Delgado Bows Out of Democratic Primary, Hochul Now Runs Mostly Unopposed

The abrupt departure of the last major challenger cements Governor Hochul’s path, but portends harder tests for New York’s political centre.

Pollsters had made hay of the supposed contest, but New Yorkers must look elsewhere for political suspense. With little warning, Lieutenant Governor Antonio Delgado shuttered his nascent campaign for governor on June 15th, ending the only plausible threat to Governor Kathy Hochul’s bid for re-election. Overnight, the most significant contest in the Democratic primary was reduced to a walkover.

Mr Delgado’s demurral signals more than mere electoral choreography. In a party where internecine drama is the norm, his exit leaves Democrats, from the Bronx to Buffalo, facing an unusually anodyne ballot. With the state’s second-highest official returning to his ceremonial role, Ms Hochul is free to campaign as a unity candidate, her party’s machinery now swerving to block any late-emerging rivals.

Such dominance is no mean feat given New York’s fractious politics. Since assuming office in August 2021 after Andrew Cuomo’s defenestration, Ms Hochul has played the part of designated healer, promising cordial government and incremental reform. Mr Delgado, who joined as lieutenant governor after Brian Benjamin’s own ethical stumbles, offered a more left-leaning, downstate-anchored alternative. His departure prunes the primary field to a modest thicket, with only perennial gadflies and protest candidates remaining.

For the city, the implications are immediate. In the absence of a competitive Democratic contest, New Yorkers—particularly those in heavily Democratic strongholds—have little incentive to troop to the polls. City machines, once powerful arbiters of turnout and party loyalty, may find themselves mustering support for local races with limited assistance from above. The primary, traditionally a stage for ethnic, ideological, and regional factions to flex their muscle, looks tepid.

More subtly, the consolidation may deepen the rift between progressives and centrists within the party. Ms Hochul’s brand—a pre-disaster moderate, steeped in upstate politics and suburban norms—has never thrilled New York City’s activist base. With Mr Delgado gone, the left must either bide its time or coalesce behind candidates for lesser offices. Their virtual exclusion from the marquee race could prompt abstention or protest, complicating Democratic efforts to signal unity come November.

Economic interests, too, find little to cheer. A contested primary often forces debate on budgets, transit, housing, and taxes; unopposed incumbents seldom feel compelled to offer specifics. Crisis topics—rental affordability, the MTA’s budget woes, migrant arrivals straining city coffers—now risk being relegated to sonorous talking points. Ms Hochul will face less pressure to grapple publicly with housing permits or the city’s bifurcated pandemic recovery. That, in turn, bodes ill for a candid airing of the city’s fiscal vulnerabilities.

Across the country, New York’s non-drama stands out. Chicago’s Democrats are gnawing at one another; even Californians, under the reliably cautious Gavin Newsom, occasionally unearth an intra-party spat. Empire State politics, by contrast, has contracted to a single, unglamorous narrative. It recalls the stolid stability of an earlier era—unexciting, perhaps, but also unilluminating.

A yawning gap for debate

Some will argue, with justification, that a period of stability was overdue. The state weathered pandemic shock and the whiff of scandal; voters may well find dullness a relief. Ms Hochul herself won praise for steering clear of Cuomoite bombast and restoring a veneer of trust to Albany. The days of three-men-in-a-room—the backroom process by which budgets and policy emerged—may not yet be gone, but neither do they dominate headlines.

Others, though, worry that a closed contest serves no one well but the incumbent. In the absence of competition, policy debate narrows and public scrutiny wanes. New York’s civic life depends, in no small part, on the spectacle of rough-and-tumble contests to keep the city’s prodigious energies focused on concrete goals. Passive coronations seldom produce bold answers.

More parochially, the party’s heavyweights—unions, donors, lobbyists—will line up in orderly fashion, but city voters can expect little more than mailbox flyers and generic slogans posing as engagement. Absent the drama of rivalry, turnout will likely hover at paltry levels—a fact not lost on those contemplating November’s more consequential contests for Congress.

Ms Hochul, to her credit, remains cautious. Her advisers, keenly aware of New York’s volatility, stress the need to court progressives and secure commitments from the city’s restless stakeholders. But with Mr Delgado’s withdrawal, the urgency to produce a buoyant policy vision recedes. Whether New Yorkers benefit from this pause remains to be seen, but history suggests that uncontested incumbency rarely leads to triumphs of governance.

Dispiriting as it may sound, the most significant effect of Mr Delgado’s end-run is a shrinking of political possibility—a narrowing of the range of ideas, identities, and ambitions on offer. Some may salute the return of the “adults in the room” and the victory of the Democratic mainstream; others will bristle at the long shadows cast by power’s consolidation.

One thing, at least, is certain: barring a last-minute surprise, New York’s Democratic primary will be a study in managed expectations rather than a tableau of democratic energy. That, in the long run, may be the most sobering statistic of all. ■