NEW LEADERSHIP [DEC 2024]

FICTION: TOM EMMER

FICTION - NEW LEADERSHIP [Dec 2024]

The cold bit into Tom Emmer’s fingers as he stepped into the DoubleTree, his phone buzzing in his coat pocket. He fished it out, squinting against the glare of the lobby’s fluorescent lights. A text from Vin Weber: Good luck.

Emmer’s lips twitched into a half-smile. Weber, ever the kingmaker after a political career that started early (age 28 when elected to Congress in 1980), though staying a bit more in the background since the Ukraine-related DOJ probe. Weber had backed him in 2010 for governor—a race he’d lost, but one that had propelled him into Congress, then overnight to head of the NRCC in Washington, D.C., funneling money across the country like a political Santa Claus. Weber’s terse message felt like a nod to their shared history, a reminder of the machine that had elevated Emmer to this moment. But it also carried an unspoken weight: Don’t screw this up.

Inside the meeting room, the air was thick with the hum of 300 to 400 state central delegates and alternates, their voices a low rumble beneath the sharp scent of burnt hotel coffee. Emmer took his seat near the front, his gaze drifting over the crowd as a prayer was read aloud. The words washed over him, a distant hum, as his mind churned. This was his moment to set the tone, to address the inner circle of the MNGOP, but first, he needed to decide how.

He leaned back, letting his thoughts drift to how he’d gotten here. Just this year, he’d been re-elected in CD6, a victory that felt more like a coronation than a contest. His opponent, Chris Corey, had been sidelined, thanks to Bobby Benson—Emmer’s campaign staffer and the CD6 chair—who’d ensured Corey couldn’t even participate. Emmer’s lips curled slightly at the memory. Quick. Clean. And unrecorded, since no media could get their hands on the proceedings. Kip Christiansen, stationed in the lobby, had even shut down a guest trying to take video. Poor Kip—an up-and-comer who was starting to realize the party had used him, just as it used everyone. Kip would probably narrowly lose today’s vote for Deputy Chair, after Hann had assured him that he, Hann, would step aside once they both were elected.

Emmer knew that game all too well. He too was part of the system, a cog in the machine, but that was the price of excitement and power—of having 50 congressmen jump when he picked up the phone, of funneling money to hand-picked candidates like Joe Teirab in CD2. Teirab had lost the endorsement 25% to 75%, but with Emmer’s financial muscle, he’d still won the primary.

Emmer’s gaze flickered to the stage, where David Hann, the current chair, who’d put the party in a tough financial position and was currently in litigation with one of the BPOU chairs (while the party paid its own lawyers throughout the litigation) stood with a tight smile, preparing to introduce him. Hann’s tenure had been a mixed bag. He’d failed to keep the grassroots base from making significant gains, and now the party was at a crossroads.

Emmer’s mind raced through the stakes. The plan was to bring in Alex Plechash as a chair candidate, a counterweight to the grassroots candidate, Bret Bussman. Reason being: it was unclear if Hann still had the numbers to hold on. Just yesterday, in a tense one-on-one, Hann had admitted as much, his voice low and strained. They’d even delayed the signup deadline to make more calls, to persuade a few more loyalists to give up their Saturday a week before Christmas. Strategic, of course—moving the meeting to December ensured no changeover in state central delegates before the chair vote, unlike a May timeframe that might have tipped the scales.

Emmer’s fingers drummed on his knee. If Hann stayed, there’d be pressure to clean up the Otter Tail mess—a festering wound of disenfranchised delegates that threatened the party’s stability. If Plechash won, there’d be complications, too—new alliances, new enemies. Emmer sighed. He’d have to hedge his bets, play both sides without committing fully to either. It was the only way to keep his options open, to maintain his grip on power.

The prayer ended, and Hann stepped to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Representative Tom Emmer for our opening address.”

The room erupted into applause—aggressive clapping, punctuated by shouts of support. But Emmer’s sharp eyes caught the undercurrent of discontent. A cluster of delegates in the back sat stone-faced, their arms crossed. Another group near the front whispered to each other, their expressions tight. Perhaps his stunt in CD2 with Teirab had been too much. Teirab had even sold his house to his brother and moved, all part of the orchestrated push, backed by donations from 50 congressmen—details unfortunately discoverable in FEC filings, which researchers had gleefully shared online with quips such as ‘Joe LIErab’. Emmer’s jaw tightened. The optics weren’t great, but power wasn’t won by playing nice.

