Michael Lee’s Two-Front War

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Michael Lee can’t be sure, but he suspects he’s the first North Carolina Senate majority leader who was a college cheerleader. 

Lee cheered as an undergraduate student at the University of North Carolina Wilmington and at UNC-Chapel Hill, and later coached cheerleading at UNCW. His wife, Heidi, was also a cheerleader. That’s how they met. They did stunts at their wedding. 

He doesn’t talk about it much. “I was able to keep that secret for a long time,” he said during an interview in early October. 

The lithe and athletic Lee could pass for a decade younger than his 57 years despite his gray hair. Still, it’s hard to imagine him tossing people in the air or shouting into megaphones. He’s not particularly large, and he sometimes speaks so quietly that you have to strain to hear him. 

Lee also doesn’t possess the outsized personality that many politicians rely on. He listens more than he talks, a trait he inherited from his late father, a Taiwanese physician who moved his family to rural North Carolina in the 1970s. 

Now, the 26-year Wilmington resident is vying to replace another understated politician, outgoing President Pro Tempore Phil Berger, as the state’s most powerful lawmaker. But first, Lee needs to win a sixth term in his competitive New Hanover County district. Without Lee’s seat, Senate Republicans have almost no hope of keeping their veto-proof supermajority. But with President Donald Trump deeply unpopular heading into the midterm election, winning will be no small feat.

Even if he prevails on November 3, there’s no guarantee that Lee’s colleagues will pick him to lead. Several other senators have thrown in their hats, and insiders expect a close race.

The Senate’s next leader—only its third since 1993—will be the face of a very conservative, devoutly Trumpian state GOP. He’ll have to energize the base while protecting vulnerable members from votes that might imperil their reelection and unifying an often quarrelsome caucus. 

It will be a difficult tightrope for any politician. Lee would walk it with a perpetual target on his back. Every two years, Democrats spend millions to oust him. Defending a swing seat means he has to couch conservative positions in conciliatory language. His website doesn’t contain the words “Donald Trump” or “conservative.” 

Lee argues that’s an advantage in the leadership race, not a liability. 

“People in this district who vote for me don’t agree with 100% of what I’ve done. A lot of people seem to think that’s a negative,” he said. “But it’s a huge positive because I’ve got the ability to articulate a conservative vision in a purple district that is representative of the state.”

The question is whether his colleagues will agree. Then again, that won’t matter if Lee isn’t reelected. 

White Whale

Lee has lost almost as many elections as he’s won. 

In 2006, soon after his oldest son entered kindergarten, he ran for the New Hanover County school board. He thought the education system—he calls it an “industry”—was hidebound. “It just was really weird to me that nothing had changed since my mom was in school,” Lee said. 

After he narrowly lost, he decided he could best reform education from Raleigh. In 2008, Lee ran for the state Senate and, once again, lost narrowly. Two years later, he ran for the Senate again; this time, he lost a contentious primary. 

Three consecutive defeats could have dampened Lee’s ambitions. He had a real estate law practice and four children, the youngest of whom has special needs. But he remained politically active, chairing the Port Authority’s board and serving on the state Board of Transportation. And in 2014, he ran for state Senate again. 

It was a good year for Republicans, and Lee got a head start after the incumbent resigned and then-Gov. Pat McCrory appointed Lee to fill the vacancy. During that campaign, Lee distanced himself from the GOP majority’s decision to gut the state’s film incentive program, which devastated the industry in Wilmington. 

Lee won the election by 11 points. Two years later, he won by 15. 

Conservative groups gave Lee high marks during his first two terms. He voted for abortion restrictions, gun rights, and requiring local cooperation with immigration officials. He backed the so-called bathroom bill and legislation that allowed magistrates to refuse to marry same-sex couples. He supported regulatory reforms that repealed environmental protections. The N.C. Chamber of Commerce spent more than $160,000 backing his campaigns in 2016 and 2018.

Lee also pushed for funding to rebuild the state’s film program and authored legislation in response to the revelation that Chemours had dumped toxic chemicals, known as PFAS, into the Cape Fear River, contaminating the region’s drinking water supply. 

Critics, however, said the latter bill didn’t go far enough. Former Wilmington Mayor Harper Peterson challenged Lee in 2018, arguing that Lee’s “claims of being a ‘Champion of Clean Water’ are fraudulent.” 

Just before that election, two Wilmington residents filed an ethics complaint accusing Lee of using his “public office for private gain to an extreme level,” citing Lee’s representation of developers. Lee called it “dirty politics.”

He lost by 231 votes in a blue-wave election. 

