Democrat Civil War Erupts as Barnes Sparks Party Meltdown in Wisconsin

Paul Riverbank, 12/3/2025Wisconsin’s governor’s race is wide open, with both parties grappling for direction after Evers steps aside. In a field crowded with personalities, the real contest is over who best understands day-to-day struggles—where practical answers, not big slogans, are the path to victory.

Now, with the old guard stepping aside, the Democratic side’s cohesion has started to fray a bit. Mandela Barnes, who many recall nearly overtaking Senator Ron Johnson in a nail-biter of a Senate race, is out in front again. His reentry video flashed across screens on a humid Tuesday, working hard to recapture the unfinished business from last cycle — though what’s really on display is the divide between those fired up by Barnes’ charisma and those wary of past scars. It’s a tension you hear whispered at after-hours gatherings inside the Capitol, never quite landing in the open but ever-present.

Barnes, never one for poetic turns, speaks in terms that sting because they feel so close to home: “Rent. Groceries. Jobs leaving town. Why should our kids have to pull up stakes for Minnesota?” The usual playground scuffles you expect in closed-door caucuses have spilled out into the open, and the list of contenders is already growing longer than a January night. Sara Rodriguez, with her steady, coffee-sipping routines, seems unflappable. Her campaign shows her at kitchen tables, fingers curled around a mug, promising fewer shocks and steadier hands — a message that doesn’t scream but refuses to be ignored.

Then there’s David Crowley, known for highlighting neighborhoods still bearing the scars — and hope — of old factory closures, his stories peppered with supper church fundraisers that double as job fairs. Francesca Hong rallies the small business crowd, while Kelda Roys steps up as the party’s battle-tested committee warrior. Missy Hughes, better known for her economic development briefs than campaign trail flair, is a wildcard — no telling if she’ll catch on. Further down, you’ll spot Zachary Roper and Brett Hulsey, each working hard to work their way upward, sometimes more visible in local hallways than on TV.

An old campaign manager — the type who’s always two steps behind the scenes — shook his head and muttered, “We keep bringing up Mandela’s name. Maybe that tells you about his ceiling.” But Barnes tries to shake the baggage, returning every interview to kitchen-table issues: “Let’s quit the theatrics — Wisconsin has its own way; forget the drama in DC.” He treads carefully, taking shots at both Capitol Hill circuses and what he describes as the lingering divisiveness of the Trump era, aiming to convince doubters he’s no longer only the headline act.

You can sense the Republicans, mostly quiet for now, waiting for an opening. Tom Tiffany stands out up north — in the thick forests near Minocqua and the faded lumber towns, promising “Wisconsin values,” a catchphrase whose meaning seems to shift along every rural highway. Down in Washington County, Josh Schoemann keeps his messages tidy: “Are the schools leaking? Is the bridge plowed?” Meanwhile, Andrew Manske, a medical tech making his first run, prefers punchy town hall answers. It’s not a slate built for glamour headlines, but nothing about this cycle hints at easy wins for either side.

When you step into a Kwik Trip or sit down at Pete’s Diner, the talk isn’t about political tribes or national drama. Even as campaign flyers pile up in breakroom corners, people sweat the details they live: property taxes, the factories with ‘For Sale’ signs nailed up outside, another expensive set of tires when the next cold snap comes. No candidate will carry the day here on slogans alone. These are victories won face-to-face — small, patient conversations, sometimes shaken awake by the sharp edge of a citizen’s worry about bills and winter.

Analysts will point to toss-up headlines or cite the Cook Report, but you don’t need a crystal ball to know what really matters in this stretch of the Midwest. Party infighting threatens to trip up Democrats; on the right, most fear their current optimism will evaporate if they can’t shape a candidate that speaks fluent “everyday” Wisconsin. And as the field thickens with lawn signs and county fair meet-and-greets, the question is the same in every gas station and diner: Who knows the cost of a used snowblower, and who’s willing to shovel before sunrise?

Reporters from the coasts can squint at their maps all they like. In Wisconsin, campaigns often turn on stories shared over hash browns. It might not look dramatic from afar, but those plain-spoken exchanges — in hunting jackets and under fluorescent lights — are where the state’s next political chapter will be written, one conversation at a time.

