Mark Robinson Goes Mainstream

Mark Robinson’s victory speech on Tuesday night did not contain the words “abortion,” “guns,” or “transgender.” It did not indulge in conspiracy theories about the 2020 election or delve into antisemitism or misogyny. He didn’t mention Donald Trump or even call himself “conservative.” 

Instead, the newly minted Republican nominee for governor walked onto the Koury Convention Center’s stage to Imagine Dragons’ “Believer”—an incongruous departure from the generic country playlist that preceded it—and spoke about overcoming poverty and setbacks to become North Carolina’s first Black lieutenant governor. 

“And possibly, the first Black governor of North Carolina,” he added, embracing his role as a gate-crasher and telegraphing his appeal to a traditionally Democratic constituency. 

Robinson said he wanted to “repay the debt of gratitude” to a state that “has been good to me.” His top priority was no longer eradicating abortion, as he wrote in his 2022 memoir. Instead, he wants to maintain the state’s robust economy—for which he credited the Republican legislature, not the Democratic governor—and improve its education system. 

He attacked his Democratic opponent, Attorney General Josh Stein, not as a radical leftist, but for his privileged upbringing and Ivy League pedigree. 

“I have an opponent who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have the bossman tell you, ‘We’re moving the plant to Mexico,’” he said, referring to a time he was laid off from a furniture manufacturing job. 

Robinson—who easily dispatched state Treasurer Dale Folwell and trial lawyer Bill Graham in the GOP primary—became a right-wing celebrity as a champion of the culture wars. He hopes to claim the Executive Mansion as a champion of the blue-collar everyman. 

It was a conspicuous pivot to normal for a candidate who has drawn national condemnation for bombastic rhetoric. Indeed, his only nod to social issues was an oblique promise to remove “agendas” from the classroom and focus on “teaching [children] the values and giving them the skills they need.” 

Mark Robinson 2.0 avoided calling teachers “wicked people.” He wants to give them a raise, actually. 

In other words, Robinson pitched a remarkably unremarkable brand of North Carolina politics, wrapped up in a compelling life story and sold in his preacher-like baritone. His audience was not the hundreds of die-hards packed into the Greensboro convention room, but the tens of thousands who would be introduced to him through snippets of his speech on social media or local TV news. 

But as much as Robinson wants to leave his past behind—or, at least, soften its edges—Stein’s strategy revolves around making it the anchor that sinks him. 

In his own victory speech in Raleigh, Stein—having trounced former N.C. Supreme Court Justice Mike Morgan—pointed a spotlight at the candidate he wants to run against. 

“Mark Robinson’s vision is bleak and divisive, consumed by spite and hate,” Stein told supporters at the Maywood Hall & Garden. “He spends his time pitting people against each other.” 

In a press release on Wednesday morning, Stein’s campaign called Robinson “a divisive, uniquely fringe, and vulnerable candidate that would drag North Carolina backward.”

The battle to define Robinson has begun in earnest. The election might turn on whether Robinson can stick to the script—and ultimately, whether voters buy the version of him being marketed for mass consumption.