Undaunted, Lee won a close rematch in 2020. Two years later, helped by redistricting, Lee won reelection by 2 points after a brutal campaign in which he sued his Democratic opponent over an ad claiming Lee “used his political position to serve real estate clients.”

After another round of redistricting, Lee won by almost 9 points in 2024—though, again, not without controversy. His Democratic challenger, pediatrician David Hill, filed a cease-and-desist demand over ads that called him a “quack liberal” and claimed he supported “sex-change surgery” for children.

Lee had become Democrats’ white whale. Despite spending more than $1.4 million to defeat him in 2024, they hadn’t come close. In early 2025, Democratic sources told The Assembly that they worried they were throwing good money after bad.

Meanwhile, Lee was amassing clout in the Senate. He became a leading advocate for Opportunity Scholarships, vouchers that subsidize private school tuition. He co-chaired the education and appropriations committees and helped write the 2023 budget, which included both tax cuts and Medicaid expansion. He sponsored the Parents’ Bill of Rights, which prohibited elementary-age instruction on gender identity and required schools to notify parents when their children wanted to change pronouns. 

Lee also provided the decisive vote to restrict abortion in 2023 over then-Gov. Roy Cooper’s veto. While Lee had promised to “oppose an extreme ban on abortion,” he supported a bill that banned most abortions after 12 weeks and imposed restrictions on medication abortion, with exceptions. 

In March 2025, Paul Newton told Lee he was resigning just months into his second term as majority leader—the chamber’s No. 3 Republican—and wanted Lee to replace him. Senate Republicans elevated Lee less than two weeks later.

In that role, Lee has pushed through bills banning diversity initiatives in public schools and higher education, as well as proposed constitutional amendments to cap income and property taxes. 

“I’ve never sought a caucus position,” Lee said. But the majority leader role appealed to him. “I would have a voice to represent our members in a way that maybe they didn’t feel like they were getting.”

Fault Lines

You could read that as an implicit criticism of Berger, who has run the Senate since Republicans took power in 2011. Indeed, Berger’s critics have complained that just a handful of senators make key decisions. But when asked about that, Lee dodged. 

“I can’t speak to the past,” he said. Lee is a Berger ally, and many in Berger’s orbit are said to prefer him as successor. 

Berger enabled the Rules and Operations Committee, now chaired by his top lieutenant, Sen. Bill Rabon, to dictate whether legislation gets a vote, which centralized his power. As now-former Sen. Bobby Hanig told The Assembly last year, “You don’t scrape a pimple off a gnat’s ass without Bill Rabon and Phil Berger’s permission in the North Carolina Senate.”

For most of Berger’s tenure, Republican disagreements remained internal. Fault lines appeared only during the most recent legislative session, as Berger fought for his political life in a bruising GOP primary that he lost by 23 votes. 

Three senators—Lee, Todd Johnson, and Ralph Hise—soon announced bids to replace him. Hise, Berger’s deputy and longtime ally, technically outranks Lee. But insiders say Lee and Johnson emerged as the frontrunners. 

Johnson, a gregarious insurance company owner who has represented Union County since 2019, appears most likely to break from the status quo. He’s never been in Berger’s inner circle, and his rise could disrupt Berger associates’ political machine. 

He’s also viewed as more pragmatic and transactional than ideological, which might appeal to senators who just endured a year-long budget stalemate. 

“He’s a problem solver,” said Zach Almond, the executive director of the N.C. Republican Party and a close friend of Johnson. Almond emphasized that he was speaking for himself and not the party. “He’s a businessman, and he literally makes deals for a living.”

Insiders say the leadership race is close, though some believe Johnson has a slight edge. The outcome could well turn on how many Republicans win in November. 

And more candidates could jump in. Earlier this month, Sen. Brent Jackson of Sampson County, who co-chairs the appropriations committee with Lee, announced that he, too, is seeking the position.

Johnson, Jackson, and Hise did not respond to interview requests. 

The Overhang

Lee’s first hurdle is that he might not appeal to Republicans who want a new direction after 16 years of Berger. 

Lee declined to discuss internal conversations about the leadership contest, saying only that he wants the caucus to help formulate a vision. He praised the “amazing job” Berger and GOP leaders have done, but mentioned a few possible changes. He wants to give Senate committees more authority over legislation—“those are the policy experts”—and potentially overhaul the committee structure itself. But only if his colleagues are on board. 

“That’s not going to just be the pro tem that makes those decisions,” Lee said. “It’s going to be, the caucus gets together, and we start talking about our priorities.” 

