The same could not be said about Platner, who announced his populist Senate campaign last summer, seemingly out of nowhere. An oyster farmer and a war on terrorism veteran, Platner was gruff and tough—and looked like the answer for a party struggling to reach working-class voters and men. As it turned out, he also carried a ton of baggage. Soon after Mills announced her candidacy, nuclear-grade opposition research began falling.
Let’s get this out of the way: Graham Platner isn’t a Nazi. He had a Nazi tattoo, sure, but he doesn’t anymore. He got it covered up in October, a few days after the world learned about the Totenkopf symbol he got inked on his chest in Croatia while on military leave two decades ago. If one can get a Nazi tattoo innocently, then Platner almost certainly did. He says he didn’t know its true meaning at the time, and there’s little reason to doubt him. There is nothing in any of the statements that Platner has given in town halls, interviews, or other campaign events to suggest that he’s a bigot either, though he did write some bad stuff about Black people and women on the internet a few years ago. (For what it’s worth, he also said white rural voters were stupid and racist.) When those posts were unearthed, Platner apologized, citing his PTSD and political and cultural ignorance. Still, it’s hard to think of any recent Democratic campaign that could survive having to make so many disclosures.
It’s also hard to think of a more lethal, better-orchestrated political hit—or one better designed to showcase the value of Democratic power brokers. There was just one problem: Mills had baggage, too. The DSCC had no idea. Platner knew it the moment she entered the race. “DC’s choice has lost to Susan Collins five times in a row,” Platner posted on social media shortly after the DSCC endorsed Mills. “We can’t afford a sixth.” There were no Reddit posts lurking in Mills’s past, no fascist tattoos hidden on her body. Instead, she had a different problem: She was endorsed by the Democratic elite.
In his first town hall since the oppo started raining down, Platner apologized to a full house of 600 in Ogunquit, population 1,577, and then flipped the script: “The machine is turned on because it is scared,” he said. The attacks against him, he argued, were reflective of a party elite that had lost touch with its voters: “If the party was run by the people that were in it, it would be the party you want it to be.”
Not so long ago, any one of the scandals Graham Platner faced in mid-October would likely have sunk his campaign. The race is now up for grabs—if for a while his lead was over 30 points, it has since shrunk significantly—but Platner is still in the game. Some recent polls suggest that he has at least a small but stubborn advantage, and multiple surveys have indicated that he may be a more formidable challenger to Collins than Maine’s current governor. That is partly a result of Platner’s charisma and populist platform, but it is also a result of the growing frustration and anger many Democratic voters feel toward their leaders.
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