Florida has survived hurricanes, sinkholes, lovebugs, reality television, and spring breakers who believe sunscreen is merely a suggestion.
Add one more miracle to the list: in 2018, the state missed electing Andrew Gillum as governor by the political equivalent of a hanging chad’s eyelash.
Think about that.
The difference between “Governor Ron DeSantis” and “Governor Andrew Gillum” wasn’t some massive electoral mandate. It was a margin so thin it could’ve been delivered by a waiter balancing a martini.
Looking back now, that election resembles one of those action movies where the hero cuts the correct wire with one second left on the clock. Except instead of a bomb, it was Florida wondering years later, “Did we just dodge something?”
This week, according to Local 10 News, the former Democratic gubernatorial nominee was arrested in Alabama after police say he was driving erratically. Officers reported finding a glass pipe in plain view, along with marijuana and substances that field-tested positive for methamphetamine. Those allegations remain before the courts, and like everyone else, Gillum is entitled to the presumption of innocence.
Still…
If political careers came with warning lights, Gillum’s dashboard has looked like a Christmas tree for years.
Politics is the only profession where voters interview someone for the biggest job in the state after spending millions of dollars learning as little as possible about the applicant.
Imagine interviewing a pilot.
“Can you land this airplane?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent. Any other qualifications?”
“I’m great at campaign speeches.”
“You’re hired.”
That’s roughly how campaigns work now.
Candidates spend months explaining what they’ll do about property taxes, healthcare, and infrastructure. Fair enough. Those things matter.
But here’s a radical thought.
Before asking someone how they’ll manage billions of taxpayer dollars, perhaps ask whether they seem capable of managing Tuesday night.
If Graham Platner, Joe Biden, and many other Democrats have taught us, character matters.
Character isn’t old-fashioned. It’s simply what remains after the consultants leave.
Gillum has appeared in headlines before. In 2020, he was found in a Miami Beach hotel room with a male prostitute after police responded to a medical emergency. Officers reported finding suspected narcotics in the room, although Gillum was never charged in connection with that incident. He publicly denied using methamphetamine and later spoke candidly about struggles with alcohol and mental health while seeking treatment.
Personal struggles deserve compassion.
Public office still demands accountability.
Those two ideas can occupy the same room without arguing.
Modern politics often pretends they’re enemies.
One of America’s strangest habits is confusing empathy with suspended judgment. You can hope someone gets help while also deciding you wouldn’t hand them the keys to state government.
Those aren’t contradictory positions.
They’re called standards.
Every election eventually becomes a history lesson.
Sometimes voters later discover they elected someone extraordinary.
Sometimes they discover they narrowly avoided electing someone whose biography kept adding chapters nobody saw coming.
History enjoys these little practical jokes. It waits years before grading everyone’s predictions.
Campaign commercials are fascinating little fantasy films.
Every candidate suddenly becomes the neighbor who returns your lawn mower sharper than when he borrowed it.
Children adore them.
Dogs instinctively trust them.
Small woodland creatures help them write economic policy.
Then Election Day passes, and the makeup comes off.
Reality walks onto the stage carrying receipts.
Florida’s 2018 race now looks less like a cliffhanger and more like a time capsule.
Open it in 2018 and people argued endlessly about ideology.
Open it today and another question jumps out instead.
Judgment.
That word never receives enough attention because it’s impossible to measure in polling data.
No consultant has discovered how to ask, “On a scale from one to ten, how likely is this candidate to become tomorrow’s headline for entirely avoidable reasons?”
Maybe they should.
The founders spent an enormous amount of time discussing ambition, virtue, restraint, and human nature.
They understood something we’ve partially forgotten.
Government isn’t operated by policy papers. It’s operated by people.
People bring habits. People make decisions. And people possess character long before they occupy office.
Eventually, character introduces itself.
The latest allegations against Gillum will proceed through the legal system, where they belong. That’s how justice works.
Politics, however, asks a different question than criminal law.
Not “Can this person be convicted?”
But “Should this person be trusted with enormous responsibility?”
Those are entirely different standards.
Florida answered that question in 2018 by the slimmest of margins.
Looking back, that tiny margin has aged remarkably well.
Political commentators spend enormous amounts of energy arguing over polling averages, demographic shifts, fundraising totals, and social media engagement.
Sometimes history simply smiles and says, “You’re all watching the wrong spreadsheet.”
The most important number from 2018 wasn’t complicated. It was the one that put Ron DeSantis in the governor’s office instead of Andrew Gillum.
Sometimes a landslide changes history. Sometimes history changes because just enough people looked at two names on a ballot and tilted the steering wheel by a single degree.
Most days, you never notice the road you didn’t take.
Years later, you pass it again, glance down that highway, and quietly think to yourself:
“Well…that could have gone very differently.”
