El Paso Democratic Party Endorsements: A Guide

Alright, let’s talk about the El Paso Democratic Party endorsement process—because some of y’all are acting brand new, and it’s honestly adorable.

First things first: candidates, please unclench your butt cheeks. The endorsement process is not the Vatican conclave. White smoke is not coming out of anyone’s chimenea. These endorsements are, at their core, a popularity contest—and I say that as someone who’s been in these rooms, counted these votes, and watched the same shocked Pikachu faces every cycle.

It always kills me when candidates who are never around the Party suddenly feel personally victimized by the endorsement results. Like… my guy. My hermana. No one had ever seen or heard of you until you slapped “Candidate” on your Facebook bio. You didn’t come to meetings. You didn’t help with voter registration. You didn’t show up when the folding chairs were still warm. And now you’re stunned? 

No mammes. Be serious.

Let me break down the endorsement process for the rookies, because there’s a lot of mystical nonsense floating around.

Is it rigged?

Yes.

But not in the Illuminati, backroom-cigar way you’re imagining.

The math is actually painfully simple:

1. Get your friends and family to join the club.

2. Make sure they show up to the endorsement meeting.

Boom. That’s it. That’s the spell. No sage. No crystals. Just attendance.

Now, are there clubs where some funny business happens?

Oh, absolutely. And the funniest part? Everyone already knows which ones they are. Some club leadership is cool. Some are… how do I say this politely… aggressively rude if you’re not their chosen one. And yes, that kind of behavior chases people away from the Party. It’s dumb. It’s self-sabotage. But pretending it doesn’t happen is even dumber.

And then there’s the overly complicated nonsense. You know exactly what I’m talking about. That Tournament of Champions shit. I swear, some endorsements feel like you need a bracket, a whistle, possibly a sword, a wizard costume, and a hydration break just to figure out who advanced.

But here’s the part nobody wants to say out loud:

Unless an endorsement comes with money, it really doesn’t matter that much.

I have lost track of how many candidates won elections without a single endorsement. And I’ve definitely lost track of how many candidates collected endorsements like Pokémon cards - only to lose the one endorsement that actually matters: the voters.

The reason I’m writing this now is because endorsement season is either happening or already over, and rookie candidates are spiraling because no one sat them down and explained reality. So here it is. Reality. No glitter.

Now - here’s the plot twist - I actually like endorsements. Not because they’re decisive, but because of the candidate forums.

Oh, I live for them.

Because candidates always say something wild. Something unnecessary. Something campaign-altering. And you can almost hear the campaign managers’ souls leaving their bodies every time a microphone turns on.

Some poor consultant is in the back like:

“Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please - ah fuck.”

I almost feel bad for someone like Chris Hernandez, who’s running Lucila Najera’s campaign. Which is… a choice. A fascinating one. Especially for a Democrat, considering Chris is famous for running DINO candidates like Dori Fennenbock and has earned himself a reputation as the most anti-union elected official in El Paso.

It’s honestly impressive. A vato with a visceral dislike for working-class people is a wild brand to commit to - especially when he never seems to have a real job himself. Bold strategy, Foo.

I can only imagine the stress levels every time his candidate opens her mouth, because she’s now been caught lying twice - on different issues - in less than a week.

And of course…

It happened at a forum.

Because that’s where the truth goes to freestyle.

Now look, lying in politics isn’t exactly a shocking plot twist anymore. That part is old news. But watching it happen in real time, under fluorescent lights, in front of Democratic clubs? That’s still premium entertainment.

So candidates, breathe.

Endorsements are not destiny.

They’re not a moral judgment.

They’re not a prophecy.

They’re just another weird, messy, very El Paso part of the process.

And if you really want to win?

Stop obsessing over who clapped in a meeting—and start worrying about who shows up to vote.