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June 28th, 2023 
Awake Goy 
The only two Democrats in the Wyoming Senate spend a lot of time talking.
Up against a “super duper majority” of 29 Republicans, Democratic Minority Leader Chris Rothfuss spoke on the Senate floor nearly every day during this year’s legislative session. His counterpart, Sen. Mike Gierau, sits on a whopping nine committees, racking up mileage traveling across the roughly 100,000 square mile state for hearings. The pair teams up to strategize how to pierce holes in legislation they consider a threat to Wyomingites.
Such is the life of a state lawmaker in the “superminority” — a group small in number but growing in ubiquity as the balance of power in state legislatures tilts even more lopsided in favor of majority parties.
There are 29 supermajorities in the U.S. controlled by either Democrats or Republicans, up from 21 in 2019. In addition, there are 51 House or Senate chambers where the minority party makes up fewer than one third of seats, according to a POLITICO analysis of data tracked by the National Conference of State Legislatures. In 2009, there were 22 chambers where that was the case, and in some states supermajority control has flipped between parties since then, like in West Virginia and Arkansas.
The end result is a shrinking minority voice drowned out by a dominant majority that can stomp out any sliver of opposition.
“It’s bad for democracy, it’s bad for the people,” said Rothfuss, who represents Laramie, one of the largest cities in the state and home to the University of Wyoming’s main campus. “There’s nothing positive about supermajority control.”
In addition to Wyoming, the smallest caucuses in the country are found in Hawaii with its two Senate Republicans; in West Virginia with its three Senate Democrats; in Massachusetts with its three Senate Republicans; and in North and South Dakota with their four Senate Democrats.
An average session for the superminority goes something like this: They spend substantial political capital just to get a simple amendment considered. They experience microphones getting cut by leadership during floor remarks. They often have to convince a member of the majority party to carry bills in their name instead. They endure jokes about holding caucus meetings in restaurant booths.
“I go into that building knowing and accepting that, for the most part, my initiatives will fail and my amendments will fail and my arguments will not persuade enough people to make a difference,” said Rhode Island state Rep. Michael Chippendale, one of nine Republicans in the 75-member House. “So I walk into there on a daily basis knowing I am going to lose.”
While lawmakers expressed that most day-to-day dealings between the parties tend to be peaceful, sometimes tensions between the supermajority and superminority can build to high-profile stunts fueled by pent-up hostility. In Oregon, Republicans staged a weeks-long walkout to boycott business in the state Senate. In Tennessee, GOP leadership expelled two Democrats for disrupting House rules when protesting gun violence.
“I’ll put it to you bluntly – it really sucks,” said state Sen. Mike Caputo, one of West Virginia’s three Senate Democrats.
Caputo has served in the West Virginia legislature for nearly thirty years and witnessed his party swap from a supermajority to superminority. While West Virginia is an extreme example, it still represents the story of dwindling Democratic power throughout the U.S. over the last decade as Republicans launched a nationwide state strategy following the election of former President Barack Obama that handed them control of the majority of state legislatures.
Democrats have seen some recent gains in statehouses, however. The party flipped legislatures in key states like Michigan and Minnesota and picked up seats in Arizona and Pennsylvania.
But Republicans last November and into this year have maintained their grip on most state chambers and solidified their power throughout the South and parts of the Midwest. The GOP gained supermajorities in chambers in North Carolina, Wisconsin, Iowa and South Carolina. Nationwide, Republicans hold 55 percent of the 7,000-plus state legislative seats, according to NCSL.
Interviews with nearly a dozen lawmakers serving in a superminority revealed that they share a common strategy for trying to pass or defeat legislation: capitalize on factions within the majority party and try to pick off potential allies, whether its progressive Democrats or conservative Republicans.
“You can swing more power by making alliances to kill legislation,” said Gierau, the minority whip who represents Jackson, Wyoming, the tourist haven and liberal oasis. “You measure your success by what you can kill more than what you can pass.”
Gierau, charged with whipping the votes of his lone fellow Democrat, often ends up whipping Republicans as well. He is the more conservative of the two Senate Democrats and has been called a “DINO” (Democrat in Name Only). Gierau keeps a dinosaur figurine on his desk.
In prior sessions, Wyoming Democrats have had luck teaming up with moderate Republicans to vote down legislation restricting abortion rights. But that success came to a halt this year. In March, Wyoming became the first state to ban medication abortions and later passed laws restricting nearly all abortions.
“I get my butt kicked every twenty minutes down there,” Gierau said. “We gotta pick ourselves off the floor. We have to take defeat and move forward and keep doing it. We can’t just sit there crying in our beer.”
The day-to-day business of state legislatures is fairly mundane and usually bipartisan. But superminority Democrats in multiple states said in interviews that they felt deep discouragement this year over their inability to do much about recent controversial culture war fights. Republicans have stirred a national debate about transgender rights as dozens of states considered legislation curtailing the ability for trans people to access health care and other restrictions limiting their public life.
Arkansas Sen. Clarke Tucker, one of six Democrats compared with 35 Republicans, said he feels compelled to speak out against bills that he knows will still pass with overwhelming support, like a recent GOP measure banning gender-affirming medical treatment for minors. A federal judge struck down the law this month. Clarke believes it’s important for affected communities to know that there’s someone in the state capitol advocating for them.
“It’s physically grueling and emotionally exhausting,” he said. “By the time the session is over I’m completely spent at every level. It’s tough, there’s no question about it.”
Yet there are some upsides to being a member of an endangered political species. Members say they’re not constrained by a majority party’s agenda or coercion from a governor and can vote however they want.
In Massachusetts, Senate Republican Patrick O’Connor feels comfortable bucking the values of the national Republican party by voting with Democrats on social issues like LGBTQ rights. He also focuses his attention on trying to steer money to his district.
“I never have a free weekend and it’s because you have to work extra hard to prove yourself in this state,” he said.
Superminority lawmakers also view themselves as representing not just their districts but the people voting for their party statewide.
Republicans in Rhode Island are “free from pressure,” said Senate Minority Leader Jessica de la Cruz, one of five Republicans in the 38-seat chamber. “You’re able to vote your conscience and able to look constituents in the eye and say ‘I voted against this legislation because it was bad for you.’”
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