Pete Buttigieg Abruptly Ends Historic Candidacy

As the dust (or glitter) settles, some lessons are apparent and worth stating.

By Timothy P Holmberg

If the ethos was to be believed, Pete Buttigieg would fulfill the LGBTQ community’s dreams in the way Obama had for black Americans. We knew in our collective gut that this was too outrageous.  Fantasies aside, Buttigieg will of course leave an indelible mark on history in his wake, and supporters who never imagined they would have a chance to see a gay man seriously vie for the office of President. 

So, what are we to make of it all? 

What political lessons reside in his candidacy? 

A young, openly gay, well educated, articulate, wholesomely married pasty white mayor of South Bend, Indiana, for President. 

It was an audacious dream, really. 

He was going to push his way past rivals with resumés as thick as car repair manuals and political relationships equally as deep. 

But if Obama taught us anything, it is that belief, can transcend what seems impossible. Belief can, in fact make reality in politics, a realization the broader electorate has not fully reckoned with yet. 

But Buttigieg was not Obama, no matter how compelling that comparison might be. To say they both had thin resumés is beyond misstatement. While Obama was a fresh face in the US Senate, he had been a state senator, and community organizer with decades of experience and connections both within and beyond the state of Illinois.

A harsher electoral reality is that as a black man, Obama had a well lined path to a massive and underrepresented demographic that could reasonably take him to the White House. Buttigieg did not. Even the wildest demographic assessments put LGBTQIA+ Americans at only ten percent of the broader population. Important to be sure, but certainly not decisive. 

Geographically, we are dispersed in clusters around costal and urban areas, and dominate in none of those (and never will). Our community is pinpoints on a much broader demographic map needed for victory. It is thus unsurprising that a candidate who in his youth, extolled the political courage of Bernie Sanders, would then articulate his campaign in solidly Obama-esque terms. He was not going to out Bernie, Bernie. 

If we needed warning signs that this was a flight of fancy, we need only have looked at his own small midwestern Indiana town. Much of South Bend is as suburban as any Levittown development you could ever find. In the 50’s and 60’s, South Bend was also about as white as its prototype community, and very much a result of redlining.

By the 1980’s, “white-flight” was well underway, and so was the slow collapse of the industrial midwest. Bendix was one of many industrial names, that opted to begin withdrawing overseas, and with them, went union jobs and taxes the town needed to support its infrastructure. When the Great Recession hit, South Bend was all but decimated by it. 

As the economic clouds lifted, smaller scale manufacturers and corporations discovered a plaint and submissive labor force desperate for jobs at any wage. When Buttigieg was elected mayor, South Bend was eager for revival. But it also was a town that had a deep racial schism. His early action in firing the black police chief was executed with an almost blissful lack of racial awareness. It did not help that the police chief was at the time investigating officers in his department for racial bias. That was followed by a push for gentrification that never seemed to consider its effects on low income black residents.  

But if Mayor Pete was stirring grumblings at home, abroad, his efforts were lauded by centrist Democratic elites in Washington. They saw in him the kind of story they believed would help them make gains in the midwest. A template they could replicate in other towns across the region. “Young (white) energetic, openly gay-ish mayor helps restore midwest town and deliver a diverse community to economic empowerment.” It sounded great on paper. But the narrative belied a deeper racial and economic ignorance that would nearly topple his campaign for president. 

When Buttigieg launched his campaign, many in the LGBTQ community did not know what to make of it. Was it serious? Could he really gain any traction and move beyond novelty? 

When an officer in South Bend shot and killed a black man, many assumed that the ensuing backlash would sink his campaign. 

But to everyone’s surprise, it carried on, almost as if nothing had happened. Within weeks, they had managed to turn the page, and an infatuated media let him. 

As the debates unfolded, Buttigieg showed himself a deft debater. He also quickly established himself as the answer to the revolutionary politics of Sanders. In town halls, with his husband in the front rows, Buttigieg enthralled audiences with his soothing cadence and rational tone. 

By the time the Iowa caucus approached, it was clear that Buttigieg was more than a novelty. His poll numbers surged, and as results came in, the impossible seemed to become possible. But it was a moment that an astute political observer could see would not last. Icarus had flown quite close to the sun, and now the wax of his wings was beginning to soften. Buttigieg’s quick claim of victory foreshadowed an uncontainable ambition that was beginning to exceed capability. 

In New Hampshire, Buttigieg gave veteran campaigner Sanders a run for it, but ultimately could not throw a wrench in the Sanders machine. 

As more diverse early states lay ahead, Buttigieg knew he needed to do more than glad hand with minority voters at food events. So, he released what was dubbed the Douglass Plan. An impressive compendium of racial and economic justice policy that even veteran black leaders were impressed with. But there was a glaring problem that may as well have been printed on the title page: 

“If this is your plan, why was it never implemented in South Bend?” 

In fact, the Douglass Plan was the antithesis of Pete’s mayoral tenure. And, to many, that fact showed it for what they believed it actually was. A paid inauthentic product, developed to gain minority support. Many in the black community saw in Pete, a candidate who had made scant efforts to understand minority communities until he aspired to run for president. A view that would greet almost any newcomer as it did Sanders in 2016. 

As Pete headed into Nevada, it also became clear he had miscalculated. The largest minority demographic in Nevada was the Latino community, and Pete’s tardy release of his El Pueblo Unido plan was judged by comparison, as trite and underwhelming. Sanders had spent years preparing for this contest, and made massive political and financial investments with the state’s Latino community. And it paid off. 

As the numbers came in, it was clear that everyone had been swept aside by a tidal wave of Latino support for “Tio Sanders”. A whopping 53% of Latino voters sided with Sanders, Buttigieg managed a meager 10%. 

Buttigieg brushed off the third place Nevada result and headed to South Carolina, where his campaign was to receive its largest black eye yet. 

By Saturday night, it was painfully clear by Buttigieg’s fourth place finish that he had gained almost no traction with minority voters, despite major investments of time and money. Biden demonstrated the lingering value of relationships forged over decades. Going into Super Tuesday, Buttigieg rocked the political landscape with an abrupt departure that caught many by surprise.

If the social media feeds of gay men are any indication, the reality is setting in that hope and belief do not always overcome political reality. Many are grasping about trying to figure out where their vote will land. Mail in voters are either upset they lost their vote, or consoled by the fact they were able to vote for an openly gay man for the first time in history. 

As the dust (or glitter) settles, some lessons are apparent and worth stating.

One lesson sure to be pondered is whether the LGBTQ community still suffers from a racial myopia. If Mayor Pete represented many virtues in our community, he also represented lingering issues. Large among them is white privilege, which may be an uncomfortable, but hardly inaccurate label to attach to Buttigieg. While some may dispute this, it is evident that Pete’s status as a contender, and his campaign’s likely demise were inextricably tied to his race. 

His candidacy has also laid bare that our community will be perpetually dissatisfied with any candidate to emerge from our community. Pete never could be an “Every-queer” candidate. But our brand of identity politics has made it impossible for any candidate to rise from the LGBTQIA+ community without a fair number of knives in their back. No candidate will ever perfectly match or reflect the diversity of a community that identifies with so many letters. 

We can take pride in Buttigieg’s historic campaign, as we should, and as he should. 

But Pete for President will also serve as an enduring reminder to the next aspirant, that we must confront our divisions in a more serious way. We must build durable bridges to other communities with whom we share common struggles. And, not without mention, homophobia persists and even thrives in much of this country. Any notion that we have succeeded in our quest for equality must be reconciled with the reality that in more than a slight measure, Pete could not connect with minorities more effectively because he is an openly gay man. 

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