Republican presidential candidate and former Arkansas governor Asa Hutchinson speaks during a fundraising event for U.S. Rep. Ashley Hinson in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, on Aug. 6, 2023.Charlie Neibergall/AP Photo
How do you run for the White House when you’re ninth in the polls and have the support of only 1 per cent of likely voters?
That’s the problem former Arkansas governor Asa Hutchinson faces in his long-shot, loneliness-of-the-long-distance-runner presidential campaign.
By any reasonable calculus, the 72-year-old is a natural presidential contender: Appointed by Ronald Reagan as the youngest U.S. attorney in the country. Successful prosecutor of domestic terrorists. Two terms in the House of Representatives in Washington. Administrator of the Drug Enforcement Administration. Federal official in charge of border security. Eight years in the governor’s chair in Little Rock.
Not one of his rivals for the Republican nomination has a gold-plated resume remotely like that. And yet when he showed up last Tuesday as the third presidential candidate to join former Republican senator Scott Brown for a “No B.S. Backyard Barbecue” in the seacoast enclave of Rye, N.H., he attracted only 46 people.
By comparison, Governor Ron DeSantis of Florida had been to Mr. Brown’s outdoor political forum – hotdogs on the grill, the voters grilling the candidates – two days earlier, and 375 people showed up. A few days before that, former United Nations ambassador Nikki Haley was the guest of honour. More than 300 people turned up to hear her.
“This is a guy who is qualified,” Mr. Brown said of Mr. Hutchinson, clad in the blue shorts and New England Patriots polo shirt outfit that is the preferred New Hampshire outfit in political settings in the easy, informal early summertime months of presidential politics. Mr. Brown was fitting hotdogs into toasted buns, imploring guests to take two – and pick up a slice of watermelon – before they sat down to hear the speechifying.
“It’s just a question of getting his message out,” he went on. “That’s why he’s here.”
This is a classic New Hampshire primary scene: A candidate milling among the voters, telling them he’s glad they’re here, marvelling at the way presidential politics is conducted here in the Granite State, both birthplace and graveyard of candidates just like Mr. Hutchinson.
Jimmy Carter came here as a candidate, his radiant smile illuminating even the darkest days, and went on to win the primary and the presidency in 1976. Pete Wilson, the governor of California, attended an outdoor reception a few miles from here, arguing he was the only candidate who could beat Bill Clinton in 1996, but went nowhere, dropping out even before the primary. Rudolf Giuliani, the celebrated mayor of big-city New York, came here and bombed, winning only 9 per cent in the 2008 primary.
Mr. Hutchinson possesses a whiff of the Carter magic dust as a pleasant, not overly scripted Southern governor repelled by White House scandal; long before the series of Donald Trump indictments, he issued an early call for the former president to stand down from the race. Mr. Trump paid the plea no mind, and the Never-Trumpers in the party failed to flock to Mr. Hutchinson’s side.
No matter. Here on New Hampshire’s seacoast, he is meeting the voters one by one, hoping eventually to take on Mr. Trump one-on-one. It’s a long-odds effort and a long slog, but then again Mr. Hutchinson has run statewide four times in Arkansas, twice winning gubernatorial races. Running for president in New Hampshire is not much different – it’s hands-on politics, handshake by handshake, asking voters to give him a hand in a lengthy, often dispiriting process.
“This really is like running for governor,” he said in a conversation at the Rye event before being given the stage and a microphone to talk about his background, set out his experience and take questions. “Here in New Hampshire you have to get to know people, you have to make your case personally. You have to win it that way. It’s not about money.”
And yet in a way, it very much is about money.
Ms. Haley is advertising like mad, pouring US$6.2-million over the next nine weeks into spots. Mr. Trump’s opponents have purchased television time. Later this month comes the first Republican debate. Candidates aren’t eligible unless, among other requirements, they have a minimum of 40,000 donors, with 200 in 20 or more states.
“You need to help me get to the debate,” Mr. Hutchinson told the audience. “A dollar helps get me on the stage.”
Like the other candidates, Mr. Hutchinson regards the debate as something of a coming-out party, the moment a candidate can go from a long shot to a sure shot. He’s far shy from the 40,000 target and has been critical of the barrier to entry to the Milwaukee event.
But there is no barrier to entry to competing in New Hampshire. The state’s backyards are full of candidates. A few miles down the coast, Governor Doug Burgum of North Dakota held a “backyard town hall” the same day. Hardly anyone has heard of him, either.
The evening in Rye wore on and Mr. Hutchinson spoke about “community,” the importance of “helping your neighbours” and “the value of faith.” He talked about cutting taxes in Arkansas and shrinking the state payroll, and took a few swipes at the GOP front-runner.
“I don’t want to turn our party over to someone who is motivated by self-interest,” he said. Everyone knows whom Mr. Hutchinson is talking about, even if he doesn’t name him.