The Question Democracy Cannot Escape
What if the greatest threat to democracy is not the voter who has lost faith in it, but the billionaire who has learned how to buy it?
Democracy rests on a straightforward promise: one citizen, one vote, an equal political voice. Yet across liberal democracies, that promise is colliding with a different reality. Wealth is becoming more concentrated, political influence more expensive, and citizens increasingly wonder whether governments still work for them—or for those wealthy enough to secure privileged access to power.
The warning signs are difficult to ignore. Billionaires finance elections, lobby governments, shape public debate, win lucrative state contracts, and increasingly move directly into positions of political authority. In Europe, where stronger welfare states and labor protections have historically offered greater protection against inequality, wealth is nevertheless accumulating rapidly. At the same time, ordinary workers continue to bear much of the tax burden.
Political movements have exploited the resulting frustration by directing public anger toward migrants, cultural outsiders, and political opponents. But beneath those cultural battles lie harder economic realities: stagnant wages, declining social mobility, housing insecurity, corporate concentration, and the growing political influence of wealth.
This is not simply an argument about inequality. It is an argument about who gets to govern.
When money buys political access, economic inequality becomes political inequality. And when political inequality becomes entrenched, democracy can change without ever formally ending. Elections continue. Parliaments sit. Courts function. Constitutions remain intact. Yet government becomes increasingly responsive to those who can afford to influence it.
That is the question liberal democracies now have to confront: what happens when wealth increasingly determines who gets heard, who gets access, and whose interests become policy?
Democracy’s Golden Age—and Its Contradiction
For much of the postwar era, liberal democracy appeared to have settled history’s great political argument. The United States emerged from the Second World War as the world’s dominant economic power and helped build an international order based on cooperation rather than conquest. Western Europe and Japan rebuilt shattered economies and democratic institutions, transforming former enemies into stable allies.
Education expanded. Healthcare improved. Home ownership increased. Millions experienced levels of prosperity and personal freedom that had previously been unimaginable.
Yet the postwar democratic order carried a contradiction from the beginning. Western governments defended democracy at home while frequently undermining it abroad. To contain Soviet influence, the United States supported military dictatorships across Latin America, the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. Democratic governments in Iran and Chile were overthrown when geopolitical priorities took precedence over democratic principles.
That contradiction has not disappeared even after the Cold War ended.
Under the current Trump administration, the language of defending democracy has largely receded as Washington has increased support for the war in Gaza, kidnapped the president of Venezuela, attacked Iran, and openly threatened to seize Greenland from Denmark. Reliance on military solutions has strained cooperation and diplomacy—the very tools needed to address problems that cross borders.
Military-industrial interests in pursuing foreign wars have also influenced how governments understand international threats, as war-fighting has become increasingly profitable for investors. This has driven up the costs of war, pushing liberal democracies, particularly the United States, deeper into financial crisis and ever-growing deficits. The result is a more heavily militarized conception of security and less international cooperation in addressing challenges such as the refugee crisis.
Prosperity for Some, Anxiety for Many
The erosion of trust in democratic institutions cannot be understood without examining the economic transformation of the past four decades.
Beginning in the 1980s, Western governments embraced deregulation, privatization, financial liberalization, and globalization. These policies generated impressive growth and soaring corporate profits, but the gains were uneven. Factories closed. Secure manufacturing jobs disappeared. Wages stagnated. Social mobility slowed.
From the American Midwest to northern England and industrial Europe, entire regions became symbols of economic decline — “rustbelts” left behind by an increasingly global economy.
Then came the 2008 financial crisis.
For families who lost their homes, the crisis was not an abstract market correction. It was a personal catastrophe. Millions watched savings disappear while governments moved rapidly to rescue financial institutions whose greedy intentions produced the collapse.
The lesson many citizens took from the experience was simple: when powerful interests failed, governments intervened immediately; when ordinary people failed, they were largely left to fend for themselves.
That perception has endured.
The OECD’s 2024 Survey on Drivers of Trust in Public Institutions found societies almost evenly divided between those who trusted their governments (39 percent) and those who did not (44 percent). The crisis is about more than economic performance. It is also about whether citizens believe democratic institutions distribute power fairly—and whether those institutions can restrain the influence that accompanies extreme wealth.
