The score?

Progressives: 1

Establishment: 0.

To be more accurate (final round tally):

State Rep. Zohran Mamdani: 56.39%

Former Gov. Andrew Cuomo: 43.61%

Of course, the story of the 2025 New York Democratic mayoral primary involves far more than a single battle between perennial enemy wings of the Democratic party in a never-ending series of them. It's the story of a career politician and dynasty scion, emblematic of the hated “swamp”, attempting to regain his political clout after a quick and humiliating fall from power and grace; it’s the story of a young, charismatic lawmaker who used a mix of savvy online networking and old-school ground campaigning (he traversed the vertical length of Manhattan by foot just before the election, conversing with New Yorkers every step of the way) to rally hundreds of thousands of enthusiastic supporters to the polls.

But for all the things the 2025 election could have been about, the bottom line is this: Cuomo targeted — and people perceived — Mamdani as a leftist; Mamdani targeted — and people perceived — Cuomo as a moderate. In the minds of the electorate and the candidates themselves, this was an ideological clash above all — and there was perhaps no recent iteration of the Democratic Party more divided than the one that remained, albeit tattered, after the cataclysmic 2024 election.

Progressives blamed “empty-suit” moderates for failing to attack Trump on his many weak points — whether policy or character-wise. Moderates blamed “idealistic activist” progressives for rifling divide and schism in the party on the grounds of contentious issues like the Israel-Palestinian conflict and the Biden administration’s perceived failure in acting many progressive agenda items — whether eliminating the filibuster or raising the federal minimum wage to $15 per hour.

Mamdani, who in the span of a couple months had undergone a metamorphosis from little-known state assemblyman in Astoria to a blazing star on the frontlines of a resurrected, furious left-wing movement, has cemented himself in the minds of many — and not just those on the far left fringes — as the future of the Democratic Party. More specifically, a Democratic Party that imbued with the spirit and direction necessary to fight President Trump — who, for all of his misdeeds, cannot be faulted for a lack of conviction. Who better to lead such a crusade than a man who effectively willed himself into political celebrity and more than likely, the executive office of the most important city in the world?

Now, if the 2024 election — and the consequences that awaited Democrats’ hasty decision to nominate Kamala Harris without a fully fledged primary simply because it seemed the most appealing option at the time — taught us anything, it’s that the appealing option isn’t necessarily the right one. At the very least, it’s worth considering the pros and cons.

What can Democrats learn from Mamdani’s win? What should they be careful to accept as mantra for a party that must win not only urban voters — a historically liberal voting bloc — but also suburban and rural ones?

KEEP: Highlighting the cost-of-living reality

If Mamdani’s campaign spoke one thing more than others, it was the daily grind of living in high-cost places like New York. Groceries that burn through a paycheck, rent that demands half a month’s salary, and basic necessities that feel like luxuries — these are the pressure points that likely resonated most deeply with voters. Mamdani kept his message laser-focused on affordability, drawing a clear contrast with the perception of establishment Democrats as out-of-touch with working families’ struggles. While many of his proposals were met with pushback by more moderate minds — the most glaring example being his rent-freeze plan, criticized by even liberals as impractical and idealistic — they succeeded in showing the voters, beyond doubt, where he stood. Boldness is a quality shown to have been increasingly rewarded by voters over the last decade of elections. When applied to the right message — in this case, one about a pressing issue at the top of many New Yorkers’ minds — it can be a game-changer.

It’s no coincidence that frustration with cost-of-living has driven large shifts to the right in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. In 2024 alone, New York City swung more than 10 points in the Republican direction, accelerating a trend dating back to 2020. Mamdani’s appeal worked precisely because he zeroed in on this issue while others danced around it.

DISPOSE: Leftism worked in New York, therefore it’s the path forward on the national level

While it may sound obvious, it’s important to remember that this was a Democratic primary. The voters who turned out were, by and large, overwhelmingly liberal. Just to hammer it home: New York has closed primaries, meaning only registered Democrats could cast a vote in the respective primary, eliminating the possibly of a Republican voting bloc significantly affecting the results. Declaring this a referendum on the American electorate is wishful thinking. Much of Mamdani’s support came from white, affluent, well-educated precincts; members of this bloc tend to identity with the far left end of the ideological spectrum. Andrew Cuomo, by contrast, performed better with working-class minority voters, and the highest-among-highly educated of voters1 — these results are in line with his campaign’s dual focus of attracting working-class minorities who had shown clear signs of frustration at Democratic governance in 2021, 2022, and 2024, (the previous mayoral, gubernatorial, and presidential elections, respectively) and millionaire socialites who generally leaned fiscally conservative. While Cuomo’s coalition proved incapable of handing him the victory in New York, it (especially the working-class minority sect) is a demographic Democrats most need to win back if they hope to stop hemorrhaging support in areas they once considered safe.

The story here isn’t that progressivism is sweeping the nation. It’s that progressive messages resonate with a certain bloc in certain contexts. To extrapolate beyond that is to risk repeating the same mistakes of the past decade.

KEEP: Young faces win races

At the risk of perpetuating ageism, the honest truth is this: younger candidates are simply better at connecting with younger voters. Before Mamdani, it was Brandon Johnson — who won the 2023 Chicago mayoral democratic primary on the back of a similar coalition and platform. Before Johnson, it was AOC. Before AOC, it was Barack Obama, who at the time of running for president in 2008 was 47 years old (equivalent to being in your early 20’s by political standards).

This is not to say that younger candidates are more electorally viable. Take, 2024, for instance: Kamala Harris, 19 years Trump’s junior, certainly didn’t benefit from any sort of “youth boost”. But there are many elections where the name of the game is turnout — think primary elections held in the middle of summer, but also midterms, where turnout historically dips from presidential elections like ‘24. Youngsters aged 18 to 24 are arguably the most difficult voting bloc to enthuse, but also one essential to a winning campaign, and for this reason candidates like Mamdani, whose baby face — hardly at all obscured by his beard — along with his jubilant smile and physical and rhetorical vitality — not just the 10-mile trek but also his headline-grabbing, viral TikTok-inducing rallies — were a perfect match.

The end result speaks for itself.

DISPOSE: Unrealistic policies

A few paragraphs ago, I praised Mamdani for going big rather than going home with his policy platform. That praise must be accompanied with a few words of caution: by and large, voters reject ideas (and the people selling them) when said ideas sound too good to be true.

Zohran Mamdani’s agenda, while bold, has drawn heavy criticism — not just from those who had a stake in the election outcome, but also ordinary, skeptical citizens — for being impractical and potentially harmful to the very communities he aims to help. His push for a $30 minimum wage by 2030 risks accelerating automation and wiping out low-wage jobs — not to mention the ever-present but equally valid question: how do we pay for it? — while his plan for city-run grocery stores—one per borough—has been slammed as symbolic at best and a logistical nightmare at worst. His rent freeze and promise of 200,000 new affordable units echo failed de Blasio-era policies that neither slowed rent hikes nor curbed homelessness, with real estate experts warning they could further deteriorate housing quality. Similarly, his call for fare-free buses, though popular with riders, would saddle the city with an annual $650 million bill without a clear funding source. To pay for all this, Mamdani proposes steep tax hikes on corporations and millionaires, sparking fears of capital flight and economic decline. Even beyond economics, his rhetoric—such as defending “globalize the Intifada”—has inflamed cultural and political divisions. Taken together, Mamdani’s proposals look less like a pragmatic roadmap for New York’s future and more like a collection of expensive experiments that could undermine the city’s stability.

I am no expert, nor am I a seasoned campaign strategist, but here are my two cents: a good policy is one that sounds good enough to inspire real support, but not so good (good meaning trade-off-less, or absolute in scale without of the any qualifiers or caveats that our necessary in an imperfect world) that it makes you wonder if it has any basis in reality. Mamdani erred on the side of too good, and while the results panned out in his favor, the too-good-to-be-true policy platform has seen a less favorable reception on the national level. Think: defund the police (blanket statement); Medicare for All (who pays?); and tuition-free public college (more of the same).

KEEP: Star rookies over seasoned veterans

Experience, once considered the cornerstone of credibility in American politics, has increasingly become a double-edged sword. Far from guaranteeing respect or authority, a long track record in government can make candidates appear jaded, compromised, or simply out of touch with the urgency voters feel in their daily lives. For many, decades of experience are no longer proof of wisdom but evidence of entrenchment within a system widely viewed as broken. The 2016 election was a watershed moment in this regard: Donald Trump’s victory underscored that charisma, outsider energy, and a raw sense of authenticity could eclipse traditional measures of competence. Since then, the trend has only accelerated. Younger, less-seasoned candidates are able to present themselves as fresh alternatives untainted by backroom deals or political baggage, and that very lack of experience becomes part of their appeal. To voters grappling with soaring costs, stagnant wages, and failing institutions, “business as usual” is a liability, not a comfort. In this environment, experience doesn’t just fail to inspire — it actively alienates, reinforcing the sense that career politicians are not just incapable of, but actually opposed to delivering the transformation that many voters crave.

Andrew Cuomo’s political pedigree should have been an asset, but in the current climate it likely worked against him. Decades of experience, from his tenure as governor to his years navigating New York’s political machinery, made him the embodiment of establishment politics at a time when voters were actively rejecting it. For many, Cuomo’s résumé was less a testament to steady leadership and more a reminder of missteps, scandals, and a governing style that felt outdated and heavy-handed. Against a younger opponent like Zohran Mamdani, who positioned himself as a fresh face unburdened by baggage, Cuomo’s deep experience became a liability. It reinforced the perception that he was part of the problem, a figure shaped by the very system people feel is broken. In politics today, bad experience is worse than no experience at all—because it ties a candidate not just to a history of decisions but to a sense of stagnation, compromise, and mistrust. Mamdani didn’t need decades of service to make his case; he needed to embody something different, something new. That contrast alone was enough to tip the balance.

DISPOSE: The notion that progressivism is on the rise again, circa November 5th, 2024

One final point: I’ve seen many in progressive circles celebrate the election results as irrefutable evidence that the progressive movement has experienced a surge of support — similar to what was seen in 2016 thanks to Sen. Bernie Sander’s insurgent and wildly successful primary campaign — since the 2024 presidential election. For context: 2024 wasn’t just a bad year for progressivism — it might have been its worst year since entering the national conversation a decade ago.

During the primary season, far-left Squad members Rep. Cori Bush and Rep. Jamaal Bowman were defeated in their reelection bids with relative ease by more moderate primary challengers. On Election Day, while progressive leaders Reps. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Rashida Tlaib overperformed in their districts NY-14 and MI-12, respectively, compared to Kamala Harris (though gold-standard analyst Lakshya Jain has explained why AOC’s sunny numbers might be overrating her electoral viability2 ), others like Sens. Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren turned in poor performances, despite being longtime political institutions in their respective states of Vermont and Massachusetts.

With this in mind, the idea that 6 months and a single local primary race — albeit a high-profile one in the largest city in the nation — could reveal a large-scale shift in the public perception of progressivism is quite unlikely.

Here’s an example. 2021 was another disappointing year for progressives. In the 2021 New York mayoral democratic primary election, progressive candidate and New School Prof. Maya Wiley only placed third. The top two candidates, Sanitation Department Commissioner Kathryn Garcia and Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams were both moderate Democrats, with the more conservative of the two, Eric Adams, eventually taking it all. Come Election Day, in the city of Buffalo — New York’s second largest beyond the Big Apple — the Democratic nominee for mayor, progressive activist and nurse India Walton, was defeated in the general election. Not by a Republican, but by the incumbent Democratic mayor she had defeated in the June primary and who was now running a write-in campaign, Byron Brown. Similar woes transpired in mayoral races in Seattle and Cleveland, as well as with a progressive-supported ballot initiative which attempted to replace the Minneapolis Police Department with a proposed Department of Public Safety.

Needless to say, 2021 wasn’t a pretty sight, and I’ve previously shown how dire things had gotten — even rising to the level of federal races — in 2024.

But between 2021 and 2024, Brandon Johnson, a member of Cook County Board of Commissioners and rising progressive star in Illinois, upset moderate Democrat and former Lt. Gov. Paul Vallas in the 2023 Chicago mayoral democratic primary election. Viewing this single election in isolation, you might (and many at the time did) assume that progressivism was on the rise again after faltering in 2021. Of course, the general trend across the 3-year timespan suggests anything but.

The lesson here is to never is to never extrapolate from single elections in isolation — rather, it’s more important to rationalize them in context of their surroundings. I am not going to argue that progressivism hasn't grown incrementally in popularity since November 2024. Considering Trump’s laundry list of controversial and posssibly-destructive actions committed or proposed since taking office, I would lean towards the viewpoint that progressivism is more popular than 6 months ago. That being said, a single election in the middle of summer decided by a population incredibly unrepresentative of the United States at large is unlikely to be a useful indicator nor answer.

The bottom line

In general, I believe that 2025 New York mayoral democratic primary provides much more insight about the changing formula behind a winning campaign rather than indicating specific shifts in the electorate at large — most notably, the state of progressivism. To generate an accurate picture of large-scale change, you simply need a bigger sample — bigger geographically, greater amounts of voters, and a wider variety of demographics that reflect the ideological and cultural diversity of our entire nation.

In this article, I seek to break down the results of this election and ask some important questions. What went right for Trump? But also, what could the former president have done better? Why did Kamala Harris underperform so drastically? And what made the Democrats misjudge this race so catastrophically? And finally, the most interesting question: what trends in American electorate emerged this election? Before we continue, I would like to add that it has also been two months since Harris conceded the race, which is more than can be said about the 2020 election.

To answer our first question: what went right for Trump? — a lot of things did. The 45th (and soon to be 47th) president went the distance in this race — something that cannot be said of President Biden — though he received plenty of help from a variety of sources.

Things did not get off to a great start for Trump; his campaign announcement came just days after the GOP’s disappointing performance in 2022 midterms — which was partially the result of his endorsement of weak congressional candidates — and was met with a tepid response. This was not the Trump we all remembered: he looked older, more tired, and nothing like the firebrand political outsider of the summer of ‘15. Trump slogged around the country for the next six months, half-heartedly running a primary campaign while facing new legal troubles in New York and Washington. But in this early stage of the race, Trump’s liabilities: his criminal and civil cases, proved to be his strength, rallying his base and allowing him to cruise to victory in the primaries.

Throughout the spring, Trump retained a slight edge in the polls over President Biden — whose own campaign we will discuss in detail later. There are many valid reasons why the once disgraced former president was now leading the incumbent who beat him: high grocery and gas prices, questionable foreign policy decisions by the Biden Administration, and, of course, a wide-open southern border. But conversely, Trump faced three pending criminal cases — for racketeering, mishandling documents, and attempting to overturn the 2020 election — two civil judgements: one fining him $355 million for fraud and the other $88.3 million for sexual assault, and finally, a felony conviction on 34 counts of falsifying business records, in the Southern District of New York. So, the race remained tight.

It took a catalyst to cement Trump’s lead, making it insurmountable for Biden and likely any other Democrat candidate. The June 27th presidential debate between Donald Trump and Joe Biden was the ultimate catalyst. Did I know when my friends and I sat down to watch that we’d be witnessing a moment for the history books, the moment Joe Biden ended his half-century long political career to an audience of 50 million people? No, I didn’t. As the debate went on, my initial laughter at the president’s gaffes — we finally beat Medicare — turned to sadness for a man who was clearly in decline. And while Trump consistently went off topic and spouted a myriad of lies, it didn’t matter; it was over for President Biden, and Trump’s similarly disappointing performance was completely irrelevant.

In July, Trump’s campaign was handed another political boost — in the form of a bullet to the ear. The tragic events in Butler, Pennsylvania that left two dead — a rallygoer and the shooter himself — came but millimeters from changing the course of American history, for better or for worse. I must admit, Trump’s defiant fist in the face of near destruction was truly inspiring — and it spawned a photo for the ages.

The final piece of good luck Trump had was with his criminal cases. While his New York trial ended with a guilty verdict last May, none of Trump’s three other cases made it to trial before election day; Jack Smith’s mishandling documents case was dismissed last July, his overturning the 2020 election case was delayed in anticipation of the Supreme Court’s ruling on presidential immunity, and Fani Willis’ racketeering case in Georgia was hampered by a romantic relationship she had with the case’s special prosecutor. Additionally, Trump’s sentencing in New York was repeatedly pushed back throughout the summer and fall — finally being set for January 10th. This streak of delays and dismissals allowed the former president to take his legal troubles out of the spotlight during the final months of the campaign.

This race — from the very beginning — was Trump’s to lose, and he came very close to doing so. While Trump was more restrained in this campaign than in his prior two — which isn’t saying much — the former president still constantly put his foot in his mouth. From declaring that illegal migrants are “poisoning the blood of our country,” to saying his political opponents “live like vermin,” Trump handed the Democrats ammunition — all the Hitler comparisons.

