In a recent essay titled “The Trouble with Inequality Politics,” writers Jerusalem Demsas and Milan Singh argue that Americans are focusing on the wrong problem when they obsess over Elon Musk becoming the world’s first trillionaire. Their essay was prompted by the public debut of SpaceX, which pushed Musk’s net worth beyond the trillion-dollar mark and generated a predictable wave of outrage. But Demsas and Singh contend that much of this criticism reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of what matters in economics and public policy. They argue the real problem facing society is not inequality, but deprivation. They point out that Musk’s wealth exists largely on paper in the form of stock ownership. More importantly, they argue that the gap between Musk and everyone else tells us very little about whether ordinary people are actually flourishing. In their view, what matters is whether people have access to housing, health care, education, clean water, safety and economic opportunity. If everyone enjoyed a decent standard of living, they argue, it would not matter much if someone else happened to be a trillionaire—or even a quadrillionaire. The essay challenges a common assumption on the political left that inequality itself is inherently problematic. Demsas and Singh suggest that inequality often distracts from more meaningful measures of human well-being. They note that history is full of relatively equal societies where most people lived in poverty. Conversely, a society can exhibit significant wealth disparities while still providing a high standard of living for most of its population. In their telling, inequality is largely beside the point—instead, what matters is whether people have enough. At some level, it is difficult to disagree with this fundamental point as it correctly reminds us that poverty is not the same thing as inequality. A society where everyone has access to decent housing, health care and educational opportunities is clearly preferable to one where everyone is equally poor—no reasonable person would likely disagree with that point. But I believe Demsas and Singh are ultimately asking the wrong question. The central issue is not whether Elon Musk deserves his fortune, whether SpaceX represents an extraordinary technological achievement, or whether poverty matters more than inequality—it is whether an economy that generates unprecedented wealth at the top is also creating broadly shared opportunity and security for everyone else. More importantly, I think we need to ask what happens when economic growth becomes increasingly disconnected from the lived experience of ordinary people. This explains much of the political turbulence that has defined American politics over the last decade. Ironically, the rise of Donald Trump may be one of the strongest arguments for why inequality still matters. Trump built a political movement by tapping into a profound sense of frustration among voters who felt left behind by economic and social change. While cultural issues, immigration and partisan polarization all played major roles, it is impossible to ignore the economic backdrop against which those grievances emerged. And while you can point out immigration was a huge component of Trump’s 2016 and 2024 victories, I would argue that the immigration issue has such salience in some sectors precisely because they feel the economic competition between working class people and new arrivals (or the perception thereof). For decades, Americans were told that a growing economy would lift all boats, but for many workers the gains flowed upward while economic security drifted further out of reach. Moreover, many Americans increasingly felt that the benefits were flowing somewhere else. A recent analysis by Ben Casselman in The New York Times helps illuminate this disconnect. Casselman noted the striking juxtaposition between Musk’s newfound wealth and the struggles facing ordinary workers. As Musk crossed the trillion-dollar threshold, workers were simultaneously facing rising costs, declining real wages and growing anxiety about artificial intelligence and economic uncertainty. Casselman’s argument highlights the widening gap between the extraordinary fortunes being created at the top and the increasingly precarious economic reality experienced by many Americans. Demsas and Singh frame the debate primarily as a moral question. Should we care that one person has vastly more wealth than everyone else? Many Americans are asking a different question. Why does the economy seem to generate extraordinary rewards for a small number of people while making it increasingly difficult for ordinary families to achieve what previous generations took for granted? The problem is not that Musk possesses a trillion dollars, rather the problem is that millions of Americans struggle to afford a home. The problem is that young adults delay starting families because housing, child care and health care costs have become overwhelming. The problem is that college graduates carry crushing debt burdens while wages fail to keep pace with the cost of living. The problem is that many workers feel less economically secure than their parents, despite living in a nation that is vastly wealthier than it was a generation ago. These concerns cannot simply be dismissed as envy. Inequality is not merely a question of fairness—it is a question of how economic power, opportunity and political influence are distributed throughout society. Who owns wealth matters. Who controls investment decisions matters. Who has access to policymakers matters. Who funds political campaigns matters. Who owns media platforms matters. Who shapes public discourse matters. Furthermore, as we have already increasingly seen, extreme concentrations of wealth inevitably translate into concentrations of power. Demsas and Singh briefly acknowledge this concern but largely dismiss it, suggesting that Musk would retain substantial influence even if he owned fewer shares of SpaceX or Tesla. But they miss the point, as the real issue is not whether Musk would still be influential if he were merely worth $100 billion instead of $1 trillion. The issue is what happens to democratic institutions when economic power becomes concentrated in the hands of a tiny number of individuals whose resources exceed those of entire states and nations. At some point, inequality ceases to be simply a matter of personal wealth and becomes a question of democratic governance and political power. Over the last several decades, Americans have watched as trust in institutions collapsed. Confidence in government, media, higher education and even democratic processes has steadily eroded. While many factors contribute to that decline, perceptions of economic unfairness play a significant role. People are more likely to trust institutions when they believe those institutions are producing broadly shared prosperity. When they believe the rules are rigged, trust evaporates and this is exactly what fueled the populist backlash that brought Trump to power. The irony, of course, is that Trump’s political success was built on grievances that his policies have often done little to address and have actually exacerbated. Tax cuts disproportionately benefiting wealthy households, attacks on organized labor and regulatory policies favoring large corporations have generally reinforced rather than reversed existing patterns of wealth concentration. Yet the frustration remains, because the underlying problem was never simply poverty. Many Trump voters were not poor but shared a growing belief that, despite working hard and playing by the rules, they were falling behind a system that offered fewer opportunities than the one their parents inherited. That is where Demsas and Singh’s framework becomes insufficient. The political danger emerges not from absolute deprivation but from what historians have long called the “revolution of rising expectations”—when people’s aspirations and sense of what should be possible grow faster than their ability to achieve them. A worker earning more than their grandparents once did may still feel left behind if housing prices have tripled, college costs have exploded and retirement appears increasingly out of reach. A community may experience economic growth on paper while simultaneously feeling abandoned if local jobs disappear and wealth accumulates elsewhere. To be clear, poverty remains a profound moral challenge. Public policy should absolutely focus on housing, health care, education and economic security. Demsas and Singh are right to remind us that deprivation is important, but it does not follow that inequality is irrelevant. The better question is whether economic growth is broadly shared because, when growth benefits workers, families and communities, inequality becomes less politically salient. However, we see that when growth primarily enriches investors, executives and asset owners while everyone else struggles to keep up, inequality takes on a huge factor. For me, the problem is not that Elon Musk became a trillionaire—although I am troubled by the fact no one seems to acknowledge that a lot of his success is due to government support for his project—the problem is that his trillion-dollar fortune arrived at a moment when millions of Americans increasingly doubt that the economy works for them. Until that disconnect is addressed, inequality will remain central to our politics—not because Americans resent success, but because they increasingly wonder whether success is still available to everyone else.

Source: Davis Vanguard

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