Ah, the noble art of public service. Once upon a time, running for governor was about passion for potholes, an obsession with zoning laws, and a commitment to ensuring the DMV didn’t resemble the ninth circle of hell. But now? For Pete Buttigieg and Kamala Harris, governorships seem less like positions of leadership and more like fallback gigs.
Pete’s being courted to run Michigan, a state he’s technically called home since 2020—if “home” is defined as a place where you own a house but rarely spend time. As Secretary of Transportation, he’s been busy elsewhere: jetting around the country, soothing airline meltdowns, and, on occasion, remembering where Michigan is on a map. Meanwhile, Kamala Harris is apparently considering heading back to California, the state she represented in the Senate—until she decamped for D.C. and the VP residence. But don’t worry, she can dust off her Golden State cred just in time for the 2026 gubernatorial race.
And why? Because they care deeply about Michigan’s auto industry or California’s drought crisis? No, no, no. This isn’t about us, the voters—silly us! It’s about them. Their ambitions, their national profiles, their need for a job that keeps them visible until the next presidential election cycle. Governorships, in their eyes, aren’t endpoints of public service but stepping stones in the never-ending political talent show.
CNN’s reporting makes it clear: Harris and Buttigieg’s gubernatorial aspirations aren’t driven by a burning desire to serve the good people of Michigan or California. This is resume-padding 101. When insiders describe a Harris governorship as a “consolation prize,” you can almost hear the voters of California collectively saying, “Gee, thanks.”
For Buttigieg, Michigan’s 2026 gubernatorial race might as well be a reality TV challenge titled How to Stay Relevant in Five Easy Steps. After all, his presidential campaign in 2020 showed he has the gift of gab and a knack for impressing coastal elites. But does that translate into the nitty-gritty of fixing Flint’s water supply or balancing Michigan’s budget? Maybe he’ll figure it out while catching a Lions game.
As for Harris, the calculus is even more transparent: California is her safety net. Her VP tenure has been…well, let’s call it a mixed bag of word salads and awkward public moments. Running for governor is less about saving California and more about saving her political future. The state’s voters aren’t clamoring for Harris to swoop in and fix Sacramento—they’re probably busy trying to remember the last time they saw her doing something impactful for the state.
And let’s not ignore the Democratic primary drama these moves would create. CNN notes that other potential candidates in California are already bristling at the idea of stepping aside for Harris. One unnamed insider dubbed the governorship a “consolation prize” for her, a phrase that might as well be a flashing neon sign reading: “We don’t really want her, but what else is she going to do?” Michigan voters, brace yourselves—you might hear similar mutterings about Mayor Pete.
But here’s the kicker: both Harris and Buttigieg’s governorship gambits rely on the assumption that voters are eager to transform their states into proving grounds for politicians with bigger fish to fry. California and Michigan deserve leaders who genuinely care about state-level governance—not placeholders prepping for their next D.C. audition.
So, California and Michigan voters, the next time you hear these two floating their gubernatorial ambitions, ask yourselves: Are you electing a governor or simply leasing office space to a future presidential hopeful? If it’s the latter, maybe you deserve the consolation prize: someone who actually wants the job for the right reasons.
.jpg)
