COLUMN: Democrats Steal the Right’s Sacred Weapon and Strike at the Heart of American Values

How the Right Has Hijacked the Language of Values

To understand what’s new about the current moment, we must look back at how the American religious right has methodically built its monopoly on moral discourse over the past fifty years. It all began in the 1970s, with the emergence of Reverend Jerry Falwell’s Moral Majority and groups like Pat Robertson and Ralph Reed’s Christian Coalition. These organizations theorized and put into practice a formidably effective strategy: transforming social issues (abortion, same-sex marriage, prayer in schools, the teaching of evolution) into absolute markers of identity, and making these issues the primary criterion for conservative Christians’ votes. This strategy took off under Ronald Reagan, reached its peak under George W. Bush in 2004, and evolved under Donald Trump into a more transactional but equally powerful alliance. White evangelicals, in particular, have become one of the Republican Party’s most disciplined and loyal voting blocs, with over 80% voting for Trump in 2016, 2020, and 2024. This moral monopoly has had devastating consequences for American public discourse. It has reduced the concept of “values” to a few identity-based issues. It has marginalized progressive religious voices. It has allowed politicians whose personal lives openly contradicted evangelical teachings (Trump being the perfect example) to present themselves as defenders of the Christian faith. And it has helped transform a significant portion of the religious electorate into a voting machine on “culture war” issues, to the detriment of its own economic and social interests.

The Silent Erosion of the Monopoly

But this monopoly, powerful as it may be, has been showing signs of real erosion in recent years. Polls indicate a steady decline in religious affiliation in the United States, particularly among younger generations. Evangelicals themselves are divided, with a growing rift between older believers aligned with Trump and a younger generation that is more open-minded on social issues and more attuned to matters of racial and climate justice. Catholics, long viewed as a conservative bloc, now vote in a more divided manner, with a significant portion identifying with the social positions of Pope Francis and, subsequently, his successor. Black and Latino Christians—traditionally Democrats but courted by Republicans—remain predominantly on the left, but their moral concerns align with those of white progressives on economic issues. And within other religious traditions—Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist—progressive voices are being heard more loudly. The American religious landscape is no longer what it was in 2004. And the Democrats, after years of a strategy of avoidance, are finally beginning to understand that they can and must occupy this ground. They are not doing so out of cynical opportunism, but often out of deep conviction. Talarico is a seminarian. Warnock is a pastor. Shapiro is a practicing Jew. Beshear speaks openly about his faith. These men do not wear religion like an electoral costume. They live it. And that authenticity makes all the difference.

What really strikes me about this shift is just how much the American religious right has ended up discrediting itself. It’s almost tragic. For fifty years, these people preached against immorality, against debauchery, against the collapse of family values. And then they embraced a Donald Trump who embodied absolutely everything they claimed to be fighting against. A man who has been married three times, accused of multiple acts of adultery, convicted in several cases, accused of sexual assault, who lies compulsively, who exploits the most vulnerable, who despises the poor. And they supported him. They defended him. They deified him. They even went so far as to compare him to biblical figures. And in doing so, they destroyed their own moral credibility. Not overnight. Slowly. But surely. Because millions of Americans, including many Christians, saw this hypocrisy for what it was. They saw that these people who spoke of morality were willing to sacrifice everything for power. And now, when someone like Talarico comes along and speaks of the Gospel, of justice, of service, it resonates differently. Because he represents a voice that hasn’t sold its soul. A voice that hasn’t compromised with the worst. A voice that, in fact, resembles what people were looking for when they listened to the preachers of yesteryear. And that is a historic opportunity for the Democrats. But it is also an enormous responsibility. Because if they, too, disappoint—if they, too, end up sacrificing their integrity for tactical gains—then the disillusionment will be total. And the ground will once again become scorched earth.

