On a recent Sunday morning, Representative Jared Golden sat perched atop a bar stool inside a small-town Maine brewery, greeting supporters who had gathered to watch the New England Patriots game and meet their congressman.
Wearing his Julian Edelman jersey, Mr. Golden, one of Democrats’ most battle-tested and vulnerable incumbents, sipped a stein of dark lager and waited calmly for people to approach him. He did not work the room, no campaign signs adorned the walls, and his staff did not foist yard signs or buttons on attendees as they left.
Even with the election less than two weeks away, Mainers won’t find Mr. Golden making his closing argument at what he calls “big rah-rah rallies,” or appearing alongside high-profile Democratic Party figures.
Instead, as he seeks a fourth term in a district that Donald J. Trump won handily in 2016 and 2020, Mr. Golden is going to great lengths to distance himself from his own party. He has declined to endorse Vice President Kamala Harris and not only refrained from attacking Mr. Trump but gone out of his way to pitch himself as a potential governing partner with the former president.
As a conservative-leaning Democrat in a swing district, Mr. Golden, 42, has always had an uphill battle to election. But this year he is facing perhaps his most formidable challenger yet: Austin Theriault, 30, a former NASCAR driver and northern Maine native who was recruited by House Republicans.
A first-term state representative, Mr. Theriault says Mr. Golden has “gone Washington” and lost touch with his district, the largest east of the Mississippi River, which stretches from the eastern edge of New Hampshire to the western border of New Brunswick, Canada. And he has hammered the Democrat, one of the few members of Congress in his party who routinely opposes gun control measures, for coming out in favor of an assault weapons ban shortly after a mass shooting last year in Lewiston.
The outcome of the contest will almost certainly help determine which party controls the House, which Republicans now hold by a razor-thin margin.
Mr. Golden, a tattooed combat veteran who left college to enlist in the Marines shortly after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, has toiled to pitch himself to voters as someone who could work effectively with a second Trump administration. Last month he introduced a bill to impose 10 percent tariffs on all imports, an economic proposal that aligns more with Mr. Trump than with Ms. Harris.
Long before Democrats like Senators Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin and Bob Casey of Pennsylvania started name-dropping Mr. Trump in their advertisements to curry favor with conservatives, Mr. Golden would frequently highlight how he worked with the Trump administration and voted against the Biden-Harris agenda. And while Mr. Golden has said he will not vote for Mr. Trump, he has also refused to say whether he plans to vote for Ms. Harris.
“It’s important for people to know that I don’t care who’s in the White House,” Mr. Golden said in an interview. “I want them to vote for me, not for the Democratic Party, which I happen to be a member of.”
Mr. Golden, whose seat Republicans have targeted for years, is one of just five Democratic incumbents running for re-election in districts Mr. Trump won in 2020 — all largely white, rural and working-class areas.
He has helped shape the playbook for the tiny group, all of whom are running with a hyperlocal focus and a nonpartisan message aimed at working people.
In southwest Washington state, Representative Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, a Democrat who flipped her district blue two years ago and helps chair the centrist Blue Dog Caucus with Mr. Golden, has leaned heavily into her blue-collar background as an auto mechanic in her rematch against Republican Joe Kent. Further north in Alaska, the other Blue Dog chair Representative Mary Peltola has emphasized her working-class bona fides — she recently announced she was skipping a week of votes in Washington to prepare fish with her family for winter storage — while accusing her opponent of outsourcing Alaska jobs overseas.
And in the southwest corner of Wisconsin, a key battleground state where Mr. Trump and Ms. Harris are in a dead heat, Democrat Rebecca Cooke — a recruit backed by Mr. Golden and the Blue Dogs — is working to defeat Republican Representative Derrick Van Orden, a right-wing firebrand. Ms. Cooke, a small-business owner who grew up on a dairy farm and works part time as a waitress to make ends meet, has forced House Republicans to dump more than a million dollars into the race in just the last week.
