I come at this piece trying to drown out the drama and the noise from the unrelenting stories about DNC . Thrown phones, 2024 autopsies, poor management all get attention but I am going to focus on what I think is most important and what I know best - the money (or lack thereof).

As an aside, I have worked with most of the fundraising staff and the fundraising leadership over the years. They are the best in the business and I put none of my criticism below on their shoulders. Fundraising in politics (like nearly any time someone parts with their money - large sums are small) is predicated on a faith that it’s a good investment. And the narrative out there is full blown toxic.

My very first job in politics was as a junior finance staffer for the DNC. At 29 years old in the spring of 2004, disillusioned with my career path, the state of the world and our politics, I quit my job working for a Producer in Los Angeles and decided to volunteer full time for John Kerry who had just clinched the Dem nomination and whose campaign had merged with the National Party. My unsophisticated political mind didn’t understand that the office in Los Angeles did only one thing – raise money. The New England Yankee in me was terrified to ask even my parents for money so it didn’t seem like the perfect fit.

It was.

For the first time in my life I felt purpose and when the alarm rang at the crack of dawn I wanted to get out of bed. And a few short weeks later I found myself “Deputy Finance Director – Western States” for the Democratic National Committee. I was making approx. $30,000/year but I remember getting goosebumps when I got my business cards.

Since then I have spent 8 years of my life working directly at the DNC or in lockstep with them – the 2008, 2010, 2012, 2020 and 2024 campaign cycles. Warts and all, I love the place, the work it does and the people I have met there – many of whom are still there - are nothing short of family to me.

Today the DNC is spiraling towards irrelevance.

I had no horse in the race for DNC chair last year, I like Ken Martin, I like Ben Wikler but I had very much hoped that a marquee name with national relevance and relationships would take the reigns of a party that was floundering. Donald Trump was quickly dismantling so much of what we had built. We needed someone who could meet the moment and fight back. My (admittedly mostly unrealistic) fantasies were Rahm, Kamala, Terry, Hillary, Pete kind of folks.

The DNC chair has two main jobs in a midterm election cycle – raise money and message relentlessly on every form of media. You gotta be the kind of person who can go on Morning Joe or The Daily Show or Rachel Maddow or Bulwark or Pod Save or Joe Rogan or Fox EVERY SINGLE TIME they would book you to talk about what you are building and hammer relentlessly your opponents. A strong presence and message will be clipped and shared across all channels, your fundraisers will blast them out and confidence should build. The chattering class (aka the donor base) will chatter to the media. The funders will take your calls and the requested meeting. The money will start to flow.

Of course this is oversimplified but it is what happens.

I am not minimizing the rest of the critical work done by the DNC – there is plenty - but unless you have money and a message for folks to invest in, you don’t have a party.

I was having drinks a couple days ago with a major supporter of Dems when the subject turned to the DNC. “It’s almost laughable at this point that I haven’t heard from them,” he said, “I don’t know that I would have taken the meeting and I certainly wouldn’t now, but it doesn’t give me any confidence.” (for what it’s worth, even after being finance chair in 2024, I have never heard from Ken Martin either so I believe these guys when they tell their stories). But my point here is that these relationships are critical especially in a jam.

You must be prepared for this (hypothetical) phone call from Chuck Schumer in early October “The Kansas Senate race is within the margin of error. We need 3 million. I don’t know if we’re going to win but it’ll force the Republicans to play defense and get them to take money away from Maine, Ohio, Texas. Can you send it our way?” And you gotta be able to answer yes.

The DNC could and should help come to the rescue of the Maine debacle where we have a new candidate 100 days before the election with a fraction of the money, the staff or the organization of their Republican opponent who is vulnerable and beatable.

If you don’t have the money (and you might not in the moment) you have to have built the national relationships so you can call your finance team and ask them to put together the money.

The number of times Jim Messina or Jen O’Malley Dillon called me to help try and figure out how to fund special projects like these are in the dozens. And we were successful because of the relationships we had collectively built and the trust we had accumulated over the years.

It seems clear that such requests or the multitude of others – and there will be literally hundreds of asks for money in the fall - could not be met with a “yes” at this point. That is a failure and we have been seeing this coming for a year now.

One of the reasons Biden won in 2020 is that at the same time we were amassing 9 figures of cash on hand in August (I was Deputy Campaign Manager of the Biden Campaign working hand in hand with the DNC to raise money), the Trump campaign had to fire their campaign manager, Brad Parscale, and pull ads off TV because they were broke and spent recklessly on vanity projects. Because of that we not only won what we needed for 270, but were able to organize, invest, spend and WIN in places like Arizona and Georgia – places Dems hadn’t won in decades.

