Opinion | Democrats: It’s Time to Abandon the Phrase "People of Color"
The coalition of multiracial Democrats is fractured. To repair it, a fresh perspective on race and voting is essential.
TroibNews 
Last month, during the televised moments leading up to President Donald Trump’s swearing-in at the U.S. Capitol Rotunda, CBS Mornings co-host Gayle King remarked, “I do not see many ‘people of color.’” She and her co-host then took some time to highlight a few attendees that fit the description.
This comment sparked a backlash from conservative commentators, who criticized King, a Black journalist, for allegedly focusing too much on race. However, the incident also highlighted the often awkward and misguided efforts by the left to understand and connect with different communities. The Democratic Party's approach to race has shown little evolution over the years, arguably regressing instead. This regression is particularly evident in their clumsy use of the term “people of color.”
The results of the 2024 presidential election have left the Democrats' multiracial coalition in disarray. Nonwhite voters supported Trump in higher numbers compared to 2020, with some groups showing double-digit increases in support. This dramatic shift has led to a critical reassessment of the party’s strategies, emphasizing a crucial realization: there is no universal cultural, social, economic, or political connection among Black, Latino, Indigenous, and Asian Americans that can be easily mobilized for voting.
In November, Latino voters swung significantly toward Trump, and his support among Asian voters also increased. Indigenous voters, who played a key role in Biden's victories in Arizona and Wisconsin in 2020, did not have a comparable influence in 2024, despite still leaning toward Democratic candidates. Black voters remained the Democratic Party's strongest base but showed signs of compromise, with Kamala Harris capturing 8 out of 10 Black voters, a decrease from Biden's 9 out of 10 in 2020.
If Democrats were surprised by these outcomes, it might be attributed to the term “people of color,” which has led them to assume that nonwhite voters share more cultural and political similarities than they actually do.
In sociology, there's a strong emphasis on the importance of terminology that describes groups and their interactions. Many expressions used in American discourse—like people of color, assimilation, bureaucracy, and culture—have sociological roots. Awareness of this, requires sociologists to re-evaluate or discard phrases that lose their relevance or accuracy over time.
In the political sphere, it's time to reconsider the use of “people of color.”
The phrase “people of color” has existed for centuries, serving as an umbrella term for nonwhite groups. One of its earliest mentions in the U.S. was by William Lloyd Garrison, a white abolitionist journalist who founded The Liberator in 1831.
In the late 1980s, when Democrats and figures like Jesse Jackson began using the term, it highlighted the basic political unity among racial and ethnic minorities, centered around collective support for civil rights. In modern discourse, “people of color” has come to symbolize cultural connections among Black, Indigenous, Latino, and Asian communities, fostering a sense of emotional unity. This usage flourished during Barack Obama’s presidency, gaining traction among sociologists, political analysts, and the mainstream media.
Conversely, Trump and Republicans typically do not use the term unless mocking liberal “wokespeak,” which also targets terms like “Latinx.” There is a good reason for this; the communities included in “people of color” possess distinct cultures rather than a cohesive sociopolitical identity.
Over the past few years, I've encouraged my students to steer clear of “people of color,” along with related terms like “BIPOC” and “Black and Brown people.” Though well-intentioned, these expressions lump together diverse histories and cultural practices, oversimplifying the nuances around the experiences of race and racism.
These terms also obscure significant variations within racial groups. For instance, Cuban Americans represent the wealthiest Latino demographic in the U.S. and historically support Republican candidates. Their conservative tendencies are influenced by factors such as their Catholic backgrounds and aversion to perceived socialist elements in Democratic policies. In contrast, Mexicans and Puerto Ricans, especially those from lower-income backgrounds, tend to vote Democratic, albeit more moderately than other groups.