Raphael Warnock, the Pastor Who’s Shaking Up Georgia

Even before James Talarico became a national figure, Georgia Senator Raphael Warnock had paved the way. A pastor at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta—the very church where Martin Luther King Jr. preached—Warnock won his Senate seat in 2021 and then retained it in 2022 in a politically contested state. His rhetoric consistently blends biblical references with advocacy for social justice, expanded access to healthcare, and the defense of minority voting rights. He embodies the tradition of the Black Church, which has always viewed Christianity as a call to collective action against injustice, not as a conservative retreat into identity politics. His colleague Jon Ossoff, Georgia’s first Jewish senator, completes this picture of a new Georgia where religion is harnessed in the service of inclusion rather than exclusion. These two figures demonstrate that it is possible to win in the Deep South with a message that embraces the spiritual dimension of progressive activism. It is a quiet but profound revolution in a region where, for decades, the Democratic Party had given up in the face of the conservative evangelical machine.

Josh Shapiro and Andy Beshear: The Success of the Spiritual Middle Ground

Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, a practicing Jew who speaks openly about the role of his faith in his political engagement, and Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear, a Democrat who has won re-election twice in a largely Republican state by embracing his Christian roots, round out this gallery of portraits. Both demonstrate that a Democrat can win in battleground or even “red” states by speaking authentically about their spiritual values, without abandoning progressive positions on economic and social issues. Beshear, in particular, has managed to maintain high popularity in a Trump-leaning Kentucky by consistently speaking about compassion, collective responsibility, and service. His remarks following natural disasters or mass shootings have regularly been praised for their emotional and spiritual depth. Shapiro, for his part, has made his Jewish identity an anchor without turning it into an identity burden. These governors embody what a competitive Democrat could look like anywhere in the United States: rooted in a spiritual tradition, yet open to all traditions; serious about morality, yet free of moralizing; committed to justice, yet without ideological rigidity. They are living proof that the formula works, and that the model can extend far beyond traditional Democratic strongholds.

What strikes me about these figures—Warnock, Ossoff, Shapiro, Beshear, Talarico—is that they don’t come across as reciting a script. They don’t give the impression of having found a magic formula to rally religious voters. They come across as truly being who they are. And in an era when politics is saturated with calculating figures—strategists who think about their image before they think about their values—this authenticity has an electrifying effect. I often find myself thinking that what Americans, and perhaps Westerners more broadly, are desperately seeking today isn’t so much platforms or promises. It’s authenticity. Someone who speaks to them the way you’d speak to a neighbor. Someone who isn’t putting on a show. Someone whose actions match their words. And the politicians who succeed in this quest for authenticity—whether on the left or the right—are making their mark on this era. Trump did it in his own way—brutal but real. Bernie Sanders did it. AOC did it. And now, this new wave of religious Democrats is doing it in turn. It’s no guarantee of electoral victory. Politics remains a brutal and unpredictable game. But it’s at least a promising direction. A direction that puts sincerity back at the heart of public engagement. And that, after decades of rampant cynicism, is almost revolutionary. I’ll admit it: it gives me back a little hope. Not much. But a little. And a little is better than nothing.

A Convergence of Fatigue and Aspiration

If this new Democratic approach is resonating today—even though it would have fallen on deaf ears fifteen years ago—it is because several factors are converging. First, there is widespread fatigue with the never-ending culture wars. The majority of Americans are exhausted by ten years of constant identity-based battles, extreme polarization, and aggression in public debate. Second, there is massive economic anxiety linked to technological transformations, to artificial intelligence that threatens millions of jobs, and to the growing precariousness of the middle class. This anxiety raises fundamental moral questions: What is a just society? How can we protect the most vulnerable? What is our collective responsibility in the face of the upheavals underway? These questions find no answers in the old controversies over abortion or marriage. They call for a broader, more ambitious ethical framework. Finally, there is a search for meaning in an American society where traditional communities are crumbling, loneliness is skyrocketing, and addictions of all kinds are ravaging entire regions. Americans are looking for narratives that give meaning to their collective lives. And the Trumpist right, despite its pretensions, offers nothing but a narrative of grievances, resentment, and revenge. The emerging Democratic narrative, on the other hand, offers something more constructive: a vision of the common good, solidarity, and human dignity. It is this contrast that gives the new positioning its strength.

