Abcarian: Democrats put forward two styles of American masculinity
In one of the weirder political twists of the moment, the two Democrats who stand the greatest chance of flipping the Senate in November represent opposite ideals of American manhood.
One, an archetypal warrior, is being accused of toxic masculinity; the other, a proselytizer for compassion and empathy, has been derided as not manly enough.
In Maine, oyster farmer and former Marine Graham Platner is the gruff, unshaven, blue-collar contender for the seat of longtime Republican Sen. Susan Collins, who has never met a war she couldn't vote for or a Supreme Court nominee who couldn't gull her.
In Texas, state legislator and Presbyterian seminarian James Talarico is the boyishly clean-cut, soft-spoken contender for the seat of vanquished Republican Sen. John Cornyn, ousted by scandal-ridden Texas Atty. Gen. Ken Paxton, who has been described by Talarico as the most corrupt politician in America. (Personally, I would say Paxton has competition for the title.)
As different as the two men are, Platner and Talarico embody a pro-worker, pro-immigrant populism that is extremely appealing at a moment when inflation is rampant, wages are stagnant and unrestrained billionaires are calling the political shots.
"The real fight in this county is not left vs. right," Talarico often says. "It's top vs. bottom."
With youth on their side — Platner is 41, Talarico is 37 — their victories would also represent another positive step in the changing of the Democratic old guard.
In speeches, both can evoke the refreshing rhetoric of a young Barack Obama.
"This is not about me at all," Platner says. "This is a movement about us."
"There is something broken in America," Talarico says. "That old politics is dying. A new politics is being born."
Platner is a flawed candidate, for sure, a political novice whose abrupt entrance in the race has been accompanied by a cascade of sordid revelations about his past.
Among them: Platner has acknowledged once having a Nazi-inspired skull-and-crossbones tattoo on his chest, but claimed he was unaware of its meaning when he got it in 2007 during a drunken leave with some fellow Marines in Croatia. He has since covered it with a different tattoo.
A former girlfriend has disputed that Platner was ignorant of the tattoo's meaning, telling the New York Times that he used to joke about his "totenkopf" or death head. The same woman also said he was physically rough with her — twisting her arm during an argument, shoving her into a bedroom and holding the door closed so she could not leave. He has also admitted posting extreme views on social media during a time after his military service, he says, when he was struggling with post traumatic stress disorder and drinking heavily. And Platner's wife has said he sexted a number of women shortly after they married in 2023.
As Republicans disingenuously accuse Democrats of putting up with behavior they condemn in politicians such as President Trump (Eric Swalwell, anyone?), it's worth noting that, unlike Trump, Platner has apologized repeatedly, and claimed he is a changed man.
"If you believe, as I do, that we can change our politics, and change our country, then you must also believe that people can change," Platner told supporters last week.
The question for Maine voters in November: Do you believe him?
In Texas, Republicans are straining to tarnish Talarico, a Harvard-educated former middle school teacher who became the youngest member of the Texas state legislature in 2018 at just 29. His biggest "scandal" seems to be that he once said people should eat less meat.
With relatively little ammunition, Republicans have hit the gutter, attacking Talarico's masculinity with transphobic and homophobic memes.
"The Democrats made history in Texas by nominating their first transgender senate candidate," said the odious and unfunny Stephen Miller.
Talarico's social media videos have often gone viral because he offers a persuasive moral argument, grounded in his experience as a seminarian, that the "Christianity" practiced by MAGA Republicans today would be unrecognizable to Christ.
"My faith teaches me to love my neighbor as myself," Talarico said three months ago when he secured the Democratic Senate nomination. "I'm trying to love my neighbor through public policy. I'm trying to make my neighbor's life a little better."
A gentle Christian who says he loves trans children and abhors Trump's harsh immigration policy is apparently intolerable to folks like Paxton, who was indicted on felony securities-fraud charges before he became attorney general, and then was impeached on allegations of bribery, abuse of office, obstruction of justice and retaliation against whistleblowers. (The Texas Senate acquitted him.) His wife is divorcing him on "biblical grounds," alleging he commited adultery. Even Paxton's own defense attorney endorsed Talarico. Is this really the kind of man Republicans admire?
"James Talarico is a threat to everything we hold dear in this country," Paxton told his supporters last week as he read from a teleprompter in a stilted, low-energy style. "I mean, he's a vegan who thinks God is non-binary and that there's actually six biological sexes." (Talarico said the remark about God was "intentionally provocative," and says he regrets those "cringey" remarks.)
Still, is that all they've got?
Paxton's biggest diss is to insult Talarico as "too low-T for Texas." He also coined the word "Talafreako," a moniker that was immediately embraced by Talarico supporters, who created "I'm a Talafreako" T-shirts.
It seems that a flawed oyster farmer and a former seminarian are the country's best hopes to take back the Senate. I'd vote for both if I could.
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This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.