Lawrence Person's BattleSwarm Blog

Booker, long the darling of the tech industry and some of its marquee leaders, is traipsing into a transformed Silicon Valley when he touches down in town this weekend for his first fundraising trip here since he announced he was running for president. Friday lunch guests at the San Francisco home of David Shuh, Friday dinner guests at the 9,300-square-foot Piedmont home of Ali Partovi, and Saturday evening guests at the Atherton home of Gary Lauder (an heir to the Estée Lauder beauty empire) are paying up to $2,800 each to rub shoulders with Cory Booker.

Then again, most have probably met him before. The presidential candidate has collected half a million dollars from the internet industry over his five years in the Senate, from people like LinkedIn’s Hoffman, Salesforce’s Marc Benioff, Google’s Eric Schmidt, Emerson Collective founder Laurene Powell Jobs, and early Facebook exec Sean Parker.

Why? He is culturally of this place, donors say.

But times have changed, and Silicon Valley is no longer merely an ATM for Cory Booker.

Twitter is no longer primarily a place to find an elderly man snowtrapped in his home in Newark, like Booker once did — it is now also a cesspool of hate and misinformation. Mark Zuckerberg is no longer a hero brandishing a $100 million check in a well-meaning attempt to save Newark’s schools, like Booker once described him — he is a bogeyman who badly mishandled our last election and is now as divisive as any of the people running for president.

Silicon Valley is itself a minefield that in some ways sums up the broader political challenge for Booker in 2020: He’s running as a liberal on issues including tech regulation, but the progressive left holds him in suspicion — and he could face more as he begins to court tech money more openly.

The Hamlet of West Texas—who recently retired from Congress after somehow managing to lose a Texas Senate race against an opponent with sky-high negatives despite raising more than $70 million from a national donor base, and then went on a “listening tour” across America to find himself—recently acknowledged that he is trying to make up his mind about whether to spend 2020 running for president or taking another stab at the Senate by challenging Republican incumbent John Cornyn.

My guess is that O’Rourke will ultimately travel whatever road is lined with the most television cameras. Of course, vanity—even to the point of narcissism—is not a disqualifier in a politician. It’s practically a job requirement.

Snip.

Take the name, which he switches on and off like a light switch. He was “Robert” at birth, “Beto” in childhood, “Robert” again in boarding school and at Columbia, and “Beto” again when he returned to El Paso to run for office.

Either this guy has an identity crisis the size of Texas, or he is just crafty enough to try to have his flan and eat it too—becoming Latin, or a white male, whichever is more convenient.

The urban legend has it that O’Rourke came by his nickname the ol’ fashioned way—by having it bestowed upon him by Latino friends in El Paso, who thought he was pretty decent for a white guy, dubbed him an honorary Mexican, and declared that, from that day forward, he would be known as “Beto.” According to this narrative, O’Rourke became Latino simply by rubbing shoulders with Latinos. It’s like how you get poison oak.