Why the Vance-Walz Debate Is Primed to Be Messy

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Tuesday night’s likely lone debate between the vice presidential nominees might seem like a Midwest-Off for the ages, with the junior Senator from Ohio offering his antagonistic vision for a new conservatism against the aw-shucks earnestness of Minnesota’s Governor. But in reality, the evening stands to be a high-stakes distillation of the culture wars largely defining this national contest, with nasty digs referencing “childless cat ladies,” tampons in boys’ bathrooms, and pet-hunting Haitians flying across the stage from the start.

With voting already underway in some states—including Minnesota—and no more made-for-television events on the books before Nov. 5’s Election Day, this undercard debate takes on an importance unseen in the modern era. Both Vance and Walz remain blank slates to much of America; as much as a quarter of the electorate recently told pollsters they have literally not heard of Trump’s and Harris’ running mates, according to surveys from the Pew Research Center. Vance was slightly better known than Walz, although Vance carried higher unfavorable numbers among those with an opinion. Tuesday’s event—hosted by CBS News with the other networks planning to simulcast it—stands to be the rare game-changing VP debate.

Polling heading into the 90-minute session shows a race that seems relatively stable. Vice President Kamala Harris, looking for an unexpected promotion after President Joe Biden decided to skip his in-progress re-election, seems to have stabilized the so-called Blue Wall of Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania. Former President Donald Trump, looking for an almost unprecedented return to power, appears to have settled into the slightest of advantages in Arizona, Georgia, and North Carolina, while Nevada—like all seven battleground states, if we’re being honest—remains anyone’s to snag.

Which is why both VP picks have been scrutinized in ways that haven’t seemed needed since Sarah Palin’s selection in 2008. Vance, elected to the Senate in 2022, has a relatively short dossier in public life; no one expects a first-term lawmaker in the minority party to have much of an impact. Walz, a former House member who moved home to run his state, has a bit more of a track record, but one not well known beyond the Upper Midwest.

Sure, Vance can point to his erstwhile populism and his advocacy for East Palestine, Ohio, after an epic train derailment just days into his arrival in Washington. His work in the tech sector has drawn impressed nods from Silicon Valley, although the child-online-safety legislation he co-sponsored passed the Senate with him missing the vote.

And Walz can cite his state’s universal free meals program for students and his success in passing universal background checks for guns and enshrining abortion rights in the state constitution. But he has yet to fully bat away attacks over his decision last year to sign into law a measure that all students from the fourth grade on must have access to menstrual products in school bathrooms. The bill drew little public objection at the time but conservatives pounced on it as soon as Harris tapped Walz, calling the Governor “Tampon Tim” and falsely arguing he had required public schools to put menstrual products in every boys bathroom.

That’s why, in keeping with the running mates’ tried role as attack machine, Vance and Walz each have been studying up on the rival’s record. For Vance, that means a whole lot of time mastering Walz’s voting history in the House and his time leading Minnesota, including the stretch that saw the confluence of the Covid-19 pandemic and the unrest in Minneapolis after George Floyd’s death at the hands of police. Audiences should expect Vance to accuse Walz of waiting too long to dispatch the National Guard to restore order. To help him get ready, Vance has deputized House Majority Whip Tom Emmer, a Minnesota Republican, to play the role of Walz during debate prep sessions.

And Walz has at the ready plenty of Vance’s previous comments, including many from before he was in office. Some of those were highly, highly critical of Trump, as TIME brought up during an interview with Vance back in 2021, prompting the most under-appreciated mea culpa in some time: “I’m not just a flip-flopper, I’m a flip-flop-flipper on Trump.” Vance has questioned why people without children get a say in schools, and his “childless cat ladies” dismissal has become a stand-in for the perceived disrespect for voters who haven’t given birth—Harris included. For his part, Walz has been practicing against Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg, a former Mayor of South Bend, Ind.

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The policy positions, the authenticity, the vibes even matter in this race. But the real reason debate prep sessions have been centering on this caliber of critique is because both campaigns see an opportunity to turn the other side into a parody of itself, a down-the-rabbit-hole example of a toxic culture war that neither side can truly win. Vance will rail against “wokeness”; Walz found the sweet spot as he was running the shadow campaign for Harris’ rose ceremony when he called the GOP ticket “weird.”

In a way, Vance and Walz are on a similar mission: make the other guy unpalatable. It’s not elegant. It’s far from high-minded or even approximating wonky. But it is what the strategists prepping them think is the most lethal play at this moment when voters are just starting to tune into the rest of the ticket. With five weeks until Election Day, this is not the time for petit niceties but rather petty needling. Voters say they hate the negativity—the ads, the rhetoric, the innuendo and its stronger cousin slander. But here’s the thing: it usually works. The culture wars spark fear, and fear puts people at voting centers. Both campaigns get it, and voters are just going to have to strap in for this final push.

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