Additionally, Trump’s choice of Ohio Senator JD Vance as his running mate was a massive stumble. Vance — a white man from a safely red state — brought very little to the ticket. But he was shockingly effective at isolating women voters with his comments about abortion and the infamous “childless cat ladies.” And while JD did deliver a solid vice-presidential debate performance against Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, if Trump had chosen a woman, minority, or resident of a swing state instead — the race would have been lights out.

From late June to mid-July of last year, Donald Trump was on a roll. After watching his opponent self-destruct on live TV and surviving a bullet to the head he had the chance to cap off the month — arguably the greatest for a presidential candidate in history — with his speech at the RNC. Either unfortunately or fortunately — Trump squandered this moment by delivering a rambling 90-minute speech where he praised “the late great Hannibal Lecter” instead of seeking to unify the country against political violence. Only three days later, Biden would be out — and Harris would have all the momentum behind her.

Lastly, Trump’s performance in his debate against Kamala Harris certainly didn’t help him. In similar fashion to the June debate, Trump dodged most of the questions. But unlike the first one, now he was center of attention — the old man struggling to stay on topic. Harris did a masterful job at getting under the former president’s skin — from the size of his rallies to his criminal sentencing — making him look weak and unhinged — “they’re eating the dogs.” In the aftermath of this disastrous debate, Harris reached her highest lead over Trump in the polls — 2.1 points nationally. Yet despite this major setback, the former president was able to claw his way back over the next 55 days.

Now, we must turn to Democrats. While Joe Biden’s term as president got off to a solid start with the American Rescue Plan and Covid-19 vaccine rollout, it hit an inflection point that August — the withdrawal from Afghanistan. This operation was nothing short of a disaster for the newly elected president. Images of Afghan citizens running on runways and clinging to military transport aircrafts broadcasted incessantly — greatly damaging Biden’s image as a competent Commander-in-Chief. And a suicide bombing on August 26th, 2021 at Kabul’s airport killed 183 people — including 13 US service members. Prior to the withdrawal, Biden had enjoyed a net positive approval rating — afterwards, he would never again see it crack 50%.

Joe Biden’s presidency came to be defined by two crises: inflation and the border. Coming out of the pandemic, a perfect storm of supply chain issues, rising energy prices, and high consumer demand fueled by government stimulus triggered a surge in inflation. The consumer price index (CPI) ballooned from 1.4% in January 2021 to 9.1% in June 2022. Despite having very little control over inflation, Biden has been seen by many voters as responsible — Republicans seizing on this attack.

On the border crisis, the president’s negligence deserves considerably more blame. In his first 100 days, Biden reversed 10 of Trump’s executive orders on immigration — halting construction of the border wall, stopping deportations, and reversing the “Muslim ban.” This relaxed border policy emboldened millions to cross the southern border, with the Biden Administration doing extremely little to address the crisis until mid-2023. There have more than 8 million encounters at the southern border since President Biden took office — an enormous gift to Trump and the GOP.

In 2020, Biden ran as a transition candidate with the singular aim of defeating Donald Trump and beginning the “return to normalcy.” Americans assumed the 78-year-old would be a one-term president — but Biden disagreed. The president’s reluctance to step aside allowed him to coast through ‘22 and the beginning of ‘23 without any Democrat challenging him. And when Biden finally announced his bid for reelection on April 25th, 2023 — the culmination of two years of careful planning. The party stood by him despite uneasiness about his age and mental acuity — allowing him to secure the nomination basically unopposed.

From this point on, many mistakes were made. The Democrats miscalculated by throwing Biden into a debate with Trump — unable to ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ their way across the finish line. And those 24 days from Biden’s catastrophic debate and to the president finally seeing the writing on wall were squandered — letting Trump run away further with the race. Finally, when Biden dropped out on July 21st, the immediate rallying behind Kamala Harris ended any hopes of an open primary — and she would go on to clinch the nomination in a single day.

It’s admittedly ironic how the Democrats — the party that loves to talk about democracy — denied its voters the right to choose who their presidential candidate should be. Kamala Harris was handed the nomination, and elevated as the face of the Democratic party, without ever receiving a primary vote. This was an incredible error — one that both made the party look shady, denied its voters the opportunity to choose their favored candidate, and propped up an arguably less-than-ideal nominee. But regardless of whether it was the right call — from a moral, ethical, and strategic standpoint — on July 22nd, Harris was effectively the Democratic nominee for president.

Kamala Harris’ ascent was rapid — one that caught many off guard. After all, Harris had the lowest approval rating of any vice president in modern history — 37% at the beginning of July. Her high-profile role as Biden’s “border czar” was likely a large contributor to this unpopularity — whether she actually held this position or not. However, the moment Harris became the nominee, all this bad press appeared to vanish. The vice president raised $81 million in the first 24 hours of her campaign — the largest amount in American history — and by the end of July her approval rating had risen to 42% — an incredible 6-point gain in just one month.

To state the obvious, even with the immediate hype surrounding her campaign, Harris was fighting an uphill battle against Trump. “Kamala IS brat” and falling out of coconut trees — while successful digital strategies — weren’t the proper foundation for a presidential campaign. Instead of attempting to build a platform that was differentiable from Biden’s in any way, Harris chose to spend the first month of her campaign running on vibes — specifically “joy.” The vice president went a mind-boggling 39 days — July 21st to August 29th — without giving an interview, relying on highly controlled campaign events instead. And while Harris did completely erode Trump’s lead in national polls by early August, her inability to define her campaign would come back to bite her that fall.

So, why did Kamala Harris lose so bad? Besides the obvious reasons — inflation and immigration — there were many smaller ones. It would be thoughtless to discount the role her sex and race played. The sad fact is millions of Americans won’t vote a black woman for president — whether they would admit it or not. Trump used this to his advantage, attacking Harris’ race by commenting about how she “happened to turn black.” This predictably sowed doubt about her identity — mimicking the ‘birtherism’ Trump had pushed over a decade before — and was a reminder to Americans that Harris was ‘the other.’ But let’s be clear: Harris did not lose this election just because she is a black woman.

A key error Harris made in her campaign was abandoning the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. While some — like Bill Maher — would argue it was “wokeness” that damaged Harris, the exact opposite is the case. The vice president overcompensated for the extremely liberal platform she ran on in 2020 — “Medicare for All,” decriminalizing border crossings, and banning fracking — by shifting too far right. Her environmental platform — something extremely important to younger voters — was that she actually did support fracking. Her healthcare plan — while infinitely better than Trump’s “concepts of a plan” — was simply a continuation of the Affordable Care Act. And her immigration policy went from that of a border dove to that of a border hawk — supporting the allocation of funds for Trump’s wall. To many liberal Democrats, Harris started to sound a lot like Trump — not giving them enough of a reason to come out and support her on election day.

But in the end, this race was settled long before Kamala Harris entered it. It was $4.80 for a dozen eggs, $5.60 for a pound of beef, and $5 for a gallon of gas that sent Trump back to the White House. The vice president failed to realize that campaigning on “protecting democracy” would not win her the rust belt — no matter how often they brought Liz Cheney on stage. Moreover, this race — more so than any other in recent memory — showed cracks forming in the Democratic coalition. While African Americans stayed relatively strong for Harris — with 86% support — Latinos shifted 14 points towards Trump. The former president won Latino men 54% to 44% — an incredible jump from 36% in 2020. Clearly economic issues were more far important to Latinos than Trump’s rhetoric.

And now, we must answer our final — and most interesting — question: how has 2024 changed the face of the American electorate? Of course, the obvious one was that Trump dominated. After all, Harris didn’t flip a single county blue — a first for a presidential candidate since Herbert Hoover’s reelection bid against FDR in 1932. But if we dive deep into the results — beyond the battleground states — what do we find?

Let’s begin with my home state, New York, and its neighbor to the south, New Jersey. After this election, the Empire State’s reputation as solidly blue may no longer be appropriate. New York swung 10.72 points towards Trump — the most of any state in the nation — with Harris winning it by 12.4 points, a narrower margin of victory than in the once fierce battleground state of Florida. And while New York’s move was drastic, New Jersey’s was even more astonishing. The Garden State shifted 10.02 points towards Trump, with Harris winning it by a mere 5.91 points. For comparison, Trump won Arizona — one of the big seven battleground states — by a very similar margin of 5.53 points. So, while New York’s journey to the right may take a while, New Jersey’s is much further along, and I expect the state to get much more attention in 2028.

Next, we have resilient Washington state. While so many other solid blue states yielded to Trump, the Evergreen State did so the least — by a minuscule 0.98 points. And granted, while this was still an improvement for Trump, in an election where the average state moved 3.9 points to the right, 0.98 begins to look very impressive. So, why was Washington so resilient? To put it simply — in words other than my own — Trump’s populist rhetoric and social conservatism doesn’t fare well with Washington’s growing secular, suburban, and highly-educated population. I expect this part of blue wall to stay perfectly intact — something that can’t be said for Washington’s two southern neighbors.

What do Illinois, Louisiana, and Mississippi have in common? Besides having above-average African American populations — not very much. Nevertheless, these three states share one very important distinction: they are the only where Kamala Harris received fewer votes than Hillary Clinton. In Louisiana and Mississippi, this was small decline — 13,284 and 18,463 votes, respectively. However, in Illinois, the drop was much more pronounced: Harris lost 27,866 voters while Trump gained 303,064. Trump’s ascent in Illinois makes sense; outside of Chicago, the state greatly resembles its neighbor Indiana, which Trump just won by 19 points. So as Chicago’s population continues to steadily decline and Illinois’ rural regions shift further to the right, we might have one more battleground state in the rust belt.

Colorado is a ray of sunshine for the Democratic Party. Harris just won the state by 11 points. From 2016 to 2024, while the average state moved 0.7 points to the right, Colorado shifted 6 points to left — more than any other. But this fact is unsurprising when you consider the path the Centennial State has taken over the last half-century: Colorado shaken off its rural Republican roots and embraced metropolitanism. The first state to legalize marijuana has seen rapid urban growth and an influx of highly educated workers — extremely favorable to the Democrats. The largely Republican rural residents are a declining portion of the voter base, and the state will likely continue to turn a brighter blue.

Analyze the 2020 election results state by state, and Wyoming will quickly stand out. The least populated state in the nation is also the most Republican — 69.94% of its residents cast votes for Donald Trump, beating out West Virginia’s 68.62%. And while this number is undoubtably impressive, it was just short of a major milestone: the 70% mark. Throughout the fall, I pondered this question: would Trump crack 70% in the Cowboy State this time around? Considering the former president only needed to win over 0.06% of Wyoming voters — or about 166 people — this seemed all but a certainty. On election day, Trump didn’t just crack 70%. When all was said and done, the former president received 192,663 of the 269,048 votes cast — or 71.6%.

And last — but certainly not least — let us look at the two lightest states in the nation: Wisconsin, the lightest red, and my soon-to-be home state, New Hampshire, the lightest blue. The Badger State boasts the distinction of having the closest race of the presidential election; Trump won Wisconsin by 29,397 votes — just 0.86 points. Conversely, Harris won the Granite State by 22,965 votes — a more comfortable margin of 2.72 points. It was predictable that New Hampshire would be relatively close and the lightest blue state in the case of a battleground sweep by Trump. On the other hand, Wisconsin’s result was a much greater surprise. Polling and precedent had both indicated that Michigan would have the closer race. After all, in 2016, Trump won the state by 10,704 votes — 0.23 points — an even smaller margin than Biden’s infamous 11,780 vote win in Georgia. In 2020, Michigan once again leaned closer to the left than either Wisconsin or Pennsylvania, going to Biden by 2.78 points. So, in 2024, in a race as tight as the one between Trump and Harris, Michigan was thought to be the most likely battleground state victory for the vice president. A poor showing in Detroit, loss of support from Michigan’s sizable Arab American population, and the vice president’s lack of appeal to blue collar workers are possible reasons for her considerable loss. But regardless of why Harris lost Michigan, going forward, Wisconsin might just be the most contested state in the nation.

There are two morals to this story: the American people are quick to forgive and forget, and the Democrats can no longer take their base for granted. The night before the election, I penned that ‘if the man who left office in disgrace four years ago can win back the presidency as we predict, it will no doubt be the greatest political comeback in American History.’ Donald Trump did exactly that — in even swifter fashion than I predicted. There is no doubt that the second Trump Administration will be more organized than the first, but there is also no doubt that Trump himself will be more unhinged than 4 years ago — he no longer must hide it to win reelection. It’s going to be an extremely turbulent four years, ending either in immense catastrophe or victory. My only advice is to buckle in and prepare for a wild ride.

Currently, Trump sits at 230 electoral votes, to Kamala Harris’ 200.

He will almost certainly win Georgia and North Carolina. He is the favorite in Arizona.

For Kamala to reach 270, she’d need to sweep the Rust Belt. That doesn’t look likely. Trump is the favorite to win in all three of Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania.

Coming into the election, the prime question of speculation was this: would 2024 look more like 2016 or 2020?

Option A: 2016

The origin of modern, modern politics. The election that introduced Donald Trump into the political arena, where he has steadfastly remained in the 8 years since. The drama was centered up north, in the Upper Midwest: Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania each underwent massive rightward shifts (R+8, R+11, and R+6, respectively) amidst a tide of blue-collar resentment towards Democrats.

Option B: 2020.

The year when Joe Biden (partially) won back the Rust Belt by the knife’s edge. He failed to bring back onboard the millions of working-class voters who had abandoned the party in 2016 and even underperformed Hillary Clinton in major urban areas and among minority voters — but on the bright side, he continued Clinton’s upward trend in the suburbs enough so that he could win Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania in spite of other disappointments.

Here’s what nobody really expected, but what seems to be on the horizon.

Option C: 2016, but worse.

The Rural, White, Working-Class Abyss

The groups of voters that secured Hillary Clinton’s demise in 2016 (and very nearly toppled Biden in 2020) haven’t shown much love to Kamala Harris, either. In the vast majority of sparsely-populated, white, blue-collar counties across the Midwest and Southeast, Harris is coming up short compared to Biden’s 2020 numbers and is matching (or even underperforming) Hillary’s in 2016. While in hindsight, Harris’ lackluster showing hardly seems surprising, consider the pre-election circumstances.

Polls had consistently shown Kamala Harris matching — and even improving on — Joe Biden’s numbers with white, older, voters. Just days before the election, a Des Moines Register poll conducted by the (seemingly-) infallible J. Ann Selzer, showed Kamala Harris leading Trump in Iowa — which supported him by a 9% margin in 2020 — by 3%. The results seemed in line with polls done of other Midwestern, rural, white states — namely Kansas and Nebraska, where Harris posted impressive margins (coming within 4 points in Kansas, where Biden lost by 15%, and consistently winning NE-02 by double digits, compared to Biden’s 6% win).

Back to reality: currently, Trump is on track to win Iowa by double digits, and Kamala will likely underperform Biden in Kansas and Nebraska (with the exception of NE-02, largely because of Omaha’s explosive growth).

Today’s results decisively puncture any and all of these hopes.

Minority and Urban Drop-Offs

In 2020, two of Joe Biden’s major weak areas came in the form of urban and minority voters — which often come as a package.

It made sense, at the time.

Nowhere is this issue more prevalent than in New York City, where Democrats seem to be in for an absolute bloodbath. All five boroughs shifted to the right by over 10% — and in at least one, this figure might be closer to 20. In 2020, Biden won Queens County by 46 points. As of right now, it seems likely that Kamala Harris will come within 25 points of losing it.

In Pennsylvania, Kamala Harris is ahead in Philadelphia County (A.K.A. Philadelphia) by less than 60 points, compared to Biden’s 63% victory and Hillary’s 67% win. The fact that she is continuing a downward trend rather than simply stagnating suggests a bleak picture for Democrats. How much farther will they continue to fall?

Stagnant, Even Backsliding Suburbs

Now, between the 2016 and 2020 elections, Democrats are no stranger to landslide defeats with rural, working-class white voters and lackluster margins with urban minorities. But at the very least, they had the solace of one friendly demographic, and a powerful one at that: affluent, highly-educated suburban (mostly white) voters.

These voters prevented Clinton from losing the Rust Belt by a larger margin than she actually did in 2016. In 2020, they helped lift Biden to victory in this very region, along with the Sun Belt states of Georgia and Arizona.

In 2022, despite Biden’s poor favorability numbers and a generally Republican-friendly national environment (evidenced by the R+1.5 adjusted House vote), Democrats held up remarkably well in suburban America.

Most politicians, analysts, and election-watchers of all stripes went into 2024 with the assumption that, at the very least, Democrats would hold up in the suburbs — many of which had trended left in every presidential election since 2012. Unfortunately, this was far from the case.

Perhaps the best example of this phenomenon is Loudon County, VA. Located in NOVA, the D.C. suburb is a cornerstone of the historically-Republican, anti-Trump breed which fled from the Republican Party in the years since 2016. Biden’s 25% victory in Loudon cemented this transformation.

But in 2024, Harris won Loudon by a mere 16% — nearly 10 points to the right of 2020.

Now, you might be saying: Biden’s margins in Virginia were pretty inflated. No Democrat since (or before) then has come close to his 10% margin of victory.

