American politics is based on frustration, leavened periodically with doses of idealism and unrealistic hope. President Joe Biden is going to disappoint the broad and diverse coalition that brought him into office. Every successful president does that — the unsuccessful ones, too. Our mismatched political institutions encourage bold demands and deliver only incremental gains, very slowly. Biden’s path will be particularly difficult, partly because of the differing ambitions of the social movements that propelled his victory and partly because his position is weak: He’ll enter the White House in the midst of a public health crisis, facing a Supreme Court that is stacked against the sorts of initiatives he’s promised and a Senate likely to be led by Republicans well-practiced in obstructing the goals of a Democratic president.

The founders set up this stalemate. They created a system of government designed to stall the ambitions of anyone looking to change anything unless they accept compromise with their opponents. Despite their persistent efforts, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush couldn’t end abortion in the United States, and Bill Clinton and Barack Obama couldn’t provide universal health insurance.

The activists who supported Biden’s campaign — often as a last resort when their favored candidates fell away — surely recognize his difficulties, but they are unlikely to cut him much slack. Nor should they. Although it’s easier to mobilize large protests against political opponents, challenging your allies is essential to making progress. Why let up just when you have a chance to aim higher than simply not making the world worse?

History is replete with presidents and politicians who deserted their supporters — and paid the price. In 1932, for example, beaten up by the Depression, tens of thousands of veterans and their families camped in Washington, forming a “Bonus Army” that pressed President Herbert Hoover for early payment of a cash bonus that had been promised for military service. They lingered while the House of Representatives passed, and the Senate rejected, a bill to pay them. They stayed for months, waiting in a kind of shantytown they’d constructed on the Anacostia Flats, until Hoover ordered the military to clear out the encampment. The drama contributed to Hoover’s election loss at the end of the year. More recently, activist Republicans punished President George H.W. Bush for breaking his “no new taxes” pledge, failing to show up in large numbers for his unsuccessful 1992 reelection campaign.

Antiwar activists, who had taken to the streets when President George W. Bush first suggested the invasion of Iraq and kept protesting throughout his two terms, were heavily invested in Obama’s candidacy. Unlike his 2008 Democratic primary opponent, Hillary Clinton, Obama hadn’t supported the war. The presidential primary became partly a referendum on that decision and helped propel Obama to the White House.

Leaders sometimes survive the failure to deliver for their base, but this only strengthens their resolve. When 60,000 social conservatives showed up at the 1981 March for Life just days after Reagan’s inauguration, its leaders declared their support for him. But in policies and judicial appointments, Reagan was unable to end abortion. Soon, bombings commenced on women’s health clinics. By the mid-’80s, Operation Rescue had emerged to stage civil disobedience blockades outside clinics, and today the antiabortion movement continues strong, with new allies.

As president, Obama was a disappointment to the environmental and peace activists who propelled his candidacy. On entering office, he focused on economic recovery and health care,giving short shrift to promises on immigration and the climate. After Congress passed its first major climate bill in 2009, environmentalists argued that Obama had allowed legislators to water down the legislation. Greenpeace activists rappelled down Mount Rushmore to unfurl a banner demanding leadership — and action on climate change — but Obama, stymied by Republican opposition, was unable to deliver. Now, another decade of activism, aided by recurrent hurricanes and wildfires, has increased support for bold action — maybe even a Green New Deal.

Today’s progressive activists have been preparing for this moment since Donald Trump claimed an electoral college victory in 2016, even before the first would-be marcher knit a pink pussy hat. Some were new to activism, enraged by Trump’s rhetoric and disappointed by Clinton’s defeat. But many others were already experienced and committed, and would have been protesting for immigration reform, reproductive rights or action on climate change anyway. Trump united this broad opposition into a coalition containing constitutional conservatives who wanted to save the republic alongside young Sunrise Movement activists determined to save the planet.

The first Women’s March, staged across the nation on the day after Trump took the oath of office, offered a laundry list of grievances and aspirations, and a big tent under which all sorts of people could gather. Activists took a new cause to the streets — and the airports — virtually every week: against Trump’s travel ban, for science, for immigrant rights, for tax justice and even for truth. In 2018, some kids in Florida reinvigorated a movement for gun safety legislation, and in 2020, we saw historic demonstrations against racialized police violence. They weren’t always coordinating, and they often disagreed about tactics or goals. But they all saw Trump as an apocalyptic threat. Importantly, activists didn’t stop with demonstrations. Reformers organized local groups, met around kitchen tables or in church basements, and started campaigns to influence local officials. Their efforts helped stop the repeal of the Affordable Care Act and launch a flurry of candidates for state and local office.

When Biden won the Democratic nomination, unity in the face of a larger threat came unusually smoothly. Unlike in 1968 or 1972 or even 2016, when some progressives could not support Clinton, grass-roots activists readily grasped that gaining power was the best way to promote new policies. But the change in leadership is a means, not an end. Removing a pebble from your shoe doesn’t make the hike ahead any shorter.

Victories, always partial, are a challenge for protest movements; some people feel reduced urgency and go home, as antiwar activists did after 2008. Obama, their candidate, did not realize their goals — he left some troops in Iraq and surged American soldiers into Afghanistan. Although the peace demonstrations continued, they were smaller, and self-identified Democrats stopped coming out into the streets; the movement had surrendered too much leverage to hold him accountable.

A successful election moves other advocates, used to organizing and protesting, into more conventional political roles such as making phone calls and recruiting donations. But stalwarts continue: They press to convince other activists that their grievances are still real, still actionable, and that their efforts might still matter. Placing even a strong ally in office doesn’t inherently solve anything. It doesn’t implement gun safety measures, expand health care or stop climate change. Savvy activists know they need to pressure their allies at least as much as their opponents.

Any reform is a small part of a larger agenda, and effective activists have learned to claim victories gracelessly and move to the next demand. After President Lyndon Johnson got the Civil Rights Act through Congress in 1964, advocates organized to promote voter registration in the Deep South, infuriating the president. When Johnson was re-elected in 1964, they staged the iconic march from Selma to Montgomery that spurred Johnson to push the Voting Rights Act. Martin Luther King Jr., who recognized Johnson’s efforts, nonetheless antagonized the president by opposing the Vietnam War and starting a more comprehensive — and more radical — Poor People’s Campaign. If your goal is social justice, there’s always more to be done. Similarly, immigration opponents never let Trump forget his wall.

Biden, poorly positioned to accomplish much, will be exposed to an unusually large constellation of pressures. He will enter office grappling with at least three crises (economic, political and public health) that Trump left for him. The activists who helped him into office will also be battling a conservative coalition in Congress — and they’ll surely vie against each other for influence within the White House. But in his five-decade political career, Biden has seen many presidents absorb the same object lesson: Pressure from supporters is generally far more powerful than pressure from opponents, and there’s every reason to think it will continue against him.

David S. Meyer is a professor of sociology and political science at the University of California, Irvine, and author of “The Politics of Protest: Social Movements in America.”

Copy the Story Link