Despite these complexities, there remains a tendency to view Latino and other racial or ethnic minority groups as culturally similar in their beliefs and concerns. A simple Google search for voting patterns within specific minority subgroups—such as Salvadorans, Nigerians, or Indigenous nations like the Cherokee—often reveals a lack of detailed polling data, with many sites gravitating toward generalizations about the broader racial group rather than discussing specific communities.
While researchers like myself may use terms like BIPOC in passing, we rarely apply them as consolidated variables in our studies. Organizations like the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the U.S. Census Bureau do not officially recognize "people of color" or its variants, as doing so could lead to conceptual confusion or inaccurate statistics.
Furthermore, it’s crucial to distinguish between race and ethnicity. Latinos, often categorized as people of color, are typically better understood as an ethnic group defined by shared traditions, language, and heritage rather than by race. Many identify as white, Black, mixed, Indigenous, or even Asian or Arab despite being grouped with “people of color.” For example, the U.S. Census classifies Arabs as white, even though many recognize themselves as people of color. Those who identify as “white” might navigate life perceiving themselves as part of that demographic—often reflected in how politicians approach their outreach.
Although race undeniably matters in American politics, candidates have long used it as a tool to rally white voters against minorities. This strategy has varied over time and across different groups. For instance, during the civil rights era, political parties began to see nonwhite groups as potential allies while still attempting to drive wedges between them. In the late 1970s, Republicans began to cultivate a narrative for Latinos and Asians to emerge as “model minorities," suggesting they could ascend through meritocratic means while distancing themselves from perceived stereotypes about Black communities.
Ultimately, the Democratic Party’s rhetoric about “people of color” exaggerates the notion of solidarity among different racial groups, a sentiment that peaked during the civil rights movement but has dwindled since then. Research indicates that real solidarity among racial minorities tends to arise only in times of social unrest. For example, a Pew poll conducted in the wake of George Floyd’s murder found strong support for Black Lives Matter among Hispanic and Asian respondents, whereas subsequent polls in 2023 indicated a noticeable decline in that support.
Moreover, social unrest often manifests as conflict between racial groups. The 1992 Los Angeles riots were marked by significant tensions between Black and Asian communities. Similarly, during the COVID-19 pandemic, scapegoating led to heightened discord along racial lines. Trump has also played a role in stoking these tensions, framing issues in ways that pit minority groups against one another.
Currently, it seems that the kind of interracial solidarity implied by the term “people of color” is weak. After the latest election, sentiments of betrayal emerged on platforms like "Black Twitter," particularly directed at Latinos. Users highlighted an increasing awareness of anti-Black sentiments within that community, prompting a reassessment of longstanding alliances.
While all racial minorities share the experience of facing racial bias, the nature and implications of that bias differ considerably across groups. The term "people of color" fails to capture these nuanced experiences, suggesting that all racial and ethnic communities react similarly to messages about racism.
This miscalculation became clear during the 2024 campaign cycle as immigration re resurfaced as a pivotal issue but failed to mobilize voters in the way many Democrats anticipated. Over the past three election cycles, Democrats presumed that nonwhite communities would overwhelmingly reject Trump due to his anti-immigration stance—which often targeted Mexicans, Central Americans, and Middle Easterners.
However, Trump's support among these groups exceeded expectations. My interpretation is that many nonwhite voters do not perceive Trump or his supporters as overtly racist. Instead, they view them as what I term “ambient” racists, who exhibit the casual racism that racial minorities encounter frequently, contrasting sharply with the extreme manifestations of racism that Democrats often attribute to him and his supporters.
Moreover, nonwhite voters may interpret ambient racism as merely one facet of Trump's character rather than a comprehensive worldview. Just as individuals can maintain bonds with friends or family members who display social shortcomings, voters may feel similarly toward political figures, especially when the benefits of their policies are apparent.
Consequently, nonwhite voters might not respond to racialized messaging on immigration or other issues as strongly as white Democrats anticipate. For example, many Asian voters appeared to consider Kamala Harris’ Asian heritage irrelevant to their support for her.
