FRANK BRUNI: Black, female, Republican -- and gone
Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2018 -- It's the story of Mia Love's Republican Party. Of what it once realized about the future and how it slouched backward into the past. Trading the elixir of hope for the toxin of fear. It charts Republicans' ugly drift under Donald Trump, who rooted for her defeat with all that he said on the campaign trail and has done in the White House. He has sown disdain for the likes of Love, a daughter of Haitian immigrants who became the first black Republican woman elected to Congress.
Posted — UpdatedFrom proud Republican harbinger to sad Republican castaway — that’s the story of Rep. Mia Love, who finally conceded her extraordinarily close House race Monday.
It’s the story of her party, really. Of what it once realized about the future and how it slouched backward into the past. Of trading the elixir of hope for the toxin of fear.
It charts Republicans’ ugly drift under Donald Trump, who rooted for her defeat not only as the votes in Utah’s 4th Congressional District were still being counted (“Mia Love gave me no love,” the president pouted) but with all that he said on the campaign trail and has done in the White House. Tacitly and explicitly, he has sown disdain for the likes of Love, a daughter of Haitian immigrants who, in 2014, became the first black Republican woman ever elected to either chamber of Congress.
She remains the only one. When she leaves at the end of this year, there will be just two black Republican men — one in the House and one in the Senate.
Everything you heard about the exciting diversification of midterm races? About the significantly increased numbers of women running for office, of people of color, of LGBT candidates?
“Because Republicans never take minority communities into their home and citizens into their homes and into their hearts, they stay with Democrats,” Love said. Democrats “do take them home — or at least make them feel like they have a home.”
In defeat, she added, “I am unleashed, I am untethered and I am unshackled, and I can say exactly what’s on my mind.” That language was a measure of her anger, an admission of how much she had concealed and an example of why she’s a flawed messenger, her righteousness in full flower only now that there’s no immediate price to pay for it.
She should be listened to nonetheless.
Go back to 2012. She was the 36-year-old mayor of Saratoga Springs, Utah, and Republican leaders couldn’t embrace her tightly enough. They loved her profile, her arc: parents who had fled poverty and chaos (and who didn’t become American citizens until after her birth); the family’s new beginning in Brooklyn; her college education; her interracial marriage; her three children.
That may be why she lost that race: She seemed too far ahead of herself, too far afield of local concerns. But two years later, she won, becoming not just the first black Republican woman in Congress but also the first Haitian-American.
“This was huge,” the article went on to say. “A party threatened with electoral extinction among African-Americans and immigrants now has someone to brag about in Washington.”
This was when Republicans were still seriously mulling the famous “autopsy” after Mitt Romney’s 2012 defeat, a document that cautioned them against harsh rhetoric and resistance to the country’s demographic changes. This was about six months before Trump came down that escalator in Trump Tower and ranted about rapists from Mexico.
Did he cost her the election anyway? Impossible to say. She had her own shortcomings. But this much is certain: Once heralded as a Republican ambassador, she has been established as a Republican anomaly.
For now, maybe, these numbers don’t spell the Republican Party’s death. But they’re no way to live.
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