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| Chloe Swarbrick with Zarah Sultana of MyParty |
THE GLOBAL LEFT left will enter 2026 in a state of contradiction: ascendant in some places, stagnant in others. The year has already delivered a series of reminders that left-wing movements can surge rapidly when they speak to material needs. However, they can just as easily stall when they fail to build structures capable of outlasting individual personalities or moments of crisis. Across the United States and the United Kingdom, new formations are reshaping the political imagination. Yet in New Zealand, the left remains trapped in a holding pattern, waiting for a breakthrough that never quite arrives.
In the United States, the Democratic Socialists of America have become impossible to ignore. What was once dismissed as a fringe organisation has, through patient organising and a clear ideological compass, become a pole of attraction for younger voters disillusioned with the narrow bandwidth of mainstream politics. The DSA’s growth reflects a broader shift: millions of Americans now openly identify with socialist ideas, not as a historical curiosity but as a living political project. This shift has elevated figures like Zohran Mamdani, whose work on housing justice and public goods has made him a symbol of what a grounded, community-rooted socialist politics can look like. His rise demonstrates that the left’s strength lies in its ability to articulate concrete alternatives to a system that has failed to deliver basic security.
Alongside him, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez continues to be one of the most recognisable socialist politicians in the country. Her prominence has led some commentators to speculate about her potential as a future presidential candidate. Whether that speculation materialises into a campaign is beside the point; what matters is that a socialist figure is now routinely discussed in the same breath as national executive power. That alone marks a profound shift in the American political landscape. It signals that the left’s ideas—public investment, climate action, economic democracy—have moved from the margins to the centre of public debate.
Across the Atlantic, the United Kingdom has seen the unexpected rise of MyParty, a new left-wing formation that has captured the imagination of voters tired of triangulation and austerity dressed up as pragmatism. MyParty’s appeal lies in its refusal to apologise for its politics. It speaks directly to the crises facing ordinary people: soaring rents, collapsing public services, and a political class that has normalised decline. Its success is a reminder that when the left offers a coherent story about power, inequality, and the future, people respond. The British political establishment, long accustomed to treating left-wing movements as temporary irritants, now finds itself confronting a force that is reshaping the electoral map.
These developments stand in stark contrast to the situation in New Zealand, where the left enters an election year with little sense of momentum. After years of centrist governance, the political landscape feels depressingly familiar. The Labour Party, despite its rhetoric, has settled into its usual managerial posture that offers stability without transformation. There is no serious prospect of a break from the status quo, no indication that the party intends to challenge the structural forces driving inequality, housing insecurity, or ecological breakdown. The result is a political environment in which the left’s ambitions are constrained not by public appetite but by the timidity of its major political vehicle.
And yet, even in this stagnant landscape, there are glimmers of possibility. Chloe Swarbrick remains the most compelling figure on the New Zealand left, not because she offers easy answers, but because she refuses to accept the narrow horizons that dominate national politics. Her recent meetings with prominent European left leaders in London signal a willingness to think beyond New Zealand’s borders, to situate local struggles within a global movement for economic and ecological justice. That internationalism matters. It suggests a recognition that the crises facing New Zealand—housing, climate, inequality—are not isolated phenomena but symptoms of a global system in decay.
Swarbrick’s appeal lies in her ability to articulate a politics that is both principled and practical. She speaks to the lived realities of younger generations who have been locked out of home ownership, burdened by debt, and told to accept a future defined by scarcity. Her presence in the political arena is a reminder that the left’s strength has always come from its capacity to tell the truth about power, even when doing so is inconvenient. It's not surprising, then, that she is the target of much vitriol from defenders of the status quo. But one politician, no matter how talented, cannot substitute for a movement. The challenge for the New Zealand left is to build the organisational infrastructure capable of turning widespread frustration into collective action.
The contrast between New Zealand and its international counterparts raises a deeper question: why has the left struggled to gain traction here while flourishing elsewhere? Part of the answer lies in the country’s political culture, which has long rewarded moderation and punished ideological clarity. Another part lies in the absence of a mass membership organisation capable of sustaining political education, mobilisation, and long-term strategy. Without such structures, the left is forced to rely on electoral cycles and individual personalities—an approach that inevitably leads to disappointment.
Yet the successes abroad show what is possible when the left invests in movement-building. The DSA did not emerge overnight; it grew through years of organising, coalition-building, and a willingness to challenge the Democratic Party from within and without. MyParty’s rise was not an accident; it was the result of a political vacuum created by decades of bipartisan austerity. These examples demonstrate that when the left offers a compelling vision rooted in material reality, people respond.
The failures of the left in 2025 are real, but so are its successes. The task now is to learn from both. The global crises of inequality, climate change, and democratic erosion demand more than incrementalism. They demand a politics capable of imagining a different future—and fighting for it. Whether New Zealand will join that global wave or remain stuck in its cycle of centrist governance remains an open question. But the possibility of renewal exists, embodied in figures like Chloe Swarbrick and in the growing recognition that the status quo is untenable.
The left’s challenge is not simply to critique the world as it is, but to build the world as it should be. In some countries, that work is already underway. In others, it has barely begun. But the momentum is there, waiting to be harnessed. The question is whether the left will seize it.
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| Chloe Swarbrick with left wing economist and commentator Yanis Varoufakis. |
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