Forget Democrats and Republicans. There Are 16 Gangs That Really Rule American Politics.

It’s not just the presidency. It’s an election year for the House and Senate too, and all the coalitions on Capitol Hill will be scrapping for power—loudly, probably. Here’s our guide to some of the most prominent archetypes in Congress (and slightly beyond), a compendium of the kinds of characters that will surely be popping up in campaigns throughout the coming year.

To be clear, these are very much identities that we made up. Congress itself is divided by caucuses within political parties, but those caucus names usually don’t mean much. For example: The Problem Solvers Caucus … doesn’t really solve problems. The Freedom Caucus is just the most extreme right-wingers and Kevin McCarthy–ousters. In the Senate, the radical flanks are smaller and less powerful—but we’ve identified the pirates most prone to mutiny anyway.

Some archetypes are (somewhat shockingly, given the nature of our era) bipartisan. Many apply to politicians in both the House and Senate, and some people can be slotted into multiple, overlapping categories. But all are part of the circus that is our relatively ineffective legislative branch. Cheers to another election year! It’s just getting started, so get comfortable, wherever you may sit.

Illustrations by Natalie Matthews-Ramo/Slate

Examples: Kari Lake, Paul Gosar, Eli Crane

Political A ffiliation: Republican

The most dangerous political figures in the country are coming out of one state: Arizona. The desert heat is producing a bizarre mix of white nationalist ideology, gun fetishism, election denialism, general conspiracymongering, and goofy personalities. That might sound common in the Trump age, but the Arizona version is quite special. The state GOP is the vanguard of the most intense elements of the Trumpist right: scary not only for a common desire to simply not count votes (unless they win), but also for the constant subtext of threatened violence that underlies the anti-democratic turn.

Again, in the Jan. 6 era, that may sound basic, but the Arizona version is not. (Just look at the dominant political figures of the post-McCain GOP in Arizona to see what I’m talking about.) This era’s Desert Weirdos come from odd, frankly interesting backgrounds. There’s Rep. Paul Gosar, the dentist once beloved by patients for his gentle approach, whom Slate’s Jim Newell has described as “the actual worst member of Congress” for his blatant ethno-nationalism and violent ideation about killing his political opponents. (Gosar is so bad that every couple of years, several of his own siblings try, unsuccessfully, to unseat him.) There’s 2024 Senate candidate and failed 2022 gubernatorial candidate Kari Lake, the decadeslong Phoenix TV news fixture known for her warmth on camera and LGBTQ+ friendships, who decided that the 2020 election had been stolen from Trump and that her former colleagues were bad guys, and who now rails against drag queens and rainbow flags. There’s Rep. Eli Crane, the former Navy SEAL who made his fortune selling “once fired ammunition made into bottle openers” after going on Shark Tank and now talks about “colored people” on the House floor. Even the relatively normal figures in this group have wild backstories. Andy Biggs, the far-right former Freedom Caucus leader who challenged Kevin McCarthy for the House speakership at the start of 2023, is a boring old lawyer, but he got his start in politics after winning $10 million in a 1993 sweepstakes sponsored by Dick Clark and Ed McMahon.

The Weirdos are easily explained as an (almost entirely) white backlash to one of the most rapidly diversifying and Democratic-moving states in the country after decades of Republican dominance. (Though, to be fair, the Arizona Republicans have always kept it weird.)

When people picture these Desert Weirdos, they probably have a couple of different visions. For the men, it’s Mark Finchem, the former secretary of state candidate and walking, talking walrus mustache and cowboy hat, whose entire candidacy was premised on the promise that he would not count votes accurately. For the women, it’s Lake, with her pixie cut, newscaster makeup, perfectly composed look, and tendency to start yelling in your face at the drop of a hat.