This more nuanced understanding of racism came to light in my research. In Flint, Michigan, where I conducted studies related to the water crisis, a significant portion of Black respondents did not attribute the crisis to systemic racism—approximately 24 percent, similar to the 32 percent of white participants who felt similarly. This indicates that in racially mixed settings, people are increasingly discerning about what constitutes racism, requiring evidence of both negative intentions and consequences.
Adding to this complexity, many lower-income, less educated minority voters may not feel Trump’s derogatory comments target them personally. This phenomenon can reflect internalized racism, wherein individuals identify more with the dominant race and overlook subtle racism directed at their own communities.
For instance, in a pre-election interview, Trump remarked that migrants at the southern border have “bad genes,” reviving centuries-old eugenic narratives to justify discrimination. Given Trump’s historically high support among Latino voters, it appears many may not perceive those derogatory claims as directed at them.
These insights challenge traditional assumptions around how voters perceive race and racism and suggest a necessary shift in understanding the complexities of racial identity in America.
To rebuild their multiracial coalition, Democrats must engage with these intricate dynamics of racial identity politics. As the party is already perceived as distant from working-class Americans, they cannot afford to alienate nonwhite voters, many of whom are also part of this demographic category. Moving away from the dated “people of color” label in favor of specific racial and ethnic references represents a meaningful step toward revitalizing frayed connections.
Moreover, Democrats need to refine their outreach strategies, adopting messages that are tailored to the unique cultural contexts and immediate concerns of each racial group instead of relying on a broad approach encompassing “people of color.” While racial minorities are, overall, more inclined to support Democratic candidates, the segments that do not align hold critical swing votes, often lacking strong racial identities.
This tailored engagement becomes even more vital in light of the growing anti-DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) movement, which threatens to undo hard-won progress for all racial minorities. The Republican backlash against DEI has thrived partly due to Democrats’ failure to connect with and mobilize nonwhite voters, risking erosion of confidence in the Democratic Party.
Recognizing and responding to the distinct nuances of each racial and ethnic group will be challenging. However, for Democrats, this nuanced understanding provides one of the best chances for moving forward effectively.
Mathilde Moreau contributed to this report for TROIB News
This comment sparked a backlash from conservative commentators, who criticized King, a Black journalist, for allegedly focusing too much on race. However, the incident also highlighted the often awkward and misguided efforts by the left to understand and connect with different communities. The Democratic Party's approach to race has shown little evolution over the years, arguably regressing instead. This regression is particularly evident in their clumsy use of the term “people of color.”
The results of the 2024 presidential election have left the Democrats' multiracial coalition in disarray. Nonwhite voters supported Trump in higher numbers compared to 2020, with some groups showing double-digit increases in support. This dramatic shift has led to a critical reassessment of the party’s strategies, emphasizing a crucial realization: there is no universal cultural, social, economic, or political connection among Black, Latino, Indigenous, and Asian Americans that can be easily mobilized for voting.
In November, Latino voters swung significantly toward Trump, and his support among Asian voters also increased. Indigenous voters, who played a key role in Biden's victories in Arizona and Wisconsin in 2020, did not have a comparable influence in 2024, despite still leaning toward Democratic candidates. Black voters remained the Democratic Party's strongest base but showed signs of compromise, with Kamala Harris capturing 8 out of 10 Black voters, a decrease from Biden's 9 out of 10 in 2020.
If Democrats were surprised by these outcomes, it might be attributed to the term “people of color,” which has led them to assume that nonwhite voters share more cultural and political similarities than they actually do.
In sociology, there's a strong emphasis on the importance of terminology that describes groups and their interactions. Many expressions used in American discourse—like people of color, assimilation, bureaucracy, and culture—have sociological roots. Awareness of this, requires sociologists to re-evaluate or discard phrases that lose their relevance or accuracy over time.
In the political sphere, it's time to reconsider the use of “people of color.”
