Lauren Boebert was preaching to the faithful, prowling the stage of a megachurch and delivering a sermon, filled with Scripture and references to Christ and Satan, taken directly from the Book of Grievance.
She spat fire.
To President Biden and the inhabitants of the Beltway swamp. To those who criminally prosecute former President Trump. To the politicians who dare to substitute their judgment for that of God. And, no less important, to the “sellouts” within his own Republican Party.
“Every time that dirty four-letter word called 'commitment' “When this comes up,” Boebert fumed, “it's always the Republicans who walk away from their principles, their platform, his priorities and take the side of socialists, communists and Marxists.”
The dark sanctuary of the Rez Church was filled with applause, shouts and cries of “yes!”
Columnist Mark Z. Barabak joins candidates for various offices as they hit the campaign trail in this momentous election year.
With her arrogant personality, distinctly un-Washington wardrobe, and gleeful trampling of protocols (booing Biden during his State of the Union address, carrying a gun in defiance of the capital's tough gun laws), Boebert became one of the most prominent faces of a savage breed of conservatives who attack Congress from within.
At home it didn't work so well.
Despite her district's solid Republican trend, Boebert nearly lost her seat after just one term, to a Democrat who attacked her headline-seeking and “angry entertainment” approach to office. Facing a tough rematch, this year he abruptly moved to a clear district on the other side of Colorado, where the Republican faces five opponents in the June 25 primary, many of them with deep roots in the region.
Rep. Lauren Boebert (R-Colo.) gives a thumbs up as she sits with Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-Fla.) during President Biden's 2024 State of the Union address.
(Andrew Caballero-Reynolds / AFP/Getty Images)
“This is where I grew up,” conservative activist Deborah Flora pointedly stated as Boebert scribbled notes next to her at a breakfast forum in Castle Rock, a fast-growing suburb on the far edge of the sprawling Denver metropolitan area. “This is where I raised my children.”
“I promise not to embarrass you,” chimed in another opponent, Logan County Commissioner Jerry Sonnenberg. “I promise not to humiliate you.”
Sonnenberg was not more specific. He didn't have to be.
In September, Boebert was kicked out of a Denver performance of the musical “Beetlejuice” after vaping, carrying on and getting handsy with her date. The scene was caught on camera and the PG-13 clip went viral, turning the 37-year-old lawmaker into a national joke.
Worse yet, from a political standpoint, the racy episode raised questions about Boebert's judgment and impetuous nature, and severely undermined her image as a devout, conservative, family-minded Christian.
She has apologized repeatedly, although Boebert sometimes seems unrepentant.
Gathering a few hundred supporters at Rez Church in Loveland, he attacked the $95 billion military aid package Biden just signed into law and called emergency aid for Ukraine and others a shameful product of Republican betrayal and Democrat deception.
“More political theater in Washington, DC,” he criticized. “If there is any theater to criticize, I think it is that one.”
The response was a knowing laugh and some applause.
“Praise the Lord for his mercy,” Boebert added after a second.
“And yours.”
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Boebert is, in many ways, his greatest political asset.
She is a charismatic activist who fills a room with her slim 5-foot frame and a flurry of attacks that come in high volume and high caffeine content: against “open borders,” a “woke and armed federal government.” ”, “the corruption of the Biden crime family”, Republicans who say one thing and do another.
“When I go to DC, it's not to have fancy dinners with lobbyists and special interest groups,” he told several dozen Republican regulars at the Castle Rock breakfast. “That is not a representative. “That’s a welfare recipient.”
When Boebert moves, she is surrounded by selfie-seeking fans, reflecting the celebrity that made her a national personality and built a formidable fundraising base. (The $3.4 million and counting that Boebert has raised so far is several times more than her Republican opponents combined.)
But the reputation that precedes her also makes Boebert her own worst enemy.
Rep. Lauren Boebert of Colorado, attending a press conference defending former President Trump, is less a Republican than a MAGA stalwart.
(Tom Williams / Roll Call)
It's not just the “Beetlejuice” episode. Details of her nasty divorce, including a restraining order against Boebert's ex-husband, have appeared in the media. In February, the oldest of Boebert's four children was arrested and charged with identity theft and other crimes.