It seems the opposite is true today.

At this point, I think there is no saving Martin’s chairmanship. He is a good man with good intentions but simply not meeting this critical moment. The leaks coming from the inside the building streaming across every media outlet say to me that the (diligent and wonderful) staff are losing or have lost faith.

As Democrats, the only solution is to acknowledge the problem and fix it. Now. We need to lean on each other, call each other for help, acknowledge the anger and the disappointment people feel while respecting and bringing together the voices both new and old.

God willing, we will win in November despite the brand of the national party. Our superior candidates, our superior campaigns and Trump’s disastrous regime will likely propel us.

But 2027 starts something brand new. It will be a fight for not only the future of the party but the country as we work to elect a Democrat in 2028.

We must enter 2027 with strength and resolve.

And we still can.

Four things at the outset:

1) I am not a “Bernie-bro”. I tend to be a “normie Dem”, a “moderate Dem” and have lived most of my life as part of the Democratic party (gulp) establishment. I am a gay man who has devoted his life to Democratic causes, worked to elect Barack Obama twice, Joe Biden, Dem Senators and Congressmen around the country and above and beyond all else hates nazis and all things MAGA.

2) I wrote this piece a week ago but held it because the DC rumors were swirling around a NY Times story that was deemed to be “extremely damaging”. The rumors were that there were serious allegations of sexual assault or even rape. The Times article dropped yesterday, with two of the most senior political journalists spending two months talking to six of his exes, some of whom had nice things to say and others didn’t. And the only one with any damaging allegation was a paid GOP operative who has defended Bret Kavanaugh and defamed ICE detainees. I rolled my eyes and was frankly shocked. I asked myself (and I know I am not alone) if I could survive the level of scrutiny that he’s receiving? It felt too much. If the NY Times talked to six of my exes, I am not sure that they could find three to be character witnesses. But enough of that, it gave me confidence to move forward. If there is any more serious allegation out there, I would without hesitation rescind my support.

3) I have absolutely no interest or desire to judge another marriage and want no one to judge mine. Assuming no one was victimized, everything is consensual and no laws are broken, I actually believe that marriages in which trust has been tested and work hard to heal tend to be some of the strongest. So, I do not care one bit about the sexting “scandal”.

4) I had every intention of supporting Gov Janet Mills in the primary. I love the Gov driven in part by her public rebuke of Trump at the White House and standing up for trans kids. I sat next to her at a dinner in the fall before she declared and told her she had to win and that I’d do all I could to help. She replied “I guess I have to do it” and said someone would be in touch. I was extremely disappointed in her response. 2026 necessitates fighters who want it and it was clear to me (and in the campaign she ran) that she didn’t. Either way, no one ever called so I moved on to helping other Senate candidates (Sherrod Brown, James Talarico etc).

That takes me to Platner. I had been tracking his race, his impressive launch video, his local story, his military service, an outsider looking to take on the establishment. He was an intriguing figure and felt kind of perfect for where sentiment is in 2026. But then October hit. Nazi tattoo. Offensive online history. He was clearly too good to be true. Another arrogant opportunist. I lost interest and hoped that Mills would show a little fire in what would be an extremely hard fought race and perhaps the most important in the country.

But then winter came. And polls came out. I’d watch videos of him talking to voters with a refreshing honesty about his past but with a vision for the future. October would have sunk most candidates, but he went straight to voters with his skeletons, his mistakes, his desire to make himself better and his vision for the future. He was asking for forgiveness. He apologized every day and talked about redemption. I started to buy it. There was a lot to forgive, but like all of us who have asked for forgiveness from time to time, I was compelled and impressed by the frankness and openness of his style. He was raw but real.

I was also impressed that he had the guts to fight through a scandal that would have derailed most campaigns. It has been clear to me that he wanted this. He had a vision. He wasn’t going to let his past drag him down and he was trusting the people of Maine to see past them.

80 town halls. Open questions about everything. 15,000 volunteers in freaking MAINE. Something was happening here.

A friend from Maine in DC who was supporting Graham offered to make an introduction. I enthusiastically said yes and would welcome a conversation. I wouldn’t say I walked in skeptical. I walked in intrigued and curious as to whether he was as he seemed. He was. Dressed in a blazer (the only time I’ve ever seen him in one) for a meeting he had just finished with the Boston Globe editorial board, he said “I am just an oyster farmer from Maine. I still can’t believe the Boston Globe wants to talk to me.” He had a confidence and a swagger driven by what it seemed was a massive overperformance in the primary (this was a week or so before Mills suspended her campaign).

