We Lost the Race. The Lessons Still Stand.

In 2020, we built a campaign that broke every record, gave South Carolinians hope, and made Lindsey Graham beg on Fox News. We fell short, but we helped build a foundation for Democrats to finally compete and soon win in the South.

We also made people believe not just in the campaign, but in what was possible.

The Spark

This story begins in September 2018. During the hearings for Brett Kavanaugh’s eventual confirmation to the U.S. Supreme Court, Graham defended Kavanaugh’s “character” with a cartoonish passion. I couldn’t stomach it anymore. My senator, who was previously known as John McCain’s close ally and friend, wasn’t just toeing the party line. He was shamelessly going full MAGA so that he could grovel at Donald Trump’s feet.

Exasperated, I remember turning to my wife and saying that we needed to find someone to run against Lindsey. She sat there for a minute, and then turned to me and said, ”Well… aren’t you somebody?” Soon afterward, I talked with friends and family, and I realized that not only was his seat vulnerable in 2020, but I could be the one to possibly take it from him.

Make no mistake. I knew the race would be tough. When I first announced my candidacy, South Carolina wasn’t even on the political radar. No pundit, pollster, or strategist thought it could be competitive. But I knew there was a path to victory, and it was just a matter of walking it one step at a time.

I assembled a core group of trusted friends who helped me build a campaign team. We blended out-of-state expertise with strong South Carolina roots. We were intentional and wanted to build something meant to last, so we invested in party infrastructure, staff, and relationships across all 46 counties.

One of the toughest opponents I had to face in 2020 wasn’t even on the ballot — it was COVID. In March of that year, right before South Carolina and the nation shut down, I had just approved a plan that no statewide Democrat had ever attempted: we were going to put an organizer in all 46 counties, build the largest field program the state had ever seen, and focus relentlessly on voter registration — especially among the nearly 400,000 unregistered Black voters in South Carolina. That was the strategy to expand the electorate and build a new future. But COVID was the first curveball. Overnight, our offices closed. The DSCC instructed every Senate campaign to stop door-to-door canvassing. We wrestled with the decision, but we suspended our ground operations because protecting our organizers and protecting voters was the right thing to do. Republicans didn’t stop. They kept knocking doors. And I believe that difference cost us on the ground. After the election, I immediately called Raphael Warnock and John Ossoff and told them directly: to win they needed to find a safe way to get their people back on those doors. They did and I think that shift helped them win in January.

Building the Machine

There were a lot of opinions about what it takes to win in a red state. And being a candidate of color comes with its own challenges—both inside and outside the Democratic Party. But we developed a playbook to put the race on everyone’s radar and to at least show what’s possible when you keep it simple.

Here’s how we did it:

1. Lead with authenticity and heart
From the beginning, I promised myself that everything we did had to have a heartbeat. No canned politics. No gimmicks. Just real conversations and real stories about hope, dignity, and opportunity. That tone shaped everything—our ads, speeches, and even the way we showed up in communities. We weren’t running against someone. We were running for something.

That’s why we launched Harrison Helps, a series of community service projects across the state. We partnered with churches, nonprofits, and local groups to pack food boxes, distribute masks, and support schools. It wasn’t just symbolic. It was tangible help. We didn’t want to talk about South Carolinians. We wanted to stand with them. Our campaign set out to make people feel seen and respected—especially in places where Democrats hadn’t shown up in years.

2. We built a storytelling machine
I hired a full-time videographer to travel everywhere with me—not just to capture speeches, but to document the humanity of the campaign. From barbershops in Orangeburg to front porches in Florence, we filmed it all. Those clips became our social media engine, telling a story of connection, grit, and humor that traditional ads could never match.

We didn’t wait for the media to define us. We told our own story, directly to people’s phones, one clip at a time.

3. We relentlessly shed light on Graham’s shortcomings
Every time Graham shifted a position, made a controversial statement, or ducked accountability, we pounced. Our team tracked every move. When he said something tone-deaf about COVID or health care, we had a response ready within hours. That constant pressure kept him reactive and made the race feel alive and urgent.

4. We made comms, research, and digital one organism
Our communications, research, and social media teams worked hand in glove. Research would dig into an issue that mattered to voters. Comms framed it and pitched it for earned media. Once a story landed, digital turned it into social content that fed our online storytelling loop. It was message discipline at its best, and it helped us punch far above our weight.

5. We made the call to action simple and omnipresent
Every ad, every speech, every interview—whether it was on MSNBC or a local AM radio station—ended the same way: “If you want to send Lindsey Graham home, go to JaimeHarrison.com.” We put that call to action everywhere: in TV spots, social ads, and town halls. It became muscle memory for voters and donors alike. We didn’t just ask for support. We built a movement people could join.

All of this powered something South Carolina hadn’t seen in decades: a fully modern, fully funded, and fully statewide Democratic campaign.

