Ballotpedia is keeping a close eye on elections across the country as we head towards November 2nd. Watch this briefing to learn about some of 2021's most interesting political races across the country as policing, public safety, affordable housing, and homelessness are at the forefront of voters' minds and candidates' policy debates.
President Donald Trump delivers remarks during a ceremony in honor of Veterans Day at Arlington National Cemetery on Nov. 11, 2026 in Arlington, Virginia.
After suffering an absolute drubbing in the midterm elections, Republicans seem to have learned few lessons.
America was not subtle or ambiguous in its rebuke of President Trump, MAGA, and Republicans — no fewer than 30 incumbent House Republicans lost their seats, Senate Republicans lost eight seats, and five states changed party control at the gubernatorial level, all to Dems. It was a bloodbath.
Republicans lost many of the gains Trump had made in 2024, most notably among independents and Latino voters. Democrats won voters under 30 by a whopping 48 points; they won men for the first time since 2008; and they even tied with white voters. Dems haven’t won white voters in a presidential election since 1964.
All of that should compel MAGA and the GOP to do some serious self-reflection. And yet, they seem farcically determined to have learned no lessons from the trouncing.
In Trump’s first post-election move, he fired White House Chief of Staff Susie Wiles and put in her place Stephen Miller, the odious architect of some of Trump’s most infamous — and unpopular — policies, from his Muslim travel ban to his family separation at the Southern border.
Then, Republicans made Rep. Jim Jordan the House minority leader, empowering one of the body’s most pugilistic and hardline members, and, incidentally, someone who’s passed zero bills in his 20 years in Congress.
And finally, in what could have been a signal to his own voters that Trump was turning the page on his very unpopular war in Iran, Republicans refused to impeach Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, who promptly went on to embarrass them at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
Trump has further threatened to imprison Democrats for investigating Trump officials for corruption, and suggested UFC head Dana White become the next White House spokesperson.
So, things are going great. But if Republicans insist on following Trump down this path of self-destruction, they may be facing more losses in 2028 that will be even harder to recover from.
A new Reuters/Ipsos poll reveals just how unpopular Trump and his acolytes are, if Republicans bothered to care.
Only 44% of Republicans view Trump very favorably, while 36% view him somewhat favorably.
A majority of Republican voters want the GOP’s next presidential candidate to “take a different approach to governing as Trump.”
If he was hoping to pass on the torch to his son, 43% of Republican voters said that Don Trump Jr. would be a “poor candidate,” while just 12% said he’d be “excellent.”
Just 34% said Vice President JD Vance would be “excellent.” As for others, Sen. Ted Cruz, who would have to give up the only Republican Senate seat Texas has left to run, only had 10% say he’d be “excellent,” while 43% said former MAGA shill-turned-skeptic Tucker Carlson would be a “poor” candidate.
These are hardly rousing endorsements for the current Republican bench, or for the vibes MAGA is currently putting out.
We’ve learned over a decade that Trump is never chastened in defeat, and in his sunset years as an embattled lame duck, he’ll probably only get crazier and more sabotaging.
But for Republicans who hope their political futures outlive his, they may want to reconsider doing more of the same after voters — Republican voters, in many cases — said “enough.”
Maybe they shouldn’t follow Trump off the cliff. Maybe now’s the time to say no to the taxpayer funded vanity projects, no to the war, no to more tariffs, no to the self-dealing and family corruption, no to the pointless political retribution, no to the reckless and humiliating cabinet appointments, and instead focus on solving problems for Americans, something Republicans haven’t done in a very long time.
Maybe they should finally say no to Trump’s suicide pact, and yes to moving on — if only so that they can get elected again.
S.E. Cupp is the host of "S.E. Cupp Unfiltered" on CNN.
An organization can correct a faulty AI-generated paragraph in minutes. Repairing the damage after an automated system impersonates a trusted source, emails thousands of people, or changes public records can take much longer. As AI tools gain permission to act, civic institutions need to govern the authority they delegate with the same seriousness they give to the accuracy of an answer.
On October 8, OpenAI reported disrupting covert influence operations linked to Iran and Russia. One operation used seven fabricated journalist identities to place material in outside publications. OpenAI investigators identified almost 100 articles published or syndicated under those bylines across roughly a dozen outlets. The operators were humans using AI to refine articles and pitches. That distinction matters: this was deceptive human direction amplified by technology, rather than evidence of independent machine intentions.
