He's one of us. He represented East LA. He lived it.
From the margins of a crowded primary to the threshold of history, Xavier Becerra's improbable ascent in California's gubernatorial race speaks to something older than strategy: the moment when a political system, destabilized by scandal and fragmentation, reaches for the familiar and finds, unexpectedly, the authentic. A man whose résumé once seemed like his greatest liability has become the vessel for a deeper longing among California's Latino working class — proof that in democratic life, timing and identity can outweigh even the most carefully constructed political narrative.
- Three months ago Becerra was polling at 3% and party insiders were urging him to step aside before he became a liability to the Democratic field.
- The sudden collapse of Eric Swalwell's campaign over sexual misconduct allegations tore open a vacuum that no other Democrat was positioned to fill.
- Rather than consolidating around a fresh insurgent, Democratic voters made a pragmatic bet on the one candidate who could keep Republicans from dominating the general election.
- Beneath the tactical calculus, something more personal was driving Becerra's surge — Latino voters saw not a cabinet secretary but a construction worker's son who had lived their reality.
- With millions of ballots still uncounted, the AP has already projected his place in the November general election, where he could become California's first Latino governor in over 150 years.
Three months ago, Xavier Becerra was effectively a ghost in California's gubernatorial race — a 68-year-old former Biden cabinet official polling at 3%, quietly being nudged toward the exit by his own party. With three decades in public office and a résumé that included stints in Congress, the California attorney general's office, and the Department of Health and Human Services, he was, paradoxically, too much of the establishment for a Democratic electorate hungry for fighters.
Then the field broke open. In April, sexual misconduct allegations forced Congressman Eric Swalwell out of the race entirely, leaving a sudden vacuum at the center of a crowded primary. Becerra, almost by default, became the consolidating choice — experienced, known, and available at precisely the right moment. Democratic voters who had been scattered among rivals like Tom Steyer and Katie Porter faced a stark calculation: fragment and risk ceding the general election to Republicans, or rally around the safe harbor. They chose the harbor.
But the story beneath the strategy was more human than tactical. Becerra's father was a Mexican immigrant construction worker, and Becerra himself had done that labor. Among Latino voters, 37% backed him in pre-primary polling — a margin that dwarfed his rivals. When researchers asked his supporters what drew them to a man with such an extensive government résumé, the answers had nothing to do with policy: "He's one of us." "He represented East LA." "He lived it."
Voters like Dwayne Murphy, a 35-year-old Amazon delivery driver from Irvine, weren't moved by Becerra's credentials. They were moved by his promises to help working Californians buy homes and build lives in a state where basic survival had become a financial feat. Corporate attacks linking Becerra to Chevron funding barely registered against that more elemental appeal.
With millions of ballots still being counted, the Associated Press has projected Becerra will advance to the November general election. If he wins, he will be California's first Latino governor since 1875. Three months ago, his campaign posting "California, we're just getting started" would have read as denial. Today, it reads like the opening line of something genuinely unexpected.
Three months ago, Xavier Becerra was a political ghost. The former health secretary, a man with three decades in public office, was polling at 3% in California's crowded gubernatorial race—so far behind that party leaders were quietly suggesting he drop out to save the Democrats from their own fragmentation. He was 68, mild-mannered, a creature of the establishment at a moment when California Democrats were hungry for fighters and outsiders. No one was particularly interested in his résumé.
Then Eric Swalwell imploded. In April, sexual misconduct allegations against the San Francisco-area congressman forced him from the race and out of Congress entirely. The field that had seemed impossibly crowded suddenly had a vacuum at its center, and Becerra, almost by default, became the obvious alternative. He had the experience. He was known. He made sense.
What happened next surprised even the political scientists watching the race. Becerra surged to the top of the primary polls. This week, as California's notoriously slow vote-counting process continues—with an estimated three million ballots still uncounted—the Associated Press has already projected that he will advance to the general election. If he wins in November, he will become California's first Latino governor since 1875, when Romualdo Pacheco, born in Mexican territory before it became part of the United States, briefly held the office.