Voters on the Move: A Portrait of a Shifting Landscape

Early analyses of voting intentions for the 2026 midterms show significant shifts. A portion of moderate evangelicals—particularly women and young people—are moving away from the Republican Party. Practicing Catholics, who are attuned to the Church’s social teachings on poverty and the environment, are gravitating toward Democrats who speak their moral language. Black and Latino Christians, who had been partially won over by the conservative narrative on family issues, are returning to the Democrats, who embrace a spiritual dimension to their commitment. And many voters without religious affiliation—but who are seeking meaning and ethical consistency—identify with this new left, which speaks of values without dogmatism. This realignment is not massive; it will not flip all red states to blue. But in close races in swing states like Texas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Arizona, or Wisconsin, just a few percentage points are enough to reverse the results. And it is precisely those few points that the Democrats hope to gain with their new strategy. The polls show real momentum. It remains to be seen whether this will hold up at the polls in November 2026.

When I look at these demographic data, I find myself thinking that we may be witnessing something that goes beyond a mere electoral strategy. We are witnessing a civilizational repositioning. For fifty years, America has been dominated by a narrative that pitted progressive, secular modernity against conservative religious tradition. As if we had to choose between the two. As if being modern necessarily meant abandoning the sacred, and being religious necessarily meant rejecting progress. This dichotomy has poisoned American political life. It has forced millions of people to betray themselves on one side or the other. And now, I see a third way emerging. A way that says: you can be modern and a person of faith. You can defend LGBTQ rights and read the Bible. You can support legal abortion and attend church. You can fight economic inequality in the name of the Gospel. You can be a feminist and a practicing Jew. You can be a progressive and a devout Muslim. This synthesis, which seemed impossible ten years ago, is becoming a reality in certain speeches, certain campaigns, and among certain elected officials. And that changes everything. Because it frees millions of Americans from having to choose between their faith and their political convictions. It allows them to be fully themselves. And an electorate that can be itself is an electorate that mobilizes. Perhaps that, ultimately, is the profound significance of this transformation. Not so much winning elections—though obviously that matters—but enabling a people to reconcile with themselves. If only we could draw inspiration from this elsewhere.

The Trap of Cynical Co-Optation

This Democratic strategy is not without risks, however. The first—and perhaps most significant—is that of cynical co-optation. If, in the future, Democratic candidates who are less authentic than Talarico or Warnock try to imitate their religious rhetoric without truly believing in it, it will ring false. And voters—especially religious voters—have a keen sense for detecting insincerity. A wave of politicians suddenly talking about faith to win votes would have the opposite effect of what is intended. The Democratic Party will therefore need to distinguish between those who genuinely have this dimension in their backgrounds and those who are merely engaging in religious marketing. The second risk is alienating part of the secular base. Progressive Democrats have spent years defending the strict separation of church and state and distrusting any mingling of politics and religion. Seeing their party openly embrace spiritual rhetoric could cause internal tensions, particularly among young urban voters, atheists, and agnostics, who make up a significant portion of the Democratic electorate in certain regions. The challenge will be to reconcile the two: acknowledging the spiritual dimension where it genuinely exists, while respecting the secular dimension that remains fundamental for many. This is a delicate balance. It will require political acumen and a great deal of tact.

The Inevitable Attack from the Religious Right

The third risk—and by no means the least—comes from the reaction of the religious right. Faced with this unexpected competition on its own turf, it will not remain passive. We are already seeing Ken Paxton attack James Talarico over his “deviant theology,” using the same arguments conservatives used against Jeremiah Wright, Barack Obama’s former pastor. We will see influential preachers denounce as heretical any Democrat who dares to speak of the Gospel. We will see conservative media outlets distort these candidates’ positions to portray them as wolves in spiritual sheepfolds. We may even see calls for religious boycotts, pressure on the faithful, and fiery sermons against the “demonic left.” This theological war is going to be fierce. And it could, in certain contexts, succeed in neutralizing some of the potential gains. But it could also backfire on its perpetrators, bringing to light the political instrumentalization of faith by the religious right. Much will depend on the Democrats’ ability to stand their ground with dignity, without responding to provocation with provocation. To show that their faith—or their respect for diverse spiritual traditions—is sincere and constructive. This is a long-term cultural battle. But it is a battle that, for the first time in a long while, is no longer a foregone conclusion for the right.

