The Bernie Bro Narrative Erases Women Like Me

Sanders’ base is more diverse than the angry online mob of white men people love to complain about

Photo: Caroline Brehman/Getty Images

Of all the enduring and bad-faith narratives to spill over from the 2016 presidential election, one stands out in its inability to evolve or die down: the story of the Bernie Bros. For the past five years, the bros have been painted as a mob of young white men, whose toxic online culture embodies the worst of modern political discourse. And as Bernie Sanders emerges as the polling front-runner in the Democratic primary, the Bernie Bro narrative is back with new, breathless urgency.

The topic was front and center on the debate stage on Wednesday night, when Sanders was repeatedly called on to distance himself from his online army. Earlier in the week, Michael Bloomberg tried to turn the energy of Sanders’ base against him, releasing an ad with a reel of vile tweets, messages, and memes circulated by the Vermont senator’s supporters. This follows a reported feud between Sanders and Elizabeth Warren last month, in which unnamed sources claimed Sanders said a woman would never win the White House, deepening a narrative that his campaign is marred by sexism and misogyny.

This mirrors a persistent line of attacks from pundits and political elites in recent years. Last July, MSNBC’s Mimi Rocah said that Sanders makes her skin crawl, for reasons she was unable to identify. In her mind, Sanders is not a very “pro-woman” candidate. Hillary Clinton gave an interview with the Hollywood Reporter last month, accusing Sanders of being complicit in his supporters’ sexist attacks. Meghan McCain responded on The View by saying she could have gone a step further than Clinton in condemning Sanders and the “Bernie Bro sexism that we’ve been talking for days about.”

It’s as if women’s contributions are secondary to the bros — or that we don’t exist at all.

Together, these accusations contribute to the narrative that Sanders’ base is mostly young, white “bros,” and that their sexist online behavior reflects poorly on not just the campaign but also Sanders himself. The added subtext is that women would be wrong to support Sanders; no self-respecting feminist should be associated with a campaign that has such an ingrained and toxic culture.

But as a woman who has supported Sanders’ campaign since the beginning of his candidacy, I find these insinuations to be both insulting and false. The idea that the campaign is all bros undermines the work women have done on it, as if our contributions are secondary to the bros or that we don’t exist at all.

This erasure negates the fact that women have established themselves as the cornerstone of Sanders’ campaign. He has a large number of women in prominent leadership positions. The Economist found that men and women under age 30 support Sanders at roughly the same rate. And according to a January 2019 Morning Consult survey with Politico, Sanders is actually more popular among Latinos than he is among whites. But perhaps the strongest indicator of support would be the amount of money — mainly small donations — Sanders had raised from women. As of last November, he had taken in more money from women than any of his fellow 2020 candidates, though other candidates received a higher fraction of support from women donors

Robinson Meyer first coined the term “Bernie Bro” in a 2015 story for the Atlantic, which created a character profile meant to simultaneously roast and distill this unique brand of Sanders supporter. (“The Berniebro knows a secret: The only reason you, and every other Facebook user, haven’t supported Bernie yet is your own willful ignorance,” Meyer writes.) The Clinton campaign later latched onto the idea and amplified it for the 2016 primary, where it became symbolic of the disconnect between the older, more moderate establishment of the Democratic Party and the younger, leftist base that has emerged in recent years.

The Bernie Bro narrative took hold because it provided a convenient way to explain these dramatic shifts within the Democratic voting bloc. Rank-and-file Democrats and pundits seemed blindsided by the power of Sanders’ candidacy. Many moderates were unsure of how to come to terms with young voters who were holding them accountable, en masse, for their past and present actions. The only way for party elites and commentators to come to terms with this perceived threat to political norms was to single out Sanders’ base, claiming it was divisive, lacked diversity, and did not represent the party as a whole. Doing so was far easier than accepting their policy critiques as possibly legitimate.

The idea that Sanders’ base is composed almost exclusively of misogynistic young white men has unfortunately overshadowed everything the campaign represents. That’s not to say those online segments don’t exist. There is an undeniable frustration coming from the Sanders base that can manifest itself in ugly ways online. Such personal attacks by anyone claiming to be a Sanders supporter are inexcusable. Sanders himself has rightly and repeatedly condemned sexism and vile online behavior. “I don’t tolerate ugly attacks against anybody,” he said at a CNN town hall on Tuesday. And the vast majority of his base agrees.

It is absolutely unfair to paint a picture of Bernie’s support based solely on the actions of a small group of his online supporters. And it often feels as though their anger is misunderstood. The focus on toxicity rarely, if ever, addresses the income inequality, health care injustice, and climate crisis inaction, among other issues, that fuel a lot of the anger online. It also unfairly sweeps up the many supporters, women in particular, who are channeling that frustration into a positive and unprecedented grassroots organization.

To portray Bernie’s supporters as just toxic, misogynistic, angry white men is neither productive nor based on fact.

When I think of the Sanders campaign, I think of his surrogate Nina Turner, who is emerging as a powerful force on the left. Or I think of women like Briahna Joy Gray, René Spellman, Analilia Ford, and Claire Sandberg, among others, who are dedicating their professional lives and talents to a movement they believe in. It’s also encouraging to see that strong women in Congress, like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, and Rashida Tlaib, who took inspiration from Sanders’ first presidential campaign and decided to seek office themselves. Together, these three women have given back by helping revitalize his campaign in a way no one else could have.

For me personally, Sanders’ network of supporters has given me a sense of community, and his movement has finally given a home to my political views. The other Sanders supporters I have encountered both online and in person serve as a constant reminder that this movement was far bigger than any one individual, and his all-star cast of surrogates makes me even more confident in everything he and his base have achieved in such a short amount of time. Whether it’s student debt or health care, Sanders and his base have dramatically reshaped the way we discuss the issues average Americans are facing throughout the country.

To portray Sanders’ supporters as just toxic, misogynistic, angry white men is neither productive nor based on fact and only adds to the sentiment among his base that our voices continue to be unheard. Sanders would not be a front-runner if it weren’t for the women who have been critical to every aspect of his campaign. To dismiss the broad coalition of support that makes up his base as “Bernie Bros” is an outright dismissal of the women on every level who continue to fuel the movement’s success.