The better visual, though, may be that of the failed Senate candidate, 2024 House candidate, and Peter Thiel acolyte Blake Masters, whose 2022 campaign ad prompted comparisons to a school shooter: The chilling vision of Masters creepily grinning as he proudly fires his Walther PPK—with a silencer—alone in the middle of the desert, whispering about how “quiet it is,” how it’s “made in Germany,” and how it’s “just a little bit warm,” is a haunting reminder that the Desert Weirdos may seem fun, but they are way scarier than that. —Jeremy Stahl

Examples: Mitch McConnell, Dick Durbin, Nancy Pelosi, Jim Clyburn

Political Affiliation: Bipartisan

Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell is 81. Sen. Dick Durbin is 79. Sen. Chuck Grassley is 90. Rep. Nancy Pelosi is 83. (So is Jim Clyburn.) And when she died in September, still casting her vote in precipitously collapsing health, Dianne Feinstein was 90. The youngest of these powerful figures were born during World War II, and all have held on to power for decades. Congress functions, at the actually getting-things-done level, on seniority and experience, and these particular lawmakers have amassed the power to get things done, in part, by just being around for so long. It’s hard to get a leadership position on a good committee without half a dozen terms under your belt. And it makes sense that people such as Pelosi—still considered a power broker, even though she’s no longer the Democratic leader—would have the chops for both intraparty and cross-aisle negotiations. She took office the same month Ronald Reagan challenged Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall. She’s been around, and she’s seen a lot of squabbles.

And yet, there’s something odd about the sheer number—a full 20!—of octogenarian (and nonagenarian) federal legislators. Not to mention, the president of the U.S. is 81. (The front-runner of the opposition party is 77.) Having increasing numbers of very old lawmakers prompts the question: Why won’t these people retire? Surely it’s more enjoyable to read novels and spend time with grandchildren than to scrap with culture war hotheads or stay up late into the night to hash out a vote. There seems to be a curious stubbornness that takes over the most powerful members of Congress in their later years, and the result can be ugly. It was painful watching Feinstein’s decline. McConnell’s “freezing” episodes and Biden’s confused speeches have been similarly upsetting. But on a less personal level, they block off avenues for the younger generation to grow. Left with scraps, greener politicians have stuck to the arenas where they can do more: social media rants and semi-belligerent TV hits. We can’t blame the firebrands’ behavior fully on the oldest generation’s hogging of power, but we can wonder what would happen if those old-timers ceded some responsibility to the fresh-faced fifty- and sixty-somethings instead. —Molly Olmstead

Examples: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib, Cori Bush

Political Affiliation: Democrat

For most of Joe Biden’s presidency, the so-called Squad of leftist House Democrats was more reliably in his corner than were many more moderate members—which was ironic, given that Biden had been one of the party’s most prominent centrists during his decades in Congress. Rep. Ocasio-Cortez et al. were ready, for instance, to vote for Biden’s Build Back Better bill, even after it was cut down significantly in order to reduce its cost; it was the moderates who’d pushed for the cuts in the first place who ultimately let the bill die.

Israel’s assault on Gaza has changed those dynamics. Biden’s reflexive instinct has been to support the Israeli military first and ask questions about collateral death tolls and humanitarian consequences later, a position that many younger-skewing Democrats believe amounts to enabling genocide. The members of the Squad have criticized Israel’s response to Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack as indiscriminate and called for an immediate cease-fire, a position that puts them at odds with Biden and even with other figures on the left. (Bernie Sanders, for example, initially backed a “humanitarian pause” that acknowledges Israel’s “right to defend itself.”)

This has accelerated the already robust efforts of legacy pro-Israel donor organizations like the American Israel Public Affairs Committee and Democratic Majority for Israel to support pretty much anyone running against a progressive in a Democratic primary this year. Tlaib, Bush, Omar, Pennsylvania Rep. Summer Lee, and New York Rep. Jamaal Bowman already have what the Intercept’s Ryan Grim described as “credible challenges” in their 2024 races, and DMFI and other pro-Israel groups have already begun running attack ads that highlight these politicians’ positions on Gaza. In other words, the Democratic Party is back to its usual condition of being in a fight with itself. —Ben Mathis-Lilley

Examples: Gavin Newsom, Ron DeSantis, Chris Christie

Political Affiliation: Bipartisan

Ambitious and obsessed with appearing aggressive, these politicians know the solution to all America’s political problems, and it’s a forceful sparring of wits, delivered from astride a lectern, televised on a national stage. Gavin Newsom is the termed-out governor of California and not currently running for office; Ron DeSantis has precious few days to save his Republican presidential campaign. Yet the two of them booked a prime-time slot on Fox News at the end of last year for their own private slugfest, with Fox’s Sean Hannity moderating. Why? Chris Christie got in the 2024 race specifically to debate Trump, which never happened. Why? Rep. Ro Khanna and Vivek Ramaswamy duked it out in New Hampshire. Why, why, why?

