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If Hubert Humphrey were alive today and took the oath as governor of Minnesota, it would not feel like politics as usual. It would feel like history.
Humphrey was not a cautious politician. He did not consult a pollster before deciding whether to lead. He was a moral force, a relentless optimist who believed politics could be a noble profession.
In an era when public trust in government sits at rock bottom, that conviction alone would be revolutionary.
Sometimes, we forget how radical Humphrey really was. As mayor of Minneapolis, he didn’t tiptoe around civil rights — he ran toward it. He pushed through the nation’s first municipal fair employment ordinance and drove out entrenched segregation at a time when most leaders shrugged.
At the 1948 Democratic National Convention, when many in his party wanted to avoid alienating Southern segregationists, Humphrey, 37, strode to the podium and declared it was time to get out of the shadow of states’ rights and walk forthrightly into the bright sunshine of human rights.
That moment nearly split the party. It also marked Humphrey as a leader unafraid to risk his career for principle. Imagine that spirit in the Minnesota governor’s office today.
I knew Humphrey. I saw firsthand how he carried himself, not with arrogance but with bounding optimism. He could walk into a room and make even the smallest voice feel heard. He was a man who believed in the power of politics to lift people, and he acted on it every day.
Watching him convinced me that leadership, when it is authentic, can change not just policy but the very mood of a state. That is the Humphrey I carry with me, and that is what Minnesota would get again if he were governor today.
His priorities would start where his heart always was: education. Humphrey would not tolerate the quiet crisis of teacher shortages, underfunded early childhood programs, or rising tuition that locks out working families. He would view these not as technical issues, but as moral ones.
Education was, for him, the gateway to dignity and opportunity. In 2025, he would frame it as the state’s most significant investment in future competitiveness.
Health care would follow closely. Humphrey was instrumental in laying the groundwork for Medicare and Medicaid. He believed that society is judged by how it treats its most vulnerable.
Today, facing rural hospital closures, rising prescription drug costs, and inequities in access, he would not nibble around the edges. He would demand structural reform — and he would not be shy about dragging Big Pharma into the public square, calling out the profiteering, and insisting Minnesotans deserve affordable, universal care.
Labor would find its champion again. Humphrey grew up in a drugstore in a small Minnesota town, watching his father work long hours to keep the doors open. He never forgot that the measure of an economy is not the Dow Jones, but the dignity of the people doing the work.
As governor, he would back unions unapologetically, demand fair wages, and push for affordable housing in a state where too many working families now live one rent hike away from crisis.
He would also be a climate governor. Humphrey was never afraid of modernity. In his day, that meant embracing civil rights and Medicare; today, it would mean treating climate change as an existential challenge. He would champion renewable energy as an environmental necessity and an economic engine. Picture him barnstorming the state — from Worthington to the Iron Range — selling wind, solar, and clean-water protections as both jobs policy and moral responsibility.
However, perhaps the most urgent gift Humphrey would bring to Minnesota politics today is his style. He was an old-school persuader. He shook every hand, wore out his shoes at union halls and church basements, and looked opponents in the eye until they gave him a chance.
He did not treat politics as trench warfare; he treated it as an argument worth having.
In today’s age of social media sniping and cable news posturing, Humphrey’s method would feel almost alien. And yet it may be precisely what Minnesota — and America — needs: the ability to argue passionately without dehumanizing opponents.
The willingness to stand for principle without losing sight of compromise. The conviction that appeals to conscience can still persuade people.
Humphrey’s speeches often ran long, but they burned with conviction. He didn’t wait to see which way the wind was blowing. He set the course, then pulled people along with him.
In today’s sound-bite era, his voice would cut through the noise — less polished, more human, and far more compelling.
Would it work? Look at Minnesota itself. This is still a state where neighbors shovel each other’s driveways, where politics can be authoritarian but compromise is possible, and where communities still carry an ethic of shared responsibility.
Humphrey’s mix of moral urgency and pragmatic coalition-building would still resonate here. It might even remind Minnesotans that politics, at its best, is not about management — it’s about leadership.
And make no mistake: Humphrey would not be satisfied with incrementalism. He would not run a government that managed decline or avoided tough fights. He would demand bold progress.
He would insist Minnesota become the national model again — the state that proves government can lead with courage, fairness, and decency.
That’s the Humphrey legacy: not perfection, but progress. Not convenience, but courage. He believed politics was about improving life for people you may never meet.
Minnesota could use that reminder right now.
If Hubert Humphrey were governor today, the state would not be drifting in search of a future. It would be marching toward one.