ROCK HILL, S.C.—Gavin Newsom, who is definitely running for president, is probably—inscrutably, appallingly—the early favorite to win the Democratic nomination in 2028. On a Monday night in South Carolina, several hundred angsty boomers have turned out to hear the greased-up California governor talk about his favorite subject: himself. The early primary state is one of the first stops on Newsom's book tour for Young Man in a Hurry, his recently published "memoir of discovery."
Newsom radiates smarm as he takes a seat next to Jaime Harrison, the former South Carolina congressman. Harrison parlayed a failed campaign against Sen. Lindsey Graham (R., S.C.) in 2020—raising more than $100 million only to lose by 10 points—into the role of DNC chairman, where he oversaw the party's crushing defeat in 2024 after standing by Joe Biden until the very end. He hosts a podcast now.
Harrison regrets nothing about his unyielding support for Sleepy Joe—a befuddled crank whose insistence on running for reelection arguably ensured Donald Trump's return to the White House. Somewhat surprisingly for a Democrat who wants to be president, Newsom is on the same page. "I'll never turn my back on Joe Biden," he says before whipping the crowd into a frenzy by speed-shouting a list of Biden's alleged accomplishments. Will this aggressive pro-Biden stance be sustainable in a Democratic primary? Probably not, which raises questions about the potentially career-ending secrets Dr. Jill Biden may have threatened to expose if Newsom doesn't fall in line.
Alas, Newsom's blind loyalty does not extend to Kamala Harris. She might run against him in 2028 (yes, queen, please do). Why not take the gloves off now? While recounting his early career in San Francisco politics, the governor reminds the audience that Harris got her start by sleeping with the city's former mayor, Willie Brown. "You wouldn't know Kamala Harris without Willie Brown," says Newsom, who clawed his way to the top the old-fashioned way—by having a rich and powerful dad. It's a polite way of saying Harris is a conniving whore. Accusation as confession, perhaps.
Newsom is slick on the stump. When he says the new memoir was born of an earnest compulsion to excavate his inner truth through self-reflection, it's almost convincing. "It's not the kind of book you'd write in politics to promote yourself," he lies. The governor knows his privileged background is a liability, so he's learned how to effortlessly recast his upbringing as a parable of perseverance. He explains how overcoming a disability (dyslexia) supercharged his empathy and forged his "entrepreneurial mindset." Newsom lists off a few of the businesses he started after graduating college with a tenacious desire to "solve problems." He does not mention that these (mostly wine-related) ventures were all funded by his dad's friend, the billionaire oil scion Gordon Getty.
The crowd eats it up. They don't really care about the book, which includes a lamentation about how California was "born in genocide." They just want to see a Democrat who fights. Newsom explains how his disability and hardscrabble upbringing inspired him to take risks, and how this unwavering courage is "reflected" in his recent social media habits. The crowd goes wild at any mention of the governor's edgy ALL CAPS outbursts aimed at Trump. The look on Newsom's face when this happens should be the first image that appears under a Google search for "shit-eating grin." He has a well-rehearsed paragraph of Obama-esque nonsense at the ready.
"We have got to call this out," Newsom says, enunciating almost every syllable. "We have got to fight fire with fire. It's all on the line, and we need to draw that line. And as we draw the line, yes, let's also start drawing that circle where all of us can be repairers of the breach, in the spirit of Isaiah, as we move from resistance to renewal, and we'll get there." Bible reference? Check.
The audience could not agree more when Newsom says that "tabletop issues" and "plans" for addressing the "systemic problems of our time" are luxuries we can't afford right now. Winning elections is the only thing that matters, and that's going to require a candidate who isn't afraid to call out Lindsey Graham for wearing "kneepads" to fellate the president—a candidate with the courage to sell $100 union-made kneepads in "Republican red" on his PAC website. A brave warrior with a dork-faced communications director who tells reporters to "fuck off."
Toward the end of the event, Harrison finally asks a question that catches Newsom off guard. He invites the governor to make the case that South Carolina—with its historic ties to slavery and the Civil Rights Movement—should be the first state to vote in the 2028 Democratic primary. Whether due to his lack of a canned response, or the fact that Newsom would clearly prefer a whiter state to vote first, the governor starts riffing. "I was in Charleston," he yucks. "You want a special place? I told them no one from California is allowed to visit it, because they will all leave."
It's funny because it's true. Californians are fleeing in droves to red states with low taxes, affordable home prices, and a refreshing lack of feces. Perhaps Newsom would love to explain why—later, when he's not too busy saving democracy.
The governor rambles semi-coherently to avoid answering the question. He boasts of quoting Martin Luther King Jr. as mayor of San Francisco in February 2004 when he started marrying same-sex couples before it was cool. He accuses Republicans of trying to "bring us back to a pre-1960s world," whereas he just wants to bring back the 1960s because of how great the Kennedys were—or something. It's hard to follow. "And so, look, you matter," he says eventually. "And we need to care more." For whatever reason, Newsom does not revive his awkward line—delivered days earlier in Atlanta—about how getting a 960 on his SAT made it easier for him to relate to black people.
The presidential election is still years away, but the skids are getting awfully greasy. Prepare accordingly.
