Campaign 2026: As Maine Goes…

It’s a safe bet that in a state that’s punched above its weight with nationally respected senators—Democrats George Mitchell and Edmund Muskie, Republicans Margaret Chase Smith, and Bill Cohen—residents were not expecting a German military symbol favored by Hitler’s elite forces to be a sleeper issue in next year’s U.S. Senate race. But when it turned out that political neophyte and Democratic candidate Graham Platner was sporting a tattoo of the Totenkopf, the skull and crossbones symbol favored by the Nazi SS, Maine was thrown for a loop. This is not how things go in a state that produces esteemed politicians and defies easy categorization.  

As is happening nationally, many Maine Democrats are wary of older establishment candidates and desire younger candidates who they believe will actively resist Trump. Republicans and Democrats have become more divergent, as the GOP has become more linked to Donald Trump and MAGA, and a segment of Democrats has embraced Bernie Sanders-style Democratic socialism. More urban, educated voters lean Democratic, while, particularly with the decline of manufacturing, more rural, non-college-educated ones tend to be Republican. 

But Maine’s political winds don’t blow just like they do elsewhere. Maine has an independent streak, regional identities, a ticket-splitting tradition, and a complex political culture. The Pine Tree State has long been marked by Yankee pragmatism. Its voting population, the oldest in the country, embraces civility and moderation. Moreover, with high levels of political participation, Mainers expect accessible candidates who know local needs and offer solutions to their community’s problems. Two major contests, a Democratic U.S. Senate primary to challenge the Republican incumbent, Susan Collins, and a Democratic U.S. House primary in Maine’s sprawling 2nd District, illustrate how local dynamics still matter in an era of nationalized politics where change for the sake of change overrides experience, policy, civility, and leadership.  

Maine Democrats have tried for three decades to oust Collins. They have, in fact, not elected a Democratic U.S. Senator since George Mitchell, then Senate Majority Leader, won his final term in 1990 and Collins succeeded him. (The state’s other U.S. Senator, Angus King, is a former governor and an independent who caucuses with Democrats.) Since winning her seat in 1996—quite a feat in a robust Democratic year as Bill Clinton cruised to reelection—Collins has drawn support beyond the Republican base, portraying herself as a moderate in the tradition of Maine GOP predecessors like Senators Olympia Snowe and her husband, former Governor John “Jock” McKernan. In 2020, when Democrats poured money into the race, and Joe Biden carried the state comfortably—although he lost its rural 2nd Congressional District in a state that apportions some electoral votes by CD—Collins won reelection with 51 percent in a ranked choice race against Democrat Sarah Gideon who finished 8 points back and was pounded by Collins for being “from away.” 

The 72-year-old’s survival reflects not just her personal appeal, but also Maine’s distinctiveness. Collins has been successful because she was able to pitch herself as relatively independent and centrist, with credibility on abortion rights and environmental policy. 

However, the senior senator was last reelected before the Supreme Court justices she helped put on the bench overturned Roe v. Wade, and before she backed a series of Trump’s second-term cabinet nominees. (She famously expressed confidence that Justice Brett Kavanaugh, whom she voted to confirm, would uphold the 50-year-old constitutional right to an abortion.) In 2020, Collins contended that Mainers should stick with her because she would become the head of the Senate Appropriations Committee. This promised power position is now a mere appendage to the whims of President Donald Trump and Russell Vought, director of the Office of Management and Budget (whom she voted to confirm). She can vote anti-GOP when her vote is not needed, as she continues to champion herself as bipartisan.  

This year should be better for Democrats. Since this is an off-year election with lower turnout than presidential years like 1996 and 2020, the electorate will likely trend more upscale and Democratic. The questions now are whether Democrats can mount a more substantial challenge and who among them is best positioned to defeat Collins.  

Governor Janet Mills, who has entered the race, brings statewide name recognition and a strong resume. She’s the only Democrat elected statewide in the last 20 years. She made history in 2018 by becoming the first woman elected governor of Maine after eight years in two non-consecutive terms as attorney general. Mills won that primary by beating a field that included moderate and progressive candidates who did best in wealthier, more liberal areas of the state. Mills then won by a landslide in 2022 over former Governor Paul LePage, who proclaimed himself as “Donald Trump before Donald Trump.” Among other things, LePage targeted Mills for her championing of reproductive rights and for allegedly condoning an LGBT-focused teaching video in elementary schools. 

Mills has stood up to both LePage and Trump during her time as attorney general and governor, and her leadership through the COVID-19 pandemic and on environmental issues has earned her praise from many Democrats. She got into verbal fisticuffs with Trump early in his second term when, at a meeting of the National Governors Association, Trump challenged Maine’s trans athletes policy and threatened to withdraw federal funding. Mills replied, “See you in court.” But her gubernatorial record on tribal rights, labor rights, and other policies has angered progressives. At 77, she would be the oldest Senate freshman ever. 

Enter Graham Platner, a 41-year-old populist outsider. An anti-war activist in high school, Platner joined the military and worked for Blackwater, a resume that defies easy ideological categorization. With an emphasis on fighting the oligarchy, his campaign has sparked enthusiasm among younger Democrats and progressives, and it has acted swiftly to train and organize over 11,000 volunteers. Platner has also raised over $4 million. He portrays himself as a workingman’s candidate. Still, one parent is an attorney, the other a small business owner, and he came to oyster farming after attending the pricey George Washington University for a few years. 

