November 2026 is everything

For America to survive Trump, Democrats must prevail in the midterms.
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Frank Bruni
For subscribersJuly 28, 2025
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Ben Wiseman

The newsletter will take a break next week and return on Mon., Aug. 11. If you missed the previous newsletter, you can read it here.

For America to survive Trump, Democrats must prevail in the midterms

I guess we're going to be talking about Zohran Mamdani for every hour of every day for the foreseeable future, and I can certainly see why. A 33-year-old political larva, he's nonetheless well positioned to become mayor of the most populous and consequential city in the most powerful country on Earth. He's a great story and he matters. Hugely.

But he's no harbinger. No template. Mamdani's fate in November 2025 will hold few clues and limited lessons for Democrats in November 2026, because New York City is not the United States. And we can't afford to overlook that, because November 2026 is everything.

We also can't forget that the furor surrounding the Jeffrey Epstein case will grow old, and probably few among the MAGA faithful will abandon President Trump over it. We can't overinterpret national polls, which are just that: polls, meaning that they fluctuate, and national, meaning that they blur the regional and local peculiarities that have enormous bearing on the country's direction.

We can't let any of the political anomalies, Beltway melodramas, sweeping generalities and other chum for cable television news distract from what I'm increasingly convinced is the whole ballgame for America's future: Democrats' wresting control of at least one chamber of Congress.

The party faces brutal odds against flipping the four seats in the Senate necessary for a majority there, so I'm talking about the House. Anyone who appreciates the threat that an unbowed, unrestrained Trump poses must be relentlessly, obsessively focused on the rare congressional districts — maybe about 20 of them, maybe several more — that are truly up for grabs, and on the math and methods for Democratic victories in them.

I'm not saying that because the Democratic Party is in such fine fettle. Hardly. I'm saying that because Republicans — devoid of conscience and terrified of Trump — have shown an almost complete willingness to let him do whatever he wants and drag the country wherever he pleases, which is down into a sewer of despotism, corruption, cruelty and fiscal insanity.

The conservative majority on the Supreme Court is clearing the way for him. Meanwhile, Trump and his enablers are busy trying to neuter the rest of the justice system with strategically placed sycophants. They're threatening private lawyers, some of whom have elected to do Trump's bidding, and bullying universities, some of which have been brought to heel. And plenty of people in corporate America are just rolling with the zeitgeist, even if that toxic spirit is autocratic.

We're running out of bulwarks. If we don't build one in Congress, Trump's final two years in the presidency — if they even are his final two years in the presidency — may make the previous six look like a genteel garden party, and the country may never recover.

Trump certainly understands the stakes of a Congress that stands up to him versus one that simply kneels. He's pressing more Republicans at the state level to do what Gov. Greg Abbott of Texas has already committed to: re-examining and potentially redrawing congressional districts in an attempt to create more Republican seats ahead of November 2026. Texas' current House delegation comprises 25 Republicans and 12 Democrats (with one open seat), but that's not lopsided enough for Trump, who has called for a map that might yield five more Republicans. Trump is looking elsewhere as well — Missouri, for example — to contrive a midterm advantage too daunting for Democrats to overcome. Several political experts told me that they can't recall an instance of mid-decade redistricting quite like this.

So Democrats must be similarly dogged and similarly creative, countering Trump with efforts in blue states where the procedures for redistricting, which vary, create the possibility of numerical gains that outweigh any political risks. I'm heartsick saying that — I'd prefer a nation in which everyone played by the rules and congressional maps weren't cynical partisan jigsaw puzzles — but nobility is too costly at this juncture.

The usual pendulum swing of midterm elections suggests that Democrats, who picked up 40 House seats in 2018, at the midpoint of Trump's first term, should easily regain the majority in the House, where there are currently 219 Republicans, 212 Democrats and four open seats. But much is changed this time around.

"The biggest difference between the 2018 and 2026 cycles is Trump's engagement," one senior Democratic official told me. "If he cared at all in 2018, nobody could tell." His close attention to the midterms surely reflects an awareness that a Democratic House majority could mean a third impeachment atop the two he racked up during his first term. And it has translated into what a Politico article by Jake Traylor and Adam Wren described as "kingmaker moves": Trump is personally pressuring Republican incumbents in some key races to stay put and recruiting candidates for others, as part of "a broad White House strategy" for the midterms, Traylor and Wren wrote.

That strategy includes aggressive fund-raising. Back in early May, Theodore Schleifer and Shane Goldmacher wrote in The Times that the president's super PAC, MAGA Inc., and its allied nonprofit had "amassed roughly $400 million since the 2024 election," a haul that was "without precedent so early in an election cycle." By late June, Brooke Singman was reporting for Fox News that Trump's political operation had pulled in $900 million and had secured commitments for another $500 million.

"That's scary," the Democratic official said.

So is this: While there are 13 House Democrats who represent districts that Trump won in 2024 and that might be prime opportunities for Republican pickups, there are only three House Republicans who represent districts that Kamala Harris won in 2024, according to Erin Covey, who leads the Cook Political Report's analysis of House races. But back in 2018, Covey told me, there were about two dozen House Republicans representing districts that Hillary Clinton had won two years earlier.

