Maine Senate candidate Troy Jackson’s greatest political asset may be that he’s boring

I didn’t sleep well Monday night, but in the couple of hours I did, I dreamed I was in Portland, Maine, riding around in a car I could fold up while I searched inside of a mall for a bathroom to use. Needless to say, when I woke up, I had no trouble finding my own bathroom.

All of this is to say that while I watched MS NOW’s Morning Joe bleary-eyed on Tuesday morning, I was almost put to sleep with Joe and Mika’s extended interview with Maine Democratic Senate candidate Troy Jackson.

And almost dozing off listening to him speak made me very happy. I also noticed the irony of Maine in my previous night’s dream.

In an era of showmanship, rousing political speak and twisted explanations, where changing one's mind turns into a fatal weakness, Jackson offers a rare example of political and personal humility. So much so that he seems almost put off by the spotlight.

Raised Catholic in a socially conservative, rural logging district, Jackson entered politics with deeply traditional views. Yet as he prepares to challenge Sen. Susan Collins this November, his greatest asset isn't a claim to lifelong ideological purity; it's that striking modesty, manifested in a rare willingness to stand before the public, look back at his early career, and simply say: I was wrong.

Related: For Sen. Susan Collins, is it a case of ‘Wake Up Little Susie,’ or is she more like Susie from Seinfeld?

Jackson's evolution on queer rights mirrors his transformation on reproductive freedom. In 2009, he cast what he now calls his "worst vote ever," standing as the lone Democrat in the Maine legislature to oppose legalizing same-sex marriage.

Around that same time, his record on abortion was similarly restrictive. He earned high marks from Maine Right to Life, backed a "fetal personhood" bill, and by his own account held views he now describes as mistaken.

For many politicians, a past like that would raise doubts for someone who has come around to the other side. The record is usually something to spin, minimize, or feverishly hope that voters forget. For Jackson, it became the starting point of a decade-long journey of listening, learning, and expanding his worldview.

He now supports marriage equality, backed Maine's post-Roe reproductive privacy protections, and has built a legislative record that reflects real, sustained change rather than a convenient conversion timed to an election.

What makes that transformation feel authentic is the unflashy way it happened. Jackson didn't go around doing interviews about how he saw the light. He has talked about conversations with gay constituents in his own district that reshaped how he thought about their lives and relationships.

He has talked about listening to women, families, and health care providers on reproductive rights. Slowly, unglamorously, he moved from what can only be described as dated dogma toward the idea that bodily autonomy and equal rights are basic components of health care and human dignity.

As president of the Maine Senate, that internal shift showed up in his votes, where he consistently supported LGBTQ+ protections and reproductive rights, standing in sharp contrast to where he started.

I noticed something else watching Jackson on Morning Joe, which I found refreshing. He seemed almost uncomfortable being asked about his own growth, and for that matter being interviewed.

I spent over 30 years in PR, media training everyone from politicians, celebrities, CEOs, and climate scientists, where one of my focuses was on how to behave on camera, for lack of a better term.

Jackson broke all my rules. He shifted in his seat. His eyes wandered. He answered in a plain, aw shucks manner. He didn’t mechanically regurgitate message points. He talked more like a man who genuinely doesn't enjoy being the center of attention.

Now, compare that demeanor to Graham Platner, the Bernie Sanders–backed oyster farmer and military veteran whose insurgent campaign for this same Senate seat collapsed this month under the weight of a Nazi-linked tattoo, old social media posts that were hostile to LGBTQ+ people, and a rape allegation he denies.

Related: Maine Senate candidate Graham Platner admits using ‘indefensible’ antigay slurs in unearthed Reddit posts

Platner had his own story of evolution to tell, about growing past positions he said no longer reflected who he was, and yes, he told it with real fluency and passion. But that clarity at once became muddled.

The more polished the explanations got, the more people wondered which version of Platner was the real one. By the end, a campaign that started with electric energy had morphed into a slow drip of walkbacks and qualified apologies, the political equivalent of "I'm sorry if that happened, but it didn’t happen, and if it did, that doesn’t mean I’m like that now.”

Following the bouncing ball became watching lottery balls bounce around in a gravity-pick mixing drum.

In an era defined by Donald Trump's brand of never-apologize bombast, and now bruised by a would-be progressive standard-bearer whose past kept resurfacing faster than he could explain it away, Maine Democrats may be arriving at a simple, almost old-fashioned conclusion that could be a model for the party.

They'd rather have someone boring.

Jackson is not going to rile up an arena. He is not going to deliver the provocative one-liner that ripples through social media.

He is, by generations of family trade, a logger, a profession built on patience, repetition, and fundamentals.

He might, for example, almost put you to sleep on a Tuesday-morning political show. And with all the noise and nonsense and narcissism being bandied about in politics today, the reassurance of Jackson just might make me sleep better tonight.

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