Freedom’s False Promise: Charting a Path Forward

This piece is part of a series following the 2024 United States Election. Be sure to read the other pieces in the series authored by Joerg Rieger, Aaron Stauffer, and George Schmidt.

Gabby Lisi

November 22, 2024

Growing up as a queer individual below the poverty line in rural America, I witnessed firsthand the chasm between the promise of freedom and its stark reality. Raised by a single mother who toiled tirelessly, I saw the uncelebrated labor that sustains our nation. Yet, the political narratives, especially those targeting white, working-class communities, often peddle a hollow version of freedom—one that resonates like an empty echo.

I find myself, as a Catholic, perpetually bewildered by my own family, neighbors, and community members who continue to align themselves with political figures that enact policies directly opposed to their own material well-being. They experience the effects of exploitation every day—in their aching bodies, in the fear that one medical emergency could mean bankruptcy, in the silent dread of making ends meet until the next paycheck. Yet they vote, again and again, for leaders who promise freedom while stripping away social safety nets and undermining the fundamental dignity of labor itself. In doing so, these politicians hand over freedom to corporations and the ultra-rich, leaving the 99% exploited and empty-handed.

The allegiance of many to these political figures, despite their own suffering, can be understood as part of a broader cultural narrative that has hijacked the language of faith and values. They promise to defend “Christian values,” but in reality, they serve the god of Mammon—placing wealth, power, and corporate interests above the well-being of the community.

The real tragedy is that this allegiance is built on a manipulated sense of solidarity—a deceptive solidarity that relies on cultural and racial identity rather than shared economic interests. It convinces white working-class voters, in particular, that they have more in common with their white employers than with their non-white fellow workers. This false solidarity, rooted in division and scapegoating, distracts from the material foundation of their shared exploitation and erodes the possibility of building deep solidarity across lines of race, gender, and class.

This deceptive promise has become a cornerstone of far-right ideology, assuring us that hard work, patriotism, and "family values" will elevate our status, provided we remain vigilant against perceived threats: immigrants, the "woke," queer people, BIPOC, and other fabricated adversaries. This rhetoric isn't new; it traces back through the legacies of George Wallace, Richard Nixon, and Ronald Reagan, each perpetuating the myth of the self-reliant, white working-class hero who must step on his fellow worker to get ahead instead of directing their frustrations to the top of their company, their state, or their nation.

However, the issue goes beyond the rhetoric of the far right. Both major parties have failed the working majority. The result is a political landscape where neither side genuinely serves the interests of the working class. Instead, financial freedom is handed over to corporations, fossil fuel industries, and an economic system driven by an endless race towards profit at the expense of the 99%. The fallout of this power dynamic is evident in the environmental degradation, skyrocketing healthcare costs, and the slow erosion of civil rights. Today, political figures on both sides of the aisle continue this narrative, crafting illusions of economic revival while maintaining structures that perpetuate wage stagnation, debt, identity-based divisions, and economic precarity.

At its core, what we are lacking is a power analysis—a clear, honest account of who holds power, how they wield it, and at whose expense. Without this analysis, we are left to blame ourselves for the conditions we live in: economic precarity for the working majority, escalating threats to civil rights based on gender, sex, and race, and the climate crisis that threatens our collective future. These are not failures of individual responsibility or moral shortcomings; they are the direct result of political and economic decisions that prioritize corporate profits over human dignity and environmental sustainability.

The political establishment tells us that freedom means deregulation, cutting taxes for the wealthy, and giving corporations more room to “innovate.” But when we strip away the rhetoric, what this freedom really means is the freedom of the powerful to exploit, pollute, and profit without consequence. It’s the freedom of oil and gas companies to extract wealth from the earth while expediting climate change, the freedom of industry to roll back labor laws designed to protect the 99% of us who work for a living, the freedom of pharmaceutical companies to set exorbitant prices on life-saving medications, and the freedom of tech giants to amass unfathomable amounts of data and influence. Meanwhile, the freedom of the average person—the freedom to live without fear of medical bankruptcy, the freedom to access affordable housing, the freedom to work without exploitation—is eroded year by year.

