IN TEXAS, even the candy bars are bigger.
Full-size, sugary-sweet, unpretentious American classics, the stuff of Halloween dreams—Kit Kats and Nestle Crunch, plain Hershey’s Milk Chocolate and Hershey’s stuffed with almonds (because sometimes you feel like a nut..), plus power bars and gallons of coffee and soda, all available in the hallway just outside the ballroom of the Omni Barton Creek Hotel in Austin on Friday, May 7.
The treats and caffeine were on hand to help keep the three hundred Redland, red-blooded Republicans keen-eyed and sharp-focused as they anticipated the calescent political fights of 2021, the gleaming opportunities of 2022, and the dazzling rays of hope for 2024.
The participants were invited by a trio that included Karl Rove, who has, for five decades, made kings and queens and helped them rule. The other hosts were the state’s current governor, Greg Abbott, and U.S. Senator John Cornyn, who also served as an emcee of sorts, welcoming the crowd, introducing the agenda, and explaining the format: a series of one-on-one conversations between a member of Congress and a 2024 presidential prospect, cozy tete-a-tetes conducted in front of a discriminating powerhouse audience.
There would be three presentations, then a lunch break (no-nonsense steak and salad, part of your basic Texas health regimen), followed by five more presentations, and finally, an evening reception with an open bar for winding down and gearing up.
Two large, overstuffed chairs sat on stage ready for conversation; below the rest of the group watched from round tables set out on the ballroom floor, each holding six or seven attendees. It was a safe-place opportunity for the presidential hopefuls to speak to and be seen by some of the party’s key donors, and a painless way for the select invitees to observe and gauge the skill sets of the Republican Party’s blossoming presidential field.
The agenda drily described the featured guests as part of a “donor appreciation conference,” but you didn’t have to be a member of the Texas super elite monied class to know what folks were turning up for: a Texas-sized tire kicking of 2024 prospects.
And since they take their cattle seriously in the Lone Star State, this would be no ordinary cattle call.
Donald Trump was not invited, and neither were homestater Ted Cruz or South Dakota’s buzzy governor, Kristie Noem. Nikki Haley did get an invite, but her daughter’s graduation from nursing school back in South Carolina presented an unmovable conflict.
The format was both simple and novel. Republican members of the Texas congressional delegation were paired up with each of the eight prospects, sitting for forty-five-minute sessions on stage in those comfy chairs. Each round was long enough to not feel like political speed dating, Texas style, but not so long that the crowd might grow restless.
There were no biographical introductions, opening statements or, to be honest, tough questions. The organizers solicited areas of interest in advance from both the House members and the camps of the ‘24ers, who were given the chance to edit, suggest, or veto.
As for the audience: Energy, real estate, transportation, banking, beer distribution – it didn’t matter what sector made and/or maintained their vast fortunes. These were, to a person, the well-heeled and well-wired.
And it didn’t matter exactly by what route their attitude towards Donald Trump had evolved from “he’s what the party and the country need” (in 2016) to whatever combination of revulsion, ennui, and rational P&L evaluation (now) – this group was implicitly operating in a potential post-Trump reality, looking for the next Big Thing, the next fast horse, the human vehicle of their aspirations (for themselves and future generations of Texans) for lower taxes, less government, and more freedom.
As a group, many have moved on from Trump, assume he isn’t going to run again, recognize the role he’s played in changing the party, but they are ready to go back to something more closely approximating regular order.
If Trump ends up going for it again, they will adjust, as the rich do (and not just the rich in Texas).
But many hope Trump just fades away. They can’t imagine he’ll run. It just makes no doggone sense. But if he does, and he’s the nominee, and he’s running against Kamala Harris, well, it is pretty clear where they will end up in that deal.
For three generations, before Trump, the Republican Party establishment used one of three criterion for picking their presidential standard bearer: a sitting or former vice president, the person who finished second in the previous cycle’s competitive nominating contest, or someone named “Bush.” This crowd wasn’t necessarily keying off that template, but they most assuredly aren’t in the market for another reality show star from Gotham City.
This was not a MAGA group of rabble rousers. This was a Rove-Abbott-Cornyn assemblage of East Texas political royalty meets West Texas political royalty.
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FOR DECADES, stops like this along the climb to the Oval Office have been as common as a tiny Texas town claiming the state’s best barbeque. Just past base camp, these early pilgrimages to meet with the state’s monied class are the Republican equivalent of a visit to a Westwood living room or a Manhattan penthouse for Democratic hopefuls.
More typically, at this stage in the quadrennial dance, these sessions would be one-on-one, in Dallas, Houston, Midland, with would-be donor and would-be president sitting in a conference room or over a quiet meal.
But Karl Rove understands the power of a good convening.
Someday, a long time from now, when his obits are written, his time working for George W. Bush in national politics will surely be the dominate storyline. But The Architect’s first great construction project was the edifice of Republican statewide abject dominance in Texas, creating such an enduring Red ruling class there that it has been decades since a Democrat won a statewide office.
