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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
(adjective and noun) the current holder of an office or position
For well over a century, one of the most fundamental concepts in political science has been that of the incumbent’s advantage. You could call it electoral gravity, a force pulling everything towards the person or party running the show. The reasons are many. Being in power confers the benefits of strong name recognition, established fundraising networks, relationships with the media and a track record.
But it’s no longer clear that this holds, and many of the very things that used to provide a boost at the ballot box may now produce a backlash. In 2024, when more than half the world’s population was eligible to vote in an election, incumbents were swept out from the US to the UK and beyond.
When the long-term trend across the democratic world was one of robust economic growth and progress more broadly defined, having a record in power was a good thing. Absent a nasty economic shock or egregious mis-step, parties could mount successful campaigns centred on the tangible improvements they had delivered during their tenure.
With stagnation now the norm, this has been turned on its head. “Vote for us if you want another four years of flat living standards and other things getting worse” is not an obvious vote-winner.
Similarly, in an increasingly fragmented media landscape where upstart politicians can speak directly to voters, being well known to mainstream news organisations is no longer a big boost. If Elon Musk has his way, even the incumbent’s fundraising advantage may soon be a thing of the past.
If the trend continues, it bodes ill for sensible centrists, for measured rhetoric and for incremental policy successes. We appear to be in a new era where all candidates, incumbent and outsider alike, have a strong incentive to run as populist upstarts, promising quick wins and radical reforms.
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