Ron and Scott and Glenn and Wesley
Americans have developed a fascination with the “new face” in presidential politics. Until Joe Biden’s victory in 2020—an atypical election, to be sure—the last president elected to a first term with significant national experience was George H. W. Bush in 1988. And he was defeated for re-election by new face Bill Clinton.
Currently, there are a number of Republicans hoping to replicate the rookie-of-the-year success of Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama—and Donald Trump—but only two of them have a serious chance to do so. One, Ron DeSantis, has declared his candidacy, and the other, Glenn Youngkin, is lurking in the wings. For both, however, the correct model is not the four new faces who won, but rather two that did not.
For DeSantis, the parallel is Wisconsin’s former governor Scott Walker. Earlier this year, DeSantis was receiving both breathless accolades and soaring approval numbers. In January, he was within two points of Trump in preference polls for the Republican presidential nomination. DeSantis, feeling the wind at his back, ramped up his scorched earth anti-woke attacks, which he felt certain would carry him all the way to the White House and make him the heir to Trump’s golden throne and not merely a Donald du jour.
In 2016, Walker was also flying high, a young, hard-nosed conservative who had been resoundingly successful in an important swing state that he seemed to have turned red. Walker was widely touted as the future of the party—until he was forced to perform on a national stage. He did not fare badly, no worse than other of the more than dozen candidates, but nor did he send sparks through the Republican electorate. What was hardball and combative in Wisconsin came off as shrill, strident, and mean in presidential politics, and Donald Trump had shrill, strident, and mean locked up. Campaigning for national office, Walker discovered, took a good deal more than merely extending the policies and tactics that had made him successful in his home state.
He lasted two months.
DeSantis has overplayed his hand to a far greater degree than did Walker, evidently deciding that Walker wasn’t shrill, strident, and mean enough. He seems to have to grievously misjudged the transportability of the Trump playbook. His support has plunged, his donations are drying up, and his unfavorable rating is at an all-time high. For the first time, he has less than twenty percent support for the nomination within the Republican Party.
As DeSantis hurtles toward presidential oblivion, attention, with good cause, has begun to shift to Virginia governor Glenn Youngkin.
Youngkin, who eschewed a run for the White House in early May, only to qualify his refusal to run a month later, seems to be a DeSantis without baggage, much as DeSantis was initially seen as a Trump without baggage.
His resumé certainly fits. As a new face, he parlayed an impressive business career, in which he was co-CEO of the elite financial firm, the Carlyle Group—although he was outplayed by the other CEO and forced out—with hard-nosed social conservatism.
Riding bogus indignation that a parent who objected to Toni Morrison’s Beloved being required reading was ignored—the parent thought the novel sexually explicit—he painted his opponent, former governor Terry McAuliffe, as forcing woke standards on helpless parents who only wanted to protect their vulnerable offspring. (Bogus because the parent was a conservative activist and the child was not a middle schooler, as was implied, but a high school senior who had access to far more sexually explicit material on the internet.) With “parents’ rights” as a campaign theme, Youngkin won a bitterly contested election, and became the first Republican to win statewide office in Virginia since 2009.
If DeSantis seems aloof, off-putting, and unlikable, Youngkin is personable, soft-spoken, and affable. Although these Jeb Bush-esque qualities have been derided by Trump as synonymous with weakness, a man who succeeded in the cage-war that is private equity will likely be able to avoid falling into the trap that ensnared Trump’s opponents in 2016.
And so, it is no surprise that a growing number of Republican professionals see Youngkin as the best choice to defeat Joe Biden…if Youngkin can get that far. To buttress their advocacy, a poll early this year showed Youngkin doing far better against Biden than either Trump or DeSantis.
For Youngkin supporters, however, the cautionary tale took place in 2004, when Democrats were casting about for a candidate who could defeat George W. Bush, then mired in the Iraq War with approval ratings not all that much better than Biden’s are now. Vermont governor Howard Dean was in the lead, but many Democrats were worried about Dean’s broader appeal. John Kerry was also in the mix, but he had a good deal of baggage from his anti-Vietnam War days. John Edwards and some others were contending as well, but none had generated enthusiasm.
Then there was Wesley Clark.
Clark, formerly Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, had become one of CNN’s most prized and popular correspondents, appearing frequently to give sober, articulate, authoritative commentary on Iraq, all with the rare ability to seem both strong and approachable at the same time. Clark, who as a military officer had never indicated which political party he favored, had an almost otherworldly resumé. He went from valedictorian at West Point to a Rhodes scholarship, where he completed a masters in economics, philosophy, and politics, was wounded four times in Vietnam, winning a Silver Star, after which he rose through the ranks until he reached four-star general. The accolades and honors he had received could barely fit on the side of a bus.
Could this incredible man, this general, run as a Democrat?
Like Youngkin, Clark initially demurred, even though polls showed him doing far better against Bush than any other Democratic candidate. Finally, with the backing of a powerful roster of party leaders, he jumped in the race.
And flopped.
Like Walker, he did not do badly with voters, but nor did he send their pulses racing. Once on the campaign trail, he seemed less self-assured, less firm in his convictions, and a good deal less charismatic. His campaign also lasted only months, after which he endorsed John Kerry, who ended up being the nominee.
While there is no saying whether Youngkin will fall victim to the same fate, the extreme conservatism he has chosen to adopt—all while denying he is Trump-lite—is becoming increasingly unpopular. In addition, his answers when questioned about his potential candidacy have seemed more than a bit precious and he risks his affability morphing into smarminess.
But Youngkin now seems Republicans’ only hope of avoiding a Trump candidacy, which more and more party savants are coming to dread. If he chooses to run, he will have to fight it out with Trump, which will leave him bloodied and vulnerable going into the general election.
No matter how the Republican nominating process plays out, then, Democrats will be in far stronger position than many in both the party and the liberal media fear.