The phrase “people of color” has existed for centuries, serving as an umbrella term for nonwhite groups. One of its earliest mentions in the U.S. was by William Lloyd Garrison, a white abolitionist journalist who founded The Liberator in 1831.
In the late 1980s, when Democrats and figures like Jesse Jackson began using the term, it highlighted the basic political unity among racial and ethnic minorities, centered around collective support for civil rights. In modern discourse, “people of color” has come to symbolize cultural connections among Black, Indigenous, Latino, and Asian communities, fostering a sense of emotional unity. This usage flourished during Barack Obama’s presidency, gaining traction among sociologists, political analysts, and the mainstream media.
Conversely, Trump and Republicans typically do not use the term unless mocking liberal “wokespeak,” which also targets terms like “Latinx.” There is a good reason for this; the communities included in “people of color” possess distinct cultures rather than a cohesive sociopolitical identity.
Over the past few years, I've encouraged my students to steer clear of “people of color,” along with related terms like “BIPOC” and “Black and Brown people.” Though well-intentioned, these expressions lump together diverse histories and cultural practices, oversimplifying the nuances around the experiences of race and racism.
These terms also obscure significant variations within racial groups. For instance, Cuban Americans represent the wealthiest Latino demographic in the U.S. and historically support Republican candidates. Their conservative tendencies are influenced by factors such as their Catholic backgrounds and aversion to perceived socialist elements in Democratic policies. In contrast, Mexicans and Puerto Ricans, especially those from lower-income backgrounds, tend to vote Democratic, albeit more moderately than other groups.
Despite these complexities, there remains a tendency to view Latino and other racial or ethnic minority groups as culturally similar in their beliefs and concerns. A simple Google search for voting patterns within specific minority subgroups—such as Salvadorans, Nigerians, or Indigenous nations like the Cherokee—often reveals a lack of detailed polling data, with many sites gravitating toward generalizations about the broader racial group rather than discussing specific communities.
While researchers like myself may use terms like BIPOC in passing, we rarely apply them as consolidated variables in our studies. Organizations like the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the U.S. Census Bureau do not officially recognize "people of color" or its variants, as doing so could lead to conceptual confusion or inaccurate statistics.
Furthermore, it’s crucial to distinguish between race and ethnicity. Latinos, often categorized as people of color, are typically better understood as an ethnic group defined by shared traditions, language, and heritage rather than by race. Many identify as white, Black, mixed, Indigenous, or even Asian or Arab despite being grouped with “people of color.” For example, the U.S. Census classifies Arabs as white, even though many recognize themselves as people of color. Those who identify as “white” might navigate life perceiving themselves as part of that demographic—often reflected in how politicians approach their outreach.
Although race undeniably matters in American politics, candidates have long used it as a tool to rally white voters against minorities. This strategy has varied over time and across different groups. For instance, during the civil rights era, political parties began to see nonwhite groups as potential allies while still attempting to drive wedges between them. In the late 1970s, Republicans began to cultivate a narrative for Latinos and Asians to emerge as “model minorities," suggesting they could ascend through meritocratic means while distancing themselves from perceived stereotypes about Black communities.
Ultimately, the Democratic Party’s rhetoric about “people of color” exaggerates the notion of solidarity among different racial groups, a sentiment that peaked during the civil rights movement but has dwindled since then. Research indicates that real solidarity among racial minorities tends to arise only in times of social unrest. For example, a Pew poll conducted in the wake of George Floyd’s murder found strong support for Black Lives Matter among Hispanic and Asian respondents, whereas subsequent polls in 2023 indicated a noticeable decline in that support.
Moreover, social unrest often manifests as conflict between racial groups. The 1992 Los Angeles riots were marked by significant tensions between Black and Asian communities. Similarly, during the COVID-19 pandemic, scapegoating led to heightened discord along racial lines. Trump has also played a role in stoking these tensions, framing issues in ways that pit minority groups against one another.
