Twenty years after my run for Congress

James Martorano

The Beatles' famous song on the Sgt. Pepper album starts with "It was 20 years ago today that Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play."

For me, 20 years ago brings a cherished memory. It was exactly two decades ago that I entered the race for the Democratic nomination for Congress in New York’s 19th Congressional District, knowing full well that I was stepping into an arena where idealism often collides with the hard realities of money and power. It was one of the most exciting, exhausting and meaningful experiences of my life. Though I did not win the nomination and my campaign ended just days before the primary, it remains one of the most interesting chapters of my life, and it proved something I had always believed: that public service is not about personal ambition but about giving voice to principles that matter.

Back then, the 19th Congressional District was vast and politically diverse, stretching across five counties. It was not a race that could be won with handshakes alone. It required travel, organization, media buys, direct mail and the kind of financial resources that most ordinary citizens simply do not have access to. Yet despite the odds, I entered the race with the encouragement of several close friends who believed in me and felt that the issues I cared about deserved to be heard.

There were six of us competing for the Democratic nomination, each bringing different strengths and visions to the campaign. Some had political connections. Others had access to major donors and well-established networks. I entered with something less tangible: my convictions and the naïve belief that that was all I needed to succeed.

My platform was simple, direct and rooted in the needs of working people. I advocated for universal health care because I believed no American should ever have to choose between seeing a doctor and paying the rent. I fought for affordable housing because I had seen too many families burdened by rising costs while wages remained stagnant. I called for meaningful tax relief for working-class Americans because I believed the tax system too often rewards wealth while leaving ordinary workers to shoulder disproportionate burdens.

These were not positions crafted by consultants or focus groups. They were beliefs forged through observation, experience and a sincere desire to make life better for everyday people. What made the campaign extraordinary was the level of public engagement. Across those five counties, we staged 13 debates and five caucuses. Thirteen times, we stood before audiences of citizens eager to hear ideas, challenge assumptions and weigh the choices before them. For a candidate like me, without the financial advantage of expensive media campaigns, these debates were everything. It was on those stages that I found my voice.

There is a special kind of energy that comes from standing before an audience and speaking not from calculation, but from conviction. I was not trying to win points or land rehearsed soundbites. I was speaking from the heart about what I believed our country could become if we chose fairness over privilege and compassion over indifference.

For a time, it felt as though ideas still mattered. I finished first in the Northern Westchester caucus and was competitive in the four others. People approached me afterward to shake my hand; to tell me they admired my sincerity, or to thank me for speaking plainly about issues that affected their lives. Those moments sustained me. They reminded me why I had entered the race in the first place. But idealism, however powerful, does not pay for TV commercials.

As the campaign intensified, the financial disparity became impossible to ignore. One of my opponents held fundraising events headlined by Bonnie Raitt and Jackson Browne, raising $150,000 in a single week. It was an astonishing sum, enough to transform a campaign overnight with advertising, staff expansion and voter outreach at a scale I could not match.

I remember the sinking realization that no matter how strong my arguments were in debate halls, no matter how passionately I spoke, there was a structural reality I could not overcome. Even back then, political campaigns were often less contests of ideas than competitions of financial endurance. The cost of reaching voters across such a large district was overwhelming.

I had entered the race believing that if I spoke clearly enough and worked hard enough, the message would break through. But I came to understand that even the most principled message can be drowned out if it lacks amplification. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life to suspend my campaign just days before the primary. It felt, in some ways, like a personal defeat. Yet even in that difficult moment, I returned to the principle that had guided me from the beginning: this was never about me. I had always said that it was less important that I be elected than that the principles I stood for be promoted.

And so, I decided to support John Hall, who went on to win in November.

At the time, I felt that it was not a surrender of values but an affirmation of them. Politics, at its best, is not about individual glory. It is about advancing causes larger than oneself. By endorsing Hall, I believed I was helping unify support behind a candidate who could carry forward at least part of the broader vision we had all fought to advance.

Looking back now, 20 years later, I do not measure that campaign by whether I won or lost, but rather by the wonderful opportunity it afforded me to meet so many of my constituents and the honor of advocating positions that would improve their lives. In the process, I learned that democracy is both inspiring and imperfect. I learned that money exerts enormous influence over who gets heard. But I also learned that authenticity matters—that people recognize it, hunger for it and remember it. To this day, I believe that standing for something is its own kind of victory. The entire experience once again taught me that the journey is much more important than the destination.

For one remarkable season of my life, I traveled across five counties, stood on 13 debate stages, and gave everything I had to ideas I believed could improve others' lives. Few experiences can compare to that. Though I never took a seat in Congress, I gained something perhaps even more valuable: the knowledge that I had answered the call of conscience when it came. And that is a victory that no election result can erase.