I don’t want to get too carried away, because I know how these things can turn out. I’ve seen promising momentum crushed too many times by the brutality of American politics. I’ve seen too many dashed hopes, broken promises, and movements that run out of steam. And yet, I can’t remain completely cynical either. Because what’s happening with Talarico, Warnock, Shapiro, Beshear, and the others isn’t just a fleeting PR stunt. It’s a fundamental trend. It’s a realignment that’s part of a long-term shift. And even if it doesn’t produce all the expected results in 2026, it lays the groundwork for 2028, 2030, and beyond. The rising generations are less tied to the traditional religious right. They seek meaning in other ways. They want leaders who speak truthfully, who stand by their convictions, who don’t hide behind empty platitudes. And what these new religious Democrats offer meets that expectation. Of course, that’s not all. It will also take sound economic policies, concrete proposals, and the ability to govern. Fine rhetoric is never enough. But it opens doors. It reaches out to constituencies that had closed themselves off. It enables conversations that once seemed impossible. And in a democracy as polarized as that of the United States, reopening doors is already a victory. It’s already a step toward something less toxic. Perhaps that’s what this 2026 campaign is teaching us: that it’s still possible to reinvent coalitions, to renew our language, and to surprise the opponent by playing on their own turf. And that, frankly, makes me want to believe in it a little.

What This Shift Reveals About This Historic Moment

The 2026 U.S. election campaign is not just another election. It is taking place against a backdrop of extreme polarization, a profound democratic crisis, a questioning of institutions, and major economic and geopolitical tensions. In this context, the fact that the Democrats are finally emerging with a confident moral discourse—rooted in diverse spiritual traditions and capable of speaking to both believers and non-believers alike—is a political event of paramount importance. This does not guarantee their victory. The Republican Party remains powerful, well-organized, and backed by immense financial and media resources. It still enjoys considerable structural advantages within the American electoral system. But the culture war that the right has won for fifty years is no longer a foregone conclusion. The conservative moral monopoly is cracking. And from this crack emerges the possibility of another narrative—one that is broader, more inclusive, and more just. Whether this narrative prevails or not, whether it brings about lasting change in American politics or fades away over the course of election cycles, will depend largely on the ability of the new voices championing this message to remain authentic, consistent, and courageous. They are not alone in this struggle. They are part of a long line of Americans who have combined faith and civic engagement to move their country forward. From Frederick Douglass to Dorothy Day, from Martin Luther King to Cesar Chavez, this tradition exists—vibrant, fertile, and transformative. It is reawakening. And this may be the most significant political development in the United States right now.

I end this column with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I am genuinely moved by what I see emerging. Moved by these figures who dare to speak of faith and justice together, without cynicism, without calculation, or at least with a sincerity that seems genuine. Moved because it reawakens something in me that I thought had long since died out: the conviction that politics can be something other than a circus of manipulation. On the other hand, I remain wary. Because I’ve seen too many broken promises, too many promising movements crushed by the machine, too many hopes shattered. And I also know that in the United States—perhaps more than anywhere else—conservative forces possess a truly frightening capacity for resilience and resistance. Talarico might lose. Warnock might be attacked relentlessly until he’s worn down. Shapiro might be marginalized. Anything is possible. But I want to believe that even if these specific individuals fail, the movement they embody will not stop. Because it responds to a deep need. The need for reconciliation between spiritual life and public life. The need for language that speaks to the soul and not just to the wallet. The need to rediscover narratives that give meaning to our collective efforts. This need will not disappear. On the contrary, it will grow as crises worsen. And sooner or later, politicians will know how to respond to this need. Perhaps these very people. Perhaps others. But the direction is right. And that’s already something. In a world that sometimes seems to be heading toward the abyss, that’s actually a lot.

Signed, Jacques Pj Provost, columnist