National conventions are quadrennial affairs that allow lower-rung politicians, such as Illinois Senate candidate Barack Obama, to get national exposure, become famous, and take over the world four years later. And this year’s Republican convention, a four-night blow-out television spectacular starring Donald Trump, should in theory be the perfect avenue for that. The ratings are going to be amazing. It’s going to be great. Unless you are a Republican candidate in a remotely unsafe race at any level of government.
Few of the party’s rising stars, figures with cross-partisan appeal, or blue- or purple-state candidates are planning on speaking or even attending the convention. Politico surveyed “50 prominent governors, senators and House members to gauge their interest in speaking. Only a few said they were open to it, and everyone else said they weren’t planning on it, didn’t want to or weren’t going to Cleveland at all—or simply didn’t respond.”
These aren’t just figures such as Govs. John Kasich, Larry Hogan, Bruce Rauner, and Charlie Baker or Sens. Ted Cruz, Jeff Flake, Lindsey Graham, and Ben Sasse who still haven’t endorsed Trump and might not be let inside the gates—an arrangement they’re fine with. There’s a whole class of cautious “support the nominee”–tier figures who don’t want anything to do with Don Trump’s convention, either. Sens. Kelly Ayotte and John McCain won’t be there. Sen. Rob Portman, whose state is hosting the convention, will probably just show up in Cleveland for the swank off-campus lobbyist parties, like Slate is doing. South Carolina Rep. Trey Gowdy is taking his family to the beach. Other ascendant GOP members of Congress such as Reps. Elise Stefanik, Richard Hudson, Mia Love, Carlos Curbelo, and Sean Duffy all have better things to do, and neither chair of the two GOP congressional committees has plans to speak.
It stinks for Republican politicians who are in competitive re-election fights to have Donald Trump as their presidential nominee. No one wants to be near that.
But here’s something for these dignitaries to consider: The convention’s not going to be canceled. And most people turning on the idiot box to watch it will come away from their viewing believing that whatever they just saw was the Republican Party’s pitch to them in 2016. If no one with anything resembling broad appeal speaks at the convention, then the programming will consist of the C-list celebrities Trump brings in, Newt Gingrich going on about what really grinds his gears for several hours at a time, crank politicians from deep-red districts whose constituents voted overwhelmingly for Trump, and Mikey from Staten Island offering extended commentary about the American League East. This is exactly what I want to watch at the Republican convention—this is all I want to watch at any time, any place, really—but I’m not in charge of managing the image of one of America’s two major political parties.
These respectable-type GOP politicians can flee from the convention, but they can’t prevent that (R) from appearing next to their names on the ballot. That (R) is what’s going to be defined in Cleveland, with or without their input.
So they should speak! Participate! They can say whatever they want onstage. A full-on attack on Trump by name might be too gauche for the occasion, but the convention-speech form of subtweeting Trump can’t be hard to slip in. The choice is either that or ceding full ownership of the Republican brand to Donald Trump, which is precisely what their Democratic opponents in down-ballot races want for this fall.
