Pelosi Declares War: Democrats Plot Comeback While Party Rivals Clash for Power

Paul Riverbank, 12/29/2025Nancy Pelosi sets a bold tone for Democrats eyeing a comeback, amidst a turbulent landscape of rival ambitions for 2028. Key figures like Gavin Newsom, Kamala Harris, and Pete Buttigieg navigate their paths while the GOP grapples with its own identity crisis, creating a battleground of uncertainty.

That optimism, or perhaps sheer willpower, comes as a sharp counterpoint to the muddled, in-flux presidential jockeying that’s quietly picking up for 2028. For all Pelosi’s confident forecasting, the truth behind the scenes is more fractured. Up and down both party ranks, hints of ambition are turning into open moves, though rarely in sync and almost never quietly.

Democrats, for their part, are starring in a crowded audition. Consider the case of California’s Governor Gavin Newsom. Sacramento is a long way from Capitol Hill, but you wouldn’t know it from Newsom’s omnipresence. He’s weighed in on everything from redistricting procedures to the cultural schisms dividing Democrats nationwide. Some bowled over by his bluntness, others bristling—especially when he sidestepped the independent commission to recast California’s districts in favor of his own party. It’s the kind of move that ruffles idealists, yet it’s hard to argue with Newsom’s knack for grabbing headlines and, increasingly, topping early polls.

Meanwhile, Kamala Harris is running her own gauntlet—sometimes literally. Her memoirs have been moving briskly, crowds have filled her event halls, but polls are less forgiving. Harris’s numbers slipped from a once-optimistic 27 percent to a more sobering 21. And she’s been looking backward, dissecting old chapters—such as when she admitted, “at 81, Joe got tired”—rather than consistently laying out a future vision. Sparring matches with the likes of Pennsylvania’s Governor Josh Shapiro and former Secretary Pete Buttigieg have added some edge, but they’re no substitute for the clarion call many Democrats are still waiting for.

As for Buttigieg, he’s logged the miles—literally relocating his family to Michigan and adopting an older, more distinguished look (some would say for effect). Farewell, “boy wonder” image; hello, ambition. Yet, there remains a stark divide. Urban professionals may gravitate toward him, but polls stubbornly report abysmal support among Black and Latino voters. In fact, an August survey saw precisely zero African American respondents listing Buttigieg as their pick—hardly an auspicious omen.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, for her part, hasn’t launched an insurgent campaign—yet. Instead, she’s been busy inside the party tent, stumping alongside Bernie Sanders, and even lending her voice emphatically to Harris’s corner when progressive allies wavered. Her role as the face of democratic socialism looks secure, but questions linger whether that support base spans wide enough for a primary, let alone a general election. Time will tell.

Some candidates are carving out paths built less on rhetoric and more on results. Take Ro Khanna—after months of wrangling, it’s his bipartisan drive to make the Epstein files public that stands out. This wasn’t just a Twitter campaign; Khanna delivered, winning praise from corners of Congress often at odds with each other. It’s the kind of achievement that builds unexpected credibility. Others, like Cory Booker, went for spectacle—marathon floor speeches—while Ruben Gallego, in a curious twist, cast a vote for a Trump-approved immigration bill that may boomerang depending on the party’s leftward drift.

And then there’s the subtler scrum playing out among the nation’s governors. JB Pritzker of Illinois has gone all-in on progressive badges; Gretchen Whitmer, Wes Moore, and Josh Shapiro have tried to stay above the statehouse fray. National scandals have benched some, legal wrangles others, but none rival Newsom’s capacity to command the national mic.

On the Republican side, the dynamic is riskier—edgier, in some ways. JD Vance, current vice president, stands at the center of the tent. In style, he’s a Trump heir but with enough variation in tone to keep observers guessing. His polling leads are offset by a persistent likability gap with broader swaths of voters. Comments like, “under the Trump administration, you don’t have to apologize for being white anymore,” tell you exactly who he hopes to energize, and who will be left cold.

Other would-be leaders are biding their time. Marco Rubio, now Secretary of State, keeps a careful low profile—no fireworks, no headlong rush toward a presidential run, but sources suggest he’d back Vance before mounting his own challenge. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, after a split with Trump over foreign policy, isn’t done chasing headlines; she’s rebranded as “America First” beyond Trump, gambling on the party base’s hunger for something even purer. Offstage, Utah’s Governor Spencer Cox counters the drama with calm—literally handing out cookies, hoping to model a less divisive brand of Republicanism in case the party ever wants to pivot away from its recent tumult.

Ted Cruz is pushing for a return to hawkish foreign policy, but his numbers don’t stack up beside Newsom’s. Other high-profile GOP governors have faded from the main stage—wrapped in investigations or just unable to break through the national chatter.

Add it all together, and you have a kind of restless uncertainty. Pelosi has framed the Republican House as a rubber stamp for the president—“Right now, the Republicans in Congress have abolished the Congress. They just do what the president insists that they do. That will be over.” Whether Democrats can actually reassert themselves, or Republicans can reinvent their presence, is the real test looming.

One gets the sense, watching this whirlwind of announcements, stratagems, and resets, that both parties are hungry for a moment—a personality, an inflection, a line in the sand—that will stick. Until then, the nation waits and watches, every new speech or endorsement dissected for hints of who might fight, and who might simply fade into the background.