Besides the Nazi iconography dug into his chest, Platner also carries baggage in from Reddit posts containing sexist, racist stereotypes, and negative characterizations of rural white voters that have resurfaced, raising doubts about whether he can survive the scrutiny of a general election campaign. Their release led his political director, who hadn’t known about them beforehand, to resign. These revelations do not dissuade Platner’s strongest supporters, but it’s unclear if other Democrats and the broader Maine electorate see them more negatively. The revelation that he has a Nazi tattoo and his explanation that he got it while drunk in Croatia and didn’t know what the Totenkopf meant has caused staff to flee and many to question whether he’s the winner they thought he was. (Sanders is standing by his man.) 

The primary contest between Mills and Platner (and other candidates) echoes the broader generational and ideological tension playing out nationally, but it doesn’t map onto it perfectly. Mills is the establishment choice from a family in Maine for seven generations, but she is anything but staid. She entered politics as a feminist trailblazer, co-founding the state’s leading women’s advocacy organization and breaking multiple glass ceilings as a district attorney, Maine’s attorney general, and then governor. Like Vermont’s Sanders, she is older but does not project that way. Platner’s outsider credentials are counterbalanced by a past that may, to say the least, alienate key parts of the Democratic coalition and recruits who are skeptical that his apologies are sincere.  

Moreover, Mills has deep local knowledge. Platner is a political newcomer whose campaign sounds like a generic version of Bernie Sanders-style rhetoric, without reference to the specific needs of localities. This difference between the candidates likely will matter for a state that’s been so intensely pragmatic. Thus, this is a battle between old and young and a test of credibility and consistency in a political culture that prizes localism and resists nationalization. 

While the Senate primary race mirrors national dynamics, the contest between Democrats in Maine’s 2nd Congressional District tells a very different story. 

Jared Golden, the 43-year-old Democratic incumbent, has built a reputation as one of the most conservative members of his caucus. Representing a large rural district that Trump won twice, Golden has often broken with his party on impeachment, student debt relief, and tariffs, and most recently on a continuing resolution to keep the government open, among other issues. The rural district has elected centrist Democrats (and moderate Republicans) before, but those incumbents did not turn off their party base as Golden has. In addition to his votes on government funding, Golden has been hurt by his avoidance of holding town halls; his unconcern about a second term for Trump (he characterized voters worried about threats to democracy as “pearl-clutching”); and his votes for the SAVE Act, which would impose new voter ID requirements. 

Golden is now facing a primary challenge from 60-year-old Matt Dunlap, who’s held various offices as state legislator, secretary of state, and state auditor. At home with a hunting rifle and fishing rod, Dunlap was executive director of the Sportsman’s Alliance of Maine. Dunlap isn’t running to Golden’s left in the typical sense. He’s not a progressive firebrand or ideological insurgent. Instead, his critique is rooted mainly in Maine’s political culture, which values responsiveness, accessibility, and community connection. 

Dunlap has emphasized his record of public service and direct engagement with voters, contrasting it with what he describes as Golden’s aloofness and combative tone. Dunlap has made clear his opposition to Trump and MAGA politics. As Secretary of State and a member of a commission Trump created to investigate election fraud in the 2016 election, he resisted Trump’s entreaties to turn over Maine’s voting rolls and successfully sued Trump. At the same time, Dunlap, a commissioner on the Maine Wabanaki-State Child Welfare Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), was seen as a thoughtful bridge-builder. Dunlap is a center-left politician who talks about constitutional norms and public trust. 

Given that Dunlap is slightly older than Golden, the race doesn’t involve a desire to install a younger Democrat and replace an older one. In many ways, this race is also not about ideology. It’s about political culture. Maine’s Second District has a long history of electing moderates from both parties, and it also rewards candidates who show up, listen, and build local relationships. Dunlap bets Golden may have lost touch with that local tradition in carving out a maverick Blue Dog brand nationally. 

Maine’s electoral dynamics offer a critical reminder that national trends don’t translate into races around the country. 

Maine voters have repeatedly defied conventional wisdom. While they elected Paul LePage as governor in the Tea Party age and reelected him four years later—mainly due to a referendum on banning bear hunting, which brought many hunters to the polls—LePage never received a majority vote. That starkly contrasts with center-left and center-right candidates like Senators King, Snowe, and Collins and Bill Cohen, the former House Judiciary Committee member who broke with his party to impeach. Richard Nixon, U.S. Senator in the Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush eras, and Defense Secretary under President Clinton. Competence and pragmatism remain Maine political values.  

For Democrats, the lessons are clear. Winning in Maine requires more than checking ideological boxes. It means understanding the state’s political culture, regional sensibilities, and values guiding its famously independent voters. In the Senate race, that means weighing experience, pragmatism, and local knowledge against the risks and promise of an untested insurgent who hasn’t developed a sense of specific towns’ needs but is an inspirational speaker. In the House race, it means recognizing that retail politics and how candidates treat their constituents can matter just as much as policy positions. 

As the 2026 midterms take shape, Maine’s races are worth watching, not just because they could tip the balance of power in Washington, but because they challenge the assumptions of modern campaign playbooks. In an era of familiar gusts tracked by national observers, Maine remains stubbornly nuanced and its political winds its own. 

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