To that I would offer:

Look at Atlanta’s collar counties.

Look at Oakland County and Macomb County, in Michigan.

Look at Dane County, DeKalb County, and Lackawanna County, in Wisconsin, Georgia, and Pennsylvania, respectively.

They all tell the same story: the floor has truly given in, and the sky is falling for Democrats.

The Takeaway

2016 will always be remembered (by Democrats) for the gut-wrenching, nausea it instilled in the stomachs of millions.

2024 is nowhere near as surprising: pollsters adjusted their weighting, and they seem to have been pretty spot-on this year (with slight overestimations of Harris support across the board).

But looking at them side-by-side, on the whole, 2024 might actually be more awful. If 2016 was a supreme disappointment, 2024 is an all-out, flashing-red alarm bells disaster.

2024 doesn’t just put a wrench in a Kamala Harris presidency. It doesn’t just shatter Democratic hopes of a Trump-free Washington D.C. It arguably represents the worst (and most worrisome) result for the party in the 21st century thus far.

The only question Democrats can ask themselves is this:

Where do we go from here?

Now, this election isn’t over. The Rust Belt states are yet to be called, with nearly half of their votes remaining to be counted. It is entirely possible (albeit unlikely) that the 2024 presidential election results in a Kamala Harris victory — a happy ending — and my dejectedness is decidedly that: pessimism.

Please, prove me wrong.

This drive for victory, more intense than ever before, places outsized value on a candidate’s spoken word, and a campaign’s every dollar. All is in service of victory. 

Driven by these pressures, campaigns have looked beyond by-the-book electoral strategies such as advertisements, in-person campaign events like speeches, or even digital forms of outreach in order to turn out possible voters.

Instead, new higher-risk, higher-reward strategies have emerged, including one focused on reshaping the general election matchup itself: interfering with the opposing party’s primary to ensure a weaker opponent is nominated.

The question is: do the potential rewards of this novel strategy outweigh the catastrophic consequences of its failure?

Primary Interference: How It Works

Not all candidates are created equal: ideological extremism, zealous rhetoric, and background issues like political inexperience and scandals can all negatively affect how voters perceive a candidate.

In many cases, facing the weakest possible opponent can present a more powerful advantage than outspending and out-campaigning a stronger opponent.  Increasing numbers of political campaigns are capitalizing on this, investing serious resources in influencing the opposite party’s primary and helping platform candidates they believe they can defeat. 

Here’s how this works: campaigns will air big-dollar advertisements, and repeatedly single out an anointed opposing candidate in speeches, in order to boost their name recognition and highlight their policies among primary voters.

Knowing that advertisements will be seen by voters of all stripes and affiliations, campaigns don’t actually praise a candidate on the other side of the aisle; they do so implicitly, framing their praises as denigrations, but in the process, raising that candidate’s visibility.

Here’s a great example: in the 2012 Senate election in Missouri, incumbent Democratic Senator Claire McCaskill spent millions of dollars funding ads which offered thinly-veiled support to Republican House member Todd Akin, whose campaign hadn’t attracted significant funding prior to this. The McCaskill campaign likely targeted Akin due to his far-right profile as a House member and his propensity for controversial statements. McCaskill labeled Akin “the most conservative congressman in Missouri” and a “crusader against bigger government.”1

McCaskill effectively boosted Akin’s support among the state’s Republican voters and catapulted his campaign from a distant third to front-runner in the state’s primary - which Akin would go on to win.

In the general election, McCaskill’s strategy paid off: Akin went on to attract widespread criticism for stating that "legitimate rape” could not cause pregnancies among a host of other mishaps.

Come November, while Missouri voted R+9 at the presidential level, McCaskill won re-election by 15.7% - a stunning overperformance, and a resounding affirmation of this strategy’s viability.

There are two reasons this strategy works.

One: most fringe, ideologically-extreme primary candidates tend to be political newcomers rather than experienced politicians, running underfunded and low-visibility campaigns. In primaries, where the best-known and best-funded candidate usually wins, even a small investment can transform a campaign from unserious to seriously competitive. Therefore, from a value-per-dollar perspective, campaigns have realized money may be better spent boosting a weak opponent rather than aiding one’s own campaign.

Secondly, the rise of political tribalism has created primary electorates that veer closer to the ends of the spectrum than the center. As a result, primary voters are increasingly likely to base their support on which candidate is the most extreme. But in the longer term - this disadvantages them in the general election, where candidates often must appeal to voters on all sides of the electorate.

Primary Interference: The Best-Case Scenario

At its best, primary interference can yield incredible benefits for a campaign - especially in competitive states.

In 2022, Democrats across the nation benefitted from primary interference — but most notably in swing states.

Take Pennsylvania’s 2022 gubernatorial election, for instance:

Democratic state Attorney General Josh Shapiro, long positioned as a successor to incumbent Governor Tom Wolf, sought to bolster his chances at victory in Pennsylvania, a highly-competitive swing state. The Republican primary, which was hotly contested between former House Rep. Lou Barletta and state senator Doug Mastriano — a far-right Christian nationalist who had attended the January 6th rally — seemed like an opportunity in waiting.

Shapiro’s campaign poured millions into television advertisements, lambasting Mastriano’s far-right positions on all issues from abortion to democracy and tying the Republican’s potential victory to a win “for what Trump stands for.”2 Of course, these attacks held a double meaning: for every viewer appalled by , a conservative viewer read these same denunciations as endorsements, and these same deterrents to vote as encouragements.

It seemed a risky bet: Pennsylvania, which had reliably supported Democrats through the late 20th and early 21st centuries, is now one of the most politically-divided states in the nation. In 2016, the Keystone State was won by Republican Donald Trump, and in 2020 the state backed Joe Biden by a narrow 1.2% margin of victory — around 80,000 votes out of a total 7 million cast.

But Shapiro’s strategy showed sparks of brilliance. Pennsylvania, while possessing a large rural, blue-collar population which celebrated Trumpism, also contains equally large suburbs and urban centers whose residents detest far-rightism with fervor. And in a midterm election, where voter enthusiasm is typically limited to more civically-engaged voters, the balance shifted heavily in favor of the more highly-educated suburban- and urbanites.

In the end, Shapiro won by 14.8%, turning a potential nail-biter into a blowout. His victory had immediate and far-ranging impacts: not only did Shapiro keep an important governorship in Democratic hands, but by taking the race off the competitive board, he allowed the party to streamline valuable resources into more competitive races — possibly making up the difference between defeat and victory: for example, Wisconsin’s concurrent gubernatorial election, where Democrats only narrowly came out on top.

It was a similar story in numerous other states that year, including Arizona, a fast-growing, heavily urbanized state in the Sun Belt. Democratic candidates for governor and attorney general won by thin (in the latter race, extremely thin) margins against their far-right, election-denying Republican opponents. These victories handed Democrats nearly half of Arizona's state row offices after a decade of Republican dominance.

Primary interference’s consistently resounding success across different regions and different national environments suggests that Democrats have no plans of abandoning the strategy.

Why Primary Interference Could Be Here To Stay

You might be thinking that this strategy isn’t going to be around much longer.

With the American electorate’s increasing acceptance of extremism and extremist candidates and the prominent weight of Trump’s endorsements in Republican primaries across the nation, skeptical readers might be asking: won’t Trump-endorsed candidates win their primaries, without Democratic boosts?

It’s an important question — after all, the utility of primary interference rests on its necessity.

With Donald Trump willing and able to manipulate Republican primaries at the flick of his wrist — or the tap of his finger on Twitter — has primary interference become a strategy of the past?

The answer is no, for two reasons.

Number one: Trump’s endorsed candidates don’t always win their primaries. And because of this, Democrats can still boost them.

To illustrate how Trump’s endorsement holds considerable but not unlimited sway, we can look to 2022. In that year, Trump endorsed numerous fringe candidates facing Republican incumbents who he had deemed disloyal to him; although some endorsees won notable victories in their primaries, numerous campaigns ended in failure.

Take Georgia, a state in the Deep South whose Republican coalition is extremely conservative. The Peach State rejected Trump-endorsed candidates for Governor and Lieutenant Governor in their respective primaries by landslide margins: in the Governor’s race, Trump-endorsed former Senator David Purdue lost to incumbent Governor Brian Kemp in a 73-21 point wallop.

Bottom line: Trump’s endorsement, while still the most powerful of any living politician, is not limitless. It’s influence over the Republican electorate has declined in tandem with Trump’s own grip. Between his 2020 loss and his 2024 rebound, Trump has seen his grip on the Republican Party falter. And regardless of whether Trump wins or loses on November 5th, this trend will likely continue: it’s difficult to see how Trump can maintain his same level of influence in 20, or even 10 years. Barring extremely unlikely circumstances, Trump will be permanently out of elected office by 2030: either he wins this election and will be forced to leave office by 2029, or he loses and is likely unable to win the Republican nomination again, having lost not once, but twice.

Trump’s endorsement losing its swaying power (and thus, a decline in Trump-like figures winning nomination) may seem detrimental to Democrats’ electoral prospects — but it also leaves an opening for them to continue their meddling.

Reason number two for why primary interference is not obsolete: Trump doesn’t always endorse the most extreme candidate in the race. In this case, Democrats can prop up the more extreme candidate.

To illustrate how Trump doesn’t always endorse the most extreme candidate: In the 2022 Senate elections in Alabama and Missouri, Trump endorsed more conventional Republican Senate candidates Katie Britt and Eric Schmidt against their far-right alternatives. And in this year’s elections, Trump seems to have learnt from his previous mistakes, seemingly approaching his endorsements more strategically and taking into account electoral viability in 2024 where he largely dismissed it two years earlier.

And this year, Trump is choosing his endorsements even more tactfully. in Montana’s 2024 Senate race, Trump endorsed veteran and businessman Tim Sheehy over MT-02 Representative Matt Rosendale, one of the most far-right members of the House and a staunch Trump ally. In West Virginia’s Senate race, Trump supported Governor Jim Justice over WV-02 Representative Alex Mooney despite Mooney being far more conservative than Justice on issues such as government spending, Medicare expansion, and LGBTQ+ rights. In Maryland, Trump even endorsed former Governor Larry Hogan — a moderate Republican who had called for Trump’s removal from office in the wake of the January 6th insurrection.

Trump has (ever so slightly) developed strategic insight since 2022, as he and his party seem more in step in terms of their objectives: both want to see Republicans win a trifecta.

Where Trump’s main desire in 2022 was to retain his grip on the Republican Party despite being out of office, in 2024 — now that he is the party’s standard bearer once again — he seems to acknowledge the importance of victory for his party (and for his presidency).

To summarize: Trump’s endorsements are neither all-powerful nor all-impulsive, leaving the door open for outside influence.

In my opinion, primary meddling will remain an effective strategy — but although its benefits are immense, they are not infinite.

Limits and Disadvantages of Primary Interference

Like all strategies, primary interference has its trade-offs and limitations. 

Starting off with the most obvious: some primaries aren’t so easily manipulated. Even with outside support, a candidate may still lose their primary.

Since many extremists have little experience running for office, they enter the field underfunded and virtually unknown. In a field of candidates which likely includes more experienced candidates running more serious campaigns, gaining electoral momentum is an often-insurmountable challenge — even with the implicit aid of the opposing party.

Because of this, primary meddling poses the risk of wasted money.

Take Nevada and Colorado, for instance. In 2022, Democrat-affiliated groups poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into Republican gubernatorial and senatorial primaries, respectively. In both races, the mainstream Republican won their primary, rendering Democratic efforts (and investments) useless.

Second: even if an extremist candidate does manage to advance to the general election, there is no guarantee that they will lose.

In our hyper—polarized environment, where more and more voters seem to vote for political parties rather than individual candidates, the personal has taken on far less importance compared to the partisan. Even an abhorrent candidate may be a favorite to win if the partisan composition of the electorate favors their party.

A state’s baseline partisanship is by far the best indicator of an electoral outcome, and in states where Republicans or Democrats are supported by a clear majority of voters, it’s often a metric that is difficult to overcome. There is no objective definition for this benchmark, but, it’s safe to assume that states which regularly support one party by 10 points or more are likely to do in any given election — regardless of candidate quality.

On top of that, increasing amounts of voters have migrated from the center of the ideological spectrum to its far ends. Simply put, extremist candidates are not rejected with the same consistency and force as they would have been only a decade ago.

The most obvious example of these changing dynamics is Trump’s groundbreaking success. In 2016, Trump won the electoral college and nearly won a majority of the popular vote, owing to his popularity among blue-collar Americans and his surprising retention of support from suburban voters.

With the American public becoming increasingly comfortable with extremism, primary meddling poses an inherent risk: setting up an extremist for failure only for them to emerge victorious.

This is the disaster scenario: not only losing the election, but helping elevate another extremist to political relevance — whether in a county municipal office, a state legislature, or even the halls of Congress.

To see this reality very nearly play out, look to Missouri.

Missouri’s 2022 Senate Election: A Close Brush With Disaster

Some quick background on Missouri: the Show-Me state, while once extremely competitive and even considered a presidential bellwether (meaning predictor), is now considered a Republican stronghold. In 2016 Donald Trump won the state by over 20 points, and four years later he held the state by a 16-point margin. 

Fast forward to 2022: Democrats were defending a barebones majority in the Senate and sought potential pick-up opportunities wherever they might have lied.

Some even looked at Missouri, and as nonsensical as this may sound, there was some validity to their hope.

Running for Senate, and current frontrunner in the Republican primary, was former Governor Eric Greitens. And to say Greitens was a poor candidate would be an understatement.

Eric Greitens stood out as an abhorrent candidate even among the flood of second-rate Republican candidates who won nomination in concurrent Senate races in other states.

Greitens had committed the same cardinal sins which had doomed fellow candidates Doug Mastriano and Kari Lake: he was a die-hard Trump supporter and made numerous far-right statements, including one supporting the far-right Great Replacement theory. 

During his first year as governor, Greitens was accused of having an extramarital affair, sexual and physical assault, and illegally using a veteran’s charity email list for his political campaign; he was indicted on the latter charge, as well as invasion of privacy. 

On June 1st, 2018 – only 508 days after the start of his gubernatorial tenure – Greitens resigned after facing an impeachment effort supported by north of three-quarters of members in both houses of the state legislature. 

Four years later, Greitens returned to politics by entering his name in the 2022 Senate election. 

And unsurprisingly, his entry fueled Democrats’ hopes in a state where they had long been deprived of any political power (aside from the governorship, where Democratic Jay Nixon served up until 2017). Many Democrats reasoned that even Missouri, a Trump +16 state, would refuse to back a man who likely committed sexual and physical assault.

When pitted against two of the leading Democratic candidates in the race — Lucas Kunce and Trudy Busch Valentine — Greitens prevailed in every poll except one (where he tied), but only by single-digit margins – a non-significant ‘feat’ in a state which regularly supported Republicans by over 15 points, and certainly indicative of a competitive race.

But Republicans seemed to recognize this reality, too, and were quick to put an end to Democratic hopes. Greitens’ standing in the polls fell, and he routinely placed behind other Republicans like Rep. Vicky Hartzler and state Attorney General Eric Schmitt.

Ultimately, Greitens finished a distant third in the Republican primary while Schmitt came out on top — as he would again in November.

Perhaps wistful Democrats had looked back to 2012 — the aforementioned Senate election in Missouri where Claire McCaskill’s bet payed off — as a source of optimism.

Unfortunately, 2012 was a different era – especially for Missouri, which only voted against Obama by 9 points that year– and this no better demonstrated than in McCaskill’s own 6-point loss in 2018.

In the end, Greitens’ loss was for the better: even if Democrats’ primary meddling were to have been successful, it was entirely likely (and indeed, more likely than not) that Greitens would have won the November general election simply due to Missouri’s heavy conservative telt. And although Schmitt himself is no moderate — he was one of the many Republican AG’s who challenged the results of the 2020 election — Senator Schmitt is a far better reality than a Senator Greitens, which would have been an indictment of our moral principles and standards for those holding office.

In meddling with primaries, we play a dangerous game. Even though Greitens didn’t win the Senate election, was it worth aiding his campaign at all?

Is primary meddling a bridge too far?

Is Primary Interference Feeding Election Skepticism

Accompanying primary interference is a concern transcending the binary win versus loss dilemma: in a time where public trust in elections is at an all-time low and our democracy seems more endangered than ever before, is primary interference — which inherently involves manipulating the will of the people and the circumstances of the general election — exacerbating these problems?

This consequence remains under-discussed. How do we measure the impact of primary interference on public trust in elections?

Even when it works, primary interference can actually strengthen extremism and anti-democratic forces:

Take the 2022 House of Representatives election in MI-03. Republican Rep. Peter Meijer, who had voted to impeach Trump in the wake of the January 6th insurrection and had taken a defiant stance against right-wing conspiracies. Meijer earned the praise and admiration of many Democrats for his valiant actions, but unfortunately, Meijer had something which Democrats wanted: MI-3.