There are “Debate Me” Bros on both sides of the aisle, and some, somehow, are even more annoying than others. Ted Cruz, obviously, comes to mind—a somewhat theatrical individual who excelled in high school and college debate. (Hard to believe it, but he showed up to Washington that annoying.) Debate team alums litter American politics.

It’s a nice idea that an evenhanded, old-fashioned exchange of ideas will yield a clear philosophical winner, clarify political strategy, or produce new ideas for solving the myriad problems we have—democratic deliberation made easy.

But as anyone who has ever participated in debate knows—and all of these politicians have—that is not remotely how debate is taught. Often, positions are assigned at random, and the ideas are subordinate to a ruthless arbitraging of the rules. Packing as many words as possible into the allotted time window is usually tantamount to victory. It’s a battle of who can be louder or more easily perceived. If only anything were that straightforward. —Alexander Sammon

Examples: Josh Hawley, J.D. Vance, occasionally Marco Rubio

Political Affiliation: Republican

Who needs the Chamber of Commerce? These Republicans would like to be known as populists and for the GOP to be called “the party of the working class,” and they’ll sometimes, sometimes even make the legislative commitments to back that up.

But broadly speaking, the members of this faction are well educated—Vance has a degree from Yale Law, and Hawley studied abroad at Oxford—and have, through their studies, come to believe in a form of conservatism that prioritizes the so-called traditional family. This itself isn’t new in Republican politics, but what is original is combining “family values” rhetoric with the kind of economic ideas that Donald Trump campaigned on, like the protection of Social Security and Medicare spending, attacks on the power (and supposed liberalism) of large corporations, and protectionist tariffs on Chinese-made goods. They’ve also pushed Republicans who are willing to countenance a path-to-citizenship immigration compromise (they used to exist!) almost completely out of the party. The idea, in theory, is that all of these economic policies, when combined with the party’s traditional social conservatism, will make it easier for regular working folks to thrive and be fecund.

In many ways—with the major exception of policy toward migrants—these positions, on the fiscal side, overlap with those of left-leaning Democrats. The question, then, becomes how far Hawley et al. are willing to go to actually use power to enact their positions, given that their donors still tend to believe, with a laudable commitment to principle, in the ideals of lower taxes and less regulation. The tax cuts that Trump himself signed into law, for example, did very little for the working class.

On that front, Hawley and Vance have in fact collaborated with Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren on proposed banking regulations. And both said, during the United Auto Workers’ recent strike, that autoworkers deserve higher wages, which is something, but it falls short of stating that workers should have an unencumbered right to organize. Trad Chads are also adamantly anti-“woke,” which means rejecting the idea that the kinds of structural forces that oppress the working poor also hold down the economic prospects of people of color. Vance also periodically enjoys attacking women who work outside the home and other alleged members of the “childless left.” Which is to say: They are still, after all, partisan Republicans. —B.M.L.

Examples: RFK Jr., Vivek Ramaswamy, Marjorie Taylor Greene

Political Affiliation: Bipartisan

Opportunism comes in all shapes and sizes. But when it comes to American politics, the most unrelenting opportunists are often loud, rapacious, and completely inexhaustible. These are the people who will run for any office, regardless of experience or merit; seek any level of attention or notoriety, no matter how shameful; post embarrassing videos of themselves doing pushups or chin lifts or CrossFit to show off their physical prowess; and happily scapegoat vulnerable populations of people to boost their profiles and win unwell people to the cause. Because the only cause that matters? It’s them.

