Watching Mandela Barnes Tailor His Tune in Real Time

Wisconsin Lieutenant Governor Mandela Barnes, in Milwaukee, Wis., August 18, 2020. (Brian Snyder/Pool/Reuters)

He can speak union, he can speak white progressive, but he doesn’t seem capable of speaking plain old Wisconsinite.

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He can speak union, he can speak white progressive, but he doesn’t seem capable of speaking plain old Wisconsinite.

Green Bay, Wis. — I reported earlier on Wisconsin Senate candidate Mandela Barnes’s stop by Sturgeon Bay, where abortion and Roe were the unmistakable themes as the Democrat courted an affluent audience. His subsequent swing by the Green Bay Labor Temple illustrated how easily he can adjust the dials.

Social issues were not mentioned beyond a vague “love who you wish to love.” Otherwise, it was all kitchen table, framed by class warfare.

Before a crush of perhaps 80 in the 20-stool horseshoe bar at the labor temple — a shared space for local chapters’ use — on Thursday, Barnes was introduced by Hailey Metoxen, an installer from IBEW Local 158. Two years ago, Hailey was a directionless high schooler who has since joined the union with her dad and risen far enough to be the choice to introduce a prospective senator. She was nervous but verifiably earnest, offering a moving tribute to organized labor’s benefits and brotherhood.

In working-class Green Bay — where Orange Goop is the No. 1 hand crème — Barnes leaned into his family’s history with the labor movement. He repeatedly referenced his grandfather, who moved to Milwaukee from the Deep South after service in World War II, became part of the steelworkers’ union, and functioned as the catalyst for the generational wealth necessary to allow Barnes to do what he is doing today. It’s too bad his grandfather isn’t running for the Senate.

Local union members turn out en masse to hear Mandela Barnes and U.S. Labor Secretary Martin Walsh speak at the Labor Temple in Green Bay, Wis. (Luther Abel)

Barnes’s flexibility on the stump is something of a known quantity; in his race against Republican senator Ron Johnson, he’s faced criticism for changing his tune on issues such as cutting police budgets. While fodder for his opponent, this quality, in more-subtle demonstrations, lends him obvious advantages in settings such as these.

As someone who is eternally grateful to his forebears for their soul-grinding sacrifice in the lumber mills and farm fields of 19th-century Wisconsin on his behalf and the resulting extension of wealth through the decades and centuries, I admit I found Thursday’s speech moving, and more than that, it was correct for the crowd. It was tight, punchy, and elicited applause organically. If the entire state worked for a union, the man would win by 50 points.


In physical presentation, Barnes eschewed the yuppy maroon vest he’d worn earlier, keeping only the everyman black and white flannel. The plywood and fir deconstructed stump made another appearance. Lip service was consciously paid to the “Fight for 15” university students who walked in just before the event’s commencement, with Barnes declaring, “$15/hr should absolutely be the minimum wage in 2022.” The thrust of his speech was a stark departure from his words for Sturgeon Bay.

But there was more: U.S. Secretary of Labor Martin Walsh was in the building, and he certainly is a labor guy through and through. While speaking in favor of Barnes — in the most viscous Boston accent ever recorded west of Egremont — Secretary Walsh waxed on about the many advantages of organizations for the working man and woman. It appeared Walsh occasionally had to recollect that it was not he who was running for the position of Wisconsin’s junior senator, so passionate was his delivery. The crowd couldn’t understand exactly what he was saying, but there seemed to be universal appreciation for the secretary’s vehement defense of labor.




This union-shop stop marked a strong performance for Barnes in the final stretch of the race, as he tries to close a narrow but persistent gap against Johnson. It also revealed his greatest weakness — his events only draw people already planning to vote for him. There weren’t semi-interested third parties there except for me. Barnes has star power among Wisconsin Democrats — a grown man next to me said in a hush afterward, “He’s so good” — but they’ve had to vote for a parade of gormless nobodies for years (Tony Evers, Tom Barrett, etc.), and any change is revivifying for the Democratic body politic. Barnes can speak union, he can speak white progressive, but he doesn’t seem capable of speaking plain old Wisconsinite.

Luther Ray Abel is an Associate Editor for National Review. A veteran of the U.S. Navy, Luther is a proud native of Sheboygan, Wis.
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