Imagine waking up in Alaska on a crisp Thursday morning, pouring coffee, and learning that your governor has ordered a criminal investigation into a U.S. Senate campaign. That is exactly what happened after Republican Governor Mike Dunleavy stepped before the public and let loose a statement that echoed far beyond the state’s borders. The target was Mary Peltola’s Democratic Senate campaign, along with the national Democratic apparatus behind it. The accusation was stunning: they had allegedly recruited a man named Dan J. Sullivan to run for the same Senate seat as the incumbent Republican, Dan S. Sullivan, hoping that voters would confuse the two and accidentally hand a vote to someone who was never meant to serve. Dunleavy did not call it a clever strategy. He called it manipulation. In his words, it was “an organized effort to manipulate Alaska’s elections by recruiting candidates—including one with the same name as an incumbent U.S. Senator—to deliberately confuse voters and misdirect their votes.” He announced that the Department of Public Safety had been directed to investigate whether criminal charges or civil action were warranted. Then he added the line that left the biggest mark: “Alaskans have a fundamental right to vote for the candidate they actually intend to support. Deliberately tricking voters into casting their ballots for someone else strikes at the integrity of our elections. Anyone or any organization found to have broken the law must be held accountable.” This was not a routine press release. It was a political bombshell.
To understand why this became a statewide crisis, you have to picture the actual ballot. There, in the Senate race, sat three names: Mary Peltola, a Democrat; Dan S. Sullivan, the Republican incumbent; and Dan J. Sullivan, another Republican whose campaign seemed to exist for no reason other than to make the ballot look like a maze. Republicans had been complaining about the two Sullivans for weeks, and it was easy to see why. Scan the names too quickly, and you would be forgiven for thinking the same man was running twice. The tactic has a name: ballot-stacking. It is an old, cynical practice in American politics, used by both parties when they think they can get away with it. The goal is not to elect the decoy. The goal is to split the vote, confuse enough people, and hope that some voters accidentally choose the wrong candidate. In a close race, a handful of mistaken votes can change the outcome. And in Alaska, where Senate races can be extremely tight, even a small number of confused voters could be decisive. What made the situation even more frustrating is that the practice, while ethically questionable, was completely legal. The state’s own courts would later confirm that candidates do not have to run in good faith. So Republicans were left to fume while the decoy’s name stayed on the ballot, glaring up from every sign, mailer, and sample ballot.
The New York Times report that triggered all of this was a classic piece of investigative journalism: it didn’t just show that a spoiler candidate existed; it showed how he got there. The story centered on Jerid Kurtz, a veteran political operative with deep ties to Democratic campaigns. According to the report, Kurtz reached out to Dan J. Sullivan, a retired teacher and former U.S. Forest Service employee, and made his pitch. The details of that pitch were damning. Sullivan reportedly told Kurtz that he “hated Trump” and was willing to run a spoiler campaign “if it was going to help Mary.” That phrase, “help Mary,” made it clear that the decoy candidacy was not some random act of personal ambition. It was a coordinated effort involving staffers from Peltola’s own campaign and the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee. Sullivan, however, insists he entered the race of his own volition. He describes himself as a moderate Republican, and he has a biography to back that up. He has participated in anti-Trump “No Kings” protests, supported Peltola in both her 2022 and 2024 congressional bids, and even displayed a Che Guevara magnet on his refrigerator. That last detail made him something of a folk hero to progressives and a laughingstock to conservatives. Whether he was a willing puppet or a genuine independent, his name did the dirty work. He gave the Democrats a way to plant confusion on the ballot without technically breaking any rules.
Alaska’s election officials did not wait for the Times report to try to fix the problem. In June, the Division of Elections removed Dan J. Sullivan from the primary ballot, ruling that a “preponderance of the evidence” showed his name and Republican party affiliation were chosen to potentially confuse voters. It was a bold administrative decision, and it seemed like a victory for common sense. But the reprieve did not last. Days later, the Alaska Supreme Court stepped in and ordered “Decoy Dan” back onto the ballot. The court’s reasoning was legally precise and politically devastating: state law simply does not require candidates to run in good faith. You do not have to be sincere, honest, or transparent about your reasons for running. You just have to meet the qualifications and file the paperwork. The court also instructed the Division of Elections to take less drastic steps to differentiate between the two Sullivans. That instruction was almost absurd. What exactly were they supposed to do? Print a photo of the incumbent next to his name? Add a warning label to one line? Make voters squint at middle initials? Every option seemed either insufficient or ridiculous. The court did not offer a solution. It just sent the decoy back into the race and left everyone else to figure out how to tell the two Dan Sullivans apart.
At the heart of this entire saga is a question that should worry every voter, regardless of party: What does a vote mean when the ballot is designed to deceive? Elections are supposed to be clean, clear expressions of choice. You read the names, you make up your mind, and you cast your ballot. But when two candidates share a name and a party label, that simple act becomes a trick. Imagine an elderly Alaskan voting by mail, seeing the name Sullivan, and marking the wrong one. Imagine the frustration when they later realize their vote went to someone they never intended to support. That is not democracy. It is voter suppression by other means. Dunleavy captured this feeling perfectly when he said Alaskans have a fundamental right to vote for the candidate they actually intend to support. The law, as interpreted by the Alaska Supreme Court, does not require candidates to run in good faith, but that does not mean the public has to accept it. This is especially painful in Alaska, a state that takes pride in independent thinking and rejecting party games. Voters here do not like being told what to do, and they absolutely do not like being tricked. The investigation may find no crime, but the damage to public trust is real. Once people begin to wonder whether their ballot is a trap, the entire democratic process starts to feel like a rigged game.
Where does Alaska go from here? For now, the investigation is underway, and the governor has promised that evidence, not hype, will decide what happens next. It is possible that no one will face charges, because the legal system was not built to punish political cynicism. It is also possible that the investigation will uncover something even more serious. Either way, the 2024 Senate race has already made history. It will be remembered not for a debate about policy or the future of the Last Frontier, but for a fridge magnet, a questionable middle initial, and a cynical strategy that nearly worked. Both parties will use the episode to rally their supporters. Republicans will say it proves the Democrats would do anything to win. Democrats will say it was just a legal use of electoral rules. And ordinary Alaskans will be left to sort through the noise, trying to figure out which Sullivan is the real one and whether their vote will count for the person they intend to support. In a strange way, this scandal may force a much-needed conversation about the holes in our election laws. But it is a conversation that should not have to happen this way. In the meantime, the ballot is set, the names are printed, and Alaskans will have to look carefully before they vote. The system survived this time—but only barely, and only because enough people cared enough to pay attention.