Heat-seeking missiles for clout, virality, and power, more and more, these politicians traffic in the most extreme conspiracy theories—the ones that would be absolutely ridiculous if the stakes weren’t so high—because it gets them the most attention.

Marjorie Taylor Greene gained prominence in part by harassing a teenage survivor of a school shooting on the streets of D.C., calling him “#littleHitler.” Vivek Ramaswamy is using GOP presidential debates to rattle off conspiracy theories about 9/11 and Jan. 6, along with supposed nefarious and secret plots to destroy white people, seemingly without taking a breath. And it’s hard to know where to start with all the horrendous and absurd ideas RFK Jr. is pushing during his quixotic third-party campaign for the White House. (A typical political stance: accusing Fauci of masterminding “a historic coup d’état against Western democracy.”)

The most recognizable of this era’s chaos monsters are Donald Trump’s heirs—attempting to embody populist sentiment through circuslike antics and dangerous fearmongering. But they aren’t beholden to any one ideology. (And OK, fine, they don’t all post about exercise.) Just look at New York Rep. Elise Stefanik—a Paul Ryan protégée who found Trumplightenment and went whole-hog MAGA, with all the warts—who found herself this year conveniently outraged about antisemitism on elite college campuses. It didn’t matter that she had previously endorsed a congressional candidate who once described Hitler as “the kind of leader we need today.” She’s managed to find a spotlight on a hot-button issue and boy, oh boy, is she dancing in it. —Natalie Shutler

Examples: Chuck Schumer, Pramila Jayapal, Ron Wyden, Rosa DeLauro

Political Affiliation: Democrat

On rare occasions, Joe Biden goes Dark Brandon mode. By that, we mean that he dispenses with pageantry and piety of norms and consensus, shunts Congress aside, and pushes through aggressive, party-line successes. These are fleeting glimpses. But the man who was once pilloried as a Republican-hugging moderate has, at times, seemed like an entirely different man.

For example, in his 2023 State of the Union, when Biden clashed with congressional Republicans so openly that they booed and cheered him from the audience. In his attempt to cancel student loan debt by executive order. In his landmark party-line climate bill, and his willingness to remake the courts with largely left-leaning judges. He has defied Republicans and norms alike in installing a devoutly pro-worker labor secretary, and leaving her in the role even though she doesn’t have the votes to be formally confirmed. (This is, it must be noted, the stuff that Biden is best liked for by voters.)

Behind all of this has been a group of progressive politicians that make up the biggest Democratic coalition in Congress and are led by Washington Rep. Pramila Jayapal, who has found herself targeted for censure by congressional Republicans—hardly a Biden-style aisle-spanner. When it comes to getting Biden’s actual agenda passed, it is progressives who have been his most loyal stalwarts, holding the line, drawing up the policy, and whipping the votes to get it done. Some of these are lifelong progressives; others seem to have had a left-leaning epiphany since Joe took office.

That unlikely alliance has become uneasy or worse since Biden has reverted to a foreign policy deferential to Benjamin Netanyahu, pledging unconditional support for the Israeli invasion of Gaza and going around Congress repeatedly to facilitate weapons transfers to Israeli. The congresspeople he is going around to facilitate his unpopular foreign policy are the very same ones who secured his popular domestic policy. Is the sun setting on Dark Brandon? —A.S.

Examples: John Thune, John Barrasso, John Cornyn

Political Affiliation: Republican

Mitch McConnell is the longest-serving Senate leader, of either party, ever. His dominance has been hard to overstate. From his influence over the Senate Leadership Fund, the juggernaut super PAC that supports Senate Republican campaigns, to shaping the Supreme Court’s current conservative makeup—a project that started in 2016, when he refused to hold a vote for Merrick Garland, Obama’s nominee to replace Antonin Scalia—McConnell has succeeded in reshaping large swaths of American political reality according to his conservative vision.

His closest associates are Senate Minority Whip John Thune, former Whip John Cornyn, and Senate GOP conference chairman John Barrasso, and each has been considered as a potential replacement for McConnell when he experiences a health issue (the latest being the “freeze-ups”). But Mitch doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. He’s proved to have an ironclad grip on his conservative coalition, despite his tussles with Donald Trump and a few recent (and easily squashed) challenges.