He was honest and direct. We talked about frankly about Reddit (the reddit posts had bothered me) and whether he was ready take on the onslaught of smears the Republicans were about to throw his way.

He was smarter than I thought he’d be which you don’t quite get from the (extremely effective) oyster farmer persona. He puts me to shame. He had an appreciation for and knowledge of history that I had not anticipated. He talked about building on the promise of America and Senators from a century ago who he wanted to emulate, the Supreme Court, inequality, foreign policy. He leaned into the issues and didn’t mince words.

He didn’t shower me with praise for my Ambassadorial service, he didn’t thank me for all the work I have done to elect past Presidents (honestly, that stuff, while nice, is usually dripping with insincerity) but I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by his passion and desire to actually make change in the world. And that’s what I care about.

An hour went by quickly and I was sold. I left committing to host an event for him in May. I’d support him in his primary and do what I could to get others to as well.

Several weeks later Graham was back in Boston for our event. Janet Mills had dropped out and the primary was his. The day of the event I hosted I put together a meeting for him with some skeptical Massachusetts Democrats. They were willing to hear him out but opened by saying “We are very skeptical of you.”

The topic quickly turned to Israel and antisemitism, the infamous tattoo, his Jewish family in Jerusalem and the term “genocide”. It was a robust, thoughtful, respectful and at times difficult conversation but I left believing once again how his grasp of issues and ability to articulate his position was extremely effective for a young, unvetted politician.

When we walked out, he said to me “You know, Rufus, people don’t ask me about the tattoo anymore in Maine. I’ve talked about it so much that it seems to be yesterday’s news… But these out of state fundraising trips I have to rehash it all over again.”

The event that night was fantastic. It was a sold out crowd of suburban lefties and the second most financially successful event of the campaign. Graham walked in with his signature black t-shirt and old jeans with a small hole in the thigh – not exactly what you expect from a politician. He was easily the most casually dressed person in the room. I loved it all and the former staffer in me kicked in to make sure he made the most of his time.

I introduced him to my husband and my parents, to donors he hadn’t met, and the retail politician kicked in for the inevitably exhausting conversations politicians have at fundraisers. “I have a summer house in Bar Harbor, I love Maine” kind of stuff.

My husband, Stephen, commented on his t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on each of his arms. “With all the talk of his tattoos, he’s not afraid of them, is he? Good for him. He’s exactly who he is.”

But then came his remarks. Let me first say that I’m jaded AF about political speeches. I was notorious for making sure I was not in the room when Obama spoke towards the end of my time with him because I was so bored. I find it all scripted and tedious. But not Graham.

Even in a room of mostly wealthy non-Mainers, Graham had the ability to at once channel the frustration and anger we feel every single damn day while at the same time articulating a hope for the future which comes along in times of crisis. I tend to be turned off by the far-left constantly attacking the system as “rigged” without offering an actual solution. Graham offered a hopeful solution, one that requires people to stand up, speak out and act. My jaded mind felt inspired, I got goosebumps and realized this guy is special. And he doesn’t really look it. He is without a doubt a generational talent.

My 83-year-old former banker Dad felt the same way. My 81 year-old Mom. My husband who almost never comes to events said “He’s really really good” and my sister said “I’m obsessed with him.”

After rousing applause from the crowd, Stephen and I hugged Graham goodbye and we left, expressing that we would do absolutely whatever it took to elect him.

Which I will.

Graham Platner has skeletons. We all know that. Some of them are difficult to overcome. And the ten of millions of dollars spent to drag them out and amplify them will make it hard. BUT. Call him out, he will respond. Challenge him, he will answer. Disagree with him, he’ll make a counterpoint. All of this is the kind of political candidate that I fucking love. I implore you to listen to him.

And one thing this gay-married, Obama loving, bigotry hating, feminist knows is that he’s about as far away from a nazi as you can get.

He is exactly what we need in the US Senate.

While Trump’s repeated desire to “take” Greenland has been out of the headlines for a few weeks in the US, the issue remains raw and potent in Europe. I want to talk about why.

Let me start with a story:

It was a Friday afternoon north of Copenhagen. I had been Ambassador for less than three months and my mind was overwhelmed by the whirlwind of information coming at me hourly. As a 39-year-old never-before diplomat, there were days that I felt not worthy of the job, that I didn’t know how to do it.

