I Left the Race. I Did Not Surrender My Voice.

There are moments in life when saying “thank you” feels extremely inadequate.

This is one of them.

To every person who donated $5 or $500, knocked on a door, shared a post, attended a town hall, made a phone call, offered a prayer, sent an encouraging text, put up a sign, defended me when I wasn’t in the room, or simply believed that South Dakota deserved something different: thank you.

You gave me an opportunity that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

We traveled this state. We sat with people who felt forgotten by Washington and sometimes forgotten by Pierre. We talked with farmers, veterans, teachers, small-business owners, tribal communities, working families, young people, seniors and more.

And everywhere we went, I was reminded that ordinary people still believe politics can be about something bigger than power.

That is why the decision to leave this race was so difficult. And why it remains difficult for me to sit with.

Since announcing that decision, many people have asked me the same question:

Why?

Some have wondered why I would leave after spending so much time saying that I would fight. Others have asked why I am not immediately endorsing another candidate.

You deserve an answer.

And I believe you deserve more than the carefully politicized version of an answer that politicians often give people.

So I want to tell you what happened from my perspective.

This Didn’t Start Last Week

The pressure surrounding my candidacy did not begin when I withdrew.

It began much earlier.

In June of last year, I learned of a group calling itself “East River White Men” whose purpose, as it was described to me, was to find someone to challenge me in a Democratic primary. I was told explicitly that my race was central to the effort.

They did not succeed in producing a primary challenger.

I understood that this campaign was going to be about more than whether voters agreed with my policies when I decided to run but this was the first time it materialized.

Months later, another chapter began.

In October of last year, independent candidate Brian Bengs began engaging with American Muckrakers, a political organization known for aggressive opposition research and attacks against political candidates and officeholders.

Eventually, I learned that representatives associated with American Muckrakers had contacted the South Dakota Democratic Party regarding financial information about me. According to what was relayed to me, the message was essentially this: pressure Julian to leave the race or damaging information would be released.

I did not leave.

In June of this year, they contacted me directly. I did not respond.

Then I received a text threatening the release of personal information if I did not leave the race, along with a copy of a proposed press release.

I believed that document contained numerous false or misleading claims.

Still, I did not leave.

What happened next was impossible for me to ignore.

American Muckrakers devoted extensive attention to Brian Bengs. Their social-media presence and website promoted him, they featured him in podcast content, featured his wife, and published a series of Substack posts about him.

I watched all of this unfold while continuing to campaign.

There were other incidents along the way. Some were significant. Others, standing alone, might have seemed trivial.

Then came the final days of July.

Then Our House Caught Fire

On Saturday, Brian reached out and asked to meet face-to-face with me and my wife, Inkka.

We agreed to meet the following Tuesday.

Then Monday came.

Our house caught fire.

My family was suddenly dealing with something far bigger than politics. We were trying to process what had happened to our home while protecting our children and figuring out what came next.

The following day, rather than meeting in person as planned, Brian requested that we speak by Zoom.

We agreed.

I will never forget how that conversation began.

My recollection of his words is:

“I’m not dropping out of this race, and if you stay in, things will get worse for you.”

I want to be extraordinarily careful here.

I am not accusing Brian Bengs of causing the fire.

I am not accusing his campaign of causing the fire.

I am not accusing American Muckrakers, the Democratic Party, the Republican Party or anyone else of causing the fire.

I have no evidence that would justify making such an accusation, and I will not make one.

But I would be dishonest if I pretended that hearing those words immediately after my family’s home had burned did not affect me.

It did.

Then the Pressure Intensified

Several days later, Brian’s campaign manager spoke with a close friend of mine.

My friend subsequently told me about that conversation.

According to her account, she was given information about efforts against my candidacy, including an allegation that people connected to the earlier “East River White Men” effort included individuals holding senior positions within the South Dakota Democratic Party.

She told his campaign manager that she was uncomfortable with how personal things had become and reminded him that I had young children.

According to what she told me, his response was essentially that I had chosen politics and that if I remained in the race, things would only get worse.

Again, that account comes from what my friend reported to me. I was not personally on that call.

Then came another call, one I was on.

An influential Democrat in the state called me.

During that conversation, he told me that I was the most toxic thing ever to happen to the South Dakota Democratic Party. He told me that if I remained in the race, donors would leave the party and that he intended to contact people about it.

In the period that followed, legislators, endorsers and donors who had supported me began pulling back.

For a grassroots campaign, that isn’t an inconvenience.

It can be fatal.

Around the same time, I learned that an even more influential Democrat had been seen having lunch with Bengs’ campaign manager.

Then came the final morning.

