The Least Historic "Historic" Election in American History

Every two years, network anchors assemble, lower their voices by half an octave, and inform a breathless nation that we are about to witness an event unprecedented in human history. Pundits toss around terms like "seismic shift," "political earthquake," and "unprecedented realignment."

So, as we look at the late-breaking polling data—with the RealClearPolitics Generic Ballot sitting around D+9 and a consensus Senate map showing Democrats on track to pick up six seats—the commentary machine is once again revving up its favorite buzzwords.

I love election frenzy as much as the next guy, so hate to say it - this election isn't historic. In fact, it is practically routine.

A quick dose of math provides a needed reality check. Between 2000 and 2024, across 13 national election cycles, control of either the House or the Senate flipped in 9 of those 13 elections (2000, 2002, 2006, 2010, 2014, 2018, 2020, 2022, and 2024). Flipping a congressional chamber is no longer a once-in-a-generation political realignment; it is simply what Tuesdays in November look like now.

For contrast, look back at the 13 elections prior, from 1974 to 1998. Over that entire quarter-century span, a congressional chamber flipped control only 3 times (1980, 1986, and 1994). Back then, party majorities built fortresses that lasted decades. Today, legislative majorities have the shelf life of… something with a short shelf life.

Anyone declaring this election a "blue wave" needs to put that label into proper historical perspective. When political observers spoke of true wave elections, they meant benchmarks like 2010, when a party could enter the night with 179 seats, pick up 63 seats in one evening, and emerge on the other side with a dominant majority.

In this decade, thanks to redistricting and hyper-sorted congressional maps, the battleground has shrunk dramatically. There simply aren't 60 competitive seats left on the map to flip (...watch me eat my words when Democrats pickup more than the +20 or so they are expecting to pick up). Historically, a rule of thumb held that every percentage point lead on the national generic ballot translated to roughly five House seats. By that logic, a D+9 environment ought to yield a 45-seat pickup just to meet the historical baseline of an "average" election. Picking up a handful of seats to narrowly win the majority isn't a tide; it's the modern standard.

Which brings us to the uncomfortable truth that neither party’s headquarters wants to print on a tote bag: Democrats won’t win this election; Republicans lost it.

To call this a glowing endorsement of the Democratic vision would require ignoring every public opinion poll in the country. Both major political parties are deeply unpopular with the American public. Voters hold Democrats in low regard—it’s just that, at this exact moment in time, they hold Republicans in slightly worse regard. Calling one party the "winner" under these conditions is like declaring a victor in a race where both contestants tripped over the first hurdle, but Democrats were a little closer to the finish line after the fall.

Ask yourself an honest question: are Democrats picking up House and Senate seats because they have genuinely won over a broad majority of voters with a compelling vision, or are millions of Americans simply walking into the booth to vote against something? Whether the target of their frustration is Donald Trump, total Republican control of Congress, high gas prices, or foreign conflict in the Middle East, a true winner earns positive support. In an election like this, just as many people seem to be casting a ballot to veto what they do not want rather than endorse what they do.

You can make that negative partisanship argument in almost any binary election, but look at the scale: in 2018, Trump’s job approval was underwater by about 8 points, whereas today public discontent is twice as severe. When an election becomes a giant revenge ballot rather than a mandate, it brings us directly to why this is, above all else, the year of the Independent voter.

The real story behind this perpetual game of political musical chairs isn't that voters have suddenly fallen in love with the opposing party's platform. It's that the electorate is no longer composed of loyal, predictable partisans who will patiently hold a coalition together through thick and thin.

Today's voters are pragmatic, restless, and deeply skeptical. They treat political parties less like sports teams to root for and more like bad contractors: if you don't show up, do the job, and deliver results, you get fired and replaced with the next crew. And if that crew fails too? Fired again two years later.

That isn't instability; that is the new normal. And the true winner of this election isn’t wearing a blue or a red jersey. The true winner is the Independent voter.

Mark this cycle down, because it represents a quiet passing of the torch. This will be the last election for decades in which a plurality of the American electorate self-identifies as either Democratic or Republican. By 2028, and for the elections that follow, the largest partisan bloc in the American electorate will be Independent.

So, when the cable news anchors lean into the camera late on Tuesday night to declare that history has been made because power shifted in Washington yet again, feel free to change the channel. The story isn't that a chamber (or two) flipped—that happens nearly every time we hand out ballots nowadays. The real story is that this is the final gasp of the old partisan monopoly. Moving forward, both the voters and the candidates who hope to win them over will have no choice but to go Indy.