The political chicanery of the Democratic Party in New Jersey has, in its relentless hunger for power, turned a suburban congressional district into a staged battlefield—a chaotic and revealing scramble where eleven souls have thrown their hats into a ring that still smells of the ambition of its former occupant.
The race to replace Governor-elect Mikie Sherrill unfolds less like a primary than a primal scream of a mob trying to be everything to everyone and risking meaning nothing at all.
The February 5 special primary will decide which of these Democratic contenders gets the honor of facing the lone, waiting Republican, Randolph Mayor Joe Hathaway, in an April 16 general election.
But first, they must survive each other.
At the top of the heap, gleaming with the patina of high office, sits Lt. Governor Tahesha Way.
She is perhaps one of the least known sitting statewide officials despite a biography that speaks of Brown University, the University of Virginia School of Law, and a decade-plus climb through the corridors of county and state power.
Her candidacy is hardly a statement of establishment force.
The free for all is not a declaration that this seat should be won by a seasoned administrator who already helps run the state.
Yet, her third tier candidacy underscores a shocking truth about the brawl: even the governor’s own second-in-command cannot simply be handed a crown; she must wrestle it from the mob.
And what a mob it is.
To her right and left flanks are the professional political operatives, those who have built careers in the backrooms and now step into the light.
Essex County Commissioner Brendan Gill is a seasoned political profiteer, represents one wing of the machine.
Cammie Croft, the Obama White House alum who felt the sting of a Trump administration freezing her nonprofit’s accounts, represents another—the national policy activist parachuting into the district with a story of federal programs lost and a dire need to restore them.
Then there is Analilia Mejia, the former political director for Bernie Sanders and head of New Jersey Working Families, aiming to channel progressive fury into electoral victory.
Also joining the fray are stock trading carpetbagger Tom Malinowski and vulture capitalist Zach Beecher, a former Army paratrooper.
They are all credentialed, all connected, and all at war for the same pool of donors and institutional blessings.
But the true spectacle, the raw nerve of this election, is found in the ranks of the insurgents and the iconoclasts who see the party apparatus not as a ladder but as a barrier.
They are running against the very system the front-runners embody.
Marc Chaaban, a former congressional staffer turned incendiary online commentator, launches his campaign with rhetoric that is pure political napalm. He screams about “corrupt deals” and “machine politics,” accusing do-nothing Democrats of “raking in millions in MAGA donor money”.
His is the voice of a generation that believes the game is rigged.
Even more bizarrely vivid is the candidacy of J.L. Cauvin, a lawyer and nationally recognized comedian famous for his takedowns of Donald Trump.
His campaign boasts of a “TRUE GRASSROOTS EFFORT,” collecting its ballot signatures with volunteers alone, without “party-machine backing”.
He stands as a living protest against pre-ordained outcomes, a joke that has ceased to be funny and has become a serious challenge.
Alongside them is Anna Lee Williams, who was not just the first to file but did so with double the required signatures, championing her work with activist groups like Make the Road NJ.
These offbeat challengers are the proof that the party’s base is restless, suspicious, and armed with clipboards.
The field is filled out by a regiment of local officials, each hoping their municipal resume is a ticket to Washington: Passaic County Commissioner John Bartlett, Maplewood Mayor Dean Dafis, and Chatham Councilman Justin Strickland.
Strickland, an Iraq War veteran, frames his campaign around a rescue mission for the “American Dream,” proposing a public healthcare option modeled on the VA and a federal assault on housing costs.
His is a pragmatic, policy-heavy bid that risks being drowned out by the louder, more ideological clashes surrounding it.
This is the Democratic Party in microcosm at the end of 2025: a lieutenant governor, Obama and Sanders alumni, county bosses, grassroots activists, a comedian, and a political staffer turned online firebrand, all clawing for the same piece of turf.
The only thing uniting them is the opponent they hope to face: Republican Mayor Joe Hathaway, who watches this democratic cacophony from a quiet, unopposed perch.
The party is arguing with itself about poverty, corruption, and identity while the GOP prepares a unified front.
The voters of New Jersey’s 11th District will render a verdict on February 5. Will they choose the stability of the establishment, the fury of the outsider, or the earnest promise of the local official?
In this carnival of ambition, the only certainty is that the Democratic Party, in all its chaotic and conflicted glory, is putting itself on full display.
And the whole nation is watching to see if the winner will be the one who raised the most money, or if American can still govern itself like a country where the people use their power to decide responsibly.