Walz Is Uplifting Kamala's Campaign; Vance Is Dragging Trump's Down
Americans welcomed Minnesota Governor Tim Walz to the national stage with open arms, big smiles and a widely shared sense lf relief. The first impression was as good as any politician could hope for— and the polar opposite of what happened to the JD Vance roll out. Other than the MAGAts, everyone hated him from the moment Trump announced he’s the running mate. Walz comes across as friendly and normal; Vance as nasty and weird.
And, according to an analysis from Aaron Blake, It’s getting worse for Vance. “A half-dozen polls in recent weeks have shown his already-underwhelming image deteriorating… He wasn’t a particularly voter-friendly pick, dating back to an underperforming 2022 Ohio Senate campaign in which every other Republican running for statewide office did better in their races. The signs since then have only gotten worse. A half-dozen polls have now tested views of Vance more than once in the last few weeks. In each of them, his already-underwhelming image ratings have deteriorated— sometimes significantly. And crucially, his struggles appear particularly pronounced among educated voters and women… Vance’s net favorable rating (favorable vs. unfavorable) is now nine points underwater in the FiveThirtyEight average. That’s a marked contrast to other recent running mates, who have generally polled in popular territory.”
The response from Trump allies and the Republican Party at large is to start a vicious smear campaign against Walz. It’d likely to pacify the MAGA base— and backfire badly with normal people.
No doubt the Kamala HQ account on Truth Social is driving Trump insane but the photos they posted of her over the rafters rallies in Philly and Atlanta compared to his poorly attended rally in the same venues is exactly the kind of thing that makes him throw bottles of ketchup at walls.
Amanda Marcotte’s account of the Philly rally— compared to a boring little meet-up Vance held across town for about 200 aggrieved MAGAts— was classic. “Vance's event was small, mean, and yes, weird, featuring the unjustified sarcasm of the candidate and a desperate feeling reminiscent of the mood at a strip mall shot bar at 2 AM on ‘ladies' night.’ Meanwhile, the Harris/Walz rally felt like a rousing speech by Coach Eric Taylor of Friday Night Lights combined with the front row at Coachella. The cheers were so loud that I regretted not bringing my earplugs. The mood was jubilant, even though folks had to wait hours in the heat and humidity to even get into the place. The campaign claimed over 12,000 people showed up, which is not an exaggeration. Even as Harris and Walz gave the final speeches of the evening, the line to get into the overflow room— just to watch the event on TV— went on for multiple city blocks. ‘Thank you for bringing back the joy,’ Walz said, to a thunderous reception. A simple line, but it brought the house down because of the plain-spoken truth Walz has swiftly become famous for. ‘Joy’ was the word of the night. People in the stands practically vibrated with it. In the air was a visceral hope that this campaign would be the end of the long national nightmare that is Trump and the MAGA movement.”
The crowd was so exuberant that Harris and Walz could have done shadow puppets and the place would have erupted. Even before they spoke, DJ Diamond Kuts had the crowd repurposing classic hip-hop lyrics into political chants, with the funniest being "move, Trump, get out the way" rather than the expletive used in the original Ludacris tune. But both brought their A-game. Harris drew ecstatic applause with her promises to end Trump's criminal career. Walz has honed "Minnesota nice" into a deadly rhetorical weapon, both making his desire to help people sincerely felt while also making "weird" burn like Dorothy Parker's ghost had insulted you.
Vance's speech, on the other hand, wasn't just underwhelming but a little uncanny. Despite using room dividers to shrink the space, the campaign could not hide that the crowd felt like a medium-sized wedding, albeit a pathetic one where no one cares for the couple. Vance, perhaps recognizing charisma isn't his strong suit, spoke briefly before bringing up a series of local citizens ready to blame Mexicans for their familial tragedies of drug addiction. He spoke for a couple more minutes, before taking the reporters' questions about cat ladies.
Even in his short speech, it seemed Vance— like the Trump campaign overall— is still struggling to accept that they are running against Harris and not President Joe Biden. It felt like the speechwriter had typed Ctrl-F "Biden" and replaced every instance with "Harris," whether it made sense or not. Vance accused Harris of hiding from the press with a "basement campaign." Never mind that Harris is now the young and spry candidate who can keep up with an aggressive schedule, while Trump is the tired old man who can barely campaign between naps.
One upside to the Vance event: There was no line to use the ladies' room. Sure, there were women in attendance, but the gender ratio felt like the guest list on Joe Rogan's podcast. There was one kind of diversity in this small but weirdly intense crowd. Every type of white man that gets a hasty "swipe left" on his dating profile was in attendance: 'Roided out dudes with bad tribal tattoos. Older men radiating "bitter divorce" energy. Men with enormous beards that have never known the touch of a trimmer. Skinny fascists wearing expensive suits, despite the oppressive heat. Glowering loners staring at the two women under 40 like cats watching birds out a window.
It's not just about Vance, either. The Trump campaign often has the dwindling energy of a concert for a D-list band well past its prime. As my colleague Andrew O'Hehir wrote of the Republican National Convention, it was "a startlingly quiet, polite, low-energy event," without the "chaotic, unhinged, angry energy" of the 2016 convention. As far as the Salon team could figure out, this was borne out in the numbers. The Cleveland convention of 2016 brought in an estimated 44,000 people. Despite GOP predictions that this year's would be even bigger, the Secret Service told Salon only 27,000 people had credentials to enter this year.
Trump has already started floating conspiracy theories, such as insisting officials are keeping invisible fans away from his events, to explain away the perceived difference in crowd enthusiasm at his rallies vs. the excited reception Harris has for her fledgling campaign. There's a lot of chatter in MAGA circles about how the enthusiasm for Harris is “manufactured,” as if all the people bringing down the house on an early Tuesday evening in Philadelphia are phantoms instead of real people.
But boy, I was there, and they are very real. More than that, the contrast with the Vance event underscored the Democratic messaging about "normal vs. weird." The people who flooded the Temple stadium looked like any cross-section of America on any given night. There was old, young and all in-between. There were tattooed hipsters and soccer moms. There were people of every race, dressed in every which way. It could have been a crowd of people chosen at random from the streets of Philadelphia, or any city in America, really. They were brought together by the chant quickly becoming the Harris campaign slogan: "Not going back." They were also brought together in laughter when Walz offered a corny dad joke about Vance: "I can't wait to debate JD Vance. That is, if he's willing to get off the couch and show up."
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