“I feel like this is what the Democratic Party has always been known as — like, going to bat for the little guy,” Mr. Golden said. “I do think sometimes it’s slipping away from that.”
Mr. Golden’s message has delivered him victory after victory, even in 2020 when Mr. Trump won his district by seven percentage points. But this year, Mr. Theriault has kept the race competitive even while being significantly outspent by Mr. Golden; limited polling indicates the contest is a dead heat.
Mr. Theriault, who grew up in Fort Kent at the northernmost tip of Maine, also portrays himself as a “true Mainer” and unlike Mr. Golden’s previous opponents, dresses not in suits, but in jeans, baseball caps and a puffer vest over a button-down shirt.
He has the full-throated support of Mr. Trump and House Republican leaders, including Speaker Mike Johnson of Louisiana, who joined him at an August rally to open a new campaign office.
Mr. Theriault has largely avoided committing to any policy positions, hoping his relative anonymity will make up for his thin résumé in politics. But his campaign has seized on Mr. Golden’s reversal on a federal assault-weapons ban and is using it to brand the Democrat a “flip-flop.”
Mr. Golden, one of the few Democrats in Congress who routinely opposes gun control measures, changed his position after the shooting one year ago in Lewiston, his hometown, which left 18 people dead and several others wounded.
In Maine, where open carry is legal and airports make routine announcements reminding passengers to not bring their firearms through security, Mr. Golden’s decision came at a steep cost: The National Rifle Association and the Sportsman’s Alliance of Maine, which both used to support him, now back Mr. Theriault.
The shooting has also become something of an emotional subplot in the race. Mr. Theriault made a splashy announcement in August pledging to raise $50,000 to support community rebuilding in Lewiston and hold a charity car race to benefit the area. Mr. Golden’s campaign donated the $50,000 the next day, and the Republican has said little about the issue since.
Still, on a recent Saturday afternoon, Mr. Theriault was at the Oxford Plains Speedway, about 30 miles west of Lewiston, preparing for the charity race. As engines revved and the slight breeze carried pungent odors of gasoline, exhaust and burned rubber, Mr. Theriault dispatched an aide to say he would not be able to speak with a reporter from The New York Times who had approached him for an interview because of the “need to focus” on the car race. His campaign also did not respond to several other requests for an interview.
Mr. Theriault’s campaign has extended the “flip-flop” charge beyond guns in an effort to tie Mr. Golden to the Biden-Harris administration and national Democrats. He posts liberally on social media using flip-flop emojis and criticisms such as: “Jared Golden flip-flopped on our inflation crisis,” a reference to the Democrat’s vote in 2022 in favor of the Inflation Reduction Act, which Mr. Theriault said is incentivizing offshore wind development at the expense of lobstermen.
He has drawn strong backing from loyal Republicans in the district — even some who expressed personal affection for Mr. Golden — who are eager to have someone from their own party represent them.
Mr. Golden is “not somebody I would vote for, but I like him personally,” said Stephen Hall, a pastor who was shopping at a local farmer’s market in Hampden.
It is less clear, though, whether Mr. Theriault is winning over the critical group of swing voters who are likely to decide the race.
In recent interviews around the district, several voters — even those supporting Mr. Trump — said their congressman was down-to-earth, approachable and an authentic Mainer.
“He genuinely feels like he came from the working class and moved up the ranks,” said Jonathan Sylvia, a Lewiston resident who described himself as “pretty conservative” and plans to vote for Mr. Trump and Mr. Golden. “I mean, if he’s doing the job and he’s doing it right, why replace him?”
At the Hampden market, Jen Blake, a meat vendor from Winterport, also says she plans to vote for Mr. Trump even though his personality is “absolutely annoying” and she “cannot stand him.” She said she “hates politics” and career politicians who “lose touch with real people” — but sees no reason to vote out Mr. Golden.
“He’s relatable. He doesn’t feel like a politician. He feels genuine, and he seems to actually care about everyday people,” Ms. Blake said. “And he’s not wishy-washy. He tells you what he believes, and he sticks to it.”
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