MI-03 voted for Joe Biden by just under 10% in 2020, making it a prime target for Democrats in 2022. Therefore, it wasn’t a surprise when reports arised that the DCCC had spent nearly $430,000 on ads promoting Meijer’s Republican opponent, John Gibbs, as a “tough-on-immigration, pro-Trump conservative.”3 Despite Meijer’s own extensive campaign treasury (owing to his massive personal wealth), he was narrowly defeated by a 3.6% margin.

Fast forward to November: Democrat Hillary Scholten defeated John Gibbs by a landslide 12.9% margin. Scholten’s victory galvanized Democrats in a state which had swerved rightward in previous years.

But it didn’t come without a cost.

Which is more valuable? Another rank and file Democrat, or, a truly principled Republican in a position of power (i.e. Meijer) who can use their influence to reshape their party? As the moderate faction of the GOP continues to recede, a standard-bearer is desperately needed — and Meijer, a charismatic and likeable politician who never shied away from mocking the far-right, was well fit for this position.

But instead, Meijer was voted out of office less than two years after he began his tenure.

Meijer might well have lost the primary without the “aid” of Democrats. Other House Republicans who voted to impeach Trump, such as WA-03 Rep. Jaime Herrera Beutler and SC-05 Rep. Tom Rice, lost renomination against Trump-endorsed opponents.

Was it necessary for Democrats to involve themselves in the primary? Would our nation have been better served if Meijer had a fairer opportunity to win re-election?

Primary Interference: Exploring the Question

Just like anything else, this is not a black-and-white situation, and there is no single, all-encompassing, correct answer.

If we think about victory only in the context of the horserace, then primary interference might seem like a blatantly unethical (and needlessly risky) strategy — quasi-manipulating the will of the voters for no other reason than chasing the coveted win.

But victory, in our current political era - where the difference between a win and a loss can determine the fate of democracy - can appear to be a necessity.

Primary interference can have overwhelmingly positive or downright catastrophic political consequences, and the ethical questions it raises may be (partially) justified/rectified/answered by the moral necessity of victory — for our democracy, for our country.

As we saw with the aforementioned 2022 Senate election in Missouri, primary interference edges us closer to victory at the cost of a far more devastating defeat: elevating another extremist possibly at the expense of a more moderate and more principled candidate.

Primary Interference: Where I Stand

With great power, comes great responsibility. With these important questions and ramifications in mind, primary interference should be used sparingly and with great caution. It should not be used, for example, to impact contests where a candidate begins as an underdog for the sole purpose of making the race competitive: the potential negative consequences are too great.

So far, Democrats have shown themselves to be wise in choosing where (and where not) to meddle in primaries.

In my opinion, primary interference is best used as a means of shoring up a likely victory, rather than improving the odds of a tossup, or (dreadfully) attempting to make a usually out-of-reach race competitive. 

The most optimal (highest reward with the least risk) places for employing this strategy are in races where a campaign or party is favored from the get go. Take the 2022 elections in Illinois and New Hampshire. In both states, the incumbent Democrats – Gov. J.B. Pritzker and Sen. Maggie Hassan – were considered the favorites to win their election.

Illinois, being a Democratic stronghold federally, was a safer bet than New Hampshire, where Joe Biden won the state by a solid yet not overwhelming margin of 7 points. 

Pritzker, a billionaire, boosted Republican State House Rep. Darren Bailey in his primary.

The latter was considered an extremist by many, being an outspoken opponent of mask mandates during the height of the coronavirus pandemic to the point that was forcibly removed from the Illinois State House session by an 81-27 vote; of course, he was also an ardent Trump supporter. 

Pritzker likely didn’t need to aid Bailey in order to win the election.

However, seeing as how he had the money to do so, and considering that his 12-point margin of victory was rather low for Illinois standards, it was a move which stood only to benefit himself and Democrats. Who knows how close the margin might have been had Pritzker faced a more competent opponent?

In New Hampshire, Republican Don Bolduc eked out a 1-point win over State Senate president Chuck Morse in their respective primary. 

Considering that Democrats spent $3.2 million on ads supporting Bolduc’s primary candidacy, it’s a fair assumption that Bolduc likely would have lost the primary without the additional aid. 

Democrats’ gamble proved to be a success: Hassan prevailed by a 9-point margin of Bolduc, despite some late polling showing her losing the election by 1 or 2 percentage points. 

While Morse likely would have lost the election as well, he was a far more experienced candidate with institutional support. 

Perhaps he would have narrowed the margins further, thus giving Democrats more to worry about (and devote precious resources towards) in an already-dire election cycle.

The greatest strategies balance effectiveness with likeliness. 

The allure of victory can cloud one’s judgment, and while it is a common saying, perhaps there is no more universal one than this: it’s better to be safe than sorry.

If you’ve tuned into CNN, Fox News, or checked Twitter recently, you’ll have heard it loud and clear: political polarization is reaching new highs.

This has led some commentators to claim that partisanship is now everything in American politics – that each voter’s party loyalty trumps all other factors, and nothing else really matters.

There’s some truth to this: politics are more divided than they were 10, 20, or even 50 years ago. This shift is evident in trends like the steady decline of ticket-splitting (voters picking candidates from different parties for different offices on the same ballot) and the razor-thin margins in modern elections. For example, since 2000, only Barack Obama has won a presidential election by more than 8%, and that was in 2008.

But to conclude, as many forecasters do, that factors like candidate quality, campaign spending, and messaging are now irrelevant compared to pure party loyalty is a little shortsighted.

The Argument for Authenticity: An Overlooked Factor in Partisan Times

I get why people believe partisanship is king.

In the last 20 years, countless candidates have had little to no effect on election outcomes, regardless of their personal appeal, experience, or even campaign ingenuity. Even all-out scandals that once could have cratered a campaign barely make a ripple today (Exhibit A: the current election cycle, where Donald Trump’s felony conviction all but evaporated from public consciousness days after it broke).

But there is one aspect of candidate quality that has shown itself to be influential, even decisive, in recent elections: authenticity.

Authenticity, by nature, is hard to measure and even harder to recognize in an objective way. Charisma can be evaluated to some degree – you could compare John Kerry in 2004 with Barack Obama in 2008, and most people would agree hands-down that Obama had more natural charm. But authenticity is less clear-cut, and often subtle.

Take a simple example: imagine trying to gauge a colleague or classmate’s “authenticity.” Even if you’ve known them for years, it can be hard to tell when they’re being their genuine self. Now take a political candidate, someone you’ve likely never met, whose only public appearances are carefully crafted speeches. How can you possibly know if they’re being real?

This lack of objectivity makes authenticity elusive. But that doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant. In fact, authenticity is so powerful precisely because it isn’t easily defined or spun by campaign handlers. If a voter senses a candidate is genuine, that feeling is largely unshakable, regardless of any other attributes or controversies.

Why Authenticity Matters More than Charisma

Charisma can make a candidate appealing; authenticity can make a candidate trusted. The goal of democracy is to give voters the power to choose representatives who will truly represent their views. So logically, voters know to use this power to elect someone who aligns with their views on major issues like abortion, gun control, or immigration.

This is part of why politics is so polarized today: with Republicans becoming the party of pro-life, pro-gun, and anti-immigration, and Democrats the opposite, the average voter has a more straightforward choice. They can largely pick a party and stay there.

But for a small, critical group of voters, personal qualities still make a difference.

Authenticity – not charisma or even likeability – is often the key quality that can sway this group. It’s the only personal quality that may actually affect votes. Candidates can rise or fall based on how convincingly they can present themselves as true representatives of their constituency’s values, history, and shared struggles. If a candidate seems out of touch, self-centered, or just fake, it’s believable that they might prioritize their own career over voters’ interests in Washington, D.C., or their state capital. Even if only 5% of voters sense this lack of authenticity and it changes their minds, that can be enough to flip an election.

Case Studies in Authenticity's Influence

Iowa: Bruce Braley’s Stumbles in 2014

The 2014 Senate race in Iowa offers a textbook example of authenticity in action. Democrat Bruce Braley was expected to have a solid chance of succeeding longtime Democratic Senator Tom Harkin in a state that had been trending rightward but had traditionally leaned left. Iowa had even voted for Michael Dukakis in his 1988 landslide defeat. Bruce Braley, a representative from Iowa’s First District, cleared the Democratic field early on and began the race as the favorite over little-known Republican state senator Joni Ernst.

But Braley’s campaign began to slip after several notable gaffes that severely undermined his authenticity. During the 2013 government shutdown, Braley publicly complained about the lack of gym access in Congress. This comment painted him as a classic D.C. insider, more concerned with his own comfort than with the issues that mattered to voters back home. A few months later, Braley disparaged Iowa’s senior Republican Senator Chuck Grassley as “a farmer who never went to law school.”

Let’s unpack that statement: in Iowa, a state defined by its farming culture, looking down on farming doesn’t exactly make you seem like an authentic Iowan. This message was only aggravated by Braley’s comment about law school, a privilege out of reach for most Americans, as though it were a necessary credential for public service.

In positioning himself this way, Braley dug his own grave-essentially portraying himself as an outsider, someone above the local fray.

Joni Ernst wasted no time taking full advantage of these missteps.

In what may have been the defining moment of her political career, Ernst starred in a political ad comparing “cutting pork” in Congress—getting real work done—to her experience castrating pigs on a farm. The humorous ad not only grabbed voters’ attention but also reminded voters that she was a true born and raised Iowan, who embraced the state’s culture, while her opponent seemed uncomfortable with it.

Sure enough, the tide turned slowly but steadily, with polling increasingly favoring Ernst until she clinched an 8-point victory.

Authenticity played a key role in this election, likely changing as many as 10% of voters’ minds—though that may be an overstatement given Iowa’s overall rightward shift in 2014.

Nonetheless, authenticity undoubtedly played a significant role in Iowa's decision and this race remains a striking example of how authenticity can influence electoral outcomes, even in a polarized political climate.

Indiana: Evan Bayh’s Misstep in 2016

The 2016 Senate race in Indiana provides a similar story.

Evan Bayh, the Democratic nominee had served as Indiana's senator from 1999 to 2011 and served as its governor for 8 years before that time. As a senator and governor he was overwhelmingly popular, winning both senate elections with upwards of 60% of the vote. Bayh’s comeback in 2016 was viewed as a golden opportunity for Democrats who are hoping to win back the Senate after losing it two years earlier.

He entered the race with early polls showing him ahead of his opponent, Republican Todd Young, by margins of 5 to 21 points. The previous Democratic nominee, Representative Baron Hill, withdrew from the race not even when he formally entered, but the moment CNN reported that Evan Bayh was preparing to run—a testament to Bayh’s dominance in Indiana politics.

And then the attacks began.

During his six-year semi-retirement between 2010 and 2016, Bayh had built a lucrative career on corporate boards and with lobbying firms, growing his net worth to between $14 million and $48 million.

Then came serious questions about his connection to Indiana. Records showed he’d been listed twice as an inactive voter in Indiana, and he claimed two D.C. houses as his primary residences. The result was an image of Bayh as an out-of-touch opportunist, detached from Indiana’s working-class values, who had traded his Indiana roots for wealth and influence in Washington.

Voters took notice, shifting steadily toward his opponent, Todd Young, culminating in Young’s 10-point victory on November 8. Given that Indiana had been a Republican stronghold for decades—and that in 2016, Trump carried the state by nearly 20 points—Bayh’s performance was still an impressive overachievement. Yet, it’s hard not to wonder if he could have narrowed that gap to five points, or even won, had he cultivated a more grounded, authentic image.

Georgia: The 2020 Senate Runoffs and the Insider Image Problem

Unlike Indiana and Iowa, Georgia sits at the forefront of America’s political battlefield.

In 2018, Governor Brian Kemp won his seat by a narrow 2-point margin, and in 2020, Joe Biden won the state outright for the first time in 28 years, but only by a razor-thin margin of 11,000 votes, or roughly 0.2%.

Alongside the presidential election, Georgia also held two Senate elections, with Republican incumbents David Perdue and Kelly Loeffler defending their seats. At the start of the Senate cycle, both elections were presumed to be Republican holds, albeit with low levels of certainty given Georgia’s recent competitive shifts.

However, over the following months, Democratic challengers Jon Ossoff and Raphael Warnock steadily closed the gap, largely by drawing attention to the contrast in authenticity between them and their opponents.

Perdue and Loeffler were both wealthy businesspeople, each with fortunes in the hundreds of millions. Likewise both were investigated in 2020 for insider trading ahead of the COVID-19 crash. The Democrats skillfully capitalized on this, framing Perdue and Loeffler as modern-day “robber barons” who had prioritized personal profit over Georgia’s welfare - and forsaken them when the state needed them most.

Although the Senate investigations did not result in formal charges, the damage was done; many voters had already come to view Perdue and Loeffler as emblematic of Washington’s self-serving elite.

In contrast, Ossoff and Warnock were able to present themselves as authentically Georgian. Ossoff, born and raised in Atlanta, had even run for a House seat three years prior, while Warnock, the senior pastor at Atlanta’s historic Ebenezer Baptist Church—where Martin Luther King Jr. had once preached—had served the community for 15 years and advocated for Medicare expansion in Georgia.

Both Democrats went on to win in the January 5th runoffs, with Warnock winning by 2% and Ossoff by around 1.5%.

Although these margins were narrow, they were gargantuan compared to Biden’s 0.2% margin and marked Georgia’s first Democratic Senate victories since 2000—a symbolic milestone in the state’s political landscape.

Other factors, like the pandemic and economic downturn, undoubtedly contributed to the outcome and were widely blamed on Trump and Republicans. But voters ultimately faced another choice beyond party lines: between representatives who were genuinely “of Georgia” and those who seemed more aligned with D.C., between authentic and inauthentic.

Pennsylvania: John Fetterman’s Rural Appeal in 2022

An even more telling example of this "invisible force" of authenticity and its impact on voters is John Fetterman’s performance across rural Pennsylvania.

In 2022, John Fetterman’s campaign in Pennsylvania exemplified how authenticity can resonate even with voters in traditionally conservative rural areas. Fetterman, with his casual attire, tattoos, and straight-talking style, managed to outperform President Biden’s 2020 margins in each of the 21 counties with fewer than 20,000 votes, sometimes by as much as 10 percentage points, showing his appeal as an authentic, relatable candidate.

In contrast, his opponent, Mehmet Oz, struggled to shed the label of an “outsider” after having recently moved from New Jersey. Fetterman’s authenticity struck a chord with rural Pennsylvanians, many of whom might not typically vote for Democrats.

While Fetterman also performed well in urban and suburban areas, his strong showing in rural counties stands out among his fellow Senate Democratic candidates and demonstrates the effectiveness of his campaign’s focus on authenticity, especially compared to his opponent, Mehmet Oz, whose outsider status and perceived lack of genuine connection to Pennsylvania became a liability.

Many Democrats in states like Arizona, Wisconsin, and Michigan performed strongly in suburban areas—and, to a lesser extent, in some urban centers. Yet few managed to meet, let alone exceed, Biden’s already modest rural performance.

Take Mandela Barnes, the Democratic Senate candidate in Wisconsin in 2022. Barnes saw high turnout in Milwaukee and Madison and achieved impressive margins in surrounding suburbs, particularly in Dane County, where Madison is located. However, he struggled significantly in the state’s rural, working-class counties, where his underperformance compared to Biden contributed heavily to his overall 1.6% loss in the statewide vote.

Fetterman’s rural success is a clear example of how authenticity can influence even typically conservative areas, setting him apart in an election cycle where most Democrats failed to make similar inroads with rural voters.

Conclusion: Authenticity’s Quiet Power in Modern Politics

These examples from Iowa, Indiana, Georgia, and Pennsylvania highlight the underestimated role of authenticity in today’s polarized politics. While partisanship and party loyalty are powerful forces, authenticity provides a unique counterweight, enabling candidates to make direct connections with voters’ sense of trust and relatability.

In an era where the average voter sees every political ad as just another tactic, authenticity stands out as something real and unspinnable. As long as this is true, authenticity will continue to be an invisible but potent force in American elections.

It’s a bold claim: that authenticity -- however the individual voter measures it -- might carry more weight than other personal factors like charisma, scandal, or even political experience.

Authenticity, when the stakes are high, has the power to shift the course of elections. And under this “authenticity” umbrella, no issue is as stark, as divisive, or as consequential as carpetbagging—a phenomenon that occurs when a candidate with few roots in a state or district runs for office there, hoping to win over voters who might not see them as “one of us.”

Carpetbagging: The “Not One of Us” Problem

At its most basic, carpetbagging is when a candidate moves into a state or district where they have little to no real connection and runs for office there. Originating after the Civil War to describe Northern opportunists who moved South for political or economic gain, "carpetbagging" now refers to politicians running for office in a state where they lack strong local ties.

They often weren’t born there, didn’t grow up there, and haven’t spent years building ties within the local community. In many cases, they lack what voters would consider deep, authentic ties to the area. Instead, they might own a house there, be registered to vote there, or maybe even served in one of the state’s numerous political offices. But voters often interpret carpetbagging as a political move—a calculated, career-driven maneuver rather than a genuine connection to the area.

