Forget Kennedy Democrats. Here Comes the 2024 Kennedy Voter.

OAKLAND — These days, the phrase “Kennedy voter” means different things to different members of Burke Cahill’s family.

Cahill, 50, is a formerly reliable Democratic voter who was alienated by what he sees as a leftward drift into policies he can’t abide — like a Covid-19 vaccine mandate that almost cost him his firefighting job. On Tuesday, he got up early, driving nearly two hours from the Sacramento area to Oakland, just so he could witness — in person — Robert F. Kennedy Jr. announcing his running mate. (That would be attorney/philanthropist/documentary producer/fellow former Democrat Nicole Shanahan.) As Cahill sees it, Kennedy’s fierce independence from a sclerotic two-party system is just what the country needs.

Kennedy, he tells me as he heads into a rally for RFK Jr., has what it takes to heal the partisan wounds bedeviling the nation.

His relatives, on the other hand, aren’t convinced. To the contrary. The Cahills are distantly related to the Kennedys and Cahill says he “grew up holding the Kennedy family as royalty.” His embrace of a RFK Jr., a passionate anti-vaxxer at odds with his own family, has opened a rift.

“They’re old-school Democrats, and they think they’re being loyal,” Cahill says of his family. “This can’t even be talked about without it being contentious.”

That estrangement mirrors a deeper divergence on display in the proudly liberal East Bay, particularly on this sunny Tuesday in Oakland. Several hundred fervent RFK Jr. fans, some decked out in Kennedy paraphernalia, gather at the Henry J. Kaiser Center for the Arts to show their support of RFK Jr., and where, just outside, another dozen or so folks — some sporting “Kennedy for Measles” stickers — gather to show their contempt of him.

For decades, the Kennedy name was synonymous with a mainstream strain of civic optimism that preached public service and a beneficent government. It enthralled aspiring Democratic politicians like California Governor and avowed Kennedy admirer Gavin Newsom. But that was a different era, when a different kind of Kennedy could be seen running for the highest office in the land — and when more Americans had faith in their government. Today, RFK Jr.’s supporters tend to place a corrupt government at the root of America’s ills. They ask not what their government can do for them but what it has done to them.

The new Kennedy voters scattering through the cavernous venue have traveled a long way from Camelot. Talking to them, it’s clear their misgivings about powerful institutions — what they see as a panoply of venal politicians, an untrustworthy media, Big Ag, Big Pharma, Big Tech — has led many of them to embrace fringe theories. A shared aversion to vaccines hardened during the Covid-19 pandemic. They worry about chemicals and monoculture crops eroding public health. They’re weary of grinding foreign wars. They admire Kennedy’s history of challenging powerful corporations.

But above all else, they believe the American political system is fundamentally broken and that both President Joe Biden and former President Donald Trump will perpetuate its disrepair. They’re ex-Democrats, former Republicans and newly active independents — and they all talk about feeling both a profound disillusionment in the state of the nation and a deep optimism that Kennedy would lead them to something better.

“The other two candidates promote the division that is plaguing our country,” says Sarah Morris, a former “party-voting Democrat” who felt “ostracized by the left” for not wanting to get the Covid-19 vaccine. Some people “weaponize the idea of being a conspiracy theorist,” she says, so she decided to “wear it as a badge of honor.”

Literally: She showed up sporting a gray baseball cap with the words “Tin Foil” written on it.

The Kennedy dynasty is most closely associated with Massachusetts, but it is also deeply intertwined with California. This is where Robert F. Kennedy Sr. forged an enduring bond with farmworker activist Cesar Chavez before his tragic death in a Los Angeles hotel. Newsom, a prominent Biden surrogate, reveres RFK Sr. so greatly that he keeps his bust in his Sacramento office.

Yet here was a scion of that storied clan — in the bluest district of a resolutely blue state, a short walk from where then-Sen. Kamala Harris launched her presidential campaign in 2019 — standing before a crowd of voters waving American flags, asking them to reject both Biden and the Democratic Party.