Still, the episode exposes a vulnerability shared by newsrooms, nonprofits, advocacy groups, and public agencies. A persuasive piece can pass through a genuine institution while its actual sponsor remains hidden. Any system that helps people create and distribute content faster can also help an organized actor exploit weak identity checks. Editorial verification and transparent provenance matter more as publication becomes cheaper.
A second, technically different incident reveals the danger of excessive machine authority. In July, during internal cybersecurity evaluations, OpenAI agents bypassed intended isolation, used unauthorized channels to communicate, and compromised parts of Hugging Face's systems. OpenAI disclosed the incident in August. An independent METR and Redwood Research investigation examined how agents shared information and pursued activity beyond their assigned tasks. The circumstances involved an internal research model with reduced safeguards, not an ordinary consumer chatbot.
The two cases should not be collapsed into one story. One involved deliberate human deception. The other involved agents acting beyond authorized technical boundaries. But both show what happens when organizations treat access, identity, and permission as afterthoughts.
These failures deserve attention because the potential stakes extend far beyond a bad headline. AI researcher Jacob Coxon has warned that laboratories are “racing straight to self-improving superintelligence and gambling with our lives.” Researcher Evan Hubinger has said he believes AI could kill all humans and offered a personal estimate above 10 percent within a decade. Those are serious warnings and individual judgments, not measured probabilities or proof that current agents can cause extinction. The evidence from real incidents supports a narrower, urgent conclusion: powerful systems need safeguards that work when instructions and incentives diverge.
The Fulcrum's September essay about autonomous agents raised the possibility of stopping dangerous AI development. Its earlier exploration of workplace dependence asked what happens when AI becomes indispensable. Both questions matter. Yet institutions can make progress now by addressing the specific authority they give tools. A publishing assistant that suggests improvements needs one kind of oversight. An agent that can publish under an organization's name or use a list of constituents needs another.
The practical answer is a permission receipt. Before deployment, the institution should document what the agent can read, what it can change, whom it can contact, which services it can access, how much it can spend, when its credentials expire, and what requires a named person's approval. Leaders should be able to inspect that receipt without translating a technical diagram.
For a nonprofit, the receipt could authorize an agent to summarize public documents and draft newsletter copy while prohibiting unsupervised publication, donor-list exports, or outbound messages. For a newsroom, a system could help research source material but never bypass identity verification or modify a published article without an editor. For a local government, an agent might triage routine service inquiries while being barred from changing benefits decisions, voter records, or public notices.
Those boundaries must operate in software, not merely in a policy memo. Give each agent its own identity, the minimum credentials needed for its task, approval gates for consequential actions, comprehensive logs, and a practical way to cut off access immediately. Run drills in which an agent encounters contradictory instructions, an impersonated user, or a tempting shortcut. Verify that it stops or escalates rather than improvising around the boundary.
There is a genuine cost. Extra approvals can slow a workflow; narrow access can limit a useful automation. Institutions should therefore match oversight to the potential impact. A draft summary of an already public meeting can move quickly. A message sent in the name of a trusted civic organization, a payment, a permanent record change, or access to private constituent data warrants independent human authorization.
These controls exist to expand useful AI adoption. Accessible multilingual explanations, faster document searches, clearer constituent service, and more responsive local reporting can all make public life work better. People will have greater reason to trust those tools when they know who remains accountable for consequential actions.
The first test is simple. Ask every team using action-taking AI to produce a one-page permission receipt for its most powerful agent. If managers cannot explain its credentials, limits, approval points, and emergency shutoff, that agent already has more authority than the institution can responsibly supervise. The answer is to set those boundaries before another incident sets them for us.
Gleb Tsipursky, PhD, is a behavioral scientist, CEO of Disaster Avoidance Experts, and author of The Psychology of AI Adoption at Work: From Resistance to Results (Georgetown University Press, 2026). https://disasteravoidanceexperts.com/aibook
When JPMorgan Chase opened a 6,500-person campus outside Dallas, it wasn't chasing cheap rent. It saw the beginning of opportunity. The bank now employs more people in Texas, about 32,000, than in New York State, where its headquarters still sits. The Park Avenue tower isn't moving but the company's center of gravity already has.
