By many measures, Florida seems like an ideal place for Rep. Byron Donalds to make history as the first Black Republican ever elected governor. 

President Donald Trump’s adopted home state has lunged to the right in recent years, netting the GOP an advantage of 1.5 million active registered voters. 

Under term-limited Gov. Ron DeSantis’ leadership, the state has cemented its status as a national laboratory for conservative policies and become a launchpad for political talent in Trump’s second administration.

Republicans have captured every statewide elected office, they hold an iron grip on the Legislature with a supermajority in both chambers, and they haven’t lost a governor’s race since 1998. Donalds himself is a prodigious fundraiser with a national profile and a direct line to the White House.

And yet, while Republicans have supported a number of Black nominees for governor across the country, no Black Republican in American history has been able to accomplish what Donalds is attempting: to overcome the racial animus that some voters bring into the ballot box and build the coalition needed to win.

“Regardless of whether you support him or not, that’s a huge achievement for him to be in this position,” said Sharon Wright Austin, a political scientist at the University of Florida who studies African American political behavior. “He would be what we call a historic first.”

Despite Donalds’ clear advantages, some election forecasters have been shifting their projections in favor of his competitor, former Republican Congressman-turned-Democrat David Jolly, as the contest once considered safely Republican is now rated as leaning toward the Republican, with one election analysis firm labeling it a toss-up.

It’s an assessment that was unthinkable last year, when Trump endorsed Donalds before he had even formally declared his candidacy. But as the cost of living has climbed and Trump’s approval ratings have cratered, political tides appear to be turning against Republicans, as evidenced by some recent polling, special election results and even some GOP candidates’ own attempts to distance themselves from the historically unpopular president.

While the contest still appears to be Donalds’ to lose, cracks have appeared in his support among both Black and white voters, as he works to succeed a governor whose legacy is largely built on demonizing diversity and equity efforts, and restricting how the country’s history of racial discrimination can be taught in public schools. It’s that history that Donalds must transcend if he is to make history as the state’s first Black governor.

‘Stop moving like a monolith’

The aspiring lawyers, pharmacists and engineers who packed into the Lee Hall Auditorium on the campus of Florida A&M University last month were not about to cut Byron Donalds some slack just because he’s a former FAMU Rattler who could soon be governor. 

Donalds spoke candidly with students on the campus of the historically Black university where he first arrived in 1996, fresh off a bus from New York City with an eye on studying business and finance. (Donalds would ultimately transfer and graduate from the predominantly white Florida State.)

At times, the student town hall at FAMU turned raucous, with some attendees removed from the building as the audience’s boos and yells drowned out some of Donalds’ statements in support of the president’s immigration crackdown.

Iana Bridges, a pre-law and criminal justice student from Broward County, was one of the first in a long line of students who rushed up to a mic to question Donalds directly. 

“Many students here feel there is a massive disconnect between the lived experiences of everyday Black Americans and a Black Republican lawmaker who champions policies that roll back civil rights protections,” Bridges said.

“How do you argue that you understand or care about the struggles of Black Americans when your political alignment and personal circle are rooted in spaces that historically exclude them?” Bridges asked, as the audience of mostly students roared its approval.

“As a conservative and as a Republican, the first thing I know is that my party has always been the party that fought for civil rights,” Donalds said, which drew laughs from the crowd.

Florida’s modern Republican Party was forged in part by white backlash to the Civil Rights Movement, when in 1966 Claude Kirk became the first Republican elected governor in nearly a century, in what the New York Times called voters’ rejection of “a liberal approach to racial integration.” Previously, the Democratic Party in the South had been dominated by segregationists.

Pressed by students, Donalds said he supports the “Stop WOKE Act” signed by DeSantis to restrict race-based conversations in education and business, and urged Black voters to “stop moving like a monolith” in support of the Democratic Party.

“Have they actually followed through with what they said? Have they actually done all the things that they’ve promised?” Donalds asked, referring to Democrats. “You’ve been faithful to that party. Have they been faithful to you?”

‘Black voters are not political property’

In a contest that has scrambled race and party lines, the Florida Democratic Party is finding itself in the uncomfortable position of opposing the candidate who could become the state’s first Black governor, just eight years after trying to help then-Tallahassee Mayor Andrew Gillum accomplish the same feat. Gillum narrowly lost to DeSantis.

Donalds has successfully tapped into the feeling among some Black Democrats that their party has taken them for granted. It’s an argument that resonates after Jolly chose for his running mate not one of the state’s many Black or Latino Democratic leaders but a candidate who ran against Gillum in the Democratic primary. Former Democratic Rep. Gwen Graham previously served with Jolly in Congress and is the daughter of the late Bob Graham, the broadly popular former governor and U.S. senator.

Both Jolly and Donalds have crisscrossed the state trying to build support in communities of color, visiting Black-owned businesses and even attending services at the same Black churches.

On a Sunday in October, Donalds stood at the pulpit of Antioch Missionary Baptist Church in Miami Gardens, the state’s largest Black-majority city. Just weeks before, Jolly had preached to the same congregation, weaving in scripture from Deuteronomy, Philippians and Psalms, and sounding every bit the son of a Baptist minister that he is, even earning the moniker “Pastor Jolly” from the church’s pastor Arthur Jackson. 

“In a moment of great division where we know that the nation has gotten away from us, the Lord has already given us what we need for this moment to bring about change,” Jolly said. “He has promised strength, He has promised peace, and He has promised joy.”

