Kamala Harris’s entry into the presidential race has reinvigorated a Democratic Party that was spiraling into despair and disunity. But every honeymoon has to end, and the Republican lines of attack against her are rapidly coalescing: She’s President Biden’s feckless “border czar,” she’s soft on crime, she’s childless by choice. All of which has freighted her selection of a running mate with extra importance. Harris’s reported shortlist, which is topped by Senator Mark Kelly and Governors Josh Shapiro, Roy Cooper, and Andy Beshear, suggests her campaign believes that a moderate white man can offset her perceived weaknesses.
And yet none of these shortlisters’ recent news-show appearances, which are de facto audition tapes, have generated anywhere near the social-media buzz, approving group-chat link-shares, or “Hey … what about this guy?”–themed blog posts as Governor Tim Walz of Minnesota. Why Walz? Why not Walz, for one, given Harris’s implied criteria: He’s a well-liked white governor from the must-win upper Midwest. He represented a rural congressional district for 12 years, which demanded fluency with a subset of voters the Democrats have been hemorrhaging. And he’s been very productive with a slim legislative majority, expanding labor rights and delivering universal school breakfast and lunch.
But the bigger reason for Walz’s growing popularity is that he has proved himself to be a relentless and entertaining attack dog on TV, coining a compelling and replicable message that’s resonating with a growing share of partisans and that has real crossover potential: that Republicans are weird and that the supposed populism of the Trump-Vance ticket is bullshit.
Here’s Walz on MSNBC, where he has appeared several times in the last week, articulating the inherent strangeness of Republicans wanting to control what women do with their bodies: “These are weird people on the other side. They want to take books away, they want to be in your exam room … Don’t get sugarcoating this, these are weird ideas. Listen to them speak.”
Here’s Walz, who grew up in a town of 400 residents, undercutting the perception that people in small towns are innately drawn to small-minded policies and xenophobia: “It’s not about hate, it’s not about collapsing in. The golden rule there is mind your own damn business.”
Here’s Walz undercutting Vance’s status as a rural America-whisperer after the former venture capitalist’s memoir, Hillbilly Elegy, became a best seller and a Netflix movie. “He misreads this, in Hillbilly Elegy, about how there’s some type of cultural angst, or whatever. No: We’re angry because robber barons like him gutted Middle America.”:
Here’s a more tongue-in-cheek Walz on Vance’s denigration of childless women as “cat ladies” who have no real stake in the future of the United States. “Good luck with that. Turn on the internet, see what cat people do when you go after them.”:
And here’s Walz riding the slingshot at last year’s Minnesota State Fair with his daughter.
Walz may have a knack for sound bites, but it’s the substance and straightforwardness of his message that’s been revelatory for the growing number of Walz-pilled liberals and progressives and that has transformed the formerly obscure governor into an overnight sleeper VP candidate who sits above the likes of Beshear and Pete Buttigieg in the prediction odds, according to Predictit. If you buy the reasoning that Harris’s running mate can neutralize her vulnerabilities, then Arizona’s Kelly, who hails from a swing state along the U.S.-Mexico border, or North Carolina’s Cooper, who has been elected twice in a red state, probably have stronger cases. But Walz has been easily the most successful at building on the energy that greeted Harris’s candidacy. Republicans might be weird, but it’s almost weirder that Democrats have found not one development to smile about in the last week but two.
