GOP Eyes Wisconsin Comeback as Democrats Flounder in Crowded Field

Paul Riverbank, 12/3/2025Wisconsin’s governor race heats up as both parties vie for practical, hometown-focused leadership.

If politics in Wisconsin ever had a predictable season, that time is gone. The Democrats, keen not to fumble momentum, have their own scrum forming. Mandela Barnes, who nearly beat Ron Johnson not so long ago, is back. His 2022 near-win still draws mention, quietly, especially when strategists from Milwaukee or Eau Claire gather over beers: Was that the closest Barnes will ever get, or just the beginning? No one wants to say it too loudly—the state is too tight for cockiness—but Barnes’ pitch is plain enough: he’s talking rent checks, job boards, and grocery bills, not political combat.

“Let’s get things done the Wisconsin way,” he said at his kickoff, waving off labels with the shrug of someone who knows the state doesn’t care who gets credit, as long as the driveway is plowed and the paper arrives more days than it doesn’t. This is a lived-in sort of populism, familiar at the VFW, and yes, at the corner bar.

But don’t count the others out. Sara Rodriguez, who as lieutenant governor championed childcare subsidies and rural hospitals, doesn’t have the flash but wins respect for steadfastness—her campaign ads, filmed in kitchens with coffee cups, feel like you’ve dropped in on a neighbor who just happens to govern. Milwaukee County’s David Crowley rolls out stories of neighborhoods bouncing back, never straying far from personal stories: the shuttered factory down the block, the church supper that doubled as a job fair during lean years. Add Kelda Roys and Francesca Hong—one known for fiery committee speeches, the other just as likely to talk about running a restaurant as policy—and you see a real contest, not a coronation.

Missy Hughes might be the wild card, with more hours logged in legal briefs than in campaign rallies, while Zachary Roper and Brett Hulsey bring energy that is sometimes earnest, sometimes a little eccentric, but—this being Wisconsin—brave for stepping up.

Republicans know there’s an opening, and the sense is they can read it as well as anyone. Tom Tiffany, whose support runs deep among paper mill towns and forests, talks up “real Wisconsin values”—a phrase that means something slightly different in Rhinelander than in Racine, but registers all the same. Josh Schoemann, hailing from Washington County, delivers lines so plainspoken they sometimes feel old-fashioned—less talk of “the base” or “blue waves,” more chatter about whether the school roof is leaking. Andrew Manske, by trade a medical tech, seems especially at ease on the local morning shows. Not the usual parade of familiar faces.

It’s a lot—almost too much, in fact. Talk to folks between shifts at Kwik Trip, and you’ll hear little about ideology and plenty about property taxes, repairs that can’t wait, or whether the next plant closure will be the last. On any given Tuesday, what really matters isn’t always on the campaign flyers littering the breakroom counter.

When Barnes says, “Your kids shouldn’t have to move to Minnesota to pay their bills,” it lands harder than a hundred slogans. But in a state where history swings on margins small enough to fit in the palm of your hand—remember 2018, when Evers won on a sliver?—every word, every slip, might tip the balance.

Of course, the campaign drama will unfurl on the screen and in mailboxes. But what lingers, here, is more elemental: battered yard signs peeking out beneath November frost, flannel shirts lining up for eggs and hash, and a stubborn, practical hunger for someone willing to listen. Wisconsin, now as ever, expects its leaders to know the price of a good shovel as well as a policy briefing.

Watch for more than slogans—watch for the candidate who can sit at the counter, nurse a cup of coffee, and listen to a dozen versions of the same worry. Because, in this state, that’s precisely where victories are forged: quietly, and face to face. What happens here will send a ripple far beyond the borders traced in red barns and maple groves, shaping the future one quietly determined voter at a time.

In Madison these days, you can almost taste the anxiety in the air—or maybe that's just the lingering chill off Lake Mendota, mixing with something electric. The governor’s office, for years a seat of calm under Tony Evers, is suddenly anyone’s prize. The announcement that Evers won’t run again rattled veteran lobbyists and voters alike; you can see it on the faces of staffers hustling through the shadowed arches of the Capitol rotunda, or in the hearty debates over coffee at the Arby’s on East Washington.If politics in Wisconsin ever had a predictable season, that time is gone. The Democrats, keen not to fumble momentum, have their own scrum forming. Mandela Barnes, who nearly beat Ron Johnson not so long ago, is back. His 2022 near-win still draws mention, quietly, especially when strategists from Milwaukee or Eau Claire gather over beers: Was that the closest Barnes will ever get, or just the beginning? No one wants to say it too loudly—the state is too tight for cockiness—but Barnes’ pitch is plain enough: he’s talking rent checks, job boards, and grocery bills, not political combat.“Let’s get things done the Wisconsin way,” he said at his kickoff, waving off labels with the shrug of someone who knows the state doesn’t care who gets credit, as long as the driveway is plowed and the paper arrives more days than it doesn’t. This is a lived-in sort of populism, familiar at the VFW, and yes, at the corner bar.But don’t count the others out. Sara Rodriguez, who as lieutenant governor championed childcare subsidies and rural hospitals, doesn’t have the flash but wins respect for steadfastness—her campaign ads, filmed in kitchens with coffee cups, feel like you’ve dropped in on a neighbor who just happens to govern. Milwaukee County’s David Crowley rolls out stories of neighborhoods bouncing back, never straying far from personal stories: the shuttered factory down the block, the church supper that doubled as a job fair during lean years. Add Kelda Roys and Francesca Hong—one known for fiery committee speeches, the other just as likely to talk about running a restaurant as policy—and you see a real contest, not a coronation.Missy Hughes might be the wild card, with more hours logged in legal briefs than in campaign rallies, while Zachary Roper and Brett Hulsey bring energy that is sometimes earnest, sometimes a little eccentric, but—this being Wisconsin—brave for stepping up.Republicans know there’s an opening, and the sense is they can read it as well as anyone. Tom Tiffany, whose support runs deep among paper mill towns and forests, talks up “real Wisconsin values”—a phrase that means something slightly different in Rhinelander than in Racine, but registers all the same. Josh Schoemann, hailing from Washington County, delivers lines so plainspoken they sometimes feel old-fashioned—less talk of “the base” or “blue waves,” more chatter about whether the school roof is leaking. Andrew Manske, by trade a medical tech, seems especially at ease on the local morning shows. Not the usual parade of familiar faces.It’s a lot—almost too much, in fact. Talk to folks between shifts at Kwik Trip, and you’ll hear little about ideology and plenty about property taxes, repairs that can’t wait, or whether the next plant closure will be the last. On any given Tuesday, what really matters isn’t always on the campaign flyers littering the breakroom counter.When Barnes says, “Your kids shouldn’t have to move to Minnesota to pay their bills,” it lands harder than a hundred slogans. But in a state where history swings on margins small enough to fit in the palm of your hand—remember 2018, when Evers won on a sliver?—every word, every slip, might tip the balance.Of course, the campaign drama will unfurl on the screen and in mailboxes. But what lingers, here, is more elemental: battered yard signs peeking out beneath November frost, flannel shirts lining up for eggs and hash, and a stubborn, practical hunger for someone willing to listen. Wisconsin, now as ever, expects its leaders to know the price of a good shovel as well as a policy briefing.Watch for more than slogans—watch for the candidate who can sit at the counter, nurse a cup of coffee, and listen to a dozen versions of the same worry. Because, in this state, that’s precisely where victories are forged: quietly, and face to face. What happens here will send a ripple far beyond the borders traced in red barns and maple groves, shaping the future one quietly determined voter at a time.