Rick Scott, for example, tried to challenge McConnell for his Senate minority leader post ahead of the 2022 midterm elections and failed, in a decisive 37-to-10 vote. Even if the GOP Conference airs its grievances with McConnell from time to time, the intraparty bickering hasn’t seemed to weaken McConnell’s influence. He fundraised a whopping $50 million in August alone for 2024 Republican races.

In an interview with CNN, McConnell shared that he’s been working behind the scenes to get his “preferred candidates in key races” in order to prevent a repeat of the GOP’s major 2022 midterm losses. He’s dodged questions about Trump, staying strictly focused on winning back the Senate. It’s typical McConnell form: saying very little but doing a whole lot.

But things could change in a hurry. McConnell’s health scares, and his unwavering support for Ukraine aid in a party that’s turning away from the cause, have called into question the future of his leadership after the 2024 elections. And if he does decide to hang it up after November? Let the Game of Johns begin. —Shirin Ali

Examples: John Fetterman, Ruben Gallego, Maxwell Frost

Political Affiliation: Democrat

Ever since Bernie Sanders’ 2016 presidential run inspired his youthful supporters to create a “Dank Meme Stash” on Facebook, savvy Democratic politicians often aligned with progressive causes have Gone Online to ask their fellow kids how they’re doing. In 2020 Sen. Ed Markey fended off his primary challenger—a young Kennedy!—by memeing himself into winning the youth vote. John Fetterman’s memes undoubtedly raised his national profile during his 2022 Senate race against celebrity doctor Mehmet Oz. And of course, the ever-expanding members of the Squad have leveraged Twitter and Instagram to build durable profiles, surpassing their longer-serving colleagues in national reach. Others are following suit, including freshman North Carolina Rep. Jeff Jackson, who regularly racks up millions of views on his TikToks even when he’s digging into wonky topics like the defense budget.

Sometimes, the efforts can come off as desperate. (I still wince thinking of the moment when meme-happy Sens. Brian Schatz, Chris Murphy, and Chuck Schumer “debated” whether to retweet a Cardi B video.) But the instinct is a sensible one, considering the stark age gap between the party’s geriatric leadership and the youth the party needs to turn out this year. This strategy is also increasingly necessary. Social media platforms are where youth activists organize around the issues that matter most to them: climate change, government censorship, the staggering death tolls in Gaza. Heck, for better or worse, TikTok’s where many of the youngs get their news these days, whatever their ideological leaning.

Of course, it’s about not just being on the right platforms, but using them the right way. The Biden administration’s outreach to TikTok influencers has not stanched Gen Z disappointment with his presidency. And there’s brewing discontent with the meme-weaponizing Fetterman as his policies become less and less progressive. Still, youth turnout proved a deciding factor in both 2020 and 2022, an electoral advantage for Democrats that buoys them ahead of their tryhard Republican opponents. In 2024 it may be up to People of Memes like Sanders, Jackson, and AOC to not only keep up Democrats’ digital strategy, but use it to show Gen Z they mean what they say. —Nitish Pahwa

Examples: Lindsey Graham, Ritchie Torres, John Fetterman

Political Affiliation: Bipartisan

Even after a long, arduous day of representing their home states and districts, these lawmakers always have a little extra in reserve to look out for the state of Israel. Or rather, to advance the agenda of the country’s far-right government, at basically any cost.

This was true before the horrific Oct. 7 Hamas attack and devastating war in Gaza, but current events have made this coterie of American politicians much more vocal in its unconditional support.

Seemingly few things unite this coalition. There are Republicans. There are Democrats. They are geographically disparate. Neither being Jewish nor having a large Jewish constituency seems to have anything more than a passing causal relationship to membership. One of its most vituperative members, New York Democrat Ritchie Torres, is not Jewish and represents an extremely poor district that is overwhelmingly Black and Latino, with very few Jewish constituents.

