Manchester, New Hampshire
“OK, who here is not a voter in New Hampshire?” asked Marianne Williamson as she took the microphone. Almost everyone in the small, quarter-full auditorium at Manchester Community College raised a hand. “Well, that’s depressing,” said Marianne. Williamson carries herself with a certain grandiosity. She has that quasi-aristocratic bearing that comes from decades of being attractive, famous, well-off and radical. In 2024, she’s casting herself as the presidential candidate for despairing Bernie Sanders supporters. As she did in 2020, she presents her agenda as the spiritual alternative to politics as normal. “Not every rich person in America is a greedy bastard,” she says. “Not every poor person is a noble and pure soul. I’m talking about systems.” She also talks about “paradigms,” “institutionalized oppression” and “the matrix of corporate overlords.” The audience nodded along. But actuality tends to disappoint. Three days later, in the Democratic primary, Marianne got just 5 percent.
It’s not just Marianne who’s down. Voter turnout in New Hampshire’s primary ended up record high, but everywhere the mood was glum. The bars were empty. Journalists milled about grumbling about the lack of angles. Locals shrugged when asked about politics and complained about the economy. Biden was invisible, Trump inevitable, nothing much left to say.
At Mary Ann’s Diner in Amherst, on the chilly Friday before the primary, Nikki Haley did a fairly lifeless meet-and-greet with possible voters. A man in a USS Rayburn cap asked her to make Chris Christie vice president. She demurred. Another suggested she’d be willing to join Donald Trump’s ticket. “I’ve never said that,” she winced. “That’s my opponent saying that.” I tried to butter her up, feebly. “We Brits like it you when you quote Margaret Thatcher,” I said, stuttering on my own disingenuousness. “She was amazing,” she answered, forcing out a smile in order to walk away. Haley’s team all looked tense. Perhaps it was the growing certainty that Nikki would lose to Trump, or the news that Tim Scott — the man she as South Carolina governor appointed to the US Senate — would be formally endorsing Trump that evening. Or maybe it was the Daily Mail reheating an old story about her alleged marital infidelities.
On we went to St. Anselm College, where Ron DeSantis was late. Some of his fans stood around in the biting cold holding their “Never Back Down” placards as they discussed giving up and going home. Finally, after an hour or so, the Florida governor emerged, his face like thunder. “Where am I going?” he barked at one of his team. He then rattled off his lifeless talking points to the press pack, gave a few cursory answers to questions, then left, puffing hot air onto his frozen fists as he went. Then he went back to Florida. Two days later, he dropped out.
The New Hampshire energy, such as it was, came from Trumpworld. On Friday night, Nikki Haley’s team seemed thrilled when about 150 people turned up to her speech at the DoubleTree Hilton in central Manchester. The following night, across the road, Trump’s rally filled the 11,000-capacity SNHU Arena. Outside, a crowd of MAGA-heads who hadn’t got in banged on the doors and berated the security staff. “We’re gonna storm the Capitol!” yelled one. Everybody laughed at that.
Even without Big Orange, Trumpworld pulls in the crowds. That day, I’d nearly failed to get into the campaign’s packed Manchester headquarters to hear from Elise Stefanik, the woman many believe will be Trump’s VP pick. The campaign team at the door, struggling to cope with the numbers, decided to go America First. A serious young man told me that, as a foreign journalist, I could not pass. How about as a guest? I asked. The young man frowned and consulted his superior before relenting. “You can come in, but you can’t do any reporting.” The Pulitzer would have to wait. Inside, the throng chanted “VP! VP! VP!” at Stefanik, who gave a perfectly forgettable speech. On her way out, a TV reporter (American) asked Stefanik if it was acceptable for Donald to tease Haley over her Indian heritage. “I’ll tell you what’s unacceptable,” Stefanik replied. “Nikki Haley has been disloyal to President Trump.” She’ll go far, that one, VP or not.
On the street, one of those silly LED advertising rent-a-trucks pulled up. The big screen on its side was playing: “God Made a Dictator,” a comedy video from those unfunny but ludicrously well-funded trolls at the NeverTrumpist Lincoln Project. From the speakers, a mock-sententious narrator declared: “God said ‘I need a man who failed in everything but theft and broken promises to live in a golden palace and convince the poor he serves their needs.’” Ho-ho. No doubt the Lincoln gang, chuckling on some Zoom call, thought their stunt very droll. The driver wasn’t so sure. “Man, I hate these political jobs,” he said. “These people come up shouting about Trump and stuff and I’m like, ‘Don’t shout at me, I just get paid to drive, that’s all.’” Some rich people really are bastards.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s March 2024 World edition.