Washington isn’t known for its subtlety, but every now and then, someone skips even the appearance of hedging. There was Nancy Pelosi, squarely facing the camera, leaving zero room for doubt: “No, no, when the Democrats win the House back. We will.” No tap-dancing, no caveats; just certainty. Anyone expecting the former Speaker to mince words about her party’s future would have been disappointed.That optimism, or perhaps sheer willpower, comes as a sharp counterpoint to the muddled, in-flux presidential jockeying that’s quietly picking up for 2028. For all Pelosi’s confident forecasting, the truth behind the scenes is more fractured. Up and down both party ranks, hints of ambition are turning into open moves, though rarely in sync and almost never quietly.Democrats, for their part, are starring in a crowded audition. Consider the case of California’s Governor Gavin Newsom. Sacramento is a long way from Capitol Hill, but you wouldn’t know it from Newsom’s omnipresence. He’s weighed in on everything from redistricting procedures to the cultural schisms dividing Democrats nationwide. Some bowled over by his bluntness, others bristling—especially when he sidestepped the independent commission to recast California’s districts in favor of his own party. It’s the kind of move that ruffles idealists, yet it’s hard to argue with Newsom’s knack for grabbing headlines and, increasingly, topping early polls.Meanwhile, Kamala Harris is running her own gauntlet—sometimes literally. Her memoirs have been moving briskly, crowds have filled her event halls, but polls are less forgiving. Harris’s numbers slipped from a once-optimistic 27 percent to a more sobering 21. And she’s been looking backward, dissecting old chapters—such as when she admitted, “at 81, Joe got tired”—rather than consistently laying out a future vision. Sparring matches with the likes of Pennsylvania’s Governor Josh Shapiro and former Secretary Pete Buttigieg have added some edge, but they’re no substitute for the clarion call many Democrats are still waiting for.As for Buttigieg, he’s logged the miles—literally relocating his family to Michigan and adopting an older, more distinguished look (some would say for effect). Farewell, “boy wonder” image; hello, ambition. Yet, there remains a stark divide. Urban professionals may gravitate toward him, but polls stubbornly report abysmal support among Black and Latino voters. In fact, an August survey saw precisely zero African American respondents listing Buttigieg as their pick—hardly an auspicious omen.Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, for her part, hasn’t launched an insurgent campaign—yet. Instead, she’s been busy inside the party tent, stumping alongside Bernie Sanders, and even lending her voice emphatically to Harris’s corner when progressive allies wavered. Her role as the face of democratic socialism looks secure, but questions linger whether that support base spans wide enough for a primary, let alone a general election. Time will tell.Some candidates are carving out paths built less on rhetoric and more on results. Take Ro Khanna—after months of wrangling, it’s his bipartisan drive to make the Epstein files public that stands out. This wasn’t just a Twitter campaign; Khanna delivered, winning praise from corners of Congress often at odds with each other. It’s the kind of achievement that builds unexpected credibility. Others, like Cory Booker, went for spectacle—marathon floor speeches—while Ruben Gallego, in a curious twist, cast a vote for a Trump-approved immigration bill that may boomerang depending on the party’s leftward drift.And then there’s the subtler scrum playing out among the nation’s governors. JB Pritzker of Illinois has gone all-in on progressive badges; Gretchen Whitmer, Wes Moore, and Josh Shapiro have tried to stay above the statehouse fray. National scandals have benched some, legal wrangles others, but none rival Newsom’s capacity to command the national mic.On the Republican side, the dynamic is riskier—edgier, in some ways. JD Vance, current vice president, stands at the center of the tent. In style, he’s a Trump heir but with enough variation in tone to keep observers guessing. His polling leads are offset by a persistent likability gap with broader swaths of voters. Comments like, “under the Trump administration, you don’t have to apologize for being white anymore,” tell you exactly who he hopes to energize, and who will be left cold.Other would-be leaders are biding their time. Marco Rubio, now Secretary of State, keeps a careful low profile—no fireworks, no headlong rush toward a presidential run, but sources suggest he’d back Vance before mounting his own challenge. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, after a split with Trump over foreign policy, isn’t done chasing headlines; she’s rebranded as “America First” beyond Trump, gambling on the party base’s hunger for something even purer. Offstage, Utah’s Governor Spencer Cox counters the drama with calm—literally handing out cookies, hoping to model a less divisive brand of Republicanism in case the party ever wants to pivot away from its recent tumult.Ted Cruz is pushing for a return to hawkish foreign policy, but his numbers don’t stack up beside Newsom’s. Other high-profile GOP governors have faded from the main stage—wrapped in investigations or just unable to break through the national chatter.Add it all together, and you have a kind of restless uncertainty. Pelosi has framed the Republican House as a rubber stamp for the president—“Right now, the Republicans in Congress have abolished the Congress. They just do what the president insists that they do. That will be over.” Whether Democrats can actually reassert themselves, or Republicans can reinvent their presence, is the real test looming.One gets the sense, watching this whirlwind of announcements, stratagems, and resets, that both parties are hungry for a moment—a personality, an inflection, a line in the sand—that will stick. Until then, the nation waits and watches, every new speech or endorsement dissected for hints of who might fight, and who might simply fade into the background.