One thing that does unite these legislators is the money they take from Israel-affiliated lobbying groups, including the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, which has in recent years embraced the Republican Party with zeal. In 2022 those lobbying groups ponied up millions of dollars to knock former synagogue president and progressive Democrat Andy Levin out of Congress. Levin’s great infraction was championing a two-state solution, which is written about favorably on AIPAC’s website, if you make it past the photo montages of House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries and Speaker Mike Johnson, both dear friends of the operation.

During a rancorous 2023, when Congress accomplished nothing—it was literally the least productive congressional year in modern history—and even Republicans couldn’t agree on much, most of the very few things that got passed were resolutions pledging unconditional support for Israel and censuring those who felt otherwise. It was an act of partisan tribute beyond D and R—all House Republicans (except, sometimes, Kentucky Rep. Thomas Massie), teaming up with at least 22 House Democrats, to go after university presidents, pledge allegiance to Benjamin Netanyahu’s right-wing government, and censure the House’s sole Palestinian American, Rashida Tlaib. If there’s anything close to a functioning House majority in this Congress, it’s this. —A.S.

Examples: Matt Gaetz, Lauren Boebert, Marjorie Taylor Greene

Political Affiliation: Republican

It’s well known that right-wing media outlets, particularly Fox News, have changed the way the Republican Party works in the 21^st century, pushing the party’s voters toward a conspiracy-theory mindset that perceives any cooperation with Democrats as betrayal. More recently, the ecosystem on sites such as Reddit, Facebook, and YouTube—not to mention the more extreme message boards that birthed QAnon—has cultivated a cohort of conservatives who interpret and communicate about the world and its events essentially through edgy memes and livestreamed diatribes.

Some of those conservatives end up in Congress. And when they get there, they realize that being in Congress isn’t super fun all the time. The fundraising obligations are enormous, the committee meetings are interrupted only for subcommittee meetings, and have you ever thought about how long it takes 435 people to hold a roll-call vote? Which is why there is now a sizable contingent of Republican members who put much more energy into posting on social media, doing online interviews, and submitting stunt “messaging” bills that have no chance of passing than they do into any real legislative activities—even the steps, like proposing budget reductions, tax cuts, and enhancements to national security and law enforcement, that appealed to prior generations of hard-liners.

Sen. Ted Cruz may have pioneered this approach by launching a thrice-weekly podcast and single-handedly shutting down the government in 2013 because Barack Obama rejected his demand to repeal Obamacare. Bygone Rep. Madison Cawthorn described this cohort’s philosophy most honestly when he said he had built his staff “around comms”—i.e., communication—“rather than legislation.” These days, this coalition’s leading lights are Gaetz and Greene, who have never met a feud that they won’t pursue at length on Twitter or on Steve Bannon’s podcast, or a hopeless demand to impeach someone or other that they won’t support. —B.M.L.

Examples: Jim Clyburn, Hakeem Jeffries, Chris Coons

Political Affiliation: Democrat

These politicians are Biden’s very own, the most mainstreamcore Democrats, avatars of the kind of middle-of-the-road liberalism that Biden himself has embodied at earlier stages of his very long career in Washington. Fiscally moderate, they’ll push for, say, more-egalitarian tax credits and more subsidies for private health care but never say a mean word about the business sector or private insurance firms. They’re also forever torn between the countervailing urges to fight with Republicans and fight with the left flank of their own party, the latter of which they find most irresistible.

When Biden’s teaming up with Republicans to pass marginal legislation on infrastructure, or even more marginal bipartisan measures on gun control, or somehow even more marginal legislation on voting rights, then it’s all “Woohoo, we love Biden.” When he’s preaching about good Republicans and the value of working across the aisle, it’s more of the same. When he’s making avuncular off-the-cuff remarks that might be insulting to activists or minorities in the party, well, that’s just our gaffe-y guy.

But when Biden’s pushing for tax increases or canceling student debt, advocating for aggressive climate spending or heading off to a picket line? There’s a whole lot of grumbling.

One particularly poignant example comes from Delaware Sen. Chris Coons, Biden’s understudy and confidant. When the $15 federal minimum wage came up for a vote in the Senate in 2021 as part of Biden’s American Rescue Plan Act, Coons joined up with all 50 Senate Republicans (and seven Senate Dems) to cast down the proposal, which would certainly have been Biden’s signature policy success.

