They congregated early in the sweltering heat of North Las Vegas, forming a twisting line in the middle of a workday, all eager for a glimpse of Senator Bernie Sanders.
This wasn’t the flashy Vegas of Hollywood fame; instead, it was a neighborhood dotted with stucco homes and apartment blocks, punctuated by strip malls and litter-ridden empty lots. Yet, here was where Sanders, hailing from Vermont, claimed to have attracted his largest crowd in the area. This Southern Nevada stop marked the beginning of what he and Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez dubbed the Fighting Oligarchy tour.
Throughout the country—from Nebraska to Iowa, Arizona to Colorado—Sanders filled venues like never before. His longtime message, unchanged for decades, resonated more powerfully now than ever. During interviews at Thursday’s rally in Nevada, a consistent theme emerged: financial struggles plagued attendees, many of whom expressed an unprecedented fear that the nation they relied upon was slipping away under President Trump’s leadership.
For many Americans, if these conversations are any indication, stress levels are at a tipping point. Facing economic strain, they worry about the potential fallout if a recession strikes. Observing Trump’s constitutional defiance and his dismantling of stable government systems, there’s a palpable fear he might target Medicaid, public schools, veterans’ benefits, and Social Security.
At the Sanders rally, the air was thick with apprehension, but also with a simmering anger and a desire for political change—an untapped energy waiting for direction.
Kelly Press, a recently retired sheet metal worker, summed it up: “I wake up wondering what I might lose by day’s end.” A sturdily built 65-year-old from Detroit, Press had worked on construction sites across the West, donning a union cap and sporting rings on his hands. He’d once tried his hand at dealing craps in Vegas, but the harsh realities of gambling sent him back to construction work.
“If someone called us to march to Washington right now to stand against Trump, I’d go without hesitation,” he stated with conviction.
“But there’s no leader out there giving us direction,” he lamented. “Everyone feels scared and lost.”
After retiring two years ago, Press thought $1,000 a month could cover basic costs like gas and food. It sufficed initially, until creeping prices bumped his minimal needs to $1,400. Although he understood why some union friends voted for Trump—they wanted lower taxes and to keep their guns—he believes it was a misstep.
“I fear our country could end up like Russia,” he warned, “where discussing elected officials is forbidden.”
Press’s yearning for someone to challenge a White House that disdains judicial rulings, threatens public services, and dismisses civil liberties was evident in the crowd.
Democrats ponder over losing the working-class vote, debating strategies on talk shows, yet it’s Sanders who seems to truly connect with the disillusionment of these gatherings.
It’s intriguing because Sanders isn’t offering anything new. His rallies echo the same proposals he’s stood by for years: universal healthcare, reduced drug prices, taxing the wealthy, free college education, strong union support, and higher minimum wages. If you’ve followed him, you’ve heard it all.
Rather than adapting his message, the current moment has adjusted to him. His past warnings have come to fruition, making him seem both foresighted and immediately relevant.
He weaves his age-old ideas—coping with economic hardships, prevailing unease—into a coherent argument. Corporations’ concentration of power, he argues, is causing escalating prices. Trump’s autocratic ways and emerging oligarchy, embodied by Elon Musk, strengthen Sanders’s warning that extreme wealth disparity will doom us. The dismantling of federal structures, he says, isn’t random; it’s to line their pockets with trillion-dollar tax breaks.
In North Las Vegas, under a clear sky, chants of “Tax the rich” erupted, accompanied by the strains of “Everybody wants to rule the world.”
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez energized the audience, critiquing her party and calling for an unusual alliance across political lines, urging local organization.
“This movement transcends party lines,” she insisted. “It’s about class solidarity. Thousands have gathered today to declare that our lives and work merit dignity and respect.”
Sanders’s entrance was met with fervent applause. He targeted Trump and the wealthiest tech moguls, pointing out the drastic wealth imbalance in America, with the top three billionaires possessing more wealth than half the country.