Becerra was born in Sacramento to a Mexican immigrant family. He served in the California legislature, then in Congress from 1993 to 2017, then as California's attorney general, stepping into the role Kamala Harris vacated when she was elected to the Senate. Biden brought him to Washington as health and human services secretary in 2021. By any conventional measure, he was overqualified for the job he was losing.
But credentials alone do not win elections, particularly not in 2026, when the political ground had shifted beneath the Democratic Party. Donald Trump's return to the White House had Democrats scrambling to distance themselves from the Biden years. Voters wanted combatants, not administrators. They wanted youth and insurgency, not gray-haired veterans of the legislative process. Becerra looked like yesterday's politics in a moment demanding tomorrow's.
The turning point was not really about Becerra at all. It was about what his rivals represented and what they lost. When Swalwell withdrew, Democratic voters who had been scattered across the field—some drawn to billionaire activist Tom Steyer, others to former congresswoman Katie Porter—suddenly faced a choice: allow the Republican candidates to dominate the primary and lock Democrats out of the general election entirely, or consolidate around someone with a fighting chance. Becerra, for all his blandness, was that someone. He was the safe harbor in a storm of their own making.
But something else was happening beneath the surface, something that pollsters and strategists initially missed. Becerra's working-class background—his father was a construction worker, and Becerra himself had done construction work—resonated with voters in ways his policy positions alone never could. Among Latino voters, 37% said they would support him in a poll conducted just before this week's primary. The next-highest support among Latinos came from the two Republican candidates, who together barely reached 30%. When researchers talked to Becerra voters, they expected to hear about his experience in government. Instead, they heard: "He's one of us." "He represented East LA." "He lived it."
Dwayne Murphy, a 35-year-old Amazon delivery driver from Irvine, initially considered voting for Steyer. But he was drawn to Becerra's promises to help working people buy their first homes, to build a life in a state where survival itself had become a luxury. "We're just like the majority of people in California trying to find ways to survive and grow," Murphy said. The corporate attacks on Becerra—accusations that companies like Chevron were funding his campaign—did not stick with voters like him. What stuck was the sense that here was someone who understood what it meant to struggle.
As the final ballots are counted and the shape of the general election becomes clear, Becerra posted a video to social media: "California, we're just getting started." Three months ago, that would have sounded like delusion. Now it sounds like a man who has already survived the most improbable resurrection of the California primary season.
Citações Notáveis
He's the son of a construction worker. He did construction work himself. He represented and lived in East LA. This guy's one of us.— Latino voters, as recounted by Republican strategist Mike Madrid
We're just like the majority of people in California trying to find ways to survive and grow.— Dwayne Murphy, Amazon delivery driver and Becerra voter
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
How does a man go from 3% to the general election in a matter of weeks? That's not a normal political arc.
It's not about Becerra becoming a better candidate. It's about the field collapsing around him. When Swalwell withdrew, he didn't just lose a rival—he created panic. Democrats were terrified they'd be locked out of the general election entirely. Suddenly Becerra wasn't the weak choice anymore. He was the safe choice.
But safe doesn't usually win. Why did he actually gain support instead of just becoming the default?
Because voters discovered something about him that his campaign hadn't really emphasized. His father was a construction worker. He grew up in East LA. When Latino voters talked about supporting him, they weren't talking about his time as attorney general or health secretary. They were saying, "He's one of us."
So his weakness—being an establishment figure—actually became irrelevant once people saw his background?
More than irrelevant. It became a strength. In a moment when people are struggling to afford homes, to survive in California, a man who had done construction work himself meant something. The résumé mattered less than the life experience.
And the Republicans? Did they have the same advantage?
Not at all. The Republican candidates—a former Fox News host and a county sheriff—got some support from Latino voters, but nothing close to Becerra's 37%. There's a difference between being Latino and being relatable as Latino. Becerra had both.
What happens now? Does he have to maintain this coalition in the general election?
That's the real test. Right now he's facing either a Democrat or a Republican, depending on how the final votes shake out. But he's no longer the weak candidate nobody wanted. He's the man who survived when everyone thought he was finished.