On 21 January 2026, more than 400 millionaires issued an open letter warning that extreme concentrations of wealth were threatening democracy itself:
“A handful of global oligarchs with extreme wealth have bought up our democracies; taken over our governments; gagged the freedom of our media; placed a stranglehold on technology and innovation; deepened poverty and social exclusion; and accelerated the breakdown of our planet. What we treasure, rich and poor alike, is being eaten away by those intent on growing the gulf between their vast power and everyone else.”
Their argument was not that wealth itself was illegitimate, but that extreme wealth becomes dangerous when converted into political power.
A democracy can tolerate differences in wealth. What it cannot easily tolerate is a system in which money determines whose voice carries weight, who receives privileged access to government, or whose interests shape policy.
That was the concern behind Theodore Roosevelt’s warning about the “malefactors of great wealth.”
Once economic power becomes political power, inequality stops being merely an economic problem. It becomes a crisis of democratic legitimacy.
When the Kingmakers Become Kings
The changing relationship between wealth and political power became unmistakably clear to me after a Republican congressional caucus meeting in 2014.
Curious about the role of money in politics, I asked a billionaire acquaintance from Chicago how he viewed his influence.
His answer was unforgettable:
“Think of me as the bowling ball. Politicians are the pins.”
At the time, I understood the metaphor as a blunt description of influence from outside government—campaign contributions, lobbying, personal relationships, and access.
But the image took on a different meaning when Trump returned to office in 2025 and assembled one of the wealthiest administrations in American history.
By 2026, Trump had appointed 12 billionaires and 1 trillionaire to cabinet and senior advisory positions. The ultra-rich were no longer merely influencing government from outside. They were increasingly occupying the offices where policy was made.
The kingmakers had become kings.
The concentration of wealth extends beyond the executive branch. Roughly half the House of Representatives, three-quarters of the Senate, and two-thirds of the Supreme Court are millionaires. More than 90 percent of Trump’s senior political appointments reportedly went to donors or individuals of substantial wealth, whose average political contributions totaled approximately $1.8 million.
Billionaires including Tilman Fertitta, Charles Kushner, and Warren Stephens received prestigious ambassadorial appointments.
Influence has also operated outside formal government positions. Washington’s relationships with Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and Kuwait, as well as its interactions with Russia and negotiations with Tehran, have been shaped in significant part by Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff—both billionaires who have exercised considerable diplomatic influence without holding formal government office.
Urs Flueeler/Pool/Reuters
Meanwhile, career Foreign Service officers accounted for only 8.9 percent of ambassadorial appointments, a sharp departure from historical practice. At the Pentagon, billionaires and multimillionaires also occupied several senior leadership positions.
The imbalance becomes clearer when set against the broader population. Millionaire households represented less than 9 percent of U.S. households in 2026. Yet millionaires—and, above them, a much smaller circle of billionaires—occupied a disproportionate share of the country’s most influential offices.
The wealth gap is equally stark. The wealthiest 1 percent controlled 31 percent of household wealth, while the bottom 50 percent owned only 2.6 percent. The richest 0.1 percent alone possessed roughly one-fifth of the nation’s wealth.
The political system helped enable this concentration. The Supreme Court’s 2010 Citizens United decision removed key limits on independent campaign spending, accelerating the role of wealthy individuals in federal elections.
Elon Musk reportedly spent more than $277 million supporting Trump’s campaign while using X to amplify pro-Trump messaging before being appointed to lead the Department of Government Efficiency. Linda McMahon contributed $25 million before becoming Secretary of Education. Howard Lutnick contributed $21 million to Republican political committees before becoming Secretary of Commerce.
Against this backdrop, the financial pressures facing ordinary Americans become politically significant.
Roughly one-quarter of the 43 million federal student loan borrowers were seriously delinquent or in default. Rising healthcare costs contributed to an estimated 550,000 medical bankruptcies each year.
The issue is not whether every hardship can be attributed directly to inequality. It is what these hardships represent to citizens who see extraordinary wealth gaining greater access to political power.
For many, the conclusion is increasingly difficult to avoid: government appears more responsive to those who finance politics than to those who simply participate in it.
That perception helps explain why younger Americans, in particular, have become increasingly willing to cross party lines in support of anti-establishment candidates across the U.S. and Europe. Their rebellion is not necessarily against government. It is against the perception that government has been captured by those wealthy enough to buy access—and increasingly to occupy the seats of power themselves.
