It feels wrong to write about former Texas Congressman Beto O'Rourke right now, as his hometown of El Paso mourns another mass shooting, another hate crime, another act of domestic terrorism in America. It feels wrong to write at all, as Dayton woke up to a mass shooting of its own.
But this is ultimately what campaigns and elections are about: the laws that allow someone to purchase an assault weapon, as well as the rhetoric that inspires deadly violence against Hispanics in west Texas. O'Rourke tweeted as much after a press conference outside an El Paso hospital on Saturday night. "President Trump's racism does not just offend our sensibilities; it fundamentally changes the character of this country," he said. "And it leads to violence."
O'Rourke is competing for the chance to displace President Donald Trump and, although his campaign has struggled and and the former Texas Congressman produced another forgettable debate performance last week, I saw him in person almost a month ago and saw first-hand what makes him special.
Driving over to a city park in a residential neighborhood of Manchester for a lunchtime potluck picnic with local Democrats, I was skeptical of O'Rourke. I was particularly skeptical, as "man, I'm just born to be in it" is just about the worst possible answer to why someone would run for president of any candidate. At the picnic, the fallout from those comments continued for O'Rourke, most memorably when a man asked "did you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth?" and, increasingly frustrated, exclaimed through a thick Boston accent "who are you?"
O'Rourke did not have a convincing response to the first part of that crucial question but his answer to the second part — "I'm a fourth-generation El Pasoan" — shined through in his stump speech, especially in his emphasis upon immigration. The signature issue of the Trump campaign in 2016, O'Rourke can speak about immigration more effectively than any of his Democratic rivals because of his great and obvious affection for his hometown. It's personal for him and voters as far away from the border as New Hampshire understand that. They expect him, as a Texan, to defend immigrants fiercely as members of his community.
The day was also the weekend of the last round of nationwide Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids and O'Rourke channeled all of his energy into the issue. More than anything else, O'Rourke brought energy to the relatively small gathering of 50-100 people standing around him in the neighborhood park. He was animated, twisting and turning and waving his arms with the microphone. His voice conveyed a sense of urgency, strained high and almost cracking with a quickening pace over the sound system.
24 hours later, I saw the same style of high-energy campaigning in Plymouth from New Jersey Senator Cory Booker. Under direct sunlight on a hot afternoon, he projected at full volume to the crowd in the front yard of a rustic inn without the aid of microphone. His voice was hoarse at the final stop of a two-day visit. A former Stanford University tight end, he too waved his arms and gesticulated emphatically. For all his effort, he repeatedly wiped sweat off his brow and off the top of his head with a white cloth. He sipped a glass of water when he had the chance.
In the weeks since, I have been increasingly struck by the similarities between their two campaigns. Both are sitting in the middle tier of candidates, just below the top five but boasting large staffs in New Hampshire and already qualified for the second debates. Both are inspirational orators, but sometimes criticized for a lack of substance. Both are one-time media darlings, but have been passed over for fresher faces (with more understated and low-key styles) like South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg. But both believe, with some reason, they have the potential to break out in the polls at some point.
Now, both have experienced gun violence in their communities.
While his second debate performance received more favorable reviews, Booker talked eloquently about gun violence in the first debate. He told the story of a man from his neighborhood in Newark who was shot and killed with an assault weapon at the top of his block last year, a reminder that most gun violence occurs in low-income cities and does not make national news.
But almost by design, that story was missing from Booker's stump speech when I went to see the New Jersey Senator in Plymouth. He told the outdoor crowd of 50-100 people "we can talk politics all you want, but I want to talk to you about my heart and my spirit for a little bit because we are a nation that has seen campaigns where the party with a better 15-point plan doesn't win." So his powerful message on gun violence waited until the question-and-answer session, when the second question asked for his position on assault weapons.
"These weapons do not belong on our streets and I am tired of watching this American carnage," Booker responded, repeating the most memorable line from Trump's inaugural address in opposition to his agenda. Booker then arrived at his plan, the most far-reaching of any of his Democratic rivals. "If you need a license to drive a car, you should have a license to buy and own a gun," he said to cheers and a round of applause, which surprised me in the gun-friendly and libertarian-leaning North Country.
Likewise, Booker buried his signature policy idea, "baby bonds" that would give $1,000 a year to every child in America, deep into his stump speech, after a discussion of the minimum wage and the Earned Income Tax Credit. If you blinked, you could have missed it. The approach reflected a clear strategy that Booker has taken to an extreme on the campaign trail: values first and issues, not to mention policies, later.
That's the difference with O'Rourke, who spent the first ten minutes of his stump speech in Manchester on immigration. The former Texas Congressman emphasizes values and sometimes saves policies for later, but his signature issue is clear. Otherwise the similarities between the two men — in their middling poll numbers, in their high-energy style and in their values-first ideology — present a test of sorts: How can candidate stand out in a crowded field?
Do you risk becoming defined as single-issue candidate like O'Rourke or do you risk getting ignored because you have no signature issue like Booker? Only time will tell, but both men have now been thrust into the spotlight: Booker, because of his debate performance that struck the right tone by calling for unity on a night when the party seemed as divided as ever, and O'Rourke, because of the tragedy of a racially-motivated mass shooting in his hometown.
This work is made possible by the Russell H. Bostert Memorial Fellowship at Williams College.
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