"It really looks like it's going to be a smaller playing field," she said, attributing that in part to how Trump has expanded the Republican coalition. "There are fewer natural pickup opportunities."

Which means that Democrats must make the most of each one — in terms of prioritizing issues vital to those districts, funneling money to those districts, and refining and endlessly repeating messages (about affordability, about economic opportunity) that are likely to resonate there. They must make sure that the Democratic brand doesn't run counter to those districts, each with its own demographic and political profile. For example, the First Congressional District in Iowa, which Representative Mariannette Miller-Meeks won in 2024 by the slimmest margin of any Republican victor in a House race that year, has an electorate that's much more rural and much whiter not only than that of New York City but also than that of the United States.

Representative Jason Crow, Democrat of Colorado, who's helping to lead Democrats' recruitment of House candidates, had it right in his comments in an article in Colorado Politics by Ernest Luning a few months ago.

"There's no slogan or bumper sticker or T-shirt that's going to win the day across America, right?" he said. "The thing with retaking the House of Representatives is that every district is unique and different. And that's going to be a battle that's going to be won or lost at the local district level."

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For the Love of Sentences

A black-and-white photograph of Lou Costello and Bud Abbott.
John Springer Collection/Corbis, via Getty Images

In The Times, Meghan O'Rourke described her use of artificial intelligence for certain mundane tasks: "With ChatGPT, I felt like I had an intern with the cheerful affect of a golden retriever and the speed of the Flash." Regarding her Yale students' reliance on that "intern," she added that they are "caught in a relentless arms race of jockeying for the next résumé item. Time to read deeply or to write reflectively is scarce. Where once the gentleman's C sufficed, now my students can use A.I. to secure the technocrat's A." (Thanks to David Chapin of Raleigh, N.C., and James F. Maher of Cincinnati, among many others, for spotlighting this essay.)

Also in The Times, Michael Kimmelman justified the estimated $85 million glow-up for Shakespeare's home in Central Park: "Built during the Kennedy era for the current price of a two-bedroom condo in Fort Lee, N.J., the Delacorte from Day One was a glorified, rickety high-school grandstand, with water leaking into ramshackle dressing rooms and raccoons nesting backstage. Watching great actors and directors put on 'Hamlet' there was roughly akin to consuming truffled langoustine on the L train." (Tracey Tenser Sydel, Manhattan, and Dennis O'Shea, Baltimore, among others)

Eileen Sullivan described the runaround that many recently fired federal workers got as they dealt with benefits coordinators and insurance carriers: "It was the bureaucratic version of the old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on first?' Except the umpire blew up the field, and the bases are in pieces." (Lesley Peterson, Cape Coral, Fla.)

And Reid J. Epstein and Shane Goldmacher reported on a political postmortem that prominent Democratic officials were completing: "Party officials described the draft document as focusing on the 2024 election as a whole, but not on the presidential campaign — which is something like eating at a steakhouse and then reviewing the salad." (Tom Powell, Vestavia Hills, Ala., and Paul Shikany, the Bronx, among many others)

In The Seattle Times, Danny Westneat sympathized with Senator Lisa Murkowski, who said she felt "cheated" by Trump's reneging on a deal with her: "If only there had been some clue, some sign, that a politician who cheated with his charity, cheated on taxes, cheated on his wife, cheats at golf, cheated his contractors, cheated his customers and then attempted the biggest cheat of all — on the American election system — might eventually work his way around to cheating you, too?" (Pam Beck, Sacramento)

In The Guardian, Sidney Blumenthal examined the benefits Trump had derived from supporters' belief that "deep state" actors were keeping Jeffrey Epstein's secrets: "The demonology has elevated Trump into a savior of the MAGAtariat from the globalist elites and fiendish pedophiles. No greater evil can be projected. It's more than a theory; it's a theology. Epstein wraps it all up, explains all, proves all — Pizzagate meets the Protocols of the Elders of Zion." (Marian Cannell, Chapel Hill, N.C., and Bob Rappaport, Arlington, Va.)

Also in The Guardian, Barney Ronay appreciated a picture of the soccer player Viktor Gyökeres on the cover of France Football magazine: "Not that I've looked at it much, or pored over its details searching for meaning, but the photo shows Gyökeres half in shade, half in sun, displaying his famously shredded physique, not so much the standard male musculature, more a selection of lines and bulges, like he's made entirely from giant walnuts, like a perfect human challah loaf designed by a robot." (Benji Taylor, Seattle)

In The New Yorker, Sam Knight provided an auditory appraisal of the British tennis star Jack Draper: "Other players are loud and expressive on court; Draper will say 'Yup,' sharply, when an opponent's shot lands out, and otherwise grunts and gasps in a mostly private way, like someone fixing a pipe under a sink." As for English spectators' congenitally subdued response to his play: "When Draper closed the game out with an ace, Court 1 frankly erupted in polite conversation." (Mary Duke, Walterville, Ore., and Ceil Tilney, Wilmington, Del.)