These moderates expected to rein supreme in Biden’s Washington, but that hasn’t really happened, in part because their policy ambition is so limited, and in part because some of the moderates in Biden’s own brain trust have, to borrow a phrase, gone Dark (Brandon). —A.S.

Examples: Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, Don Bacon

Political Affiliation: Republican

Some Republicans are anxious about the health of our democratic institutions. They’re concerned. And these Very Concerned Republicans—all moderates from swing districts and states—have for years insisted that they are the adults in the room, impervious to whatever forces compel their colleagues to sling insults and act cruelly and take rhetoric and policy to divisive extremes. But these pearl-clutchers haven’t always stood by what they say they believe, and certainly haven’t been the Republican heroes so many Democrats hoped for.

They can be surprising, sure. Sen. Susan Collins voted to confirm Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, and she voted to acquit Trump during his first impeachment trial. Yet she was the only Republican to vote against confirming Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court in 2020, and she did vote to convict Trump during his second impeachment trial. Sen. Lisa Murkowski was slightly less trustworthy for Republicans. She voted against Kavanaugh, and she too voted to convict Trump in his second impeachment. Another “reasonable” voice, South Carolina Rep. Nancy Mace, who worked on Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign, signed a letter opposing the challenging of the 2020 election results and later called on Trump to condemn the Jan. 6 insurrection. Still, she voted against impeaching Trump. (She also voted against expelling George Santos.) Rep. Don Bacon voted both for the expulsion of Santos and for the creation of the Jan. 6 committee, but he opposed both efforts to impeach Trump.

Now, without a Trump presidency, and with a Democrat-led Senate, their professed moral clarity, and the question of how genuine it is, doesn’t seem quite as urgent. They may claim to despise the Freedom Caucus, but they don’t do much to hinder them. And compared with the Marjorie Taylor Greenes, Matt Gaetzes, and Ted Cruzes of Congress, these Republicans seem like relatively normal human beings. In that way, they are still “the adults in the room”—kind of. They are still concerned, but they can’t (or won’t) seem to make anyone else grow up. —M.O.

Examples: Henry Cuellar, Joe Manchin, Kyrsten Sinema

Political Affiliation: “Bipartisan”

Here’s a riddle: What do you call a politician who takes money from Republican megadonors, advocates for Republican policy positions, and casts aspersions on Democratic politicians and sometimes even Democratic voters, causing all manner of problems for the Democratic Party? A Problem Solver, of course! At least, that’s what these politicians call themselves in the House. In reality, the Problem Solvers Caucus self-identification is laden with irony.

No legislative improvement is too small to derail, no voter priority important enough to take seriously—unless, of course, that voter is a lobbyist. The country’s most ghoulish financial buccaneers, these politicians won’t work toward any goal—for some, enshrining the right to abortion; for others, lowering prescription drug prices—that might mildly inconvenience the corporate class. And their audacity flows like corporate cash.

Dean Phillips, fresh off three terms as a nameless backbencher in the House, is going straight for the Democratic presidency. Elissa Slotkin is going for Michigan’s Senate seat. Josh Gottheimer has designs on a Governor’s Mansion. And Joe Manchin, who has announced he won’t run again for his Senate seat, is teasing a presidential run too.

What little Democratic voters know of these Democratic politicians, they abhor. They manage even to work against one another—when Manchin wanted more expansive drug pricing reform, Kyrsten Sinema said no; when Sinema wanted a wealth tax, Manchin said no, and so we, the American public, got neither. But they’ve got one thing that unites them, and that’s a desire to appear as mavericks. Many are affiliated with the avowedly moderate advocacy group No Labels, which benefits from the beneficence of Renaissance-style GOP benefactor Harlan Crow. When he’s not commissioning oil paintings of Republican operatives, himself, and Clarence Thomas, or casting his sculpture garden of dictators, he (and others of his ilk) is taking out the pen and signing checks that filter down to these obstructionist politicians. —A.S.