In 2020, Rove lent his name and elbow grease to an effort to register voters, recruit volunteers, and get souls to the polls in enough numbers to fight off the “demography is destiny” truism that the Democrats have been touting and counting on for years. Even as Donald Trump was losing the presidency, the incumbent won Texas handily and the down-ballot folks mostly romped as well. Rove might not have produced a durable majority for his party nationally, but he has stayed on his state’s battlefield long past when he could have retreated to his booklined study. The Republican majority in Texas is not permanent (probably), but it so as heck has been durable, with Rove at the center of the action for decades.
Ostensibly, this gathering was to thank the donors for their contributions to the previous year’s effort. Rove grew up in the George H.W. Bush orbit and of course knows the importance and power of a proper “thank you.” But there is no such thing in politics as a “donor maintenance” event that isn’t also a donor prospecting event.
So the explicit message of “we appreciate all y’all” was paired with an undertone of “keep your checkbooks handy.”
Getting everyone to trundle to the People’s Republic of Austin for a group session required an exercise in something the assembled understood well: supply and demand. The wannabe presidents need access to the Texas money folks, as donors, bundlers, ascriptive badges of momentum and support someday soon. And the donors need to start figuring out whose got the right stuff. The donors wanted a supply of cattle; the politicians wanted a supply of money.
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THE ORGANIZERS made a very Masters of the Universe, Ayn Rand accommodation to the pandemic’s last gasp. Masks were as scarce inside the Brazos Ballroom as Brandeis sweatshirts at a UT-A&M football game. Attendees could choose which of three stickers (green, yellow, or red) to affix to their credential, letting others know how fearless they were about close COVID-era contact with others. (No one was surprised that green was the group’s decal of choice.)
The event was conceived as one for Texas donors, and, indeed, well over 90% of those in the room were locals. But a few longtime contributors to the cause from what Texans call “someplace else” heard in advance about the hoedown and asked if they could join in. So folks like Steve Wynn and Steve Schwarzman were also in attendance.
But, mostly, it was indeed Texans. A few of national reputation (Ross Perot, Jr., Harlan Crow, the former RNC finance chair Ray Washburne, Bush 43’s Commerce chief Don Evans), but primarily names that mean everything in the state’s conservative donor community but not much to all but the most eagle-eyed national political reporters: John Nau, III, Pam Willeford, Kent Hance, Bruce Bugg, Ned Holmes, and Johnny Weisman.
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TO BORROW that classic Trumpian phrase, it was both shocking but not surprising that the name of the most recent Republican president was barely uttered during the day. Trump came up a few times in the context of his China and immigration policies as contrasted with Joe Biden’s, but there was no major handwringing about or celebrating of America’s forty-fifth president. And with the exception of some oblique references to the rule of law and the nation’s constitutional traditions by Congressman Chip Roy over the lunch break, the events of January 6, 2021 and the allegations of a stolen election were simply disappeared down history’s memory hole.
Good candidates, like successful Texans, focus fast on the future when it comes to politics. The past is for family reunions, divorce proceedings, and scrapbooks.
Joe Biden was not a target of personal jibes from the presenters; nor were Nancy Pelosi or Chuck Schumer. Their policies, however, came in for a fair amount of withering critique.
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FIRST UP, just after 9am, was Trump’s former secretary of state, Mike Pompeo. Because of the arc of his career, he was more familiar to the vast majority of the folks in the room from TV than from real life. Taking his measure as a leader and presenter on stage, those present started to get a sense of the rationale behind a run, as the former Kansas congressman toured the globe, stopping in China, Iran, and, for an extended period, on the U.S.-Mexico border. Still traveling with an extensive security team, Pompeo sounded and looked the part of a big time player.
Next up was Mike Pence, who uniquely among the group garnered a standing ovation upon entrance. This was a crowd familiar with the Pence schtick, from the Hoosier humility to the “I was there” stories from the Trump years (tidbits on interviewing potential Supreme Court picks and about the early days of the pandemic). It was hard to take away from the group’s reaction anything but affection for Pence – and no palpable enthusiasm for his being the future of the party.
The last speaker before the lunch break was Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, a man who so far has demonstrated the capacity to take the flavor-of-the-month concept and extend it indefinitely. His quiet past forays into the state had not exposed him to that many of those in the room, and his shiniest-penny-in-the-jar status had them all leaning forward to take his measure.
By most accounts, he did not disappoint.
Working off the vibrant buddy-buddy dynamics with his interlocutor – Congressman Dan Crenshaw – DeSantis put on offer all the traits that have made him the favorite of both the MAGA wing of the party and quadrants of the establishment. He was glib, funny, entertaining, and combative, mixing the familiar (standing up to the libs at “60 Minutes” and aggressively and smartly reopening the state during the pandemic) with less familiar biographical notes (feeling like a fish out of water as a Yale undergraduate until he found some comfort on the baseball diamond; mocking the customs and mores of Harvard from his law school days; explaining the bottoms-up way some SEAL operations were developed in Iraq during his JAG service). DeSantis was able to connect directly to the audience more than the other speakers in part because Crenshaw is currently effectively blind after some surgery, meaning eye contact with the congressman was unnecessary and somewhat awkward.
