Virginia election analyst Larry Sabato recently expressed surprise at the early approval ratings of Governor Abigail Spanberger—three months into a term that, by most conventional measures, has been steady and unremarkable in the best sense of the word. Spanberger is, by design, a moderate: a figure well-suited to Virginia’s political temperament, governing without spectacle and, thus far, without obvious misstep.
And yet the numbers lag.
For anyone who spends time in the more unfiltered corners of social media, the result is less surprising. There, the narrative has already hardened. Spanberger has, depending on the forum, “ruined the state,” driven residents to contemplate relocation to West Virginia, and presided over a breakdown in order that bears little resemblance to observable reality.
A recent example is illustrative. In the wake of a tragic criminal case in Fairfax County involving an undocumented individual, blame was directed not toward the perpetrator, nor toward the complexities of federal and local law enforcement coordination, but squarely at the governor—for insisting that immigration enforcement adhere to established legal protocols. That expectation, which would ordinarily be uncontroversial, becomes, in this environment, a liability rather than a baseline.
The asymmetry is notable. Attribution, in such cases, tends to follow political convenience rather than consistency.
This is not merely a matter of partisan disagreement. It reflects a broader shift in the media and information environment—one that has, over time, become structurally more hostile to certain kinds of political actors, particularly those who govern in a measured or technocratic style. Criticism is no longer episodic; it is ambient. In this shift, Donald Trump has been less an outlier than an accelerant—recognizing earlier than most that control over narrative need not be total to be effective.
Much attention has been paid to Trump’s direct confrontations with traditional media institutions—pressuring outlets, challenging journalists, and deliberately reshaping the tone of public discourse. He has been unusually effective, and at times openly suspicious, in recasting the relationship between political leadership and the information environment itself. The more enduring development, however, may be what persists beyond those efforts: an ecosystem in which amplification, outrage, and attribution operate with increasing autonomy, no longer requiring direct political direction to sustain themselves.
In such an environment, approval ratings become less a reflection of performance and more a reflection of narrative saturation.
This has implications that extend beyond any one governor. Officeholders who govern in a measured or technocratic style may find that conventional markers of effective governance—competence, restraint, incremental progress—carry diminishing political return. Criticism will arrive quickly, often untethered from specific decisions, and will persist regardless of outcome.
At the same time, the durability of support for Trump—through periods marked by inflation, international conflict, and domestic strain—suggests that approval is no longer tightly coupled to circumstance, but to alignment. That durability is not accidental. It reflects a sustained effort to shape not only opinion, but the terms under which opinion is formed—an approach that has proven both resilient and transferable.
The result is a political landscape in which perception moves more freely than performance.
And in that landscape, governing well may remain necessary—but no longer sufficient.