Lee’s second obstacle is his competitive district. He might not be able to champion some policies the base favors, and Republicans will have to spend millions of dollars every cycle to defend him. 

“If he is the leader, that will make it even more of a target for Democrats,” said Mitch Kokai, a senior political analyst at the conservative John Locke Foundation. Berger, in a safe GOP seat, could raise millions for other Republicans. “Having a person in that role who might feel more inclined to throw more of that money toward his own race is not going to be something that will be enticing to the rest of the caucus.” 

That cuts both ways, Lee countered. Berger shattered spending records on his primary this year, only to prove that safe districts won’t always protect even powerful incumbents. 

“It’s a whole lot cheaper and easier in a ruby-red district to move a senator,” Lee said. “It doesn’t matter how much money they have.”

Lee noted that he’s topped Democrats’ target list for years. “You can’t really spend any more money in this district against me because, I mean, the law of diminishing returns,” he said. 

But Lee can still find himself at the mercy of forces beyond his control. Polls give legislative Democrats a 7- or 8-point lead on the generic ballot, a roughly 10-point swing in Democrats’ favor since 2024, when Lee won by less than 9 points. 

“That’s where the generic ballot comes in,” Lee said. “I don’t think I’m generic, but the generic ballot does weigh on people. I’m not a political expert, but I sense the overhang.” 

The Challenger

Jessica Bichler gave birth the day before the Wilmington StarNews reported in 2017 that a Chemours plant had contaminated the area’s drinking water. She had preeclampsia, and her son was born prematurely, both of which are associated with PFAS exposure. 

But her decision to run for office this year was more rooted in frustration with the country’s direction. 

“I felt like a couple of things were just kind of landing on me,” Bichler said. “Like my son was entering elementary school, and we’ve not really done anything to improve gun safety. Our school board was starting to ban books based on who the authors were.” 

She made up her mind after her mother died last summer. 

“The nail in the coffin that was just really personal to me was that my mom really valued PBS and NPR,” Bichler said. “And when [congressional Republicans] decided to cut funding, I just felt like all the advancements that her generation had gained for us were under attack.”

Bichler co-owned a Wilmington yoga studio, and her political involvement to date had been limited to signing petitions and attending demonstrations. 

A liberal podcast directed her to an online form asking if she was interested in running for office. She thought it would be a local board or commission, something low-stakes. To her surprise, a coordinator connected her with state Senate Democrats. 

Bichler wasn’t their first choice, but she impressed them. She ran her own campaign for months without a manager. She raised money and stuck to her message. She was telegenic and performed well at events. 

Lee’s campaign attacked last month with an ad that used AI to contort Bichler’s body into exaggerated yoga poses. “Some liberals lean to the left, some stretch all the way to woke, but yoga instructor Jessica Bichler, she’s totally bonkers,” the narrator intoned. 

The ad’s use of AI drew national media attention and sparked a backlash. Critics thought it mocked women who practice yoga.

Bichler filed a cease-and-desist order, not over the deepfake but over the ad’s inaccurate claim that she was supported by a Quaker organization that wants to defund the police and give free health care to undocumented immigrants. Bichler said she’d never heard of the group. 

Lee’s campaign removed the Quaker reference but left the rest intact. 

Flashpoints

In early October, Lee sent the progressive group Majority Rising his own cease-and-desist demand over online ads that claim Lee “spent his career in Raleigh putting big corporate interests before our families” and failed to make Chemours pay to fix the PFAS crisis. 

Lee argued that his 2018 legislation allowed the governor to shut down Chemours and pointed out that the company has paid nearly $1.8 billion to resolve legal challenges. Lee has also boasted that his bill funded research into a compound that could remove PFAS from water. 

But critics point out that industry lobbyists watered down Lee’s legislation, which they argue didn’t enhance the state’s powers as much as he claims. Among other things, they say the governor could only close a facility under impossible-to-meet conditions, and that authority expired in 2020. They also note that the Senate failed to act on a House bill to force Chemours to reimburse the region’s water utility for some of the $91 million it spent on the crisis—and passed along to ratepayers.

“We stand by what we said and continue to call on Sen. Lee to make polluters pay to clean up their mess,” Majority Rising executive director Ian Shannon told The Assembly. 

Last week, a guerrilla outfit called Clean Politics, Clean Water NC affixed signs, without permission, to a downtown Wilmington building that declared, “Mike Lee backed polluters, now you pay for bottled water.” The group also placed dozens of life-size cardboard cutouts of Lee around the city that depict him wearing an “I ♥ Special Interests” T-shirt, holding a wad of cash, and, for no clear reason, urinating himself. 