In my reading of Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive, the historical trajectory of the white working class makes clear how the language of class solidarity was dismantled and replaced by a divisive, racialized rhetoric of individual responsibility. It’s a story of how union strength was undermined, how the promise of shared prosperity was crushed under the heel of neoliberalism. What remains now is a fragmented working class, splintered along lines of race, gender, and geography, isolated from one another in a digital echo chamber that feeds us curated outrage instead of concrete solutions.

The answer lies in reclaiming a robust power analysis and building solidarity based on shared material interests rather than ideological divides. Drawing from the work of Joerg Rieger, this kind of solidarity is rooted in a deeper understanding of where power lies and how it is maintained. It is about analyzing who profits from our exploitation and recognizing that our struggles are interconnected. Exploitation affects different groups in unique ways, and our various identities are often weaponized to divide us—part of a deliberate strategy to prevent the kind of diverse, intersectional community-building that could resist these exploitative systems. Without a clear power analysis, we end up trapped in fragmented, identity-based battles, when what we truly need is collective, intersectional action to address systemic problems together.

The Wendland-Cook Program’s commitment to research focuses on exploring the intersections of labor, faith, and justice, making the work of scholars like Joerg Rieger and Aaron Stauffer central to its mission. In his essay Inspiring (Im)possible Solidarity: Reshaping Relations of Race, Class, and Gender, Joerg Rieger draws critical distinctions between privilege and power, highlighting how systemic white supremacy functions as a tool for the economic exploitation of both white and non-white working people. Rieger points out that while racial and gender privilege provide advantages, they do not equate to power—the capacity to shape systemic outcomes, which remains concentrated among the wealthy elite. He emphasizes the importance of a deep, multiracial, and multi-gendered solidarity that challenges the deceptive, hierarchical "solidarity" rooted in racism and nationalism. By distinguishing between the privileges many working people hold and the true power they lack, Rieger calls for a radical form of solidarity that transcends mere allyship. This deep solidarity, grounded in shared material conditions and informed by a rigorous power analysis, is necessary for confronting the structures of labor exploitation and building an alternative, liberative power.

Aaron Stauffer’s Listening to the Spirit emphasizes the importance of value-based organizing that centers sacred values and relational power. This approach connects us in ways that traditional, transactional organizing often fails. Instead of merely mobilizing around political issues, value-based organizing listens deeply to the lived experiences of those most impacted and builds movements that resonate on a material and spiritual level. It is a call to reshape our organizing practices into acts of communal care, grounded in a shared vision of justice.

The way forward is not through hollow appeals to a false freedom but through the hard, messy work of organizing—of building power from below through solidarity economies, mutual aid, and a revived labor movement. It is about creating spaces where people can come together not as isolated individuals but as a collective, where we can begin to see our struggles reflected in one another’s eyes and recognize that our material and spiritual liberation is intertwined.

We must redefine what freedom means. It is not the freedom of the billionaire to hoard wealth while the masses struggle; it is the freedom of the worker to live with dignity having their work recognized and valued for its essential contribution, the freedom of the queer person to exist without fear, the freedom of the single mother to raise her children in security and love. This is not the freedom of the free market but the freedom of the beloved community, bound together in shared struggle and shared hope.

For faith communities seeking to align their organization with the vision of deep solidarity, the Wendland-Cook Program’s Solidarity Circles offer a practical pathway. These circles create spaces of encounter and mutual support, where people come together across differences to challenge systemic injustice and build solidarity economies in their own communities and context. By engaging in these circles, faith communities can move beyond individualistic approaches and embrace the collective, transformative work of building the common good.

This is the path forward, not through the empty rhetoric of freedom that serves only the powerful, but through a radical, collective reimagining of what true liberation can look like. And it starts with us, here and now, choosing to work together for a freedom that benefits us, rather than the 1%.