And in his newsletter, Derek Thompson contrasted inoculations with Ozempic and its versatile kin: "Vaccines do one job well. They're like a key designed perfectly to open one lock. GLP-1 drugs, however, seem more like a lanyard that holds your house keys, your car keys, your friend's backup keys, your CVS rewards card, your work fob, and a mini Swiss army knife that has little tools on it that you've never actually figured out how to use." (Rudy Brynolfson, Minneapolis)

To nominate favorite bits of recent writing from The Times or other publications to be mentioned in "For the Love of Sentences," please email me here and include your name and place of residence.

What I'm Seeing and Listening To

A photograph of a dog sculpture at The Church museum.
Joe Jagos
  • In this newsletter several weeks ago, I mentioned my delight in small museums that don't press me into a mosh pit of selfie-snapping tourists and demand hours of my time but instead give me a few inches of elbow room and let me luxuriate in what I'm looking at. The Church in Sag Harbor, N.Y., fits that bill, and its current exhibit, The Ark, a collection of animal and animal-related sculptures expertly curated by the artist Eric Fischl, is pure magic. Some of the figures have precisely the contours and cavities that their flesh-and-blood alter egos would; others immediately call to mind whatever species they're evoking while taking eccentric, whimsical form. There's a horse made of twigs and clay and paper pulp, among other materials, and a wolf made of plaster and straw. Here a life-size cheetah, there a spider bigger than a car — I couldn't stop smiling. If you happen to be anywhere near Sag Harbor and it's not a Tuesday or Wednesday (when The Church is closed), treat yourself.
  • I only recently became acquainted with the Eddie Vedder cover of the 1980s English Beat hit "Save It for Later," but friends tell me that had I been watching "The Bear," which made use of this music, I'd have heard it a while back. It's terrific. Vedder's version turns a mischievous romp into a brooding reflection that maintains just enough of the original's zip. It also perfectly showcases his voice, whose creaks and shadings didn't always come through in the anthems that he belted as the lead singer of Pearl Jam when the band was at its commercial peak in the early 1990s. Do listen.
  • I'm often impressed with the music selections that movies and television series make — with how well a chosen song can capture the mood of a scene or crystallize a narrative. Perfect example: the use of Olivia Dean's "The Hardest Part" at the end of an episode of "And Just Like That …" earlier this month. Don't make me defend my watching of the show; a recent essay in The Times by Jake Nevins brilliantly articulated its complicated hold on many of us. But get to know Dean. I previously shouted out her album "Messy" in this newsletter two years ago and have grown ever fonder of it since.

On a Personal Note

A photograph of a simple white desk with a laptop and office chair on the beach.
Peter Finch/Getty Images

As a journalist who has covered political campaigns, sporting events, earthquakes and even the Miss America pageant, I have written on sweltering buses, crowded bleachers, bumpy flights, trembling sidewalks. As a sometime homebody with a lightweight laptop, I have written at the kitchen table, on the back porch, in bed.

I have never written at a desk that's an object of whimsy on a rug that's merely a wisp in a room with little other furniture.

And yet I see that kind of home "office" in Zillow spread after Zillow spread. (Yes, I'm an online real estate voyeur.) Physically or digitally staged by real estate brokers, it bears no signs of human industry — of human office-ing. No computer. No printer. No file folders. Nothing to muss the scene or mess with that desk.

The desk is almost always diminutive. Sometimes it's in the middle of the room, as if the proximity of outlets is immaterial. Sometimes it's sleek and contemporary, a totem of the streamlined life. Sometimes it's vintage, conjuring thoughts of a bewigged 18th-century gentleman or a petticoated poetess with a quill and an inkwell.

"I blame Emily Dickinson," my neighbor and friend Jeff Iorio, a broker in Chapel Hill, N.C., told me, referring to home buyers' romantic notions of being alone with their thoughts in a simple room in simpler times.

I blame Covid. When the pandemic came along five years ago and the premium on home offices increased, brokers — or rather, the home-zhuzhing professionals they enlist — began turning more of their decorative energies toward rooms that could be designated for remote work, said Adam Dickinson (no relation to Emily), a broker based in Durham, N.C.

Small desks proliferated because those loaners were easiest to transport to and remove from the property getting a fleeting makeover. Their center-of-room placement eliminated the need for much else to be toted in and hauled out. Dickinson conceded that for buyers asked to accept this decluttered fantasy as a practical work space, "there's some suspension of disbelief." But maybe not that much. Because of the portable wireless devices that have replaced much clunky office equipment, he said, "there's some veracity to it."

I'm struck by what it says about how we wish to see ourselves — as spotless paragons of efficiency who can bang out forceful memos and toss off witty emails without any trace of distress or disarray. We have transcended staplers and paper clips. We have vanquished coffee spills.

My own home office is on the second floor, above the garage, with a bulky, blotchy desk and a separate filing cabinet and a phalanx of frayed reference books and a rumpled leather armchair and a doggy bed and knickknacks galore. Emily Dickinson would flee. Marie Kondo would faint. A Zillow spread might pretend it didn't exist.

I guess it promises something inferior to gossamer creativity: actual utility.

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