarkably print-driven common culture. Newspapers, pamphlets, public letters, sermons, and broadsides circulated arguments and slogans far beyond elite circles. Taverns and pubs served as early common meeting places where people across a community could gather. Farmers, artisans, merchants, lawyers, and sailors were all welcome at the bar.
The printing press only became more efficient as the young country grew, allowing the penny press and dime novels to spread the same daily news, crime stories, politics, gossip, and sports to workingmen, clerks, shopkeepers, and professionals alike. Sports became a particularly democratizing pastime, as rich and poor, urban and rural Americans alike read the latest box score every day before later huddling around radios and televisions.
By the 1950s, no one understood the importance of America’s common culture better than Walt Disney. When Disneyland opened in California, he intended to make it available to as many families as possible.
“Everyone is a VIP” was the company motto at the time, and an employee handbook from the 1950s quoted Disney as saying, “We roll out the red carpet for the Jones family from Joliet just as we would for the Eisenhowers from Palm Springs.”
That is no longer the case. Not only has the price of admission to both Disneyland in Anaheim, California, and Disney World in Lake Buena Vista, Florida, more than doubled in just 10 years, but upfront admission does not buy what it once did. Unless visitors are willing to pay hundreds more per person, they will spend even more time waiting in line, all for the privilege of watching wealthier guests skip ahead of them.
Instead of a world where everyone enjoyed the same Disney movies and songs, such as “When You Wish Upon a Star,” now it most definitely “makes a difference who you are.” The wealthy and privileged enjoy a far more luxurious experience at Disney properties than ordinary parkgoers. And even the average Disney vacationgoer is far wealthier than the national average.
The world of sports is no different. Some seats have always been closer to the field than others, but fans once shared broadly similar experiences, amenities, entrances, and concessions. Now there are luxury boxes, personal seat licenses, separate entrances, club seats, and premium lounges that separate the rich and famous from the riff raff at nearly every major sporting event.
Staying home and watching sports is becoming more stratified as well. It used to be that a simple antenna got viewers every nationally televised football game in the country. Now, in addition to basic cable, fans need multiple subscriptions to watch all nationally broadcast NFL games, including Amazon Prime, ESPN+, Netflix, Peacock, and YouTube. And if their cable package does not include NFL Network, they need that too, because it aired six exclusive regular-season games played in Europe last year.
America is no longer as resistant to socialism as it once was. Socialist mayors now run Chicago, New York, and Seattle. A socialist is among the top three candidates in the Los Angeles mayor’s race. Avowed socialist Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) nearly won the Democratic presidential nomination in 2016, and his successor, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY), is poised for a possible run in 2028.
Perhaps that should not surprise us. Socialism feeds on class resentment, and class resentment grows when a nation stops sharing the same culture. When the rich no longer wait in the same lines, sit in the same stands, watch the same games, or take their children to the same experiences, it becomes much easier for Americans to see one another not as fellow citizens, but as members of rival classes.
America’s common culture was never perfect, but it was precious. It gave rich and poor, urban and rural, native-born and immigrant, a shared set of stories, songs, teams, heroes, rituals, and memories. It helped make Americans feel less like classes at war and more like one people.
That is worth celebrating. And it is worth saving.