The deadline that had been established for making my decision was Tuesday at 5 p.m.

That morning, I learned that someone in the state had spoken with DNC Chair Ken Martin.

Then my phone started ringing.

I received calls from senior political figures and advisers connected to people who had supported this campaign, including senior advisers associated with President Biden and President Obama, as well as former DNC executives.

The message I received was clear: if I remained in the race, important support for my candidacy would be withdrawn, including publicly.

By that point, I had to confront a reality I did not want to accept.

I could stay.

I could fight.

I could refuse to be pushed anywhere.

But a campaign cannot survive on defiance alone.

If donors disappeared, endorsements were withdrawn, party leaders opposed my candidacy and the political infrastructure around me moved toward supporting an independent candidate, staying in the race would no longer simply mean fighting Mike Rounds.

It would mean fighting an entire political infrastructure while simultaneously trying to defeat a Republican incumbent.

That wasn’t a viable path to victory.

And I will never ask working people to continue giving me their hard-earned money for a campaign when I no longer believe there is a realistic path to winning.

So I made the most painful decision of my political life.

I left the race.

What I Am — And Am Not — Saying

I know how serious everything I have written here is.

That is precisely why I want to be clear about what I am not saying.

I am not accusing anyone of setting our house on fire.

I am not claiming that every person who wanted me out of the race was motivated by racism.

I am not claiming to know what conversations took place when I wasn’t in the room.

And where I have described conversations relayed to me by other people, I have tried to make that distinction clear.

I am telling you what I personally experienced, what was communicated directly to me, what was reported to me by people I trust, and how those events informed my decision.

People are free to dispute my interpretation.

But they cannot ask me to pretend that I did not experience what I experienced.

And my conclusion after living through all of it is uncomfortable:

This is what systemic white supremacy can look like.

Not necessarily a person wearing a hood.

Not necessarily someone shouting a racial slur.

Sometimes it is a system in which institutions, money, relationships and access to power converge in ways that determine who is considered acceptable, who gets protected, who gets heard, and who is told that continuing to participate will make life worse.

I have spent my career in institutions. I wore a badge for more than a decade. I built businesses. I led nonprofit organizations. I have worked inside Democratic politics.

I know the difference between an individual disagreement and an institutional problem.

And what I experienced convinced me that there are questions our party and our political system must answer about power, race, money and who gets to belong.

That conversation is bigger than one Senate campaign.

And I intend to keep having it.

Why I Am Not Endorsing Anyone Today

Some people have also asked why I have not immediately endorsed another candidate.

The answer is simple:

I am a voter, too.

My vote does not belong to a political party.

It does not belong to a candidate.

It does not belong to anyone simply because I once had my own name on the ballot.

I have significant policy disagreements with both remaining candidates.

So, just like every other South Dakotan, my support must be earned.

I look forward to hearing what the candidates have to say.

I want to hear their plans for healthcare.

I want to hear how they will make life more affordable.

I want to hear what they will do for farmers, veterans, tribal communities, workers, small businesses and families who feel like Washington has forgotten them.

I want to know where they stand when doing what is politically convenient conflicts with doing what is right.

And then I will make my decision like everyone else.

This Is Not Goodbye

There is one thing I hope nobody misunderstands.

I may have left this race, but I have not left the fight.

I will not be intimidated out of public life.

I will not disappear because politics became uncomfortable.

And I will not surrender my voice because powerful people would prefer that I become quiet.

If anything, this experience has convinced me that our voices are needed even more.

I don’t know exactly what the next chapter looks like yet.

And for once, I am comfortable saying that publicly.

I am going to spend time with my family.

I am going to rebuild.

I am going to write.

I am going to speak.

I am going to travel.

I am going to listen.

I am going to support people around this country who are doing courageous work.

And I am going to keep talking about the issues that brought me into this race in the first place.

Healthcare is still too expensive.

Housing is still unaffordable.

Family farms are still struggling.

Our rural communities still deserve investment.

Our tribal communities still deserve justice.

We must fight to return the Black Hills.

Working people still deserve a government that sees them.

And our democracy still desperately needs people willing to challenge systems of power.

Dropping out of a Senate race did not change any of that.

Most importantly, it did not change me.

To everyone who stood beside Inkka, our girls and me through one of the most extraordinary and difficult chapters of our lives: THANK YOU!

Thank you for believing.

Thank you for fighting.

Thank you for reminding me, on the hardest days, why this work matters.

We didn’t get the ending we wanted.

But I refuse to believe this is the end of the story.

In fact, I think we’re just getting started.

This was our campaign.

This is still our moment.

And our voice isn’t going anywhere.

— Julian