Rose Bialk/The Mossy Log
In a political climate as polarized as ours, it has become a comforting fantasy — particularly in segments of the left — to imagine that our deeply unjust systems will soon be toppled, dismantled or reborn in some revolutionary fashion that frees us from their grip. But fantasies, however emotionally useful, are not strategies. The truth is far more sobering: Our current political structures are not going anywhere anytime soon. Yes, the two-party electoral system is inequitable and often unrepresentative, but I argue that it is the reality we must learn to operate in.
Counting on a revolution to absolve us of responsibility is not only unrealistic — it is ultimately harmful to the very people progressive politics claim to champion. Because of this, it is crucial that we as citizens, especially those considered left-wing in American politics, learn to utilize our electoral system in every avenue possible, even in ways that may feel incremental or imperfect. Electoral politics alone will not save us, and they will not deliver utopia. But what they can do is reduce harm, and in a nation where marginalized communities consistently bear the brunt of political decisions, reducing harm is not a compromise of principles — it is a moral obligation.
The American left has long been fractured along ideological lines between liberals and leftists, and other subcategories of left-wing political identity. These fault lines deepen during elections, when every candidate becomes a lightning rod for disappointment. Yet even within our justified skepticism of electoralism, we must confront the material evidence: elections have made life better for communities of color, for Americans with disabilities, for queer and trans people, for immigrants and for workers, without a grand revolution. Social and institutional change is possible through nonviolent action. Imperfect politicians and flawed institutions have nevertheless produced concrete gains — from the Voting Rights Act, the Americans with Disabilities Act, federal hate crime protections, expansions of Medicaid, the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program and marriage equality — none of which were born out of ideological purity. This progressive legislation was achieved through mobilizing the power of imperfect politicians working in an imperfect system, something we must learn to do more of if we want to create material change.
This is why the political left cannot allow itself to collapse into all-or-nothing thinking. The idea that participating in electoral politics is synonymous with endorsing every flaw within that system is not only inaccurate, it is dangerous, and it is the kryptonite that weakens leftist movements year after year. Its either you wait until society is on the precipice of collapse, standing with no constituency you courted, no institutions you have built, expecting the world to be on your side as you enact a progressive revolution with no experience governing a state, or we work within the systems we have to enact harm reduction and help the people we can.
A prime example emerged in last year’s presidential election when Kamala Harris lost her bid for the presidency. It is tempting to point the finger of blame at the tens of millions of voters who abstained, and I will admit that this was my knee-jerk reaction to Harris’ loss. But doing so is neither productive nor accurate. It is not possible to label those who abstained as “far left,” nor is it meaningful to moralize their choices. The deeper issue is the persistent belief that electoral participation must perfectly match an individual’s ideological ideals in order to be worthwhile. When this mindset takes hold, it fractures coalitions and erodes turnout — not because people do not care enough to vote, but because they believe that compromise is betrayal.
The near-constant debate between reform and revolution across the political spectrum only deepens this divide. The far right uses revolutionary rhetoric to justify dismantling democratic norms, and the far left often uses revolutionary rhetoric to justify abstaining from them, but revolution is not an escape hatch. Revolution does not simply happen because we desire it. It occurs when a society is on its last thread, driven to overthrow a government by desperation. The failed states that trigger revolutions leave their most vulnerable members unprotected if not persecuted, harming the exact communities we worry about protecting the most. Because of this, I believe that reform is crucial: no matter how slow or frustrating it is, it is materially impactful when change is made in a collective manner rather than in an isolated ideological echo chamber waiting for demise.
A perfect case of this is Zohran Mamdani’s victory in the New York mayoral election. A democratic socialist would have had a monumentally harder time getting elected if they had not run under the banner of the Democratic Party. By running as a Democrat — a pragmatic decision rather than an ideological surrender — Mamdani was able to subvert the Democratic party from within. This is what strategic politics look like: bending the structures we have to serve our needs rather than demanding that structures disappear before we take action. Ideological purity is symbolic — but strategy is transformative.
Unity across the left does not mean uniformity. It does not require abandoning abolitionist visions, socialist commitments or critiques of capitalism. It does not demand uncritical support of politicians who fail to meet every benchmark of justice. What it does demand is an understanding that electoral politics are just one battlefield among many, and one that directly affects the distribution of resources, safety and rights. By forfeiting mainstream politics, we forfeit power. Politicians should never be idolized — they work for us, not the other way around.
The question is not whether electoral politics are morally pure — they simply are not. The question is whether opting out of the process reduces harm or increases it. History answers this clearly: when the left fractures, conservatives win, and when conservatives win, marginalized communities are threatened — something seen clearly across electoral politics in America, and especially in the 2000 Presidential election in which Democrats were split between Al Gore and Ralph Nader, leading to George W. Bush’s electoral win. It is not melodramatic, nor is it defeatist to acknowledge this. It is simply recognizing the stakes.
Optimism is not a crime and neither is pragmatism. We can hold onto our visions of a radically transformed future while also making choices in the present that prevent further erosion of rights and protections. These two commitments are not in conflict — they are interdependent. Without a baseline of safety, stability and access to resources, movements cannot organize. Without harm reduction today, liberatory futures become harder to imagine tomorrow.
Coalition building has always been the engine of progress. The left’s power lies not in its aspirational ideological purity, but in its ability to mobilize across differences, to unify in moments when unity is necessary and to recognize that imperfect action is still action. There will always be those who insist that participation in electoral politics is a compromise too great to bear. But for millions of marginalized Americans, the consequences of political disengagement are born not in theory, but in lived reality. If the left truly believes in collective liberation, then we must be willing to engage in collective strategy.
The system is flawed, but it is ours to subvert. Unity, not ideological isolation or reliance on a revolution, will be the tool that shapes what comes next.
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