But this day changed something in me.

I was walking our dog Argos and getting some fresh air down the road from the Ambassador’s residence, followed – as always – by my Danish protective detail. November in Denmark is cold and dark, and this day was no different. Argos and I strolled down the narrow sidewalks only to be suddenly approached by an older Danish man. He was probably 65 and casually dressed, appropriate for the seaside village that we lived in – Skovshoved.

He walked right towards me and got close – too close for my security guards who moved in ready to separate us. “This will always be one of the saddest days of my life,” he said in Danish accented English.

“I’ll never forget the devastation on my parents’ faces”

I tried to make sense of his words. Could he be crazy? Does he think I’m someone else?

“I can’t believe it’s been 50 years. We all lost a little hope that day.”

Doesn’t seem crazy. My mind raced. 50 years was 11 years before I was born.

“Kennedy was the first leader in any country that I looked up to.”

Oh right. November 22, 2013. 50^th anniversary of Kennedy’s assassination, I had seen that earlier today. And I barely remembered.

“Danes will always mourn alongside Americans. I wish you much success in your new job, Ambassador. Welcome to Denmark.”

And he walked away. He never gave me his name. And I don’t think I ever saw him again.

Why does this story stick with me? And what does it have to do with Greenland?

Well, stories like this taught me how to do my job. They made me understand that I wasn’t just here to strengthen an already strong bilateral relationship but there was something so much more than that. I was here in part as a protector of the trust and respect that individual Danes had for the United States and by extension, American people. That job is beyond humbling in its importance and something I took extremely seriously. These were people whose fondness and reverence for the United States sometimes felt greater than my own. I was once told by a Danish man, “I drive by your residence on the way to work every day even though it’s a bit out of my way, so I can salute the Stars and Stripes.”

That brings me to why Greenland matters.

(As an aside, while this piece is focusing on why Trump’s reckless Greenland policy has reverberated across Europe, let me start by saying that the most egregious element of Trump’s threats is the way in which he ignores Greenlandic people, their right to their land and to self-determination. That argument will be a topic for another piece.)

When I hear well intentioned Danish and American politicians and national security experts criticize Trump’s Greenland desires by talking about decades old treaties or the ease of our ability to re-establish American military presence on Greenland by working through the process – all important points that I make as well – this “think tank speak” misses a larger point. There’s something much more fundamental on the line. Something more human.

Trump’s Greenland rhetoric has inspired anti-American sentiment across Denmark and the continent because it is grounded in fundamental disrespect. He challenges their capabilities, mocks their commitments, dismisses their sacrifice. Something that every other American President publicly valued, and of which Danes are very proud, is how a country of 5.6 million people could consistently “punch far above their weight.”

Trump’s rhetoric and subsequent actions have demolished the trust of Danes and Europeans that we have worked decades to build. So much so that Danes have made preparations to defend its territory from a potential military invasion from its greatest ally on earth. Even writing these words right now still feels unthinkable to me.

But… with all the focus on Prime Ministers and Presidents, they are not the ones who truly matter here. It is the average citizen who sends their teenage kids to study in every corner of the US, their young adults who aspire to an elite American University education, their soldiers who dream of serving alongside American troops, their entrepreneurs who look to the US as their dream expansion territory for their young business, and their tourist who invest in a month long holiday exploring the American west. You can’t walk the streets of Copenhagen without hearing these stories.

Trump and Vance’s visceral disdain for Europe and NATO, best evidenced in the Greenland rhetoric, has sent shockwaves through the parliaments in Europe but also through the cafes, schools and streets. Danes have gone through various stages of grief over the course of the past year. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. Anger. Some are boycotting American products. Some are boycotting travel to the US. Some are rethinking their investments.

As my inbox is floods with comments from folks around the world, some express hope for the midterms, some implore Democrats to fight harder against the “madman” in the White House, some yearn for the past and hope for the future in 2029, and then there are the folks who say with a mix of anger and sadness that their trust in the United States of America is gone for good.

If you are an American who loves freedom and democracy and everything we have collectively fought for, that should break your heart. We risk being an adversary or even an enemy of the same people who have fought for and died alongside us.

The world mourned alongside us on 9/11. Danes and the rest of NATO invoked article 5 and sent their young men and women to Afghanistan to defend the United States. Just like in the US, many European soldiers enlisted for the mission and many never came home.

I think often about a young American Ambassador walking down the street in Denmark on September 11, 2051.

In 25 years, will that 65-year-old European man stop him and express his sadness and condolence? Or will he just keep walking?