Currently, it seems that the kind of interracial solidarity implied by the term “people of color” is weak. After the latest election, sentiments of betrayal emerged on platforms like "Black Twitter," particularly directed at Latinos. Users highlighted an increasing awareness of anti-Black sentiments within that community, prompting a reassessment of longstanding alliances.
While all racial minorities share the experience of facing racial bias, the nature and implications of that bias differ considerably across groups. The term "people of color" fails to capture these nuanced experiences, suggesting that all racial and ethnic communities react similarly to messages about racism.
This miscalculation became clear during the 2024 campaign cycle as immigration re resurfaced as a pivotal issue but failed to mobilize voters in the way many Democrats anticipated. Over the past three election cycles, Democrats presumed that nonwhite communities would overwhelmingly reject Trump due to his anti-immigration stance—which often targeted Mexicans, Central Americans, and Middle Easterners.
However, Trump's support among these groups exceeded expectations. My interpretation is that many nonwhite voters do not perceive Trump or his supporters as overtly racist. Instead, they view them as what I term “ambient” racists, who exhibit the casual racism that racial minorities encounter frequently, contrasting sharply with the extreme manifestations of racism that Democrats often attribute to him and his supporters.
Moreover, nonwhite voters may interpret ambient racism as merely one facet of Trump's character rather than a comprehensive worldview. Just as individuals can maintain bonds with friends or family members who display social shortcomings, voters may feel similarly toward political figures, especially when the benefits of their policies are apparent.
Consequently, nonwhite voters might not respond to racialized messaging on immigration or other issues as strongly as white Democrats anticipate. For example, many Asian voters appeared to consider Kamala Harris’ Asian heritage irrelevant to their support for her.
This more nuanced understanding of racism came to light in my research. In Flint, Michigan, where I conducted studies related to the water crisis, a significant portion of Black respondents did not attribute the crisis to systemic racism—approximately 24 percent, similar to the 32 percent of white participants who felt similarly. This indicates that in racially mixed settings, people are increasingly discerning about what constitutes racism, requiring evidence of both negative intentions and consequences.
Adding to this complexity, many lower-income, less educated minority voters may not feel Trump’s derogatory comments target them personally. This phenomenon can reflect internalized racism, wherein individuals identify more with the dominant race and overlook subtle racism directed at their own communities.
For instance, in a pre-election interview, Trump remarked that migrants at the southern border have “bad genes,” reviving centuries-old eugenic narratives to justify discrimination. Given Trump’s historically high support among Latino voters, it appears many may not perceive those derogatory claims as directed at them.
These insights challenge traditional assumptions around how voters perceive race and racism and suggest a necessary shift in understanding the complexities of racial identity in America.
To rebuild their multiracial coalition, Democrats must engage with these intricate dynamics of racial identity politics. As the party is already perceived as distant from working-class Americans, they cannot afford to alienate nonwhite voters, many of whom are also part of this demographic category. Moving away from the dated “people of color” label in favor of specific racial and ethnic references represents a meaningful step toward revitalizing frayed connections.
Moreover, Democrats need to refine their outreach strategies, adopting messages that are tailored to the unique cultural contexts and immediate concerns of each racial group instead of relying on a broad approach encompassing “people of color.” While racial minorities are, overall, more inclined to support Democratic candidates, the segments that do not align hold critical swing votes, often lacking strong racial identities.
This tailored engagement becomes even more vital in light of the growing anti-DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) movement, which threatens to undo hard-won progress for all racial minorities. The Republican backlash against DEI has thrived partly due to Democrats’ failure to connect with and mobilize nonwhite voters, risking erosion of confidence in the Democratic Party.
Recognizing and responding to the distinct nuances of each racial and ethnic group will be challenging. However, for Democrats, this nuanced understanding provides one of the best chances for moving forward effectively.
Mathilde Moreau contributed to this report for TROIB News