“Our independent run for the presidency is finally going to bring down the Democratic and Republican duopoly,” Kennedy tells the crowd of mostly white Boomers and Gen Xers. “Nicole Shanahan,” he adds, “will help me rally support for a revolution against the uniparty rule from both ends of the right and left political spectrum.”

After he introduces his running mate, she promptly flashes her independent bona fides.

“I am leaving the Democratic Party,” Shanahan says, because its leaders “have lost their way and their leadership.”

On the menu today: Standard-issue campaign patriotism merged with darker warnings about government censorship, tainted food and corporate control — a microcosm for a Kennedy campaign that promises an enlightened future by dwelling on a benighted present.

Screens play loops of videos splicing inoffensively banal Americana (bison roaming amber plains, Mount Rushmore) with black-and-white footage of the elder Kennedy patriarchs and a considerable amount of imagery featuring RFK Jr. with falcons. (Kennedy Campaign banners urge voters to “Declare Your Independence.” A two-piece ensemble plays Old School classics by Cat Stevens and Tom Waits.

At a table stuffed with campaign merchandise, attendees peruse bags emblazoned with the phrase “Make Earth Great Again” in a nod to Kennedy’s environmentalist record. In an election where Biden and Trump are scrambling to woo the working class, many attendees sport union local gear. One man bridges eras with a “Kennedy ‘24” hat and a faded “Kennedy the Spirit of ‘68” pin. Another enthusiast is decked out in a Kennedy hat, a Kennedy t-shirt and a gold Kennedy necklace.

Onstage, first come paeans to bridging divides and seeking a political middle course. Former NBA star Metta Sandiford-Artest, AKA Metta World Peace grabs the mic and, appearing much more mellow than he did in his ball playing days, talks, fittingly, of unity.

“This is an opportunity to bring people together,” he says.

Next up: The political broadsides. Anti-vaccine figure Del Bigtree steps to the mic to assail Dr. Anthony Fauci, warning about suppressed speech, and citing a statistic about chemicals in umbilical cords. Covid-19 lockdown dissenter Jay Bhattacharya describes himself and Kennedy as sidelined warriors for inconvenient truths. Meanwhile, anti-glyphosate activist Kelly Ryerson describes her quest to fix her family’s “severely imbalanced microbiomes” and linked increased rates of asthma, infertility and autism to “corporate capture” of food and agriculture. Kennedy, she says, can help.

“It must stop immediately,” Ryerson says, “and Bobby Kennedy is the only one who can do it.”

This is a small but mighty crowd of true believers. Speakers and attendees I talk to describe Kennedy as an incorruptible crusader who is singularly suited to vanquishing the corporate-political leviathan that dominates American life.

They chant “Bobby! Bobby!” as a video of Kennedy vowing to “get rid of the bad food, the chemical food” blasts through the gymnasium-like space. They lustily boo a reference to Monsanto, the agro-giant Kennedy had successfully taken to court. They roar when Bigtree predicts a “miracle” win and when a graphic highlights Kennedy’s appeal to young voters. They’d found their champion, and despite what the disingenuous media tell you, they really, truly believe that their man can win.

“He’s the only hope we’ve got,” says Dori Dutton, who trekked north from Orange County to see him.

Just outside the venue, loyal Democrats with an anxious eye on the event have a different take. They believe Kennedy has no shot and is either a self-promoting charlatan — or just plain delusional. Still, they fret that he poses a real risk of peeling off enough Biden votes to return Trump to the White House.

A Democratic National Committee-funded truck circles the venue. It’s emblazoned with a picture of Kennedy and Trump, quizzical-looking emoticons and “RFK Jr. has the same biggest donor as Donald Trump.” At the ready are surrogates who talk to reporters about the stakes.

Kennedy “should not be taken seriously,” says Rep. Robert Garcia (D-Calif.), in a later call with reporters. But, at the same time, Garcia declares, he is “quite dangerous.”

Across the street from the entrance, a half-dozen people held cardboard signs promoting the Biden-Harris ticket. Several wore the aforementioned “Kennedy for Measles” stickers that reference a parody website. (Tagline: “As president, I will ensure the purity of your children’s precious bodily fluids.”)