Donalds’ remarks, meanwhile, had the reserved cadence of a more traditional political speech, though he spoke passionately about his faith in God and his time as a youth leader in his own church. 

“I just want you to know, as your next governor, because that’s going to happen,” Donalds told the congregation, “I just want you to know that I’m not here just to represent Republicans. I’m here to lead Florida. And that will be for everybody.”

But when the Rev. Al Sharpton, one of the most prominent Black civil rights leaders in the country, attended services at Bethel Missionary Baptist Church in Tallahassee this month, it was Jolly who was in attendance to celebrate the anniversary of a church founded by enslaved people.

Taking the pulpit well into the third hour of the service, Jolly urged worshipers to move beyond broken politics to serve the greater good.

“They tell us if we just stay a little bit more divided, then somehow housing and healthcare and education will improve,” Jolly said.  “It’s not working. And it is why on Nov. 3 I believe that we are a nation, not just a party and candidates, but a nation that’s about to stand up and say, ‘we’re not doing that anymore. We’re about to go in a new direction’.”

Sharpton declined to endorse from the pulpit, but registered his support for “the Reverend David Jolly” and recounted meeting a man who asked him his thoughts on the governor’s race. 

“You know the Black guy’s running, are you for Black empowerment?” Sharpton said he was asked. “I said, ‘But everybody my color ain’t my kind’,” as worshippers roared and rose to their feet in a standing ovation.

Nonetheless, the Donalds campaign has made inroads among Black leaders, recently announcing a statewide coalition that includes two Democrats, Gainesville City Commissioner Cynthia Chestnut and Haines City Commissioner Anne Huffman. 

“My endorsement of Byron Donalds is not a betrayal of my values; it is a declaration that Black voters are not political property. We are not to be taken for granted, spoken to only during election season, or expected to fall in line while our concerns are ignored,” Chestnut wrote in a lengthy statement explaining her decision.

“I want to see a Black governor of Florida in my lifetime, and I will not apologize for saying so,” Chestnut added.

Still, many of the students who attended Donalds’ town hall at FAMU didn’t seem persuaded – not even by the prospect of voting for a historic first.

Shawn Dowe, a political science student at the school, said he’s still skeptical that Florida Republicans can elect a Black governor.

“Possible? Yes. Probable? I don’t believe so,” Dowe said.
“People can’t look past race,” added his friend Shawn Lee, who’s studying music at FAMU. “They just might vote for the white man. It won’t be aligned with their beliefs or their ideal party … all because of race.”

The rural vote

There’s an old Florida truism: the further north you go, the further south you get. 

While many Floridians from Disney World on down reject the idea that Florida is still a culturally Southern state, you don’t have to go far in North Florida to see the farm fields, small towns and roadside churches that have characterized the way of life in this region for generations. 

It’s in those sparsely populated rural communities – where many residents prize traditional values and distrust overdevelopment and corporate control – where Donalds has faced the most resistance from within his own party. Donalds won the August primary handily, but voters’ concerns have persisted around the hefty political donations that Donalds has accepted from billionaire powerbrokers and data center developers.

While Donalds cleared the primary field, in the end a $100-million fundraising advantage and Trump’s endorsement weren’t enough to net him an outright majority: Most Republican voters cast their ballot for someone else. The trend was starkest in the 17 counties that Donalds lost, mostly scattered across the Panhandle and Big Bend. In 16 of those counties, more than 90% of Republican voters are white. 

“I interpret that as being pretty obvious,” said Austin, the UF political scientist. “There are still some people in white communities who are not going to vote for a Black candidate, no matter who he is, what his party is, or what he says he stands for.”

James Fishback, an investor who faced off against Donalds in the Republican primary, pulled in more than 10% of the statewide GOP vote with a far-right campaign characterized by openly racist rhetoric, calling Donalds a “a slave to his donors.” 

Bobby Williams, a first-time candidate from Polk County who also ran in the GOP primary, managed to pull in double digit-support in some of the counties where the Brooklyn-born Donalds lost, running on populist opposition to development and data centers with slogans like “Florida is full” and “Don’t New York my Florida.” 

A month after the primary, Williams, a pastor who also leads a disaster relief organization, threw his support behind Jolly, whom he called a “godly man.” In videos posted to social media, Williams said his positions haven’t changed: He’s still against the candidate whom he sees as backed by powerful corporations that are “buying influence.”

“What’s best for Florida? And what’s best for everyday Floridians?” Williams said in a video message to his followers. “I feel like Jolly is going to be that guy.”

Fed up with what he sees as the corrupting influences of one-party rule, Williams said he understands why Jolly left the GOP. 

“Probably just like me, the Republican Party did nothing for him,” Williams said. “People are frustrated and aggravated.”

Williams isn’t the only one exhausted by this hyperpoliticized era in American politics. 

Tommy Darus is on the executive board of the Gilchrist County GOP, where Donalds carried just 22% of the vote in the primary. Darus wagered that a candidate who can “play down the middle” could do quite well at a time when people are “looking for some stability and normality in their politics.”

Still, Darus said he’s confident that his corner of rural Florida will remain loyal to the Republican Party and Donalds as its standard bearer. 

“The choice is pretty clear, looking at it from my perspective as a Republican,” Darus said. “I have no doubt he’ll easily carry Gilchrist County.”

Asked whether he’s concerned some voters won’t cast their ballot for a Black candidate, Darus said simply, “no.”

“Let’s elect the best person for the job,” he said. “It’s truly that easy.” 

Kate Payne is The Florida Trib’s state government reporter. She can be reached at kate.payne@floridatrib.org.