We shattered records—raising nearly $130 million, the largest haul for any Senate campaign in American history at the time. We opened the tent wider than it had ever been, drawing independents, first-time voters, and Republicans disillusioned with extremism.

Even people who had known Graham for decades could see it. His own former law partner publicly supported me. That kind of crossover wasn’t about party loyalty. It was about people wanting something better, something grounded in decency and service.

The Fight

For most of 2020, we had Graham on the defensive. Every time I spoke, I forced him to answer for his tone-deaf remarks on COVID, his record on health care, and his hypocrisy on judicial appointments. We outperformed expectations in every debate with a calm, prepared, and focused approach. Even conservative commentators admitted it.

Graham was rattled enough to go on Fox News repeatedly begging for money, saying he was being “killed financially” and “outspent three to one.” That wasn’t theater. His own internal polling reportedly showed the race tightening fast.

By Election Day, RealClearPolitics labeled the race a “Toss-Up.” National pundits said South Carolina was “in play” for the first time in a generation. And for a while, it was.

The final result? On November 4, 2020, I was looking for a new job.

We fit the national pattern: Senate and gubernatorial polls were, on average, six points too favorable for Democrats. They underestimated Republican turnout, under-sampled conservative voters, and overestimated Democratic enthusiasm in red and rural areas.

Even with our unprecedented fundraising, we were outgunned by a late national surge—the kind of coordinated air cover only incumbents with party infrastructure can command. The GOP panicked. Graham’s super PAC spent almost $14 million on negative ads against me, and Mitch McConnell’s Senate Leadership Fund (SLF) responded with a $10 million ad blitz in South Carolina in October.

Then came the October shock. On September 18, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away. Within eight days, Donald Trump nominated Amy Coney Barrett, and Graham—as chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee—became the face of the confirmation hearings. It turned what had been his greatest liability into a conservative rallying point. The hearings gave him saturation coverage on Fox News and let him rebrand himself as a culture warrior defending the Court.

Simultaneously, national Republican operatives were weaponizing the “Defund the Police” slogan. It didn’t matter that my campaign never used or endorsed it. The label stuck. In a state with deep ties to law enforcement and the military, that message sowed fear and resentment.

Together, the Supreme Court fight and the “Defund” distortion flipped the final month. Graham was on offense again, and I was forced to defend against narratives created far beyond South Carolina.

But the fact that they had to spend that much, that fast, in a state they once called “safe,” told the real story: we had redefined what a challenge looked like.

Beyond One Race

We fell short. But for a brief, extraordinary window of time, we gave people in South Carolina something they hadn’t felt in a long while: Hope.

The money we raised didn’t just fuel my campaign. We made it a priority to invest directly in the Democratic ecosystem. My campaign transferred millions of dollars to the South Carolina Democratic Party to help fund organizers, digital ads, and voter-contact programs for down-ballot candidates running for Congress, the State House, and local offices.

In fact, my campaign was likely the single largest donor to South Carolina Democrats in the state’s history. That investment tried to lift the entire slate, strengthen the bench, and show that Democrats must compete together. But with the combination of straight party ticket voting and Donald Trump, it simply was not enough.

What still frustrates me are the Monday-morning quarterbacks—the folks who now dismiss the race as something that was “never winnable.” The truth is, we did everything we could to win. We ran the numbers, built the infrastructure, raised the money, and executed a disciplined, strategic campaign that any professional would be proud of. And a lot of people—including some Republicans—were genuinely surprised when we didn’t win. We had momentum, we had a message, and we had people believing. That’s what made it powerful, and that’s why it still matters.

To this day, parents still come up to me to share stories of their kids who would sit in front of the TV, watch my ads, and say, “I’m going to vote for him.” That still hits me hard. Because I know what that means. For many of them, it was the first time they saw someone who looked like them, who spoke like them, who came from where they came from, standing on that stage asking to represent all of us.

It hurts my heart that we weren’t able to deliver the change my home state so desperately needs. South Carolina deserves leaders who actually give a damn about the communities they represent—not people who care more about keeping a seat and their personal relevance.

But I’ll never forget what we did achieve. Before 2020, no statewide Democrat in South Carolina’s history (regardless of office) had ever received more than 900,000 votes. We didn’t just break that record. We shattered it. Over 1.11 million South Carolinians stood up, spoke up, and voted for change. To put that vote tally in context, we were only 45,000 votes short of what Trump received in South Carolina in 2016, when he beat Hillary Clinton by 14 points. To date, no Democrat has ever earned more votes in the state.

That’s not defeat. That’s foundation.

The Long Game

The Democratic Party is the oldest political party in the world. We have been around longer than anyone, and we’re not going anywhere. So we have to think that way.

Because building Democratic strength in the South is not a sprint. It’s not quite a marathon either. It’s a relay race. Every election cycle is one more leg.

I may not have gotten us over the finish line, but we gained a lot of ground in South Carolina.

That’s the thing about progress. It rarely comes all at once, but it always keeps coming.