Some found DeSantis’ accent and manner a little hard to place, but overall, they seemed pleased.
In short, about three hundred heeled boots kicked the DeSantis tires and no flats were detected. The consensus winner of this cattle call, the Florida topper was adjudged to have both a rugged hat and more than sufficient cattle.
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GREG ABBOTT, the main lunch speaker, had the poor fortune of following the star attraction. Talking about his legislative priorities and touching on his pandemic record to his own constituents, Abbott seemed to fall short to some compared to DeSantis. The donors in the room know Abbott, like Abbott, appreciate Abbott’s record – but they mostly think of him as their governor, not their presidential timber.
The first four speakers after lunch were all sitting U.S. Senators.
Marco Rubio of Florida started out with a Catskills-via-Coral-Gables routine about his new dog, and then moved on to a thoughtful explanation of how the party needs to and can expand its appeal to a broader demographic. Tom Cotton of Arkansas put his super high IQ, national security cred, and Oval Office burning desire on vivid display, along with (unfortunately for him) his relentless Arkansas geekiness. Rick Scott of Florida focused on his own time as the Sunshine State’s governor and his job as this cycle’s National Republican Senatorial Committee chair – and, as usual, made it clear that he believes personality is optional when it comes to public presentation. Texans, as it turns out, like personality.
The last senatorial speaker was the day’s best by acclamation. Tim Scott of South Carolina rolled into Austin on the personal and PR high of his showcased national address following Joe Biden late the prior month. Gone, for now at least, is the soft spoken introvert that many of the donors present had visited with in years past. Here, instead, was an animated, vibrant, chatty storyteller, throwing red mean on allegations of racism here, quoting scripture there, connecting his biography to his policy vision (as the best presidential candidates always do), and reading the room like Clinton (Bill, not Hillary). Scott also helped himself with the group by agreeing to do some smaller fundraising events while he was in the state.
The day’s final speaker was former New Jersey governor Chris Christie, who still has the tactical mind of the political operative he was once upon a time. Without dwelling on Trump, Christie presented what many saw as the event’s most comprehensive theory of the case of what the party’s winning message and coalition must be in 2022 and 2024. Heavy on old war stories from his time as US attorney and governor, he did a more than serviceable job of reminding the Red state folks that they should probably nominate someone who can turn Blue Electoral College votes to Red.
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AFTER CHRISTIE FINISHED, Rove told the group that all that stood between them and an open bar was a presentation on the 2020 volunteer engagement, voter registration, and turnout effort they had funded. The two young mini-Roves who had masterminded the project -- Mitch Carney and Spencer Davis – then floored those who stuck around with the kind of ROI data that warms the hearts of the giving. The outfit claimed to have more than doubled their goal by getting 215,000 new Republican registrants, at a cost of just $7 per voter, well below the national norm of about $20. The trick was the combination of the new (technology) and the tried and true (a volunteer army that, among other things, went door to door, even during the pandemic). In addition, they explained their success with Republicans who were low propensity voters, swing Hispanics, and independents and soft Republicans who did not like Donald Trump but were gettable for other GOP candidates.
Assured that the federal hard dollars and other contributions they had kicked in in 2020 had paid dividends, keeping the Lone Star State safe(r) from socialism, the donors retired to the Hill Country Pavilion, where they mixed, mingled, and talked in what passes for hushed tones in Texas about the prospects of a DeSantis-Tim Scott ticket.
To be continued…..
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MOSCOW, May 9. /TASS/. A military parade to commemorate the 76th anniversary of the Soviet Union’s Victory over Nazi Germany in the 1941-1945 Great Patriotic War took place on Moscow’s Red Square on Sunday.
The parade began with the march of the banner group of the Preobrazhesnky Regiment’s Honor Guard’s battalion carrying the Russian national flag and the legendary Victory Banner across Red Square. The Victory Banner was hoisted over the Reichstag by soldiers of the 150th Idritskaya rifle division in May 1945.
Russian President Vladimir Putin, war veterans and guests watched the parade from the central reviewing stand on Red Square. Russian Defense Minister General of the Army Sergei Shoigu reviewed the parade, which was commanded by Ground Forces Commander-in-Chief General of the Army Oleg Salyukov.
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The operator of a major pipeline system that transports fuel across the East Coast said Saturday it had been victimized by a ransomware attack and had halted all pipeline operations to deal with the threat. The attack is unlikely to affect gasoline supply and prices unless it leads to a prolonged shutdown of the pipeline, experts said. (Associated Press)
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At least 58 people have been killed and more than 100 injured in a bomb attack on girls leaving their school in a largely Shia Muslim neighbourhood in Kabul. (Guardian)
* New details on the Liz Cheney-Donald Trump-Kevin McCarthy triangle, with anecdotes about secret polling and double dealing. Importantly, the story says Cheney “will not stop” her efforts to purge the party of the former president — but, most importantly, it doesn’t flesh out what that means exactly.
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