Carpetbagging is often politically dangerous because it tests that critical quality of authenticity. Voters want representatives who understand their state’s unique culture, values, and issues, and they can quickly recognize when a candidate’s connection is more symbolic than real.

In my last article on authenticity, I neglected to address carpetbagging both in my explanations, and in the elections I picked as case studies. But the ubiquity of carpetbagging—and the backlash that often follows—demands a closer look. Why do candidates risk it? How do voters react? And what’s the long-term impact on the political landscape?

The Temptation of Political Fertility: Why Candidates Relocate

At first glance, it seems like carpetbagging would be a risky, if not foolish, choice. Why would a candidate abandon the comfort of their home state and take a chance on voters who may view them as an outsider?

To answer that, we have to consider what I call political fertility, the degree to which a state offers fertile ground for a political career.  It’s a measure of how difficult it is to gain a political foothold in the state, and then how difficult it is to continue climbing the political ladder either within the state or at the federal level, using that power base. Some states, quite simply, are tougher places to break into politics.

Consider states like California and Texas, both political behemoths with massive, diverse populations and long-established networks of politicians. Campaigning in these states requires enormous resources: millions in advertising, endless rounds of outreach, and often years of cultivating connections. The competition is fierce, with candidates not only facing each other but also grappling with a complex mix of issues and entrenched interests. Even a well-connected candidate can find themselves lost in the shuffle. California, with nearly 40 million residents, presents a political minefield for any hopeful without extensive resources and deep local ties.

Smaller states, however, may appear more accessible. Wyoming or Alaska, with populations under a million, present fewer competitors and require lower campaign budgets. It’s easier to stand out, easier to run a “close-to-the-people” campaign. Yet for those seeking national influence, these states are less advantageous. Governors and senators from California or Texas, like Gavin Newsom or Greg Abbott, frequently make national headlines and are touted as future presidential candidates. But how often do you hear about Wyoming’s Mark Gordon or Alaska’s Mike Dunleavy? Their platforms are largely limited to state issues, with smaller impact on the national scene. The leap from local to national prominence is tough when your state’s entire population is smaller than a mid-size city in Texas or California.

This uneven political terrain can lead ambitious candidates to seek out “fertile” states, where they can make a name for themselves without facing either overwhelming competition or limited visibility. Enter carpetbagging. For some, that means moving out of their home state entirely, risking voter skepticism in exchange for a potentially friendlier political environment. Carpetbagging can be a high-stakes gamble, with the potential for either swift success or harsh rejection.

States Where Carpetbagging Doesn’t Fly: Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, and West Virginia

Carpetbagging doesn’t land equally everywhere. Some states have a proud, insular identity and are quick to reject outsiders.

Pennsylvania 2022 Senate Race

Perhaps there is no greater test of carpetbagging as a game-changing issue than the recent Pennsylvania 2022 Senate election.

Two years after Democrats secured a hard-fought Senate majority through dual victories in Georgia’s runoffs, they faced a daunting but promising task: defending that fragile majority while aiming to gain seats in Republican-held territory. The stakes were high, with Georgia, Arizona, and Nevada marked as top priorities to defend, while seats in Wisconsin, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania represented valuable potential gains. A win in Pennsylvania, a state widely viewed as the most evenly divided in the nation, was considered the Democrats’ best chance to flip a Republican seat, though the outcome was far from assured.

To seize this opportunity, Democrats nominated Lieutenant Governor John Fetterman, a candidate with roots in Pennsylvania who had previously run for Senate in 2016 and put up a decent yet far-from-victorious performance.

Republicans, however, took a different approach, nominating Dr. Mehmet Oz, a TV personality widely recognized from his time on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Oz was an outsider, both to Pennsylvania and to politics. The month leading up to the election was tumultuous. Fetterman, who'd been running a a well-funded campaign, enjoyed an easy ride through the primary, with no truly significant competition during the primary. Nearly every poll showed him ahead - with some showing him ahead by more than 15%—an enormous lead by Pennsylvania standards. By contrast, Oz had barely secured his primary, winning by fewer than 1,000 votes and lacking the institutional support enjoyed by Fetterman.

Unfortunately, nothing holds: as Election Day loomed closer and closer, the race became tighter and tighter.

In mid-May, Fetterman suffered a stroke, raising questions about his health, allowing Oz to close the gap in the polls, even edging into the lead according to some forecasters.

Come election day, when voters cast their ballots, Fetterman won—not narrowly but by a decisive 5-point margin. While 5 points may not be a landslide, it was substantial enough to suggest that the race had not been that close at all, let alone in Oz’s favor.

There were, of course, multiple factors at play. Democratic gubernatorial candidate Josh Shapiro’s landslide victory, along with favorable conditions for Democrats in a largely pro-choice state after the Supreme Court’s pro-life ruling, likely boosted Fetterman’s chances.

Yet arguably the most critical factor was Oz’s status as a carpetbagger.

Born in Ohio, educated in New York, and a longtime resident of New Jersey, Oz had only moved to Pennsylvania a year before his Senate bid. It was a textbook case of carpetbagging, and Fetterman made it the focal point of his campaign. A glance through Fetterman’s Twitter feed reveals a steady stream of posts mocking Oz’s New Jersey roots, while campaign ads underscored the disconnect between Oz’s recent relocation and the deeply rooted identity of Pennsylvania.

The heart of carpetbagging lies in weighing the potential benefits against the risk of voter distaste. In Oz’s case, the gamble did not pay off. Running as a Republican Senate candidate in New Jersey may have been a nonstarter, but Pennsylvania’s deeply rooted culture and identity, as the birthplace of the Republic and heart of the Rust Belt, offered no easy welcome for an outsider. The state’s relative ethnic and religious uniformity further suggests a more cohesive, locally focused culture—one far less receptive to candidates seen as intruders. In this case, Oz’s carpetbagging status became not just a liability but, ultimately, a critical factor in his defeat.

New Hampshire: 2014 Senate Race

Similarly, New Hampshire, a state with a reputation for valuing its independence and community connections, tends to resist carpetbagging. even from candidates who seem, on paper, like they might fit. In 2014, former Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown learned this the hard way when he decided to run for Senate in New Hampshire after losing his seat in Massachusetts. To Brown, a neighboring state where he had spent years vacationing and even owned property likely seemed like a natural place to continue his political career. But New Hampshire’s residents saw things differently.

Despite his proximity to New Hampshire, Brown was viewed as an outsider. He was up against Senator Jeanne Shaheen, a longtime New Hampshire figure who had served as governor and had deep ties to the state’s residents and political establishment. Throughout the campaign, Shaheen leveraged Brown’s recent move, underscoring her own local roots and casting Brown’s candidacy as a transparent attempt to regain political power rather than a commitment to New Hampshire’s unique interests. Her campaign’s message was clear: Brown might understand Massachusetts, but New Hampshire, with its strong identity and fiercely independent political culture, was another matter entirely.

New Hampshire voters, known for their skepticism toward perceived outsiders, were not easily swayed by Brown’s efforts to establish local credibility. His Massachusetts background, instead of being seen as a minor detail, became a central issue. Shaheen effectively amplified this narrative, reminding voters that Brown’s sudden relocation felt more opportunistic than authentic. While he argued that his moderate, independent political views aligned well with New Hampshire’s electorate, his lack of true New Hampshire roots outweighed the merits of his platform in many voters’ minds.

By Election Day, the damage was done. Brown lost to Shaheen, a defeat that illustrated just how powerful New Hampshire’s resistance to carpetbagging can be, even when the candidate in question hails from the neighboring state. Brown’s experience highlighted a hard truth: New Hampshire’s strong sense of local identity and pride in its independence can make it exceptionally difficult for any candidate, no matter how geographically close, to overcome the perception of being an outsider. The state’s voters, fiercely protective of their community’s distinct character, ultimately rejected Brown’s candidacy, emphasizing that for them, genuine connections run deeper than political ambition.

Kansas: Pat Roberts’ 2014 Senate Race

The 2014 Senate race in Kansas stands out as a striking example of how accusations of carpetbagging—or even a perceived detachment from home—can become a major liability. When Democrat Chad Taylor unexpectedly dropped out, Independent candidate Greg Orman became the main challenger to long-time Republican incumbent Senator Pat Roberts. Roberts, a veteran politician with decades of service in Congress, found himself under fire not just for his political record but for his physical absence from Kansas. Having spent considerable time in Virginia, where he owned a home, Roberts was forced to confront the perception that he’d lost touch with his state. The fact that he didn’t even own a residence in Kansas, instead listing a rented room in a supporter’s home as his address, quickly became a focal point for Orman’s campaign.

Orman seized the opportunity, casting Roberts as a classic Washington insider who had drifted away from Kansas values and issues. His campaign emphasized Roberts’s limited presence in the state, portraying him as an absentee senator whose concerns had become more aligned with D.C. than with Kansans. Orman presented himself as a locally grounded alternative, someone free from the pull of the Beltway who could more genuinely represent Kansas’s needs.

Roberts’s campaign scrambled to contain the damage, doubling down on his conservative record and emphasizing his years of service to Kansas. National Republican heavyweights soon rallied to his defense, with figures like Ted Cruz and Sarah Palin campaigning to shore up his support and counter the growing narrative of Roberts’s detachment. They framed Orman as a political opportunist with ambiguous allegiances, arguing that his policy positions weren’t in tune with Kansas values.

In the end, despite these challenges, Roberts narrowly won re-election. The race, however, highlighted a key vulnerability: even a seasoned incumbent is not immune to the perception of being “absent” from his own state. For Kansas voters, Roberts’s close call became a warning signal about the risks of seeming disconnected, especially in a climate where strong community ties and visible local roots are increasingly valued.

States Where Carpetbagging *Might* Work: New York, Florida, and Illinois

Not every state reacts to carpetbagging with the same resistance. New York, with its massive, diverse population and high percentage of transplants, is often more welcoming of newcomers.

New York 2000 Senate Race

In 2000, Hillary Clinton, then First Lady, moved to New York to run for the U.S. Senate. At the time, First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton ran as a Democrat for a U.S. Senate seat in New York against Republican Congressman Rick Lazio, who had replaced Rudy Giuliani on the ballot just months before the election. Clinton faced significant criticism for being an out-of-stater. Originally from Illinois and later First Lady of Arkansas during Bill Clinton’s tenure as governor, her ties to New York were notably absent. Lazio and his supporters seized on this in ads and campaign rallies, framing her as a carpetbagger. Their attacks seemed effective; Lazio led in multiple polls in the months leading up to the election.

However, Lazio’s campaign suffered from critical missteps, particularly during a September debate where he waved a piece of paper in Clinton’s face, invading her personal space in a way that was widely criticized. By election day, Clinton not only recovered but won by a comfortable 13-point margin, while Al Gore carried the state by nearly 25 points in the presidential race.

At first glance, Clinton’s win appeared weaker than Gore’s, seemingly validating concerns that her carpetbagging had suppressed her margin. But when considered in context, her performance was quite strong. Senate races at the time were less polarized than presidential contests, and Gore’s commanding lead may have been bolstered by the Jewish heritage of his running mate, Joe Lieberman, in a state with a significant Jewish population. Clinton’s victory was solid, especially given the challenges she faced.

So why didn’t Clinton face harsher consequences for her outsider status? This outcome reflects the complex state-level dynamics that shape how carpetbagging is perceived. In a state as large and diverse as New York, with its multifaceted cultural and demographic landscape, Clinton’s out-of-state origins mattered less.

New York’s electorate is strikingly varied. While rural areas upstate represent one segment of the population, a much larger portion resides in the densely populated and diverse New York City metro area. The state boasts the largest Jewish population in the country, a significant number of atheists, and adherents of other faiths, along with a population where over 55% identify as minorities. Crucially, many of New York’s voters were not originally born in the state themselves.

In short, New York’s cultural and demographic complexity means it lacks a singular “state tradition.” This diversity may make voters less likely to hold it against candidates for not embodying a uniform identity tied to New York, allowing Clinton to navigate the issue of carpetbagging far more effectively than she might have in a less multifaceted state.

Florida and Governor Rick Scott

Florida is another state where carpetbagging often flies under the radar. With its unique mix of native-born residents and transplants from across the country, Florida’s electorate is more open to newcomers than other, more culturally insular states. Consider Governor Rick Scott, who successfully ran for office despite being originally from Illinois. Scott’s outsider status barely registered as a problem during his campaigns. Instead, his conservative credentials and sharp focus on appealing to Florida’s right-leaning base dominated the narrative.

Part of what made this possible is Florida’s identity—or, more accurately, its lack of a singular one. The state’s population is incredibly transient, with millions of retirees moving in each year, particularly from the Northeast and Midwest. By 2010, when Scott was first elected governor, over a third of the state’s residents had been born outside Florida. This fluid demographic dynamic means that the idea of being a “true Floridian” holds far less weight compared to states with more entrenched cultural norms. Voters are accustomed to seeing leaders and neighbors alike who hail from other parts of the country.

Additionally, Florida’s diversity extends beyond its transient population. The state has significant Latino, African American, and Jewish communities, alongside large numbers of retirees and working-class voters. These varied constituencies make it difficult for any candidate to adhere to a traditional “Florida mold.” Instead, successful campaigns often focus on shared values—like Scott’s emphasis on low taxes, small government, and conservative ideals—rather than shared origins.

Moreover, Scott leveraged his business background as the former CEO of a major healthcare company, emphasizing his ability to create jobs and manage the state’s economy. These appeals resonated with Florida’s economically-focused voters, particularly in a post-recession climate, and overshadowed questions about his outsider roots. Florida’s political culture, with its emphasis on results and ideological alignment over personal background, enabled Scott to sidestep the carpetbagging issue almost entirely.

In Florida, like New York, the absence of a unified state identity creates an environment where carpetbagging can succeed, as long as a candidate connects with voters on issues that matter most. Scott’s success illustrates how diverse, transient states are far less likely to punish candidates for where they’re from and far more likely to reward them for aligning with the state’s political and economic priorities.

Illinois and Barack Obama

Illinois, particularly in cities like Chicago, offers another example of a state that is arguably more receptive to carpetbagging. The state’s political culture, especially in its urban centers, tends to be more forgiving of outsiders, as long as they demonstrate meaningful local engagement. Barack Obama’s political rise is a case in point. Born in Hawaii and raised in Indonesia and later in Hawaii again, Obama had no deep-rooted ties to Illinois when he moved there as a young adult. Yet, he successfully built his political career in the state, eventually earning credibility that overshadowed his outsider origins.

Obama’s connection to Illinois began with his work as a community organizer on Chicago’s South Side, where he spent several years tackling issues like job training and housing in underserved neighborhoods. This work established him as someone deeply invested in the well-being of the community, earning him respect and recognition among local leaders and voters alike. When he transitioned into politics, serving as a state senator for seven years, he further cemented his ties by advocating for progressive policies that aligned with the values of Illinois’s Democratic base, including expanding healthcare and supporting ethics reform.

Part of Obama’s ability to overcome any skepticism about his origins stemmed from the nature of Illinois’s electorate. Chicago, the state’s largest city and a Democratic stronghold, is a hub of diversity and migration. Many of its residents are transplants themselves, whether from other parts of the state, other states, or even other countries. This melting-pot dynamic makes voters less concerned with whether a candidate is a “native” and more focused on their ability to connect with and address the issues facing Illinois communities.

Furthermore, Illinois’s political culture rewards candidates who engage directly with its voters, particularly in Chicago. Obama’s grassroots approach, including his work with faith-based and civic organizations, created a sense of authenticity that resonated with the city’s electorate. By the time he launched his campaign for U.S. Senate in 2004, Obama had built a solid reputation as someone who understood and cared about Illinois’s challenges, effectively neutralizing concerns about his outsider status.

Obama’s trajectory illustrates how a candidate without homegrown roots can successfully navigate and thrive in a state like Illinois. By deeply embedding himself in the community and prioritizing local issues, he bridged the gap between his outsider origins and his adopted state, proving that strong local engagement can be just as powerful as a lifelong connection to a place.

The Unique Politics of Midwestern Swing States: Arizona, Wisconsin, and Michigan

Swing states, where political control frequently shifts, are increasingly becoming battlegrounds for carpetbaggers looking to influence tight races. Arizona, for example, has attracted candidates from across the political spectrum as its demographics shift. The state’s blend of urban and rural interests, combined with its status as a key battleground, has drawn national attention. Carpetbagging in Arizona, however, is risky; the state’s conservative legacy and long-standing issues around immigration make it difficult for outsiders to gain voter trust. Candidates here must navigate Arizona’s distinctive local concerns, proving they’re truly committed to the state’s future.

Wisconsin and Michigan, Rust Belt states with a strong working-class ethos, also present challenges for carpetbaggers. These states have been battlegrounds in recent presidential elections, and candidates who lack local ties often struggle to appeal to voters who prioritize a shared understanding of the economic struggles and cultural values shaped by the decline of manufacturing. Wisconsin, in particular, is home to deeply rooted communities with a pride in local culture, meaning carpetbaggers often face a steep climb.