“They have no idea of life in the real world,” he bellowed.
Sanders periodically reminds listeners that America is the richest nation on Earth.
“We won’t stand for an oligarchy where billionaires dictate government,” he asserted.
Criticizing Trump’s constitutional violations, Sanders questioned what it means to live paycheck to paycheck. The crowd responded with concerns over tuition, medication or rent, and exorbitant interest rates.
Next to me, a young woman quipped, “Twenty percent interest would be nice.”
Listening intently, Sanders shared troubling statistics about life expectancy, highlighting a stark disparity between socioeconomic classes.
The crowd was captivated, responding passionately—cheering, booing, and flipping off mentions of Trump or Musk. The experience was cathartic.
“He gives voice to the voiceless,” said Dina Garibay, a second-grade teacher. “He advocates for universal rights, which the Democratic Party sometimes overlooks.”
Garibay’s political journey has been varied. Originally a Republican during Reagan’s time, disenchantment with the GOP’s favoritism toward the wealthy led her to the Democrats, who have also disappointed her. Ideally, she’d vote Green Party, but sees it as futile given their slim chance of winning.
Right now, she craves action.
“It’s like the rug’s being pulled out from under us,” she explained.
She was particularly alarmed by Trump’s threats to dismantle the Department of Education, predicting disastrous impacts for students with special needs. As a Latina, talk of mass deportations deeply unsettled her, as did threats to LGBTQ rights.
Amidst this, she grappled with Las Vegas’s housing crisis, one of the nation’s worst. Recognizing she couldn’t afford home ownership, she and her family live in a mobile home, economizing wherever possible as their grocery bill soared. Some colleagues, she noted, drive for Uber to make ends meet.
“Every teacher I know can’t afford a home,” Garibay lamented, “Our hard-earned money vanishes into rent.”
These struggles, and others, motivated her to rally behind Sanders.
These days, there’s no need for him to paint dark pictures of corporate collusion. Trump has made such corruption visible. Musk’s extravagant campaign investments secured sway in his administration, permitting him to meddle with vital safety nets for the elderly, veterans, and the poor.
“There’s hardly anyone in America who thinks this isn’t madness,” Sanders confided backstage.
This context enables him to unite his economic critique with the centrists’ fears of Trump’s authoritarianism, appealing to swing voters.
Sanders, while critiquing Trump, doesn’t spare Democrats. Though he commended their civil rights progress, he argued they’ve overlooked fundamental issues affecting the lower and middle classes.
“Trump resonates with working people not because they’re eager for billionaire tax breaks,” he explained. “It’s partially because Democrats have exited this crucial arena.”
As the longest-serving independent in Congress, Sanders advocates for Democratic reform or abandonment if necessary.
He hopes they embrace the Roosevelt-Truman era spirit, less tied to corporate interests. If not, he wishes for a progressive independence movement working alongside Democrats when feasible.
In the crowd, I met Sam Laurel, a 33-year-old pool cleaner, donning an “Eat the rich” T-shirt for the rally. He wanted to demonstrate “our frustration with a government that caters to the 1 percent.”
Like Sanders, Laurel’s grievances are dual: Trump’s actions and his personal challenges. Living with his parents since they can’t afford separate accommodation, he lamented the weakened Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. With health insurance at last, he blames earlier stresses for his prematurely graying hair. Trump’s looming cuts to Social Security and Medicare worry him. Yearning to teach, Laurel is stymied by tuition costs.
“The government should serve us, the people,” he declared. “We’re all weary of being drained.”
Working among the luxurious gardens of the affluent underscores income inequality starkly. Maintaining their pristine pools, against Vegas’s backdrop of glitz and grit, Laurel sees stark disparities. One client, a distant celebrity, leaves a leaking pool unfixed. “Draining Lake Mead,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“I like solitary reflection,” he added, “though it’s always in the backyards of the rich.”
