The idea that liberal democracy is in crisis isn’t new, but what’s striking is how often the diagnosis feels more like a symptom than a cure. Daron Acemoglu’s latest work, What Happened to Liberal Democracy?, is a case in point. Personally, I think Acemoglu’s analysis is both compelling and frustrating—compelling because he identifies real fault lines, and frustrating because his solutions feel like they’re trying to patch a sinking ship with duct tape. Let me explain.
One thing that immediately stands out is Acemoglu’s critique of the left’s abandonment of the working class. He argues that the progressive wing of liberalism has shifted from economic class to identity politics, leaving blue-collar workers behind. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it mirrors the rhetoric of figures like Bernie Sanders or Didier Eribon, who’ve long lamented the Democratic Party’s detachment from its traditional base. But here’s where it gets interesting: Acemoglu, while diagnosing the problem, also wields culture-war language himself, accusing the left of ‘social engineering’ and ‘thought policing.’ In my opinion, this feels like a contradiction—how can you deplore the culture wars while simultaneously fueling them?
What many people don’t realize is that this tension isn’t just about politics; it’s about the very identity of liberalism. Acemoglu traces liberalism’s roots to a ‘highly learned group of philosophers,’ yet he spends much of the book criticizing elites. This raises a deeper question: Can liberalism survive if it’s constantly at war with its own intellectual foundations? If you take a step back and think about it, Acemoglu’s book itself is an elite product—written by a Nobel-winning economist—which makes his critique of ‘top-down debates’ feel oddly self-defeating.
His proposed solution—a ‘working-class liberal democracy’—is where things get really speculative. He suggests reducing regulatory barriers, empowering local communities, and even using AI to boost worker productivity. A detail that I find especially interesting is his idea of ‘worker AI,’ where nurses, for example, could make more medical decisions with the help of machine learning. What this really suggests is a future where technology isn’t just a job destroyer but a potential equalizer. However, what’s missing here is any discussion of the ethical or practical challenges—like, have we consulted doctors on this? Or, more broadly, how do we ensure AI doesn’t just become another tool for exploitation?
From my perspective, Acemoglu’s strength lies in his economic insights. His explanation of how the American tax code incentivizes automation is brilliant, and his comparison of Nordic happiness to deliberate economic reforms is eye-opening. But his expansive rhetoric often leads to inconsistencies. For instance, he criticizes progressive elites in the same breath as populists like Farage, yet he acknowledges that liberalism itself was an elite invention. So, are elites the problem or the solution?
If you ask me, the real issue isn’t just about elites or the working class—it’s about the tension between liberalism’s ideals and its practical realities. Acemoglu admits there’s no ‘ready-made answer’ to this, which is both refreshing and unsettling. What this crisis of liberal democracy really highlights is the difficulty of balancing individual freedoms with collective welfare, especially in an age of globalization and technological disruption.
In the end, I’m left wondering if Acemoglu’s ‘working-class liberal democracy’ is a viable path forward or just a nostalgic attempt to revive a bygone era. Personally, I think the answer lies not in patching the old system but in reimagining it entirely. Liberal democracy’s crisis isn’t just about who’s been left behind—it’s about whether the system itself can adapt to a world it wasn’t designed for. And that, in my opinion, is the most fascinating question of all.
