Democratic Party leaders are desperate to identify the so-called most electable candidates for the 2028 presidential campaign. As soon as the November midterms are over, the primary season begins.
Political professionals will deploy armies of pollsters armed with the latest data and statistics to vet every individual who enters the race. Given the existential threat that many party members believe President Donald Trump and MAGA Republicanism pose to the nation, their highest aim is reclaiming power. For now, policy and ideological debates must be set aside. The overriding question is simple: Which candidate is most likely to help Democrats defeat Republicans on Election Day in 2028?
Democratic Party leaders are desperate to identify the so-called most electable candidates for the 2028 presidential campaign. As soon as the November midterms are over, the primary season begins.
Political professionals will deploy armies of pollsters armed with the latest data and statistics to vet every individual who enters the race. Given the existential threat that many party members believe President Donald Trump and MAGA Republicanism pose to the nation, their highest aim is reclaiming power. For now, policy and ideological debates must be set aside. The overriding question is simple: Which candidate is most likely to help Democrats defeat Republicans on Election Day in 2028?
While this issue has surfaced repeatedly in recent midterm contests, those intraparty debates were merely a preview of the far more consequential battles that will unfold during the presidential primaries.
The problem is that determining who is “most electable” is rarely easy. Modern U. S. history is filled with examples of candidates initially dismissed as unelectable who went on to win both their party’s nomination and the presidency. In 1976, former Georgia Gov. Jimmy Carter, who had faced the question “Jimmy Who?” after announcing his candidacy, won out over far better-known Democrats in the primaries before going on to defeat President Gerald Ford. In 1980, Ronald Reagan, still regarded by many as an anti-establishment figure whose conservatism seemed too far to the right for the electorate, overcame more traditional Republican figures such as George H. W. Bush and then defeated Carter, launching a two-term presidency that transformed U. S. politics.
Most recently, Trump’s improbable victories in both in 2016 and 2024 stunned much of the political establishment. Yet Trump quickly evolved from a political outsider into the defining figure of a generation of Republican politics.
Perhaps the most dramatic example of an ostensibly unelectable candidate prevailing was Barack Obama. In 2008, he defied the nation’s racial history and the widespread assumption that a Black man could not win the presidency. During the primaries, he defeated a well-known, safer, and more established candidate, Hillary Clinton, before going on to win the general election against the widely respected long-time senator John McCain. His election remains a powerful reminder of the dangers in political parties throwing their weight behind the candidate who appears safest. Such predictions are extraordinarily difficult to make, and the candidate perceived as the riskiest choice can sometimes offer the clearest path to power.
When then-Illinois Sen. Barack Obama announced his candidacy for president on Feb. 10, 2007, few people believed he had much of a chance. The prospect that a Black man with relatively limited political experience named Barack Hussein Obama could succeed President George W. Bush seemed highly improbable. Although the Rev. Jesse Jackson had demonstrated that a Black American could be competitive in the primaries in 1984 and 1988, many liberals doubted that enough voters were able and willing to dismantle the political barriers of race. And although Obama had stirred the nation with his address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston—insisting that the red-blue partisan divisions reflected the needs of politicians, political consultants, and the media rather than voters themselves—he still was relatively unknown.
Besides the issue of race, the nation was passing through a turbulent period. Still recovering from the trauma of 9/11, the United States was mired in Iraq, where years of war had consumed enormous resources in the country’s largest military quagmire since Vietnam. Meanwhile, operations in Afghanistan showed little sign of ending anytime soon. Economic troubles were also mounting.
Plus, Democrats already had a formidable candidate ready to go: Hillary Rodham Clinton, one of the most experienced and qualified candidates to run for the presidency, and someone with a deep bench of support within the party.
Yet the experts—and many voters—were missing how the times had changed. Putting aside the unpredictability of any campaign, there had been long-term shifts that they were not processing. Part of the reason that predicting candidate success had become more difficult had to do with changes in the nomination process that began in the aftermath of the tumultuous 1968 Democratic National Convention.
Through the McGovern-Fraser Commission, the Democrats had diversified the kinds of delegates who attended the convention (ensuring that there would be greater representation of women, racial minorities, and other previously underrepresented groups) while entrenching a system in which nominees would be chosen through primaries and caucuses rather than by the party machine. This change—the impact of which became especially apparent when Carter won the nomination in 1976, and which Republicans then replicated—created much more space for unconventional, less established candidates to succeed (if they could connect with voters, master television media, and put together effective grassroots operations, that is).
