In Nevada politics, there is an old belief, handed down like a worn playing card: you cannot represent a place you do not understand. It is a comforting thought, especially in times when understanding is in short supply and confidence is a brisk trade.
James Settelmeyer, a Republican candidate for Congress, appears to have read that saying and nodded politely at it, then went off to build his campaign on the idea that familiarity still counts for something in a world increasingly fond of strangers with microphones.
This week, his campaign announced more than 100 endorsements from Nevada officials and community figures. It is the sort of list that reads like a directory of everyone who has ever received trust with a rubber stamp in the northern half of the state. Governors, legislators, sheriffs, commissioners, mayors, and all persons of consequence appear to have signed their names in ink, which is still the preferred method of agreement in Nevada.
Governor Joe Lombardo is on the list. So is Rep. Mark Amodei. Along with six state senators, more than a dozen assembly members, and an assortment of local officials and business leaders, it forms what Settelmeyer calls evidence that he is known.
Settelmeyer’s campaign, having gathered its local chorus, then cleared its throat and took a subtle swipe at opponents who have been leaning on national figures and online personalities for support. One might call it the modern method: fewer town halls, more timelines.
A rival candidate, David Flippo, a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel, has drawn attention for his national conservative messaging and a support network that includes well-known media voices and political commentators.
Among them are Gunther Eagleman, a Texas-based online political commentator, and Roger Stone, a longtime Republican operative whose career has included both conviction in federal court and a later presidential pardon. The past, in Stone’s case, appears to travel with him like an overly loyal dog.
Former Rep. Matt Gaetz has also found hisself associated with the broader circle of support surrounding Flippo, alongside radio host Wayne Allyn Root, who is known to speak his mind like a man who charges by the sentence.
Settelmeyer’s campaign, by contrast, has chosen the more terrestrial route: county meetings, rural stops, and the general practice of showing up where the roads eventually give out.
The contrast, as presented by each side, is simple enough. One campaign leans on proximity. The other leans on reach. One trusts that Nevada is best understood by those who have had to fix its fences. The other seems more comfortable with those who can talk about it.
The district itself is no small argument either way. Nevada’s 2nd Congressional District sprawls across the northern part of the state, taking in Reno and Carson City along with wide counties of ranchland, mining towns, and federal land so extensive it appears to have been designed by someone with a strong opinion about emptiness.
The issues are of a practical sort: water rights, land management, energy, infrastructure, and that old American problem: how to live far from everything without running out of everything.
Settelmeyer points to his 16 years in the state legislature as preparation for such matters, a period in which he represented rural Nevada interests and presumably learned that nothing in rural Nevada is ever simple, except perhaps the silence.
The Republican primary for the district comes June 9, with a crowded field, where the usual truth applies: organization matters, attention matters, and so does the ability to convince voters that you are not merely passing through their landscape on the way to somewhere louder.
Settelmeyer’s wager is straightforward. In a place where geography is large, and memory is longer still, he is betting that being known in person still outweighs being known in pixels.
Whether Nevada agrees is another matter entirely. The state tends to listen to all arguments carefully, then makes decisions that surprise everyone involved, including itself.
Leave a comment