She cited personal issues as the reason she changed districts from western to eastern Colorado. “I wanted a new beginning for my children,” Boebert said in an interview, although she could easily have stayed in her old district, which is about the size of Pennsylvania, and still put some distance between herself and her ex-husband.
Some voters wonder if Boebert, with all her mess, is worth it.
Larry, a 73-year-old retired postal worker, showed up at the Castle Rock fairgrounds to look out over the Congressional field and see Boebert in person. (He refused to say his last name to avoid being bothered for giving his opinion.)
“I like his voting record and the way he stands up to Democrats,” Larry said, adding cream to his coffee. “But I'm not sure she'll leave her district. And as a devout Christian, from a moral standpoint, I don't like her antics at the Denver theater.”
For some, however, Boebert's nonchalant attitude and unconventional biography (she dropped out of high school and became a grandmother at 36) make her authentic in a way that most politicians are not. 't.
Bill Bennett brought his French bulldog, Donald J. Tank, to see Boebert when she stopped by a coffee shop in Elizabeth, a farming area about 15 miles east of Castle Rock. Portraits of cattle and multiple crosses filled the small space, which barely contained the approximately 75 people crowded there.
Bennett, a 61-year-old civil contractor who went from independent to Republican when Trump took office, wasn't the least bit fazed by Boebert's wayward escapades.
“She is totally evil. Totally bad guy,” she said, holding a Boebert for Congress sign in one hand and Tank's leash in the other, “and I love that. We need strength and she has guts. We need a backbone in the Republican Party. “I can’t emphasize that enough.”
In fact, it is perhaps best to describe Boebert as a Republican in name only, an epithet she frequently hurls at others; her loyalty is to Trump and the MAGA movement, not to the expectations or designs of the Grand Old Party.
Boebert's special guest in Elizabeth was Texas Rep. Ronny Jackson, a fellow traveler in the Republican caucus that burned down the House of Representatives, who drove directly from Amarillo (a six-hour drive) to lend his support. Flaunting his contrarian approach, Jackson described his political “superpower” as if he didn’t “give a damn what they say about me.”
Boebert smiled widely and clapped enthusiastically.
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Whoever wins the Republican primary is virtually certain to be the next representative of Colorado's 4th Congressional District. (Incumbent Ken Buck resigned unexpectedly in March; an interim is running in a separate race to fill the final months of his term.)
Unlike Boebert's old district, which includes the posh mountain resorts of Aspen and Telluride, her new one is as flat and Republican as neighboring Kansas. There is a broad vein of Christian conservatism, more akin to the South or Midwest than the rest of Colorado. Agriculture and ranching, not apres-ski, are the main industries.
In short, this is Trump country.
In 2020, the former president won the 4th District by nearly three times his margin in Boebert's old district. That makes Trump's support for Boebert vitally important. He appeared in one of her TV ads – “Lauren, you're going to do fantastic” – and her son Donald Jr. appeared alongside her at church in Loveland, after campaigning for Boebert. in her old district last summer.
Past a small forest of American flags, past tables of Trump merchandise and two armed police officers standing guard, Trump Jr. performed more than 30 minutes of political stand-up, mocking Biden (“this is sinking, does it have the nuclear codes?”) and doing in light of the January 6 attack on the Capitol, before moving on to the matter at hand.
He acknowledged Boebert's relatively recent arrival to the district, but said she “obviously left a mark in D.C., because they're going after her like you wouldn't believe. That's good. That, in itself, is probably the only backup she needs. If people in DC don't like you, especially Republicans, it's probably a no-brainer.”
Boebert may be a newcomer, but having the most money and the most name recognition (for better or worse) makes her the candidate to beat. Competing against one or two lone rivals would be one thing. But with multiple candidates splitting the Republican vote, Boebert's standing among the MAGA base, which may be 35% or more of the primary electorate, could be enough to send her back to Washington.
“It's an environment that gives you a lot of advantages,” said Seth Masket, director of the Center for American Politics at the University of Denver, who followed the race closely. “But that doesn't guarantee a victory.”
The question is whether Boebert can stay out of her own way – and stay out of more trouble – between now and the June primary.
“I live large,” he said, shamelessly, in a conversation between campaign stops. “I live fast. “I am very spontaneous.”
So write it down as a maybe.