Summer heat makes itself felt in Wisconsin — muggy afternoons, restless nights, and in Madison’s Capitol, an unusual sort of political unease. Maybe you notice it first in the subtle hush around longtime staffers or in the way lobbyists twist their lanyards in meeting rooms. Ever since Gov. Tony Evers, the soft-spoken figure who pulled Democrats together, announced his exit after this term, folks have been glancing at the horizon, unsure what storm clouds might be rolling their way.Now, with the old guard stepping aside, the Democratic side’s cohesion has started to fray a bit. Mandela Barnes, who many recall nearly overtaking Senator Ron Johnson in a nail-biter of a Senate race, is out in front again. His reentry video flashed across screens on a humid Tuesday, working hard to recapture the unfinished business from last cycle — though what’s really on display is the divide between those fired up by Barnes’ charisma and those wary of past scars. It’s a tension you hear whispered at after-hours gatherings inside the Capitol, never quite landing in the open but ever-present.Barnes, never one for poetic turns, speaks in terms that sting because they feel so close to home: “Rent. Groceries. Jobs leaving town. Why should our kids have to pull up stakes for Minnesota?” The usual playground scuffles you expect in closed-door caucuses have spilled out into the open, and the list of contenders is already growing longer than a January night. Sara Rodriguez, with her steady, coffee-sipping routines, seems unflappable. Her campaign shows her at kitchen tables, fingers curled around a mug, promising fewer shocks and steadier hands — a message that doesn’t scream but refuses to be ignored.Then there’s David Crowley, known for highlighting neighborhoods still bearing the scars — and hope — of old factory closures, his stories peppered with supper church fundraisers that double as job fairs. Francesca Hong rallies the small business crowd, while Kelda Roys steps up as the party’s battle-tested committee warrior. Missy Hughes, better known for her economic development briefs than campaign trail flair, is a wildcard — no telling if she’ll catch on. Further down, you’ll spot Zachary Roper and Brett Hulsey, each working hard to work their way upward, sometimes more visible in local hallways than on TV.An old campaign manager — the type who’s always two steps behind the scenes — shook his head and muttered, “We keep bringing up Mandela’s name. Maybe that tells you about his ceiling.” But Barnes tries to shake the baggage, returning every interview to kitchen-table issues: “Let’s quit the theatrics — Wisconsin has its own way; forget the drama in DC.” He treads carefully, taking shots at both Capitol Hill circuses and what he describes as the lingering divisiveness of the Trump era, aiming to convince doubters he’s no longer only the headline act.You can sense the Republicans, mostly quiet for now, waiting for an opening. Tom Tiffany stands out up north — in the thick forests near Minocqua and the faded lumber towns, promising “Wisconsin values,” a catchphrase whose meaning seems to shift along every rural highway. Down in Washington County, Josh Schoemann keeps his messages tidy: “Are the schools leaking? Is the bridge plowed?” Meanwhile, Andrew Manske, a medical tech making his first run, prefers punchy town hall answers. It’s not a slate built for glamour headlines, but nothing about this cycle hints at easy wins for either side.When you step into a Kwik Trip or sit down at Pete’s Diner, the talk isn’t about political tribes or national drama. Even as campaign flyers pile up in breakroom corners, people sweat the details they live: property taxes, the factories with ‘For Sale’ signs nailed up outside, another expensive set of tires when the next cold snap comes. No candidate will carry the day here on slogans alone. These are victories won face-to-face — small, patient conversations, sometimes shaken awake by the sharp edge of a citizen’s worry about bills and winter.Analysts will point to toss-up headlines or cite the Cook Report, but you don’t need a crystal ball to know what really matters in this stretch of the Midwest. Party infighting threatens to trip up Democrats; on the right, most fear their current optimism will evaporate if they can’t shape a candidate that speaks fluent “everyday” Wisconsin. And as the field thickens with lawn signs and county fair meet-and-greets, the question is the same in every gas station and diner: Who knows the cost of a used snowblower, and who’s willing to shovel before sunrise?Reporters from the coasts can squint at their maps all they like. In Wisconsin, campaigns often turn on stories shared over hash browns. It might not look dramatic from afar, but those plain-spoken exchanges — in hunting jackets and under fluorescent lights — are where the state’s next political chapter will be written, one conversation at a time.