Representation and Trust: The Problem of Outsiders

Beyond optics, carpetbagging raises deeper issues about representation. Voters expect a candidate who understands their local concerns, someone who has lived their experiences and can advocate for their needs. Carpetbagging can feel like a violation of this trust, particularly in regions with distinctive industries, traditions, or values. In coal towns in West Virginia or farming communities in Iowa, voters often prefer candidates with genuine ties to their industry and way of life.

In Iowa, for example, agriculture is central to the state’s identity and economy, and candidates without strong connections to farming may struggle to gain traction. In 2014, Joni Ernst successfully ran for Senate in Iowa, emphasizing her farming roots in a way that resonated deeply with voters. Her “farm girl” image helped her connect with voters who felt she understood Iowa’s unique challenges.

The Future of Carpetbagging in a Polarized America

As politics grows more polarized, carpetbagging is becoming even more contentious. In battleground states, where every vote counts, candidates are increasingly willing to risk running in unfamiliar states if it gives them a better shot at victory. But the risks remain high. Voters in swing states are skeptical of candidates who appear to have relocated solely to chase political success. In these polarized times, authenticity is often scrutinized more intensely, and candidates without deep local roots face more pressure to prove their commitment.

Arizona, Georgia, and North Carolina, all recent swing states, have seen candidates from other states testing the waters. But as recent elections have shown, the demand for genuine, authentic representatives remains high. Carpetbagging may offer a shortcut, but it’s one fraught with obstacles and, often, rejection. States with strong local identities or histories of economic hardship aren’t quick to forgive candidates who seem to be passing through.

When Carpetbagging Can Feel Justified: Commitment Beyond Opportunism

Sometimes, carpetbagging isn’t just a cynical career move—it’s a legitimate choice shaped by extraordinary circumstances. There are situations where a candidate might run in a new state out of genuine commitment or even necessity, and in these cases, voters may be more understanding.

Take military veterans, for instance, who have moved from state to state in service to the country, or individuals who have been compelled to relocate due to economic hardship. For these candidates, carpetbagging may not represent opportunism so much as the natural consequence of a life lived in public service or of survival through turbulent times.

Other cases might involve candidates whose work aligns with the needs of a particular state, even if they haven’t lived there long. For example, environmental experts running in states affected by climate change, or economic reform advocates seeking to tackle pressing issues in states hit hard by industrial decline. These candidates may not be seen as outsiders but as allies, bringing their expertise to communities in need. When carpetbagging serves a purpose beyond personal ambition, it can have a legitimacy that voters can often recognize and respect, transforming it from a liability into a unique form of dedication.

For example, Senator Tammy Duckworth of Illinois, a decorated military veteran, was born in Thailand and lived in several places due to her father’s work before settling in Illinois, where she eventually launched her political career. Though she didn’t have deep family roots in Illinois, her service as a U.S. Army helicopter pilot and her commitment to veterans’ issues gave her a unique connection to the state’s substantial veteran population and a sense of shared purpose with its residents. Her history of public service helped voters look beyond her relative newcomer status.

Another possible example is Michael Bennet, who was born in India and moved frequently as a child due to his father’s work at the U.S. Embassy there. Despite his international upbringing, Bennet eventually settled in Colorado, where he became superintendent of the Denver Public Schools and later ran for Senate. His work in education reform, addressing specific issues facing Colorado’s students, earned him legitimacy in the eyes of Colorado voters, who saw his carpetbagging as secondary to his commitment to state issues. Bennet’s “carpetbagger” status could be considered debatable, as he had lived in Colorado for some years before his Senate appointment, but still provides a useful example.

In both cases, voters found their backgrounds and dedication to service reason enough to overlook their non-traditional paths to state politics.

The Gamble of Carpetbagging: A High-Stakes Choice

Ultimately, carpetbagging is a calculated risk. For voters, the stakes are personal: they want representatives who reflect their lives, understand their history, and will fight for their future. And for candidates, this demand for authenticity makes carpetbagging a high-stakes maneuver that could either catapult them to success or leave them as an outsider looking in.

Carpetbagging reveals an important tension in American democracy—the tension between for both genuine connection and political opportunity. As long as authenticity remains a critical value, voters will continue to demand that candidates prove themselves not just as politicians, but as neighbors, as members of their community. And as long as that expectation remains, carpetbagging will be a tactic with high risks and, only occasionally, high rewards.

With this in mind, before diving in to my forecasts for the next cycle, I wanted to cover some background on the current state of the map — along with a run-down of the ‘greatest hits’ of 2020.

2026 Landscape: Where We Are Now

In this article, I’m not forecasting any races in 2026, so I’ll keep this introduction to a minimum.

If you’ve previewed the 2026 map already, you probably picked up on a key detail: unlike 2024, where Democrats are defending 24 seats to Republicans’ 10, Republicans will be playing defense during the 2026 cycle.

Republicans, as you probably noticed, they have more seats up for grabs than Democrats. 

Out of the total 33 Senate seats up for election in this cycle, and Republicans hold 18 of them. That leaves Democrats with the remaining 15. 

Now, this disparity is relatively small: a 6:5 advantage for Democrats compared to Republican’s 12:5 advantage in 2024.

This is one of the reasons that I’m fairly confident in saying that 2026, as a whole, will not feature the gigantic shifts in the Senate balance like we saw in 2010 or 2014 (where Republicans gained 6 and 9 seats, respectively).

As a result, in our currently very polarized and partisan environment, no matter like what the circumstances are come November 3rd, 2026, so many states are so locked in for their respective party that it would take something truly cataclysmic (or miraculous) to really shake up the battlefield. 

That being said, considering the heavy monetary and time burden that Democrats have suffered under in the 2024 cycle and are now relieved of, the party already begins the 2026 cycle in a more favorable position than the previous.

2020 Election in Review: The Rundown

Now, since Senate elections follow a cycle of three which takes place over 6 years, the Senate seats up for grabs in 2026 were last competed for in 2020.

You might remember 2020 for being the year of the pandemic, the year where Joe Biden successfully defeated Donald Trump, and the year where Democrats gained their first trifecta in 6 years by keeping the Senate or by gaining the Senate and keeping their House majority. 

But peer beneath this surface-level victory, and you'll see the narrative that Democrats really had a disappointing night or a disappointing week, really. 

Democrats came into the 2020 elections expecting a much bigger victory than they got, 'cuz Donald Trump was so unpopular, especially considering his gross mismanagement of the pandemic, as well as the fact that from the polls, it looked like Democrats were going to have a smashing victory on every level, in every state.

Also, in terms of campaign funds, Democrats overall, not just in the presidential race but in like Senate races or House races, were consistently outspending their Republican opponents across the board. Democrats were on ads more; they were on the air more; they were on TV more often than Republicans, and all of those factors really pointed towards this big Democratic victory, even potentially a landslide, the likes of Obama's 2008 victory. 

And that was reflected in a lot of forecasters' opinions, even very respectable ones who have been in the game a very long time. And the same thing can be seen in like what the news cycles predicted, or how they were viewing the election, in commentating on the current circumstances. 

And yet, take a look at the presidential map. 

Yes, Joe Biden successfully restored the blue wall: he won Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania, states which had sealed Hillary Clinton’s defeat four years earlier.

Yet, Biden won these states by tight margins, to say the least. He won Wisconsin by 0.6%; he won Michigan by less than 3%, and he won Pennsylvania by around 1.2%. 

The polls in each of these states had consistently shown Joe Biden above Trump by 5 or 6 points. There was not a single forecast in any of those states that predicted a Trump win. Most people in 2016 were sure that those three states would go to the Democrats, and yet, they very nearly did not do so. 

Additionally, Joe Biden didn't flip Iowa and Ohio back to the Democrats; in fact, he barely improved on Hillary's margins in those two states. 

That said, Biden did have some fairly major accomplishments over Obama. 

He won Georgia for the first time since 1992, and Arizona for the first time since 1996, but overall, Biden really did not perform up to par with what most, you know, people watching the election and people who were actively engaging in it from a statistical level, would have predicted the election to look like. 

Now, the same story can be seen on the House level. 

Democrats came in with the majority, yes. And forecasters also expected them to not only keep that majority but also expand on it by successfully gaining seats in Republican territory. 

And yet, on election day, Republicans gained 13 seats in the House, defeating a lot of Democratic representatives who had seemed safe in their seats. 

Now, Democrats did not lose the House, thankfully enough for them, but they came relatively close. At the end of the election Democrats only had 222 seats in the House. Before then, they had 232. 

Some predicted that after the election, Democrats would have as much as 240 or 245.

2020 Senate Elections

And finally, on to today's topic, let’s look at the 2020 Senate elections. 

Democrats were widely expected to finally regain the Senate after suffering a little bit of an obstacle in 2018, thanks to an unfavorable map. 

It looked like 2020 would be the year where they finally break this glass ceiling and regain their majority. 

But they didn't. To understand the full picture — where Democrats succeeded and failed, and the factors that determined this — let’s break things down on a state-by-state basis.

ARIZONA

Arizona falls under the success column for Democrats. The Grand Canyon State was one of Democrats’ few bright spots in 2016, when Hillary Clinton improved on Obama’s 2012 performance by over 5 points while slipping nationwide. After winning one of the state’s Senate seats in 2018, Democrats were cautiously optimistic about 2020.

Bolstering their hopes was the presence of Martha McSally — Republicans’ unsuccessful 2018 nominee — on the ballot again after having been appointed to the seat by Republican Gov. Doug Ducey.

That was also projected to go to Joe Biden. That looked like a smashing Democrat victory. 

Mark Kelly

COLORADO

And in Colorado, Republican incumbent Cory Gardner had only won by two points in 2014, and Colorado had shifted substantially left since then, to the point where it voted for Joe Biden in 2020 by nearly 14 points. 

That seemed almost like a safe Democratic flip. 

GEORGIA

In Georgia, there was both a special election and a regular election. While the cycle started off with most people not considering Georgia to be the most competitive state on the Senate level, over time, it looked like Democrats were the real favorites in polling. 

MAINE

And go up north a little bit, and you'll see Maine, where four-term incumbent Susan Collins had been under serious, serious backlash from voters, it seemed, for her vote for Brett Kavanaugh to the Senate, or her vote to acquit Donald Trump in his impeachment trial, and Maine was shifting Democratic substantially, to the point where Joe Biden won it by nearly 10 points in 2020. 

It seemed that Susan Collins had almost no hope of surviving. But come November, she did the impossible. Collins fended off Democratic challenger Sara Gideon by 8.6%, overperforming fellow Republican candidate Donald Trump by nearly 20%.

While Joe Biden turned in record performances in Portland and southern Maine as a whole, Collins was able to retain support in these same areas. Collins represents the very last of the moderate, northeastern Republican: a once-thriving breed which has seen its ranks depleted over the last 15 years in an era of Trumpism and rising partisan polarization.

The fate of this Senate seat in 2026, more than any other race, depends on a single candidate: whether Collins seeks a 6th term or chooses to retire will determine which party is the favorite to win the election.

MICHIGAN

In Michigan, Democrats were playing defense. Senator Gary Peters was running for a second term after winning his first term by nearly 14 points in 2014, an knockout victory made even more impressive considering the Republican national environment.

Most analysts justifiably assumed Peters would coast to a second term, seeing as 2020 was a bluer year than 2014 and his opponent, Republican veteran John James, had already ran for Senate two years earlier and had lost — most rerun candidates tend to fare more poorly than their first run.

However, despite Peter’s advantages, he also faced one key disadvantage, compared to 2014: Michigan was not the same state as it was 6 years prior. In 2016, the Wolverine State backed a Republican presidential nominee for the first time since 1988 — a result which can be attributed towards the massive swing among working class voters towards Republicans. This shift disproportionately affected the political dynamics in Michigan, a state with a large working, blue-collar population.

Now, 2016 and 2014 were only a couple of years apart: is it really possible that things changed so drastically in the two-year period?

I don’t know. But what I can say is that, in 2012, only two years prior to 2014 and four before 2016, Michigan had supported Democrat Barack Obama by over 10%. In less than a half-decade, a significant shift did take hold in Michigan.

And as it turns out, this X-factor nearly doomed Peters, who came within 1.7% of losing reelection.

2020 — both the presidential and Senate races — proved that Michigan’s status as a swing state is here to stay. Expect the 2026 Senate race to prove nothing different.

NORTH CAROLINA

Another Democratic target state in 2020 was North Carolina, where first-term Republican Sen. Thom Tillis seemed to be endangered. Democrats began the race with two major reasons for optimism.

For one, North Carolina had been trending leftward in the 21st century, being won by Obama in 2008 and decided by extremely narrow margins in the succeeding elections. Additionally, Democrats had nominated State Sen. Cal Cunningham, an Air Force veteran who had all the characteristics and qualifications of a top-tier candidate.

It seemed 2020 might be the year that Democrats could break through in North Carolina, winning not only the presidential election but also the concurrent Senate election.

Unfortunately, reality played out differently. North Carolina was once again decided by a razor-thin margin, but it wasn’t in Democrats’ direction: Trump had escaped with a narrow 1.5% victory over Joe Biden. And Cunningham, once thought to have been a potential contender for the presidency, saw his image tarnished after reports of his extramarital affair were confirmed authentic. In the end, Cunningham lost the election by 1.8% — a painful and tauntingly-close loss, so close and yet so far.

TEXAS

Take a look at Texas, where Democrats had close to winning the state’s other Senate seat in 2018 when Beto O'Rourke came within 3% of knocking off Ted Cruz. Unfortunately, they were facing a much tougher opponent this time around: John Cornyn.

Where Cruz had forged a reputation as a obstructionist ‘troll’ during his first term in the Senate, Cornyn had spent his two-decade tenure rising through the ranks of the Republican caucus to his current 4th-ranking slot. The American public seems to appreciates experience, productivity, and even bipartisanship in their legislators — qualities which Cornyn exemplified far better than Cruz. Therefore, when Cornyn secured reelection by 9.6% in November, outperforming Trump and far overperforming Cruz, it was difficult to find anyone truly surprised.

MONTANA

A similar story in Montana, where Democratic hopes were swiftly and decisively dashed on election night. popular Democratic governor Steve Bullock ran for Senate. He was the incumbent Governor and had won two terms in a heavily conservative state. It seemed like Bullock had a real chance at beating Steve Daines and gaining that seat for himself, despite Montana being a fairly Republican state on the presidential level. Unfortunately, partisan tides caught up with Bullock, and Daines defeated the former governor by 10 points.

SOUTH CAROLINA & KENTUCKY

Go down south to South Carolina or Kentucky, two states where the circumstances (and outcomes) were similar. Two nationally-unpopular Republicans, Mitch McConnell in Kentucky and Lindsey Graham in South Carolina, had been thought of as potential targets for defeat despite the heavy conservative constituencies they represent.

Democrats nominated energetic candidates in both races who, among their other talents, were able to attract astronomical sums of money: both campaigns received more than $100,000,000 over the course of the election cycle and broke numerous spending records.

However, this statistic also reveals their fatal flaw. Both candidates treated their campaigns as national races: the vast majority of their donors were out-of-state and the two Republicans were far more unpopular nationally than they were in the states (albeit still unpopular). To beat a Republican in Kentucky or South Carolina, you’d need a perfect storm of circumstances, and neither Democrat benefited from them. In the end, Graham won by 10.5% and McConnell won by 19.5%.

COLORADO

Colorado was one of Democrats’ four pickups in 2020 — and it was by far their easiest.

Colorado, long a Republican-leaning state, had shifted left during the late 2000’s and 2010’s, when Barack Obama carried the state twice and Clinton continued this trend. In 2020, Biden won the state by an impressive 13.5%, cementing Colorado’s transformed political identity. Concurrently, Democratic Senate nominee and former Gov. John Hickenlooper won by a decisive 9-point margin over Republican incumbent Cory Gardner. Gardner was likely doomed for reelection from the get go, but his relatively pro-Trump stance probably didn’t help his chances.

ALABAMA

So, Democrats had a mixed showing on the offensive side of things, but did they actually lose any seats?

Yeah: but it was hardly a nail-biter of a race.

Incumbent Democrat Doug Jones had won the Senate seat in 2017 as the result of once-in-a-generation circumstances: an extremely anti-Republican environment in the wake of Trump’s ascendency and the nomination of the single worst political candidate of the 21st century: state Supreme Court Justice Roy Moore. Moore, a far-right Republican who had gained fame (or notoriety) for attempting to erect a monument of the Ten Commandments at the state capitol, was a poor candidate to begin with. But during the election, Moore was exposed for sexual assault and molestation.

Thankfully, in a reaffirmation of the decency of the American electorate, Alabamans narrowly rejected Moore from office and sent Doug Jones to the Senate.

Unfortunately, this goodwill did not last long. Doug Jones was faced with a number of tough votes during his abbreviated tenure, including the trial of Donald Trump — where he ultimately voted to convict the president.