He strode to the stage, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood, and gripped the podium. The room quieted, expectant. Emmer took a breath, his mind settling on the words he’d rehearsed in his head moments ago, the tone he’d calculated. He needed to inspire, to unify, but also to leave room for ambiguity—to avoid alienating either Hann’s loyalists or Plechash’s potential coalition.

“Sometimes,” he began, his voice steady and resonant, “the leadership that got you here isn’t the leadership that will take you where you want to go next.”

The words hung in the air, deliberate and vague, a statement that could mean everything or nothing. He scanned the room, noting the reactions—a few nods from Hann’s camp, a flicker of interest from the grassroots delegates. Good. He’d planted the seed without picking a side. The rest of his speech flowed smoothly, a blend of party platitudes and calls for unity, carefully avoiding any mention of the chair race or the Otter Tail debacle. By the time he stepped down, the applause was warm, if not thunderous, at least to his ears, and the tension in the room had eased slightly.

Emmer nodded to Representative Harry Niska, the parliamentarian for today’s proceedings, as he left the stage. Niska, with his ties to CrossCastle, was well-aligned with the political machine (part of the reason he and others, like Ryan Wilson or Doug Wardlow or Erick Kaardal had opted not to run for the MN Supreme Court seats, of which all 7 would remain in DFL control), but Emmer knew Niska as parliamentarian would be tested today.

The grassroots were restless, and the chair vote could get messy. It was one of the reasons it was becoming more difficult to find anyone willing to be the chair or parliamentarian of these meetings—inevitably the chair or parliamentarian would have to play one of many tricks to avoid suboptimal outcomes, such as looking the other way while alternates remained unseated that should be sat (skewing voting blocs), or moving agenda items back that certain groups were interested in, a common ‘slow-walk’ technique.

Even though a pretty good job was generally done about shutting down anyone trying to record, the people still took mental notes to share with their allies. Emmer had already instructed a few of his people to stay behind and take notes, to report back on any cracks in the facade.

In the hallway, fans swarmed him, their voices a jumble of praise and requests. A volunteer organization nearby hawked “We the People Are Coming To Save America” shirts and sweatshirts, the bold letters on red background a stark contrast to the muted suits that he and the other politicians tucked themselves into. Emmer’s gaze drifted to a woman, seated among them, one of the stars of the Otter Tail saga, chatting with a man he recognized but couldn’t place. As he passed, the woman’s voice cut through the din: “So corrupt.”

Emmer’s smile didn’t falter, but his mind was surprisingly rattled. One way of spinning it, he thought. Let her talk. The real power plays happened behind closed doors, not in hallway gossip.

Among others, Senator Mark Koran was waiting to shake his hand, his grip firm and his eyes sharp, practiced from 40 years as a politician saying much but doing little. Emmer kept it quick—he had places to be, like D.C. “How’s the bill coming?” he asked, his tone casual but loaded.

Koran grinned, leaning in slightly. “We’ll start by moving forward the primaries from August to March. The earlier date will effectively make precinct caucuses meaningless.”

Emmer’s pulse quickened, though his expression remained neutral. This was exactly what he wanted. If they could skip the power games with the growing grassroots base—whose antics were making some of his people stand out in all the wrong ways—then he could finance his hand-picked candidates in primaries (similar to how he’d done with Teirab) without having to overcome any grassroots-endorsed challengers.

“And if there’s pushback?” Emmer prompted, his voice low.

Koran didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’ll back off the bill, but author a second bill with a May endorsement.”

Emmer’s grin widened, genuine this time. “Which is even better, when you think about it, because then, with the primaries done by the first week of May 2026, any controversial legislative items can be moved to late-session omnibus bills without damaging candidates who vote on them—the voters won’t be able to hold their legislators accountable even if they want to.”

Koran nodded, not comfortable with Emmer saying all this out loud, in case those at the nearby table were listening, but he was committed to see it through, nodding a second time as they shook hands. Emmer clapped him on the shoulder, already mentally drafting the next moves. The machine hummed on, and he was still at the helm—for now.

---

Alex Plechash was voted to be the new chair of the MNGOP and started his term on January 1, 2025. So far, he has failed to recover the data that David Hann and his team erased, including emails (nor the MNGOP computer that David Hann sold to himself), but Alex Plechash has also failed from the grassroots perspective by not figuring out how to include the disenfranchised Otter Tail delegates. If those delegates are rightfully included in the March 22, 2025 meeting, they could threaten the power of the CD7 structure and Michelle Fischbach’s organization. As a side note—there is no such thing as a coincidence—Vin Weber’s daughter, Lauren Weber, serves as the Communications Director for Representative Michelle Fischbach.