By Jianli Yang
Sunday, November 08, 2026
The midterm elections are over, but the ideological
warfare that they fueled is unlikely to end with the counting of votes.
Republicans labeled numerous Democratic candidates socialists — even communists
— and warned that America’s future depended on preventing a communist takeover.
Democrats returned fire, describing some Republican candidates as fascists,
authoritarians, and racists, warning that democracy itself was at stake. Both
parties seemed determined to “save America” from the other.
It is true that both communist and fascist tendencies
deserve vigilance — I understand that well, having lived under the hell of
Chinese communism. Democracy is not a self-driving car. Its passengers must
constantly watch the road, question the direction, and correct the steering
before it crashes. But indiscriminately attaching historically charged labels
to political opponents can itself damage democracy, and ultimately the quality
of life that democracy is supposed to protect.
The first problem is intellectual confusion. Socialism,
communism, capitalism, and fascism are concepts developed to describe
particular political-economic doctrines, practices, and institutions. Applied
carelessly to contemporary America, they often obscure more than they
illuminate.
Consider socialism. Politicians advocating expanded
welfare programs, higher taxes on the wealthy, or greater government
intervention are routinely called socialists or communists by those on the
right. Indeed, there’s a growing faction on the left that welcomes the label of
socialist (putting “democratic” in front of it) or even communist. Yet there is
a fundamental difference between advocating redistribution within a market
economy and abolishing private ownership of productive assets, suppressing markets,
and placing economic life under centralized political control.
I know that difference firsthand. Under Maoist communism,
private enterprise was virtually eliminated, economic decisions were dictated
by political authorities, and ideological conformity governed opportunities and
livelihoods. The Soviet Union followed a comparable model. The results included
chronic shortages, economic inefficiency, coercion, and the destruction of
individual freedom. By contrast, Nordic welfare states preserve private
property, competitive markets, entrepreneurship, and political pluralism.
Whatever one thinks of their tax rates or welfare policies, they are not
communist societies.
The same conceptual confusion surrounds capitalism. The
capitalism of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations is hardly identical to
today’s political economy. Smith envisioned markets in which competition could
discipline producers and consumers exercised meaningful choice. He also
understood the dangers of monopolies and collusion. Today’s largest
corporations, however, command resources comparable to the annual economic
output of substantial nations. Some technology companies influence the
boundaries of public discourse, control critical information infrastructure,
and even affect the military capabilities of nations at war, as Starlink’s role
in Ukraine demonstrates. Yet private power is not subjected to the same
constitutional checks imposed on government power.
Historically, the relationship between government and
capital has often been portrayed as a struggle for dominance. Today’s America
presents something more complicated: exceptionally powerful government and
exceptionally powerful corporations operating simultaneously, with increasingly
intimate relationships between them. Their convergence raises questions about
competition, accountability, political influence, and public trust that
conventional left-right categories cannot adequately explain.
Consider the irony of President Donald Trump denouncing
socialism while his administration has pursued direct government equity stakes
in private companies, including Intel, and arrangements involving strategic
mineral producers. These are not America’s first government ownership interests
in private enterprises; earlier interventions, including during the 2008
financial crisis, provide precedents. Nevertheless, such industrial
interventions challenge the traditional distinction between free-market conservatism
and state-directed economic policy.
Likewise, an administration identified with free
enterprise has embraced sweeping tariffs and extensive government intervention
in international trade. These policies may have defensible national-security or
industrial objectives. My purpose is not to adjudicate their merits here. It is
to demonstrate how poorly inherited ideological labels describe today’s
political-economic realities. When concepts cease to clarify reality, they
cease to facilitate serious policy debate and become weapons against political
enemies.
The same caution applies to accusations of fascism and
dictatorship. There are legitimate reasons to scrutinize executive overreach,
attacks on institutional independence, and disregard for constitutional
restraints. But America remains fundamentally different from Hitler’s Germany,
Putin’s Russia, or Xi’s China. Americans can openly criticize their president,
organize opposition, publish dissenting opinions, challenge government actions
in court, and vote incumbents out of office. These freedoms are not incidental
distinctions; they are defining features of constitutional democracy.
Calling every troubling exercise of executive power
fascism diminishes our ability to identify actual authoritarian danger.
Conversely, dismissing every concern about democratic erosion as partisan
hysteria would be equally irresponsible. Democratic vigilance requires
precision, not exaggeration.
The second danger is even greater: Ideological labeling
deepens polarization, making rational discussion and effective government
increasingly difficult. Once opponents become communists or fascists rather
than fellow citizens with different priorities, compromise becomes betrayal and
disagreement becomes moral warfare. Questions involving health care,
immigration, taxation, industrial revival, national security, or foreign policy
are judged less by their practical consequences than by the ideological identity
of their advocates. No nation can prosper indefinitely under such conditions,
democratic or authoritarian.
Democracy’s distinctive achievement is not that it
eliminates disagreements. It provides institutions through which people with
competing interests, values, and beliefs can negotiate workable compromises and
discover common purposes. Yet contemporary American politics increasingly
creates the impression that democracy manufactures division rather than manages
it.
This perception has consequences far beyond America’s
borders. Many people in China and elsewhere who once looked to American
democracy as an inspiring alternative to authoritarian rule now see political
paralysis, mutual hostility, and institutional distrust. Authoritarian
governments eagerly exploit these images to argue that democracy is inherently
dysfunctional.
America’s competition with China is therefore not merely
about military strength, industrial capacity, or artificial intelligence. It is
also about which political system can produce prosperity, stability,
innovation, and public confidence. A divided America weakens its capacity to
mobilize national resources, sustain strategic commitments, and persuade others
of the advantages of freedom.
American democracy must deliver, not divide. But how can
it do so? Not by eliminating ideological differences. The left and right each
possess valuable insights. The left emphasizes social protection and fairness;
the right emphasizes liberty, responsibility, and the productive power of
markets. Their disagreements are natural and often beneficial. The danger
begins when either side moves toward extremism, transforming partial truths
into absolute doctrines.
Extremism also breeds extremism. Each side points to the
other’s excesses to justify its own, creating a vicious cycle in which
radicalism becomes mutually reinforcing.
Both Western and Eastern civilizations recognized this
danger long ago. The ancient Greek maxim inscribed at Delphi, “Nothing in
excess,” expresses a principle of restraint. Confucius’s Doctrine of the Mean
similarly teaches that wisdom requires balance, proportion, and judgment
appropriate to circumstances. Neither tradition demands passivity or the
abandonment of conviction. Both warn against allowing conviction to become
fanaticism.
America now needs leaders capable of restoring democratic
civility and strengthening the center-right and center-left against their
respective extremes. Moderation does not mean splitting every difference. It
means defending constitutional principles without compromise while approaching
practical problems with intellectual humility, evidence, and a willingness to
negotiate.
Nearly a century ago, the influential Chinese
intellectual Hu Shih confronted a country devastated by poverty, political
fragmentation, and ideological struggle. While the Nationalists championed Sun
Yat-sen’s Three Principles of the People and the Communists promoted
Marxism-Leninism, Hu urged his compatriots: “Talk less about isms, and more
about solving problems.” His appeal went largely unheeded. Ideological warfare
consumed China, producing decades of suffering whose consequences remain with
us today.
America is not China, and its circumstances are
profoundly different. But Hu’s warning transcends national boundaries and
historical periods. The United States faces urgent problems at home and abroad
that cannot be solved by labeling opponents communists or fascists.