Tax Cuts for the Rich, Austerity for Everyone Else?
Nothing makes perceptions of political inequality more tangible than government policy.
President Trump’s signature 2025 One Big Beautiful Bill Act authorized tax cuts from which the wealthiest 1 percent of households are projected to receive $1.02 trillion over the next decade. Those benefits are only partially offset by approximately $930 billion in projected reductions to Medicaid spending.
For many Americans, the message is difficult to miss: government appears capable of finding enormous resources for tax cuts while reducing support for programs on which millions depend.
Members of the Patriotic Millionaires have made the same argument, warning about extreme wealth concentration and calling for substantially higher taxes on wealthy individuals and corporations.
The issue is also visible at the corporate level.
Nelson (left) and Sharon Beaudoin, both retired educators from Auburn, gathered in Augusta on April 15, 2025, to voice their support for raising taxes on the wealthy. (Photo by Emma Davis/ Maine Morning Star)
Palantir Industries, valued at $370 billion, paid only 1.4 percent in state taxes and zero federal income tax, primarily through previous losses, tax credits, and R&D deductions. A July 2026 report found that Palantir funnels corporate income from the E.U. to the U.S. to reduce its European tax obligations. In the UK, the company reportedly paid only 8% in taxes, compared with 25% for companies with only £250,000 in taxable income.
Such arrangements demonstrate how multinational corporations can exploit differences between national tax systems to minimize their liabilities. This practice has coincided with an average gross profit margin of 80 percent (2021–2025).
At the same time, Palantir secured multi-billion-dollar U.S. government contracts in fiscal year 2026, particularly with the armed forces and domestic security agencies.
Protesters demonstrate near Palantir’s headquarters in Aventura, Florida, US, March 3, 2026 [Joe Raedle/Getty Images via AFP]
Government-private sector partnerships are essential to modern economies. But they require strong transparency and conflict-of-interest safeguards when companies receiving major public contracts also wield substantial political influence.
Elon Musk’s companies, for example, reportedly received approximately $38 billion in federal contracts during 2025 alone.
Whether such arrangements are technically corrupt is not the only question. Their political effect may be just as important.
When taxpayers believe public resources are enriching people who already possess extraordinary wealth, the distinction between democracy and oligarchy begins to blur.
Europe: A Different System, the Same Anxiety
Europe’s political systems provide stronger welfare states, more extensive labor protections, and more competitive multiparty politics than the United States. Yet many Europeans face the same underlying anxieties: rising housing costs, stagnant wages, declining purchasing power, and economic insecurity.
Europe has 538 billionaires, compared with 989 in the United States, and no trillionaires. Yet their combined wealth reportedly increased by more than €2 billion per day during 2025, with a new billionaire emerging every 9 days.
Meanwhile, more than 80 percent of EU tax revenue comes from personal income taxes, payroll taxes, and value-added taxes, paid primarily by ordinary citizens. Corporate taxes contribute about 9 percent, while taxes on wealth account for just 0.4 percent.
The result is a system in which labor is taxed far more heavily than accumulated wealth.
Yet political debate has often moved elsewhere. Rather than focusing public anger on concentrated wealth and economic power, populist movements—including France’s National Rally, Germany’s Alternative for Germany (AfD), the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP), and Hungary’s Fidesz—have mobilized voters around immigration, national identity, and cultural grievances.
The Great Political Distraction
Migration has become one of the defining political issues of the 21st century. But the refugee crisis cannot be separated from the wars and geopolitical interventions that preceded it.
The wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and elsewhere cost the United States and NATO more than $4 trillion, claimed thousands of military and hundreds of thousands of civilian lives, and displaced millions. Economic warfare, including sanctions, also contributed to Venezuela’s collapse, forcing millions more to flee.
More than 1 million asylum seekers arrived in the European Union in 2015.
Military interventions intended to promote stability instead produced prolonged humanitarian crises across the Middle East, South and Central Asia, Africa, and Latin America. The people displaced by those conflicts subsequently became the focus of political campaigns in Europe and North America.
Rather than confronting failures of foreign policy or the deeper causes of domestic insecurity, political leaders increasingly presented migrants as threats to jobs, wages, public services, and national identity.