“I’m profoundly concerned about this man,” says Kimberley Rodler, who was juggling four signs — two pro-Biden-Harris, two anti-Kennedy — and plans to knock on doors for Biden in four swing states. “I never thought I would oppose a Kennedy.”

It’s not the first time Kennedy has played the foil in California. He infuriated Democrats advancing a contentious vaccination mandate when he warned of a “holocaust” at a Sacramento event (this has been a theme for him).

He broke with most of his siblings by urging Newsom to release the man convicted of killing his father, Sirhan Sirhan, whom he believed to be innocent. Newsom kept Sirhan incarcerated, and he later lamented a once-close relationship unraveling as “Bobby” courted conspiracies and conservatives. Much of the Kennedy family has publicly distanced itself.

“He knows what he’s doing and he’s being used,” Newsom told Chuck Todd last year. “He needs a second act if he’s going to take on the president.”

But Kennedy is making inroads in California despite the Democratic Party's hegemony. His Super PAC raised millions at a birthday gala in West Hollywood — and a disproportionate amount of his direct donations have come from Californians. He has drawn the support of Silicon Valley figures like Twitter founder Jack Dorsey and venture capitalist David Sacks. He is planning to rally L.A. Latinos with a former county sheriff who was lauded and then loathed by Democrats.

This is, after all, a state where nearly 150,000 people chose spirituality guru Marianne Williamson over Biden in the March primary. Shanahan gave money to Williamson in 2019 before pivoting and donating to Biden.

Now Shanahan is pivoting again. Her now-dissolved marriage to Google co-founder Sergey Brin connected her to Silicon Valley, a pillar of modern political power, and its rivers of money. Like other tech titans who have renounced the Democratic Party, Shanahan has used her wealth to help Kennedy. She spent millions on a Super Bowl ad that introduced him to the American electorate in prime time.

“I’ve been finding it harder and harder to find the leadership in the White House to represent the issues closest to my heart,” Shanahan tells the Oakland crowd.

Foremost among those issues is environmental health, and Shanahan paints a grim picture, echoing her running mate as she warns that agricultural chemicals, “electro-magnetic pollution” from wireless devices, and pharmaceutical medications are fueling a “chronic disease epidemic that is devouring our nation from the inside.” She spoke of her autistic daughter, declining fertility and spiraling depression.

“Our people are not well,” Shanahan says.

For all the ebullience on display Tuesday, Kennedy has a narrow path to the White House. He is still fighting to get on the November ballot via a new political party and is exploring joining the Libertarian ticket. Campaign volunteers shared instructions at the Oakland event for registering with the We The People party as the campaign races to get the 75,000 signatures needed to get on the ballot.

Shanahan says she’ll be spending the next several months focusing on getting Kennedy on “each and every ballot in this country” as they pursue a “campaign of national healing.” But healing the nation will require breaking its political system.

“Our campaign is a spoiler. I agree with that. It’s a spoiler for President Biden and for President Trump,” Kennedy says. “Millions of Americans are not going to vote at all if they’re not given another choice. They’re simply withdrawing from democracy. Well, Nicole and I are going to give those millions another choice.”

Victory would have to run through a huge bloc of persuadable voters.

On the way in, Delane Dale, a quality assurance director from San Jose, fretted about Kennedy aiding Trump “by taking votes from Biden” and wondered about the family’s transformation. She was driven there by a form of morbid curiosity. “I love the Kennedys,” she says. “What happened to this guy?”

She and her partner had shown up to heckle Kennedy. But after the rally, Dale says they’ve had something of a change of heart: They were impressed by both by RFK Jr. and what his surrogates have to say.

The threat of a second Trump term “still scares me,” Dale says. But she listened when Kennedy and Shanahan talked about contaminated food and soil. Pandemic shutdowns had exacted a toll on her family and a college-aged son.

Maybe she was open to voting Kennedy after all.

“I’m thinking about it,” Dale says. “Trump’s terrifying. But at the same time, I learned a lot.”