As the Democratic National Convention comes to a close tonight, I’m reminded yet again of why I don’t make political wagers, either friendly or financial.
In this case, it’s the wager I gladly would have made weeks ago, before President Biden changed his mind about seeking a second term. The bet: California governor Gavin Newsom, if not asked to deliver the keynote address, lands a prominent speaking position during the convention as a reward for his steadfast support of Biden (to give you an idea of how delusional determined of a surrogate Newsom was, he insisted in the immediate aftermath of Biden’s disastrous debate performance: “I will never turn my back on President Biden. . . . I don’t know a Democrat in my party that would do so.”)
Would Newsom have accepted the role of keynote speaker in front of 20,000 Democratic diehards and a national television audience? Better to ask: Does the sun set over the Pacific Ocean?
In 1984, then New York governor Mario Cuomo delivered the keynote at that year’s Democratic confab in San Francisco, his star turn leading to questions of not if but when Cuomo would seek the presidency (the ever-agonizing Cuomo never took the plunge).
Two decades later, the honor went to an up-and-coming candidate from Chicago by the name of Barack Obama (he was running for the US Senate that year). Obama electrified the convention crowd in Boston in—you know how the rest of the story goes—a speech that weighed in at 17 minutes and a little under 2,300 words, elevating Obama from obscure state senator to a national sensation.
So why didn’t Newsom receive the same honor as Obama did one score ago?
Here are three possibilities.
First, consider the number of prominent Democrats of greater stature than Newsom and not named Biden, all of whom were asked to deliver primetime convention addresses. They include two former presidents (Obama and Bill Clinton), two former First Ladies (Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama), plus Newsom’s fellow Californian House Speaker emerita Nancy Pelosi.
And, not to be forgotten: Biden himself, who was Monday night’s keynote speaker before he hopped on a plane to spend the rest of the week in California’s Santa Barbara County, far away from his party’s proceedings in Chicago.
For Kamala Harris’s political brain trust, it might be as simple as a numbers game: too many big fish in the convention, not enough room to add Newsom.
A second theory: Harris’s political team understands that asking a governor to deliver a keynote address comes with risk, depending on said governor’s personality and ambition.
Back in 2012, then New Jersey governor Chris Christie was the keynote speaker at the year’s Republican National Convention. What Christie delivered: an address that focused far too much on . . . Chris Christie. As this Politico report noted: “16 was the number of minutes that passed as Christie talked about his personal history and New Jersey record before he mentioned Mitt Romney’s name. Seven was the total number of times he referred to Romney by name.”
Perhaps Team Harris remembered that awkward moment for the Romney campaign. And maybe it’s why none on the Democrat’s bench of rising gubernatorial stars with long-term presidential prospects, including Newsom, played a prominent role.
Moreover, the vice president’s aides might have remembered a sour-note moment from Newsom’s past. In May 2008, celebrating the California state supreme court’s ruling against same-sex marriage bans, then San Francisco mayor Newsom crowed: “The door is wide open now. It’s gonna happen, whether you like it or not.” The governor’s arrogant words came back to haunt him during an successful initiative campaign later that same year (Proposition 8) instituting a same-sex marriage ban in the Golden State (the ban was subsequently overturned in federal court).
Which leads to a third theory for Newsom’s diminished role: the more visible California’s governor, the greater the risk of COD—not “cash on demand,” but “California on display.”
For Harris, her Golden State heritage is a juggling act: she celebrates her rise up California’s political ladder before claiming the vice presidency (San Francisco district attorney; state attorney general; US senator), while at the same time hoping to avoid the baggage of California’s present, less-gilded existence (high crime and homelessness, low living affordability). Put another way, per last week’s Berkeley IGS Poll: when twice as many Californians feel they’re financially worse off than better off than they were a year ago, why would Harris want to affix herself to that sour-faced emoji of an electorate?
Speaking of sour faces, all is not lost for Newsom, even if he didn’t get a plum assignment in Chicago. In fact, California’s governor has found a creative outlet: podcasting.
Since July, Newsom has been one of three Californians lending their voices to Politickin’, a weekly podcast that also features former NFL running back and Oakland native Marshawn Lynch and “powerhouse agent” Doug Hendrickson (whose wife, Shyla, has controlled Newsom’s wine and hotel business through a blind trust—and managed to blindside the Newsom administration with a bad story when it was revealed that she rode out most of the pandemic in upscale Park City, Utah, so as to avoid California’s onerous COVID restrictions).
Host platform iHeartPodcast touts the podcast as a chance to see (well, hear) California’s governor is a new light (according to its press release, “Gavin Newsom, a leader making waves in politics, will address the current state of affairs in a way audiences have never heard from him before”). In other words, it’s a break from politics.
But that hasn’t met with reality for the governor’s newest audio venture. Look no further than the opening minutes of the first episode and this rough exchange between Lynch and Newsom:
Lynch: “Hell nah, Gavin, Why the f--- you ain’t running for president bruh?”
Newsom: “We’re going to get to that.”
A few minutes later . . .
Lynch: “I f--- with you . . . I thought you were finna get in the mix.”
Newsom: “Marshawn, I’ll tell you what’s going on: People are all-in now for Kamala Harris.”
Followed by . . .
Newsom: “You’ve got your own Oakland girl, Oakland through and through, Alameda County prosecutor who’s going to prosecute the case [against Trump].”
Lynch: “I wonder if she prosecuted my daddy.”
Such are the perils of the podcasting with a flamboyant personality like Lynch, who maybe sees a political run in his future. Newsom could have turned to other California-based athletes who are deeper thinkers—the quiet but intellectual Kareem Abdul Jabbar comes to mind.
Then again, Newsom and Lynch could be of like mind when it comes to the media. Lynch, who cared little for reporters during his playing days, once said repeatedly during a pre–Super Bowl press gaggle: “I’m here so I won’t get fined.” Which could have been Newsom’s opening words for this year’s much-delayed (and oh so political) State of the State address.
Here’s a suggestion for Newsom, if he wants to continue down the path of electronic media but do so in a more serious fashion: follow the lead of Jimmy Carter, a fellow Democratic governor who went on to win the presidency, and do a weekly radio show.
If you lived through the Carter White House years, you might recall Ask the President, a live two-hour broadcast managed by National Public Radio, with Carter speaking to Americans via telephone from the Oval Office. (New Yorkers might also recall Rudy Giuliani giving as good as he got from his constituents on a weekly radio show during his time as Gotham’s mayor.)
To his credit, Carter didn’t take screened calls (NPR placed ads beforehand in media outlets asking for listeners’ names and phone numbers if they wished to pose a question to Carter, with the names selected at random and NPR placing the calls). The result: serious questions about arms limitation, school prayer, energy policy, and inflation.
The radio gig didn’t earn Carter a second term. What it did get him: a dose of satire courtesy of Saturday Night Live.
Which Newsom might gladly take at this point—after a convention that failed to elevate his national standing.