Examples: Marie Gluesenkamp Pérez, Mary Peltola, Jared Golden

Political Affiliation: Democrat

This small but conspicuous faction of Democrats dabbles in obstructionism, bucking the party’s agenda to different degrees because they represent the most conservative Democrat-held districts. Officially, the coalition is called the Blue Dog Democrats, and the caucus includes members like newcomer millennial Marie Gluesenkamp Pérez, who narrowly won her race against election denier Joe Kent in Washington in the 2022 midterm election cycle, and Mary Peltola, who beat out former Gov. Sarah Palin in 2022 for Alaska’s sole House seat—the first time a Democrat had won it in half a century.

This group can be maddening to other Democrats in safer seats. Gluesenkamp Pérez, for example, positioned herself as moderately progressive in her campaign, yet, six months into her term, had already voted against her party more than any other Democrat, as Slate’s Alexander Sammon wrote, including on abortion rights, student debt relief, and criminal justice reform.

Maine Rep. Jared Golden is another Blue Dog, holding a hypercompetitive seat that he won by campaigning on being an “independent voice” in Congress. He voted against Democrats’ gun control bill in 2019, then publicly reversed course after 18 in his district were killed in a mass shooting. He’s also gone against his party on police reform, COVID-19 relief packages, and President Biden’s Build Back Better plan—but is supportive of abortion rights. (Go figure.)

Peltola, whose campaign slogan was “Pro-Fish, Pro-Family, and Pro-Freedom,” breaks most conspicuously with Democrats on oil and supports the controversial Willow project, a major drilling venture on Alaska’s North Slope that many climate activists oppose.

All three of these Democrats narrowly won their seats in surprising upsets but don’t hold a deep loyalty to the party, which is likely what got them elected. Their seats will be among Republicans’ top targets for pickups in 2024, and every successive election, for as long as they can cling on. —S.A.

Examples: Rick Scott, Rand Paul, Mike Lee

Political Affiliation: Republican

In the House, the right-wing Freedom Caucus, led by such illustrious members as Lauren Boebert, Chip Roy, and Jim Jordan, has established itself as very good at making everyone’s lives hard. The group almost drove the country into a shutdown in its ferocious determination to win power in the battle over House leadership—seemingly just for sport. The Freedom Caucus, pain that it is to centrist Republicans, has teeth. It threw Kevin McCarthy overboard, after all, and held together enough to keep people it saw as too “establishment” out of the speaker’s chair. Which might make one wonder: Where’s the Senate version?

Well, it kind of exists, but in a much more anemic form. There is a small group of Senate Republicans who have consistently tried to wage their troll-ish culture war campaigns to challenge McConnell from the right. Rand Paul, for example, harassed Anthony Fauci over the government’s COVID protection measures; urged protesting truckers to take over D.C. streets; tripped up aid to Ukraine; and went after McConnell personally, casting doubt on McConnell’s medical claims after his freezing episodes. Rick Scott, perhaps McConnell’s most irritating nuisance, got his party into trouble when he floated cutting Social Security and also launched a failed leadership challenge to McConnell. Josh Hawley has kicked up a fuss about transgender athletes in college sports, but he’s put much more energy into defending the Jan. 6 insurrection. (Same with Mike Lee and Ron Johnson, who’s also happy to push Hunter Biden conspiracy theories.) Ted Cruz, something of his own (widely loathed) figure in the Senate, has, among other things, taken on Bud Light over its sponsorship of a trans influencer.

If it seems as if these moves are a halfhearted echo of the House’s conflicts, it’s partially because the House is just better at being messy and loud and insulting, but also because the numbers don’t give these Senate Republicans much power. It takes a majority of the whole House to elect a speaker, giving a small band of misfits effective veto power over the chamber’s leader. But Senate party leaders are elected by simple majorities of their own caucuses. So while McConnell has his antagonists who’d love to see him gone, they have nowhere near the numbers to oust him. When Scott ran against McConnell, he garnered 10 votes to McConnell’s 37—likely an uncomfortably high number for the minority leader, but well short of the number needed to topple him. —M.O.