Therefore, it was nearly inevitable that Alabamans would sour on Jones — and indeed they did. In 2020, Republican nominee Tommy Tuberville bested Jones by a 20-point margin.

Alabama’s result was hardly a surprise, but it did act as the final nail in the coffin for Southern Democrats — a coalition which, similar to Northeastern Republicans, had survived on account of ticket splitting and ancestral support, and had become extinct as both forces gradually dissipated.

The Big Picture

So, after surveying the main battlefield, what can we conclude about 2020?

Well, the picture isn’t as black-and-white as it might seem.

It wasn’t a Republican underdog victory, as the general ‘vibes’ on November 5th might have suggested: just because they didn’t perform as badly as they were predicted to does not mean they actually performed well.

Looking at the topline results, Democrats won four Senate elections and gained three seats (thanks to an unfortunate but inevitable defeat in Alabama). Without considering the opportunities on the table or the numerous circumstances stacked in Democrats’ favor, a three-seat gain doesn’t seem too shabby.

Democrats’ main successes in 2020 came in the form of their candidates: in states ranging from Arizona, to Montana, to Georgia, Democrats nominated top-of-the-line candidates with broad appeal and enthusiasm support among their state’s voters. Had they nominated lesser candidates for these seats, we might have been looking at an even more disappointing election for Democrats.

That being said, the election wasn’t a Democratic blowout, either: a 3-seat net gain is healthy and impressive, but nowhere near mindblowing.

Considering the multitude of races that Democrats were seriously contesting, their final showing was nowhere near what most had expected and hoped for.

But therein lies the problem: they set their expectations too high — and this wouldn’t have been a problem, except that their hopes were often accompanied with massive sums of money, and when their hopes turned out to be misplaced, so were hundreds of millions of dollars — see South Carolina!

Races in Alaska, Kansas, and Kentucky were never actually going to be close for Democrats. Although polls had shown Democratic candidates coming within 10, or even 5, points of victory, the fundamentals told a different story: 2016 had exemplified a world of politics governed by partisanship tribalism, and this state of action was unlikely to reverse course within four years. In fact, polarization only reached new heights in 2020.

I don’t want to ridicule Democrats for investing in these seats: that would be hindsight bias at its worst. At the time, it was perfectly reasonable to invest in red states: two years earlier, Democratic senators had won reelection in states like Montana and West Virginia; the latter voted for Trump by over 40 points in 2016!

But our mistakes are only worthwhile if we learn from them in the future.

If Democrats adjust their expectations — and along with it, their financial decisions and the flow of money — perhaps they won’t be faced with another disappointing night.

If the past decade of politics have taught us one concrete lesson, it’s this: America will remain evenly and bitterly divided, and as a result, change will (nearly always) be incremental rather than substantial.

You won't see a gigantic shift in the balance of the Senate, regardless of what's going on, even if Kamala Harris or Donald Trump veers below 40% approval.

In 2026, Democrats should focus on the states where they actually have a reasonable chance of victory.

Now, how do we define “reasonable”?

We should take a look at the context. Unlike 2020, the 2026 Senate elections will be a midterm (where ticket-splitting is more prevalent) possibly under a Trump presidency (which would likely be extremely unpopular, judging by his first term). In this scenario, perhaps Democrats could compete in states like Alaska — where Rep. Mary Peltola, a strong candidate, seems to be waiting in the wings — or Texas, if Democrats can find a truly inspiring candidate.

But to get a clearer sense of the state of the race, all we can do is wait — for partisan control of D.C. to be decided in November, and for the 2026 cycle itself to really shape up.

Click to read Senate 2026: Part 3 - Safe for Democrats

And that’s simply because: not all suburbs are the same. 

Suburbs aren't monolithic, their political dynamics vary from region to region and state to state, even at the local community level, shaped by unique combinations of demographics, cultures, and traditions.

And that's not really acknowledged much today because the dominant narrative is that prior to the Trump era, suburbs, while always being hotly contested, were always more conservative than liberal, the stronghold of white, middle-class, Christian families—a demographic traditionally aligned with Republican values. While suburbs have always been politically contested, their reputation leaned conservative.

However, the Trump era disrupted this pattern. Many suburban voters reacted strongly to Trump’s rhetoric, policy agenda, and the broader alignment of the Republican Party under his leadership. Between 2016 and 2020, and through subsequent midterms, many suburban areas shifted leftward. This drift to the left was not uniform or rooted in a single reason but reflected diverse, localized reactions to Trumpism.

This raises a pivotal question for the post-2020 political landscape: "What now?" With Trump out of office (though potentially returning), the Republican Party faces uncertainty.

Can it regain the suburban voters who shifted left during the Trump years, or has a lasting realignment taken place? These questions will shape the future of suburban politics and their influence on national elections.

Revisiting the Trump Era

During the Trump era, a significant shift occurred. The political loyalties of working-class voters across many states, including Virginia, California, and Texas—and especially in the Midwest, who had previously supported Barack Obama in 2008 and 2012, moved away from the Democratic Party. These voters felt their actual needs and struggles were just being ignored, while the Republican Party, under Trump, seemed to offer some degree of empathy or understanding towards them.

In a lot of rural, industrial states like Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania—key parts of the Midwest—alot of people flocked toward Trump’s nationalist and anti-free trade rhetoric. He presented himself as a populist, appealing to voters who felt disillusioned with traditional political elites— even if he would go on to show he wasn’t really that when he assumed office. But he struck a strong chord within these communities.

This helped Trump secure overwhelming support in rural areas, enabling his victories in crucial Rust Belt states. These wins were unprecedented and simple hadn’t existed for Republicans since the era of Ronald Reagan in the 1980s and highlighted the growing divide between rural working-class areas and the Democratic coalition. This rural shift would go on to play a critical role in shaping the political map during Trump’s presidency.

Looking Back: Roots of the Suburban Shift

The suburban shift toward Democrats, often attributed to the Trump era, actually began earlier and evolved over time. While 2016 marked a real acceleration of this trend, its roots can be traced back to the 2008 election and is linked to broader political and demographic changes of the preceding decades.

Early Shifts: The Obama Years

Barack Obama’s victories in states like Virginia, Colorado, and Nevada in 2008 and 2012 — all states that, mind you, he was the first Democrat to win in 10 years or even longer — marked the beginning of this transformation. These were states that Democrats had not won in decades— in Virginia, for instance, he was the first Democratic presidential candidate to win the state since 1964..

Yes, Obama performed well among urban and minority voters. But really, the key to Obama’s victories in these states were the suburban voters, who had already slowly but surely been shifting leftward, driven partly by George W. Bush's unpopularity and partly by changing demographics in many suburbs.

Suburbs that were once overwhelmingly white were becoming more racially diverse. By 2008, some suburbs were no longer 75% white but closer to 60%, with growing populations of Black, Hispanic, and Asian residents. These demographic changes created a fertile environment for Democrats and have continued to do so in the years since.

The Clinton Years: Building on Obama's Gains

In 2016, Hillary Clinton expanded on Obama’s gains in specific suburban areas, especially highly educated ones. Suburbs in Northern Virginia and around Washington, D.C., became strongholds for her campaign. In fact, Virginia was one of the few states where Clinton outperformed Obama, driven by voters in affluent, well-educated suburbs who were alienated by Trump’s rhetoric and persona.

However, Clinton wasn't the first Democrat to do very well in the suburbs; and her success in these areas did not represent the beginning of the suburban shift. Instead, it reflected a continuation of trends that began during the Obama years. The misconception that the suburban shift started with Clinton stems from the fact that her gains were limited to these educated suburban pockets, while she underperformed Obama nearly everywhere else.

Post-Trump Era Context: 2018-2020

Uniform Leftward Shift

The leftward trend in the suburbs continued into the 2018 midterms and the 2020 presidential election. In the midterms, Democrats won gubernatorial elections in states like Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Kansas, because of these massive improvements among suburban voters who had voted for Mitt Romney in 2008 or John McCain in 2008 - some even having supported Donald Trump in 2016, and flipped on him only two years into his term.

This trend contributed to Democrats gaining 41 seats in the U.S. House during the 2018 midterms. A ton of these flipped seats were in suburban districts near major urban centers, such as the suburbs of New York City, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C.  Suburban voters who had previously supported candidates like Mitt Romney in 2012 or even Donald Trump in 2016 shifted their support to Democrats, And they really succeeded in these races where they hadn't before because so many of these high-propensity suburban voters cast their support to Democrats for the first time.

Biden and the Suburban Factor

This trend continued into 2020 where Joe Biden’s victory was heavily driven by immense suburban support. While Biden lost further ground in working-class areas and rural communities compared to Hillary Clinton in 2016—and even slipped slightly in heavily urban areas with Black and Latino voters—his saving grace was his exceptional performance in suburban districts that more than compensated for these losses.

Biden easily outperformed Barack Obama’s margins from 2008 and 2012, as well as Hillary Clinton’s from 2016 — marking the best suburban performance for a Democrat in decades. Clinton’s 2016 suburban gains were considered groundbreaking at the time, but Biden’s ability to expand on them proved pivotal in flipping key battleground states. As a result, Biden is credited with bringing back the Rust Belt, which he won through a markedly different coalition than Obama in 2008 and 2012. While Obama had relied on strong working-class and urban support, Biden offset deficits in these areas with record-breaking suburban turnout and margins.

Key Counties and Turnout

Biden’s suburban strength was evident in counties like Oakland County in Michigan, Montgomery and Chester Counties in Pennsylvania, and Allegheny County (which includes Pittsburgh). All of these counties shifted 15 to 20 points leftward, with hundreds of thousands of suburban voters turning out in unprecedented numbers to support Biden, playing a crucial role in securing Democratic victories in states like Michigan and Pennsylvania.

In the Sun Belt, Biden’s suburban appeal was equally strong. Arizona and Georgia, which had eluded Obama in 2008 and 2012, flipped blue for Biden. Suburban voters in areas surrounding Phoenix and Atlanta, traditionally Republican areas, were key to these wins.

All these trends were already in play in 2016, but really, the key to Joe Biden's victory in 2020 was really stepping up those margins even further and gaining even more turnout in order to win.

Obama-Biden: Laying the Groundwork for Suburban Shifts

It would be a mistake to think that the suburban shift in places like Arizona and Georgia only started with Joe Biden. Even though Obama didn’t come particularly close to winning either of those states in 2008 or 2012, his performances there were still some of the best for Democrats in decades. He outperformed both Al Gore and John Kerry by nearly 10 points in these states, which set the stage for the eventual Democratic gains under Biden.

Obama lost Georgia by five points and Arizona by around eight, even against John McCain, who was a sitting senator from Arizona at the time. Obama’s strong showing came primarily from urban support among Black voters and narrower rural losses compared to recent Democratic campaigns. That’s not to say Obama didn’t make gains in the suburbs—he absolutely did. It's just like looking back at it now, those gains feel like nothing compared to the seismic shifts that occurred under Biden in 2020.

Ultimately, Obama’s campaigns helped Democrats begin to build a foundation in Sunbelt suburbs, fueled by demographic changes and backlash to Republican leadership during the Bush era. While his suburban gains didn’t flip the states, they were a crucial step in the long-term realignment that Biden would later capitalize on. The political terrain shifted dramatically between 2012 and 2020, but Obama’s groundwork was essential in making those shifts possible.

Post-2020: A Decline in Suburban Dominance?

If 2020 represented a high point for Democrats in the suburbs, the years that followed show a more complicated picture. Without Donald Trump in the White House, Democrats lost access to what might have been a convenient scapegoat that had defined much of their messaging and appeal to suburban voters. The absence of Trump as a central figure in 2021 and beyond forced a shift in the dynamics of suburban politics, with mixed results for Democrats.

The 2021 off-year elections in Virginia and New Jersey confirmed the spirit of a lot of these challenges. Both states, characterized by their dense, highly educated suburban populations, had been strongly for Joe Biden just a year earlier. Yet, the Democratic performance in these states the floor showed the floor really giving in.

In Virginia, the Democratic gubernatorial candidate, Terry McAuliffe, lost by two points in a state that Biden had carried by 10—a 12-point swing in just a year. And surprisingly, McAuliffe’s largest losses came in the very Northern Virginia suburbs Biden had been so successful in.

Many analysts were quick to suggest that Democratic success in the suburbs during the Trump years had been temporary—“leased votes” tied to Trump’s presence on the ballot.

A More Nuanced Picture: Suburban vs. Rural Declines

However, blaming the suburban shift entirely for McAuliffe’s loss oversimplifies the story. While Democrats did see erosion in suburban support, McAuliffe’s performance in rural areas were pretty horrendous, particularly in the western Appalachian portion of Virginia. This region has seen continuous Democratic decline since the late 20th century, and McAuliffe’s results marked a new low.

Joe Biden’s 2020 performance among rural voters in Appalachia was already among the worst for a Democratic candidate in modern history—underperforming even Hillary Clinton. But somehow McAuliffe managed to one up Biden, losing many rural counties by margins of 70 to 80 percentage points. Had he managed to narrow these losses even slightly, he might have eked out a narrow victory despite the suburban shifts.

Post-2021: Shifting Narratives on Suburban Politics

After 2021, a dominant narrative emerged suggesting that Democrats had only gained suburban support during the Trump years as a reaction to Trump himself. The assumption was that with Trump no longer a dominant figure in the political sphere, suburban voters would revert to their traditional behavior, favoring Republicans. However, this interpretation oversimplifies the dynamics at play and is only partially true.

Suburban Shifts in Context

Since 2021, the rightward shift in the suburbs has not occurred in isolation. Instead, it has paralleled broader trends, including urban and rural areas also moving to the right.

Much of this realignment went in tandem with broader dissatisfaction with the Biden administration during its early years, particularly in the wake of high-profile challenges like the messy withdrawal from Afghanistan. By the time of the 2021 elections, Biden’s approval ratings had been underwater for months by then, and this broader discontent played a significant role in Democratic losses—not just a suburban backlash.

2022 Midterms: Debunking the “Leased Voters” Narrative

The 2022 midterms challenged the notion that Democrats’ suburban gains were merely "leased votes" tied to Donald Trump’s presence on the ballot. Despite Trump being absent as a direct candidate, Democrats managed to win in many areas that had rejected them in the 2021 off-year elections. In some cases, they even expanded their support in the suburbs, demonstrating that the dynamics of suburban voters are more complex than previously assumed.

Trump’s Lingering Influence

Although Trump himself wasn’t on the ballot in 2022, his influence on the Republican Party was unmistakable. He did have a big presence in the election cycle by endorsing a lot of candidates and playing kingmaker in a lot of primaries. By 2022, Congress and Republican general election tickets were populated with candidates heavily aligned with Trump’s brand of politics—candidates who leaned authoritarian and espoused polarizing views.

However, this strategy backfired in many suburban areas. While Trump had successfully energized rural voters in 2016, these far-right candidates struggled to replicate his appeal. As a midterm election, 2022 lacked the high rural turnout Trump had previously inspired, leaving Republicans overly reliant on a suburban electorate that was increasingly alienated by extremist rhetoric.

Why Democrats Held Strong in Suburbs During the 2022 Midterms

So, even with Trump off the ballot and despite Biden’s popularity being at one of its lowest points, Democrats managed to perform very strongly in the suburbs during the 2022 midterms.

This result wasn’t an accident—it came down to two major factors.

First, Trump’s presidency didn’t just change the Republican Party—it fundamentally reshaped it. During his four years in office, and even more so after he left, the party shifted further right. Trump’s efforts to challenge the 2020 election and his shift to a heavy authoritarianism inspired a wave of fringe, far-right candidates to run for office. By 2022, Congress and the slate of Republican nominees for House and Senate races were filled with more extremist candidates, very young, very far to the right, many who had molded themselves after Trump, adopting his style and positions.

But here’s the thing: they weren’t Trump. While these candidates tried to replicate his 2016 success, they fell short.

Unlike Trump, who had an unparalleled ability to energize rural voters, these candidates couldn’t inspire the same level of rural turnout or support. And because it was a midterm election—a time when rural turnout typically dips— Trump’s absence from the ballot left a major gap in Republican support.

The Suburbs: Higher Turnout, Broader Reach

This is where the suburbs came in. Suburban voters show up. They consistently turn out in higher numbers than rural or urban voters, especially in midterm elections. That made them the most significant voting bloc in 2022. But the far-right tilt of many Republican candidates didn’t play well in the suburbs. Moderate suburban voters, who might have been open to voting Republican under different circumstances, rejected candidates they viewed as too extreme.

At the same time, rural voters—many of whom admired these far-right candidates—were less motivated to vote without Trump on the ballot. That left Republicans in a tough spot: unable to bridge the enthusiasm gap in rural areas while losing ground in the suburbs. Democrats, on the other hand, were able to hold steady in suburban areas, where voters showed up in large numbers and often stuck with the party.