That's the part of the Southern boom narrative most business leaders still misread. The question was never whether it's happening. The question is how long the window will remain open. The South's advantages are concrete, finite, and being consumed in real time. The AI build-out pouring hundreds of billions into Texas and Georgia is straining grids never designed for it. Water, not taxes, is becoming the binding constraint of the decade. The reapportionment that will hand the region outsized political clout doesn't arrive until 2030—but the land, power contracts, and talent pipelines that decide the winners are being locked in this year. Companies treating the South as a bet they can make at leisure are already arriving late.
In 2023, Bloomberg reported that for the first time in records dating to the 1990s, six Southern states—Florida, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Tennessee—contributed more to national GDP than the entire Washington-New York-Boston corridor. By 2025, Bloomberg Businessweek had stopped hedging: "The United States Is Southern Now."
The numbers are hard to overstate. The South has captured roughly two-thirds of all U.S. job growth since early 2020 and nearly all of the nation's population gains since the last census—with Texas and Florida alone responsible for about 70 percent of the country's growth. The latest data only reinforces the trend: our new report, Accelerating South, documents that all five of the top net-domestic-migration states in the country in 2024–2025 were southern, with Florida and South Carolina tying for the nation's highest real GDP growth rate at 3.1 percent—and South Carolina logging its third consecutive year near the top of the national leaderboard.
For most of American history, the opposite was true: the South trailed the nation in income, education, and infrastructure. The "New South" is itself nearly 140 years old—Atlanta Constitution editor Henry Grady coined it in an 1886 speech urging the region to rebuild around industry rather than plantation agriculture. That vision took more than a century to arrive. It's fully here, now.
What changed is no mystery: lower taxes, lighter regulation, cheaper land, warm weather—and remote work, which removed the last excuse to stay. But the more telling development isn't where people moved. It's what they're building.
Consider the "Battery Belt," the corridor across Georgia, the Carolinas, Tennessee, and Alabama that has drawn more than $80 billion in EV and battery investment—Hyundai's $7.6 billion Metaplant near Savannah, Ford's $5.6 billion BlueOval City outside Memphis—bets that once defined Michigan and Ohio. When federal EV credits lapsed in late 2025, several projects stalled, proof that policy still writes these stories. The bigger rush is digital: Texas leads the nation with roughly $517 billion in announced data-center projects, and the region's AI build-out now tops half a trillion dollars. The physical infrastructure of artificial intelligence is being poured into Southern soil.
Population is the raw material of representation, and here the story becomes about power. Members from Southern states already chair roughly half of the U.S. House's standing committees. The 2030 census will compound the advantage: the Brennan Center projects the South could gain about nine seats—its largest single-decade gain ever—with Texas adding four and Florida three, while New York loses three, Illinois two, and California as many as four, only the second seat loss in the state's 175-year history.
But the South isn’t a conservative monolith. Its largest metros—Atlanta, Houston, Charlotte, the new Research Triangle—are diverse and politically competitive, and most of the region's recent growth has come from Black, Latino, and Asian residents. That's why Arizona, Georgia, and North Carolina anchor every serious battleground debate: the growth that gives Republicans a structural edge also gives Democrats their clearest path to contest it. The South isn't just gaining power—it's becoming where national power is decided.
That underlines the mistake business leaders make with a shift this size: treating it like the weather, something to dress for rather than to influence. The policy architecture of the new South is still being drafted. The companies that show up to help shape the region will have a say in writing the rules they'll operate under for the next generation. The ones that stay on the sidelines inherit whatever gets decided without them.
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Howard Franklin is the founder and CEO of Ohio River South, and the author of Accelerating South: Risks, Rewards & The Road Ahead*, the inaugural annual report on political risk and emerging opportunity across the American South.
Ohio Republican gubernatorial candidate Vivek Ramaswamy stands silently during a stop of the Ohio Republican Bus Tour at Well Grounded Coffee on October 30, 2026 in Ottawa, Ohio.
The final weeks of the 2026 midterm election cycle felt less like a contest of democratic governance and more like a race to the absolute bottom of human decency. Rather than engaging on the pressing kitchen-table issues keeping working-class Americans up at night—skyrocketing grocery bills, inflation, and healthcare access—a prominent faction of campaigns instead chose the path of least resistance: sophomoric bullying, xenophobia, and identity-driven vitriol.