Lee demanded that the group remove the signs and cutouts, and his campaign’s attorney threatened legal action, accusing the group of sending “outside agitators to our community.” 

Lee also sought apologies from Bichler and New Hanover Democratic Party chair Jill Hopman, who posted images of the cutouts on Facebook. They denounced Clean Politics, Clean Water NC’s vandalism, though Hopman told WHQR, “We would welcome this same outrage aimed at Chemours.”

In an email, Clean Politics, Clean Water NC told The Assembly, “Mike Lee can stay pissed.”

A second flashpoint emerged over the summer, echoing a battle from Lee’s first successful campaign. The General Assembly’s July budget changed how the state awards incentives to film projects, endangering an industry vital to Wilmington’s identity. 

Lee has boasted about helping to revive the “decimated” grant program since he took office. Under the new system, the N.C. Film Office rebates 25% of what film and TV projects spend in the state, with certain limits. But this year, lawmakers accused the film office—an arm of the N.C. Department of Commerce—of operating illegally. 

While the N.C. Film Office pays after productions wrap, it commits the funds in advance. Because the legislature allocates $31 million to the grant program annually, lawmakers said the office was illegally promising money it didn’t have. 

The Commerce Department told The Assembly that it ran the program the way legislative staff told it to in 2019. Lee disputes that. Regardless, this year’s budget ordered the program to only commit money it had in hand, which would mean no new grants for three years. 

“People that live and work in the film community are going to move, productions are going to move, and once they leave, they’re not going to necessarily come back,” said Bichler, who previously worked in documentary film.

Lee bristled at the suggestion he was to blame. “What changed is that somebody finally reminded Commerce that it has been operating in a way that is inconsistent with state law and how the program was developed,” he told the Wilmington Business Journal. 

Even so, an existential threat to Wilmington’s film program is a threat to Lee’s reelection. In 2024, film productions spent about $300 million in North Carolina, about $200 million of it in the Wilmington area. 

But being the majority leader gave Lee levers to pull. On October 6, he announced that lawmakers plan to pump an additional $31 million into the program after the election, giving it a year of runway. Notably, while productions are active in 45 counties across the state, the money will be “prioritized for qualifying projects filmed in” New Hanover and surrounding counties. 

Lee said he wants lawmakers to take a broader look at the program in 2027. 

Political Guy

Lee’s 2024 campaign produced a series of short, documentary-style interviews with the candidate, his family, associates, and even a law school roommate. They portrayed Lee as hard-working, policy-focused, and, for someone who might soon be the state’s most powerful politician, almost apolitical. 

His daughter Sydney says in one of the shorts that she’s not a conservative but “more in the middle. My dad never pushed anything on me or my siblings as far as, like, what to believe. So I don’t even think, if I was a Democrat, I don’t think my dad would care.” (Records show she’s unaffiliated but votes in Republican primaries.) 

This is how Lee pitches himself. “I’m not the political guy. I love policy,” he told The Assembly. 

That’s key to Lee’s appeal: Sure, he’s a Republican, but he’s not like those Republicans. He’s not loud or angry. He likes low taxes, but he also cares about the environment and culture. He opposes abortion, but he doesn’t obsess over criminalizing it. He supports vouchers, but he doesn’t want to eradicate public schools. He lists his proudest achievements not as culture war victories but as creating educational savings accounts, improving community colleges, and enhancing services for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, like his son. 

Lee positions conservative views as common sense in a moderate district. That has bedeviled Democrats. 

“Every two years, Michael Lee pretends to be a moderate, and he’s a very good politician,” said Hopman, the county Democratic chair. “It’s just the public tends to forget that in the in-between period that he was also the architect of abortion bans. He was the architect of the Parents’ Bill of Rights. He decimated the river.”

The thing is, Lee has never claimed to be a moderate. “I think that’s a label people put on me,” he said. “I consider myself conservative. I sponsor a lot of bills that I think are conservative bills. I’ve debated a lot of conservative topics.” He said he doesn’t know why he’s considered one of the Senate’s more moderate Republicans. “Other than, you know, I win in a purple district.”

Lee is convinced that’s because he takes the time to win over skeptics. 

“The thing that I’ve learned is to be able to articulate what the policy is, what it does, and what it was intended to do,” Lee said. “Once you explain it to folks, they understand. Some people actually end up agreeing with it.”

Most Republicans don’t have to persuade moderates, he said, which can limit the party’s statewide appeal. He talks to them constantly. “It’s one of the benefits of being in a district like this.”