In his inaugural address as New York City's new mayor, Zohran Mamdani promised to "replace the frigidity of rugged individualism with the warmth of collectivism." It's a revealing turn of phrase from the self-described democratic socialist, and a familiar one from the collectivist playbook: paint self-reliance as cold, harsh, and uncaring.
But Mamdani has it backwards: it is collectivism that is cold. Those of us who have lived by the creed of rugged individualism know something that politicians who have never built anything never will: there is no warmth quite like that which you've built with your own hands.
Walk into the home of a rugged individualist, and you'll find heat, literal and figurative. The food on the table came from labor freely given. The walls of the shelter rose from skill patiently honed. The fire in the fireplace burns because someone chopped the wood, stacked it dry, and struck the match. This isn't mere survival. It's the deep satisfaction of competence, the quiet pride of provision. The rugged individualist goes to sleep knowing that everything around them exists because they made it so, and that if it all came down tomorrow, they could build it again. That knowledge is warmth. That capability is security. And that security allows for something collectivism can never produce: genuine love freely given, not extracted through dependency.
When the world grows heavy, the rugged individualist does not petition a bureaucrat. They do not file paperwork with an agency. They do not wait in line for a government that processes humans like cattle. They kneel. They pray. They turn to the God who made them and ask for His guidance and intervention. There is no warmth greater than knowing your Creator loves you. There is no comfort deeper than faith that transcends circumstance. The collectivist offers you a caseworker. The rugged individualist knows the Author of the universe by name.
Here is what critics of individualism will never understand: the rugged individual, secure in their provision, becomes the most generous soul you'll ever meet. Out of abundance, not scarcity, they look for opportunities to bless their fellow man. Out of gratitude, not guilt, they extend a hand to those in need. As they mature, having walked the hard road themselves, they turn back to show the next generation the way. They mentor. They teach. They bring others along. This is not the atomized isolation Mamdani imagines. This is a community built on strength rather than weakness, on voluntary bonds rather than coerced dependency.
Now consider the alternative. Collectivism asks you to abdicate your sacred responsibility as a human being. Don't worry, they say, about providing for your family, the government will do it. Don't worry about caring for your neighbor; the state has a program. Don't worry about building anything, just consume what we distribute. But governments are cold. Bureaucracies are heartless. They process, they categorize, they ration. They do not love. They cannot love. Love requires a soul, and institutions have none. Worse, collectivism drives out the very people capable of accomplishment. When the productive are punished and the dependent rewarded, the rugged individuals leave. And then who provides? Who builds? Who creates the wealth that collectivists redistribute? No one. And so the bread lines form. The shelves are empty. The winters grow cold, literally, because no one remains who knows how to keep the lights on.
If this sounds theoretical, look at Venezuela. A generation ago, it was the jewel of South America, sitting atop some of the largest oil and gold reserves on Earth. Then came Hugo Chávez with his promises of collective provision. Nicolás Maduro continued the project. Today, Venezuelans eat from garbage trucks and flee by the millions. A nation blessed with incomprehensible natural wealth has become a narco-communist dictatorship. This is collectivism's endpoint. Not the warm embrace of community, but the cold grip of desperation.
The Mamdanis of the world speak of collectivism as though it were about compassion. But collectivist politicians never keep their promises. They are incapable. What they want is control. They do not wish to be your provider; they wish to be your God. They want you dependent, compliant, on your knees, not in prayer to your Creator, but in supplication to them.
This is not warmth. This is the cold calculus of power. The fire is there for anyone willing to build it.
Larry Ward is the chairman of Constitutional Rights PAC and a longtime advocate for American values and free enterprise.