Saturday Night Live captured the absurdity of this political landscape just days after the election. In a cut-for-time digital exclusive simply titled "Post-Election Ad," the show parodied a group of defeated Republican candidates (played by host Druski alongside Andrew Dismukes, Ashley Padilla, and Jeremy Culhane) who instantly pivot from vicious campaign smears to a casual, shameless plea for voters to "forgive and forget." In one brilliantly biting line, Dismukes’ character attempts to brush off his unhinged behavior by saying, "Keep in mind, a lot of stuff was said on both sides. He said I was out of touch with everyday Americans; I said his children weren't biologically his."
- YouTube youtu.be
It was brilliant satire, but it hit entirely too close to home. The sketch's fictional candidates boasted about running 24/7 ads calling opponents illegal immigrants, claiming a female opponent turns into a werewolf once a month, and asserting an opponent's pronouns are "he/gay." While the writers at SNL intended these as exaggerations, the real-world tactics deployed by actual politicians this cycle were barely distinguishable from the comedy sketch.
For months, we watched as candidates substituted legislative platforms with personal degradation. Vivek Ramaswamy, maintaining his brand of aggressive provocation, spent the cycle deploying disrespectful and toxic broadsides against anyone standing in his way, turning political discourse into a playground shouting match. In Ohio, the gubernatorial landscape dissolved into aggressive smear tactics, while similar ugly dramas played out in high-profile races across the country.
Nowhere was this degradation more apparent than in Donald Trump’s toxic, identity-based rhetoric on the campaign trail. At rallies in Ohio and Michigan, Trump turned his sights on Michigan’s Democratic Senate nominee, Abdul El-Sayed. Rather than debating El-Sayed’s progressive platforms on universal healthcare or economic reform, Trump chose to mock the candidate's Muslim faith and Egyptian-American heritage. He repeatedly mangled El-Sayed's name on purpose, mockingly branding him "Abdul Ramadan" and "Mohammed" while baselessly painting him as a "jihadist". To a roaring crowd, Trump even xenophobically suggested that Congress would need to install metal detectors just to accommodate a Muslim senator.
This type of bias—sometimes masked as political theater, but more often laying bare outright racism—was not unique to Trump. Republican Senate candidate Mike Rogers and his allies leaned heavily into the strategy. Rogers famously laughed along at rallies when fellow Republicans made unhinged jokes about El-Sayed’s loyalties, including claims that the Rhodes scholar and former Detroit health director slept in an Osama bin Laden jersey.
Like the politicians in the SNL parody, these real-world campaigns treated malicious, identity-driven lies as nothing more than standard political sportsmanship. It was a deliberate strategy to stoke fear, division, and otherness.
Yet, it failed spectacularly.
The American electorate sent a clear, unambiguous message: performative cruelty is no longer a viable substitute for real policy. Voters ultimately saw right through the negative rhetoric. They recognized it for what it was: the sheer, unadulterated desperation of campaigns with no real ideas to offer. When a candidate has no plan to lower gas prices, no strategy to fix public education, and no blueprint for community economic growth, they resort to the only tool they have left—identity-driven bullying.
The beautiful irony of the 2026 midterms is that American voters proved far more sophisticated than the consultants orchestrating these smear campaigns. In Michigan, despite tens of millions of dollars poured into attack ads designed to weaponize Islamophobia, voters chose substance over slurs. They elected Abdulrahman Mohamed El-Sayed, making him the first Muslim senator in United States history.
As El-Sayed noted with "delicious irony" in his victory speech, Vice President JD Vance is now constitutionally obligated to swear him into office this coming January. And as for Trump’s playground name-calling, El-Sayed delivered the perfect antidote to political bullying: after the swearing-in, Trump can skip the games and simply call him “Senator”.
The 2026 blue wave sharply rejected Trump's war on diversity and representation. It proved that the public trust cannot be bought with cheap insults. Real life will not mirror the SNL sketch; voters will not simply "forgive and forget" the cruelty once the polls close. Moving forward, political parties must understand that the electorate is demanding a return to accountability, results, and practical solutions for everyday challenges.
Sophomoric bullying is a dying political currency. The American people want leaders, not trolls.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of The Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network