But migrants have also been central to economic growth.
In the United States, immigrants generate roughly $1.9 trillion in annual economic output and account for more than 19 percent of the workforce. Across Europe, migration has helped offset population aging and fill labor shortages in healthcare, agriculture, construction, manufacturing, and services.
In Spain, immigration has driven roughly three-quarters of recent employment growth and helped sustain projected real GDP growth of around 2.4 percent in 2026.
Migration has nevertheless become a convenient explanation for problems rooted in deindustrialization, stagnant productivity, outsourcing, and inequality.
Brexit illustrates the disconnect. Restricting free movement was promoted as a route to economic renewal. Instead, it has been associated with 6–8% lower GDP, 12–18% weaker investment, and 3–4% declining productivity.
Immigration and identity politics can dominate public debate precisely because they offer visible targets for grievances that are much harder to explain. The deeper problems—wealth concentration, corporate influence, sluggish productivity, and declining social mobility—are harder to confront.
Migration has therefore become less the cause of democratic discontent than its most effective political distraction.
Conclusion: Democracy Must Be Taken Back
The choice facing liberal democracies is increasingly stark: will political power belong to citizens, or to those wealthy enough to buy access to it?
The problem is no longer simply that inequality is rising. It is that economic inequality is being converted into political inequality through campaign spending, lobbying, patronage, corporate influence, and the growing presence of the ultra-wealthy inside government.
When billionaires can finance elections, shape policy, secure public contracts, and occupy positions of political power, the distinction between democracy and oligarchy becomes dangerously thin.
Europe is not immune. Its welfare states and labor protections provide important safeguards, but they have not stopped wealth from concentrating at the top while ordinary workers bear much of the tax burden.
That should force a fundamental question: why do democratic governments tax work more heavily than accumulated wealth?
If Europe fails to address that imbalance, economic frustration will continue to be redirected by radical and fringe groups toward immigrants, minorities, and cultural outsiders rather than toward the concentration of wealth and political power that helps produce it.
The solution on both sides of the Atlantic cannot be more partisan theatre or scapegoating. Governments must confront the conversion of private wealth into public power.
That means tougher transparency rules for political money and lobbying; meaningful conflict-of-interest and anti-corruption safeguards; merit-based public appointments; stronger competition policy; and tax systems in which accumulated wealth and corporate income contribute a fairer share to the societies from which they profit.
In the United States, that means confronting the consequences of Citizens United. In Europe, it means closing tax loopholes and questioning the assumption that mobile capital should be protected while ordinary citizens carry the fiscal burden.
But political reform alone will not restore democratic legitimacy.
Citizens who cannot afford housing, healthcare, education, or economic security will understandably question a system that can mobilize extraordinary resources for the wealthy while asking everyone else to accept insecurity.
Governments must therefore rebuild the foundations of broad-based prosperity: healthcare, education, infrastructure, housing, and economic opportunity. They must also protect independent courts, professional civil services, a free press, and genuinely independent anti-corruption institutions.
Foreign policy deserves the same scrutiny. Liberal democracies should place diplomacy, international cooperation, and democratic accountability ahead of military solutions that can perpetuate instability while creating opportunities for powerful commercial interests.
The refugee crisis demonstrates the consequences of failing to do so. The human costs of wars and geopolitical interventions cannot simply be transferred onto migrants who did not create them.
The Progressive Era in the United States – from the 1890s through the 1920s – offers the clearest historical lesson.
When concentrated wealth threatened democracy before, democracies did not surrender—they fought back.
They taxed concentrated wealth, regulated powerful corporations, curbed corruption, and expanded democratic accountability.
The same political courage is required now.
The choice is ultimately straightforward: either democracies put economic power back in its place, or economic power will continue to displace democracy.
America cannot accept a government in which billionaires become kingmakers and then become kings. Europe cannot congratulate itself on being more democratic while allowing wealth to accumulate faster than democratic institutions can constrain it. And neither can afford to let legitimate economic grievances be redirected toward migrants while the concentration of wealth and political influence goes largely unchallenged.
Citizens should not have to compete with billionaires for the attention of their own governments. Political equality cannot survive indefinitely alongside unchecked economic power.
Democracy is not for sale.
But unless governments act—and citizens demand that they act—it will remain available to the highest bidder.
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