As a result of the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal, and broader political developments of the era, public trust in government never fully recovered. Claims of extensive experience could easily sound like evidence of complicity in a broken political system. This public culture fostered an electoral environment that was volatile and unpredictable, one in which outsiders far from the political mainstream could capture voters’ imaginations with promises of dramatic change.
Within the Democratic Party, demographic shifts profoundly transformed the party’s composition between the 1960s and early 2000s. Once dominated by Southern white conservatives, urban ethnic voters, intellectuals, organized labor, and some Western constituencies, the party changed dramatically after passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Its base increasingly included Black and Latino Americans, naturalized immigrants, college-educated women, and younger voters. By the early 2000s, many Democrats were open to, and eager for, a broader range of candidates who reflected the United States of 2008 rather than that of 1964.
All of these factors helped create a foundation that supported Obama when he launched his campaign, making outdated assumptions about who constituted a safe electoral bet far less relevant. There was also the fundamental nature of democratic politics itself. In a healthy democratic system, candidates who appear to have long odds can defeat entrenched frontrunners.
Above all, Obama assembled a talented campaign team, led by former Chicago journalist David Axelrod, that developed a sophisticated strategy centered on grassroots organizing, new social media, and a sharp focus on caucus states. Much as Carter’s campaign had in 1976, Obama’s team understood the advantages of the proportional allocation system, emphasizing caucuses and smaller states while Clinton concentrated on large states and Super Tuesday contests. Obama’s fundraising operation, built on small-dollar donations and a strong ground game, generated unprecedented sums of money. Obama also benefited from a gifted team of speechwriters, led by Jon Favreau, whose messages resonated with an electorate eager for change.
Obama himself was a visionary candidate with immense charisma, and his steadiness allowed him to navigate both the media frenzies and smear campaigns that emerge in nearly every election. Though many commentators later questioned themes of his 2004 convention speech, he had laid out an aspirational vision of the country that resonated with independent voters who were tired of hyperpolarization. He also remained committed to his campaign strategy and refused to be distracted by every breaking story (what he often called “the noise”). When moments of genuine political crisis demanded a response, such as the controversy surrounding his relationship with Rev. Jeremiah Wright, Obama understood how to deliver. In fact, he often transformed them into opportunities to reinforce his message and strengthen his connection with voters.
Then there was the broader context of the campaign. By the height of the primaries, the U. S. public had grown deeply frustrated with the disastrous war in Iraq, making any candidate associated with the conflict vulnerable. This included Clinton, whose vote to authorize Bush’s use of force in Iraq remained a significant political liability, as well as the Republican Party more broadly, which was closely associated with the war. Once Obama defeated Clinton and secured the Democratic nomination, the political environment strongly favored his candidacy. The ongoing war, the financial crisis of 2008, and Bush’s historically low approval ratings created formidable challenges for any Republican nominee. McCain was dragged down by the political moment in which he was running. Unforced errors, most notably the selection of Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate, only compounded the problems.
By the time that Obama stood in Chicago’s Grant Park on Nov. 4, 2008 to deliver his victory speech before throngs of supporters and a global television audience, his victory had taken on an air of inevitability. The election of the first Black president appeared to many as a victory not only for Obama but for the country itself, a powerful affirmation that significant racial barriers had been overcome through the democratic process.
Yet the euphoria obscured how improbably his success had seemed when he first launched his campaign. Obama himself appreciated what had happened. “I was never the likeliest candidate for this office,” Obama said during the celebration in Chicago. “Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington,” it was built by “the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from this earth.” In 2012, voters affirmed their choice. He continues to remain one of the most popular figures in U. S. politics.
As the primaries approach, party leaders should allow candidates and voters to shape their evaluations rather than rely on preconceived judgments about who is most likely to win in a general election. Too often, that kind of reasoning leads parties to rally behind weak candidates while overlooking others who might have become successful presidents had they received the support necessary to secure victory.
The Democratic primaries demonstrate that key parts of the electorate are changing in fundamental ways. As Republicans learned with Trump, these shifts require party leaders to be more nimble, dynamic, and flexible in how they respond to candidacies as they emerge. If they fail to adapt, they risk sidelining a candidate with the potential to become the next Obama, someone capable of helping lead the nation beyond the MAGA era.
Julian E. Zelizer is a columnist at Foreign Policy and a professor of history and public affairs at Princeton University. He is the author of The Long View, a newsletter putting the news in perspective. His most recent book is The Presidency of Joseph R. Biden Jr.: A First Historical Assessment. X: @julianzelizer
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