Suburban Voters: The Key to 2022

While suburban voters aren’t a monolith, they tend to share some defining characteristics. They tend to be more moderate than rural voters, more diverse in their demographics and priorities, and, most importantly, they vote. Their turnout rates are higher than those of rural or urban voters, making them the driving force in any midterm election.

What happened in 2022 was simple: suburban voters showed up, but rural voters didn’t. Republican candidates, many of them shaped by Trump’s brand of politics, couldn’t connect with suburban moderates, and without Trump himself to energize the rural base, turnout in those areas fell short. Democrats, by contrast, held onto suburban support, benefiting from the higher turnout that these areas reliably deliver.

The result? A strong showing for Democrats in the suburbs, despite Biden’s unpopularity and the absence of Trump as a direct factor. This dynamic underscores just how important the suburbs are—and how essential it is for both parties to understand and navigate their complexities.

2022 Midterms and the Dobbs Impact

In 2022, in addition to the general rise in extremism within the Republican party, the Dobbs decision, which overturned Roe v. Wade, shaped the political environment—especially in the suburbs. This wasn’t just about suburban voters rejecting Trumpism; it also revealed that many suburban voters shared key policy preferences with Democrats. The ruling energized many, many, suburban voters, particularly white, highly educated voters and women — many of whom turned out in large numbers for Democratic candidates. It suggested that suburban support for Democrats might be more sustainable than some had thought.

Across the country, suburban voters helped secure big wins for Democrats in critical battleground states. In Wisconsin, Democrats won the gubernatorial race by four points; in Michigan, by 11; and in Pennsylvania, by nearly 15. These were all strong margins in states that are usually highly competitive. What stood out was the role of suburban voters in driving these victories. Many were motivated by a backlash to the Dobbs ruling and Republican policies on abortion, which they saw as extreme or out of touch.

The Democratic success wasn’t just because Republicans ran weak candidates. It was also because suburban voters—especially women—felt their rights were under threat and aligned with Democrats on this key issue.

Not a Universal Trend

But while Dobbs had a massive impact, its effect was not universal.

It’s easy to look at the suburbs trending blue in places like Michigan or Pennsylvania and jump to the conclusion that all suburbs reacted the same way — but that wasn’t the case. But as mentioned, suburbs aren’t monolithic, and the political shifts varied significantly depending on the region.

A Divided Suburban Reality

Conservative Suburbs in the South and Mountain West

In more religious and culturally conservative states like Tennessee, Florida, South Carolina, and Utah, many suburban voters actually saw the Dobbs ruling as a victory. These voters were inspired to support Republicans, viewing the decision as proof that the GOP was delivering on long-promised goals. Instead of shifting left, these suburban areas either remained solidly Republican or moved even further right.

In states like Tennessee, the suburbs around cities such as Memphis and Nashville outwardly resemble those in more competitive states like Arizona or Georgia. However, their political character is starkly different. These suburbs are overwhelmingly white—some counties are upwards of 80% white—whereas suburbs around Atlanta or Phoenix are far more racially diverse. Additionally, Tennessee’s suburban population tends to skew older and more religious, traits that correlate strongly with conservative political preferences.

As a result, these suburbs have remained reliably Republican. Unlike suburban areas in Michigan or Pennsylvania, which have shifted left in recent elections, suburbs in Tennessee and other deep-red states showed little to no movement toward Democrats in 2020 or 2022. In fact, their political behavior is often closer to that of rural areas than to the more moderate or progressive suburbs found in states like Virginia or Washington.

Suburbs in the Blue States

In states like New York, California, and Oregon where Democrats have dominated state politics for decades, the Dobbs ruling didn’t have the same impact. Abortion rights were never seriously at risk in these states. There was little chance that Republicans could take control of both the governor’s office and state legislature in a single election cycle—or even over several cycles. Because of this, the urgency surrounding abortion rights was far less pronounced in these states than in battlegrounds like Arizona or Wisconsin.

Voters in these states already felt that abortion rights were secure, so the issue didn’t resonate as much. Instead, Republicans were able to exploit other concerns like rising crime, homelessness, inflation, and the cost of living, which hit suburban voters particularly hard.

Take New York, for example. Kathy Hochul only won the governor’s race by six points—a huge drop from Biden’s 23-point margin in 2020. In California, Gavin Newsom won by 19 points, which was still a comfortable margin but far below expectations for a Democratic stronghold. This trend extended to House races in both states. Seats that Biden had won by 10 or more points flipped to Republicans, who successfully targeted suburban areas with messaging on crime and economic anxiety.

Lee Zeldin’s campaign in New York highlighted just how much ground Republicans could gain in suburban areas, even in blue states. Zeldin not only retained strong support in rural areas but also made huge gains in the suburbs. On Long Island, for example, districts that Biden had narrowly won in 2020 swung heavily to Zeldin, with some areas shifting by 15 points or more.

This wasn’t just about Zeldin, either. In the Hudson Valley, Long Island, and parts of upstate New York, Republicans flipped several House seats by leaning into issues like crime and inflation. Even against far-right opponents, Democrats struggled to hold these districts because voters were frustrated with local Democratic leadership.

A Reduced Trump Effect

The absence of Trump on the ballot also lessened the stark partisan divide that had defined 2020, particularly in suburban areas. Without Trump as a polarizing figure, some suburban voters felt less urgency to vote against Republicans, especially in states where the Dobbs ruling didn’t feel as immediately consequential. This dynamic allowed Republicans to make gains or hold their ground in certain suburban regions, particularly in states like New York and California, where local issues overshadowed national ones.

2022 Midterms and Trending Conservatism

The Dobbs ruling’s impact on the 2022 midterms underscored the regional variability of suburban politics. While it galvanized voters in swing states where abortion rights were under threat, it was less of a driving force in states where Democrats’ control made such threats unlikely. This discrepancy highlights how localized contexts continue to shape suburban political behavior, even amid major national developments.

Translating This to the 2024 Outlook

Looking ahead to 2024, Democrats are not expecting to win every suburban area or even a majority of them. Several factors—some favorable and others challenging—will shape the suburban political landscape.

Trump’s Return to the Ballot

In 2024, Trump will be on the ballot. Given this, many suburban areas that shifted toward Democrats in 2016 and 2020 are likely to remain in their corner. These areas turned away from the Republican Party as a direct reaction to Trumpism, and it seems unlikely that voters who rejected Trump in four consecutive elections (2016, 2018, 2020, and 2022) will suddenly shift back to supporting him in 2024 - it’s not impossible.

Vulnerable Suburbs and Declining Biden Support

However, there are many other suburban areas where Democratic support is more fragile. Suburbs that narrowly supported Biden in 2020 and shifted rightward in 2022 could trend further Republican in 2024. For instance, the suburbs around Atlanta, which have become reliably Democratic in recent cycles, saw their margins tighten in the 2022 gubernatorial election when Brian Kemp, a center-right Republican, won re-election. These areas might trend right relative to 2020, especially if Biden’s approval ratings—already significantly lower than in 2020—fail to recover. Voters who reluctantly supported Biden in 2020 could abandon him if they perceive his leadership as increasingly ineffective.

Suburban Challenges in Democratic Strongholds

In addition, in suburban areas within deeply-blue states like New York, California, and Oregon, Democrats may face additional challenges. These areas shifted heavily against Democrats in 2022, largely due to dissatisfaction with state-level governance. In New York, for example, Governor Kathy Hochul has struggled with poor approval ratings, often seen as inconsistent in her political positions. Her policies, ranging from progressive measures to more conservative moves like congestion pricing, have alienated both her base and moderates.

Similarly, in California, Governor Gavin Newsom has faced criticism for a wide range of policies that have frustrated both Democrats and Republicans. His attempts to balance progressive and moderate positions have resulted in a net loss of support, particularly in suburban areas. Oregon’s new Democratic governor, Tina Kotek, has also been unpopular, contributing to a political environment where Democrats are struggling to regain their 2018 and 2020 levels of suburban strength.

Trump’s Resilience and the Biden Factor

One potential advantage for Democrats is Trump’s presence on the ballot, which could again galvanize suburban voters against him. However, despite Trump’s numerous controversies since 2020, polling suggests his unpopularity hasn’t deepened significantly among his base or swing voters. His time out of office may have softened his image for some voters who supported him in 2016 but abandoned him in 2020. These voters, now dissatisfied with Biden’s presidency, might return to Trump, viewing him as the lesser of two evils.

This dynamic could play out in swing-state suburbs, particularly in places like Georgia and Arizona. These states have only recently trended Democratic, and their suburban voters—many of whom flipped to Biden reluctantly in 2020—may shift back to Republicans if Biden’s standing doesn’t improve significantly.

Beyond the Simplistic Narratives

So, to summarize: the common narrative that Democrats’ suburban success during the Trump era was purely reactionary or “leased” oversimplifies the situation. While Trump’s presence undoubtedly shaped suburban voting patterns, Democrats made real gains by addressing key suburban priorities and benefiting from demographic and cultural shifts. The idea that these gains will entirely vanish without Trump on the ballot is equally flawed.

But Biden’s declining popularity and local governance challenges in key states could open opportunities for Republicans to make gains. The outcome will hinge on how effectively each party addresses the diverse concerns of suburban voters and navigates the complex interplay of national and local dynamics.

Color: The Trump Era and Its Lingering Impact

The Trump era marked a significant transformation within the Republican Party, building on shifts that had begun during the Obama years. This period wasn’t an abrupt departure from the past but rather the culmination of trends that had been developing for over a decade, including a pronounced rightward shift and an increasingly obstructive stance.

The roots of Trump’s transformation were laid during the Obama presidency, as Republicans in Congress adopted a strategy of obstruction. High-profile actions like Mitch McConnell’s unprecedented refusal to consider Obama’s Supreme Court nominee and Representative Joe Wilson’s infamous interruption of the State of the Union were emblematic of a party becoming more combative and ideologically rigid. These actions, fueled in part by personal animosity toward Obama, were emblematice a broader rightward shift that would ultimately precipitated the party’s ultimate tranformation into Trumpland.

The Tea Party movement of the early 2010s served as a precursor of the Trump era where many of these far-right, almost-populist Republicans gained prominence during this time, but their extreme positions often cost the GOP winnable races in both the House and Senate. Trump’s eventual rise to power in 2016 can almost be seen as the natural evolution of these earlier trends, consolidating the party’s shift toward a more combative, populist identity.

Trump’s Lasting Influence

Just as the Trump era didn't really come out of nothing and probably won't go into nothing — Trump’s impact on the Republican Party will likely extend well beyond his time in office. Even as some Republican leaders have expressed a desire to move past Trump, his influence over the party’s base remains strong because so much of their voters really buy into what Trump is selling. This was evident in the 2022 midterms, where Trump-backed candidates dominated Republican primaries. Many of these candidates closely modeled themselves after Trump, embracing his combative style and extreme positions.

The primaries highlighted Trump’s ability to shape the party’s direction: nine of the ten House Republicans who voted to impeach him after the January 6th insurrection either retired or lost their primaries to Trump-endorsed challengers. In Wyoming, Liz Cheney was defeated by a staggering 33-point margin, while in Washington’s 3rd District, Jamie Herrera Beutler lost her seat in a jungle primary to far-right extremist candidate Joe Kent. Trump’s endorsements alone were enough to sway upwards of a third or even half of the Republican primary electorate to switch against them, even against incumbents they had previously supported.

A Challenge for Democrats

While Trump’s continued influence has driven the Republican Party further to the right, making it potentially less appealing to some suburban voters, Democrats cannot rely solely on this dynamic to secure suburban support. The party faces a significant dual challenge that underscores the fragility of the Democratic coalition —emblematized by the difficulties Democrats face in maintaining their gains in suburban areas while stemming their losses in rural ones—a balancing act that will remain central to their electoral strategy moving forward.

Now, not all Republicans are extremists and candidates like Glenn Youngkin in Virginia - who while being fairly conservative, is seen to be more in the line of Republicans like Mitt Romey and emblematic of the old conservative tradition, which was much more focused on fiscal conservatism rather than culture wars or populism ends. Others like Brian Kemp in Georgia, and Brian Dahle in California have demonstrated that more traditional or center-right Republicans can still perform well in suburban areas. These candidates focused less on Trump-style populism and more on fiscal conservatism, local issues, and governance, which resonated with suburban voters.

The 2024 cycle will test this further, as Republicans are fielding stronger candidates in key Senate races. In Montana, Tim Sheehy, a veteran and businessman, is seen as a much more promising candidate than prior nominees like Matt Rosendale, and could pose a serious challenge to Democratic Senator Jon Tester. Similarly, in Michigan, Mike Rogers, a more center-right Republican, has the potential to win back suburban voters who shifted toward Democrats in recent years.

The Importance of Candidate Quality

For Democrats, the key to maintaining suburban support lies in nominating strong candidates who can can make strong connections with diverse suburban electorates. This doesn’t necessarily mean pivoting to the center or choosing candidates of a specific demographic profile. Success in the suburbs has come from a variety of approaches.

In Michigan, moderate Democrat Elissa Slotkin, on the more moderate side of the spectrum, won re-election in a Trump district by emphasizing her pragmatic approach. Meanwhile, Democrats like Raphael Warnock in Georgia illustrate how the right candidate can thrive in suburban areas, even while being firmly on the liberal side of the spectrum. Warnock won strong margins in suburban precincts, not just because he faced a weak Republican opponent, but because he positioned himself as a compelling and credible candidate.

Warnock’s strength lay in his ability to balance progressive values with a pragmatic, results-oriented image. While he clearly aligned with the liberal wing of the Democratic Party, he avoided being perceived as too far left, like members of "the Squad" such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, whose rhetoric can alienate moderate voters. Instead, Warnock projected an image of someone focused on getting things done—a legislator willing to work across the aisle and address practical issues that matter to suburban voters.

His tenure as a lawmaker between 2020 and his re-election campaign bolstered this perception. Warnock’s campaign rhetoric emphasized his competence and ability to achieve tangible results, which resonated strongly in suburban areas, showing that crafting a relatable and credible image is often more effective than ideological moderation alone.

Lessons for Democrats Moving Forward

Warnock’s success highlights an important point: there’s no single formula for winning suburban voters. It’s not about being moderate, belonging to a specific demographic, or espousing a particular set of policies. Instead, it’s about presenting a cohesive and compelling narrative that connects with suburban voters’ priorities and values.

This is especially critical as Democrats face challenges in other areas. With declining support in rural regions and even some erosion in urban strongholds, consolidating and expanding suburban gains is essential for the party’s future success. To do so, Democrats need to focus on candidate quality and field candidates who can balance progressive policies with a pragmatic, results-oriented image and build authentic relationships with suburban voters between election cycles to ensure their concerns are heard and addressed.

If Democrats hope to maintain their competitiveness in Senate races, presidential elections, and the House, they must continue to consolidate their support in suburban areas. Warnock’s campaign could offer a model for how to do so: focus on credible candidates who can connect with suburban voters’ priorities while maintaining a clear and compelling narrative.

Looking Ahead to 2024

The suburbs remain a crucial battleground for both parties, and the outcome in 2024 will hinge on how effectively each side addresses the unique and evolving concerns of suburban voters. Democrats, in particular, must consolidate their suburban gains while addressing challenges in rural and urban areas to maintain a competitive edge in the House, Senate, and presidential races.

As 2024 approaches, Democrats are not counting on winning every suburban area—or even the majority. The suburban landscape is shaped by numerous factors, some favoring Democrats and others working against them. While Trump’s presence on the ballot will likely reenergize certain suburban areas that shifted to Democrats in 2016 and 2020, the broader dynamics are more complex.

To succeed in 2024, Democrats must adopt a nuanced approach to suburban voters. Relying solely on anti-Trump sentiment will not be enough, particularly in areas where local issues take precedence. Democrats must focus on prioritizing policies that resonate with suburban voters, such as education, healthcare, community safety, and economic stability. These concerns often carry more weight than national political debates.

It’s also imperative that Democrats establish a lasting presence in suburban communities, engaging with voters year-round through town halls, office hours, and support for local initiatives. Building trust outside of election cycles is critical to sustaining suburban support.

Fielding Democratic candidates who balance progressive values with pragmatic solutions. Effective candidates must also be skilled communicators, capable of addressing misinformation and connecting national priorities to local impacts.

While Democrats face real challenges in suburban areas, the opportunity to consolidate and expand their gains is equally significant. Suburban voters are diverse in their demographics and priorities, requiring tailored approaches for different regions. For example, addressing housing affordability and infrastructure might resonate in high-cost suburbs in California, while economic recovery and healthcare access could be more compelling in swing-state suburbs like those in Pennsylvania or Arizona.

Ultimately, Democrats’ ability to win in 2024 will depend on how effectively they navigate the shifting dynamics of suburban America. The challenge is substantial, but the opportunity is equally great. By aligning their strategies with the evolving priorities of suburban voters, Democrats can solidify their existing support, win back areas where they’ve lost ground, and compete more effectively in regions previously dominated by Republicans. Success in the suburbs will be pivotal to determining their fortunes in the presidential race, Senate battles, and control of the House.