She told the story in the context of her opposition to abortion. But Bachmann’s decision to reveal something so personal is telling — and provides a window into her unique appeal in the race.
The reality of presidential politics — and all politics for that matter — is that voters tend to make their decisions not on dry policy matters but rather on what we describe, for lack of a better word, as “feel.”
Yes, where a candidate stands on an issue matters and sets the basic parameters of a voter’s decision. (If you support the legality of abortions, you are unlikely to vote for a candidate who opposes it, for example.)
But, particularly in a primary fight where the candidates largely agree on the major policy matters of the day, the “feel” factor weighs heavily.
Which candidate gets it? Which candidate seems to best understand the hopes and anxieties that you have? Who seems like the best person to represent your interests in the White House?
Put most simply: Which candidate do you like best?
Look back to the 2008 Republican presidential primary fight. On paper, former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney looked like the nominee — with solid organizations in every early state and a massive campaign war chest.
But Romney struggled then — as he still does — to connect with voters. He seemed to vacillate between overly stiff and overly solicitous, never finding the right balance that seemed genuine.
Meanwhile, former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee was all charisma — virtually exuding average Joe-ness through his every pore. Not only did Huckabee play the bass guitar but he also had struggled for years with his own weight; he was eminently relatable to voters.
Huckabee’s victory over Romney in the Iowa caucuses opened the door for Sen. John McCain (Ariz.) in New Hampshire. And, again, Romney fell short in the Granite State not because of organization or spending but rather because McCain’s personal story — prisoner of war, political maverick — was simply more compelling to voters.
Fast-forward to the 2012 race.
Bachmann’s candidacy is heavily premised on her personal story — she is the only woman (and mother) in the race and mentions the fact that she has raised five children and 23 foster children at nearly every campaign stop.
It’s what makes her stand out in the field. She is running as a sort-of personal populist — someone who not only feels your pain but has lived it.
Millions of families have had to weather the sorrow of a miscarriage; that Bachmann and her husband are one of them makes her that much more compelling to many voters.
To make clear how different Bachmann’s campaign proposition is than her rivals: Can you imagine Romney or former Minnesota governor Tim Pawlenty making a similarly revealing personal admission to a crowd at a campaign event? It’s hard to see.
All of this is not to suggest that Bachmann’s decision to talk about her miscarriage was in any way a political or strategic gambit.
But it does highlight what Bachmann brings to the table and how she has already begun to distinguish herself from the rest of the field.