Battle Lines Drawn: Maine’s Senate Race Erupts Over Immigration, Trump, and Tenure

Paul Riverbank, 2/11/2026Senator Susan Collins seeks a sixth term as Maine’s politics shift, facing criticism from left and right. Her pragmatic record and bipartisan approach are tested as Democrats target her seat in a critical Senate battle. The race captures Maine’s—and the nation’s—yearning for both experience and change.

If you were walking through Downtown Bangor, popping into coffee shops or asking lobstermen at the docks, you’d hear her name linked with a certain New England pragmatism. For years, Collins campaigned on the promise of common sense over party brawling, crossing the aisle to get deals done more than most. She’s made it a point, time and time again—“I have always worked across the aisle to solve problems. Maine needs experienced, steady leadership that focuses on getting things done.” That message has weathered five cycles, but the ground now is shifting—old rules don’t seem to hold for long.

The issue biting at her this time? Immigration. Recent months saw a high-profile crackdown by federal agents, who arrested hundreds in Maine—some apparently with nothing worse in their record than overstaying paperwork. Collins intervened, calling Homeland Security and, if her office’s account is accurate, reining in a wider operation. “I stopped more agents from coming—after a tough conversation with Secretary Noem,” she told a town hall, her tone practical but tight. The left wasn’t impressed: Democrats clamored for her to demand Noem’s resignation, and many pointed to Collins’ support of a Homeland Security funding bill as proof her limits stop at rhetoric. Governor Janet Mills, never one to mince words, painted Collins as indecisive—“Seniority without backbone is just tenure,” Mills scoffed, later doubling down: “Maine needs more guts than she’s ever managed to show.”

The Democratic primary, meanwhile, shows how much the party’s base has changed. Mills, a fixture who’s leaned into her own pragmatic streak, is matched up with Graham Platner, an oyster farmer who’s been pouncing on every opportunity to upset old norms. Platner’s no stranger to controversy—a swirl of explain-yourself moments around past social media posts, not to mention a tattoo that forced him into public apology. But Platner’s message is sharp; he’s pushing for sweeping changes, none bigger than a demand to dismantle ICE. “That’s just one of a hundred reasons she doesn’t deserve a sixth term,” Platner tweeted recently, fully aware that in 2026, quoting an old Collins promise to serve only two terms still holds bite.

Money’s talking plenty already. Platner’s $4.6 million haul screams outsider momentum—he’s outpaced both Mills, who trails at $2.7 million, and even Collins, who hadn’t officially entered the fray last quarter. Not that the senator’s hurting: her campaign account closed 2025 with more than $8 million at the ready. In practical terms, that’s enough to blanket Maine TV for months, fend off dark money attacks, and still have resources left for eleventh-hour outreach.

To make matters murkier, Collins’ rapport with Donald Trump remains a study in contradictions. She publicly withheld her vote in 2016 but then quietly backed a good swath of Trump’s domestic agenda—supporting tax cuts, cabinet picks (Robert F. Kennedy Jr. among them), and various spending deals. Perhaps most stinging for Trump loyalists: she joined the Republicans who voted to convict after January 6th. The former president hasn’t forgotten, labelling Collins and the rest “should never be elected to office again.” For her part, she’s tried to walk both sides, sometimes with more grace than others.

Look back at 2020 and you can see why Collins is hard to write off. That year, Democrats—and Sara Gideon in particular—poured astonishing sums into the race, nearly $70 million, and still came up more than eight points short. A lesser figure might have been buried, but Collins came up for air armed with years of constituent services and the memory of countless one-on-ones in small Maine towns.

Yet, some numbers have drifted out of her reach. There are now more registered Democrats in Maine than independents, a first since 2019. Republicans sit at third—a far cry from the days when the party could count on a more even balance. The very makeup of the state keeps evolving; Portland’s leftward turn, the changing faces in Lewiston, new industries along the coast—all these have made the case for a new generation of leaders even as old loyalties stay surprisingly sticky.

In the end, this race goes well beyond Maine’s borders. With the Senate majority hanging by a thread, every seat could tip the balance. North Carolina, Alaska, Ohio all present their own puzzles, but few are watched with the intensity of Collins’ Maine. Whether the old brand—sober stewardship and a knack for last-minute dealmaking—can survive the turbulent currents of a new political moment is the question. One side bets steady hands, the other, fresh conviction. As ever, in Maine, the answer depends on who is willing to turn out on a cold November day.

The mood in Augusta this week had a familiar chill: Senator Susan Collins—by now nearly an institution in Maine—has decided to run for her sixth term. Folks who’ve watched Maine politics for any length of time wouldn’t call this a shock, but 2026 may be her roughest test yet. At 73, Collins threads a needle that’s gotten thinner every year—representing a state that waves its independent flag just as the wider map shades bluer.If you were walking through Downtown Bangor, popping into coffee shops or asking lobstermen at the docks, you’d hear her name linked with a certain New England pragmatism. For years, Collins campaigned on the promise of common sense over party brawling, crossing the aisle to get deals done more than most. She’s made it a point, time and time again—“I have always worked across the aisle to solve problems. Maine needs experienced, steady leadership that focuses on getting things done.” That message has weathered five cycles, but the ground now is shifting—old rules don’t seem to hold for long.The issue biting at her this time? Immigration. Recent months saw a high-profile crackdown by federal agents, who arrested hundreds in Maine—some apparently with nothing worse in their record than overstaying paperwork. Collins intervened, calling Homeland Security and, if her office’s account is accurate, reining in a wider operation. “I stopped more agents from coming—after a tough conversation with Secretary Noem,” she told a town hall, her tone practical but tight. The left wasn’t impressed: Democrats clamored for her to demand Noem’s resignation, and many pointed to Collins’ support of a Homeland Security funding bill as proof her limits stop at rhetoric. Governor Janet Mills, never one to mince words, painted Collins as indecisive—“Seniority without backbone is just tenure,” Mills scoffed, later doubling down: “Maine needs more guts than she’s ever managed to show.”The Democratic primary, meanwhile, shows how much the party’s base has changed. Mills, a fixture who’s leaned into her own pragmatic streak, is matched up with Graham Platner, an oyster farmer who’s been pouncing on every opportunity to upset old norms. Platner’s no stranger to controversy—a swirl of explain-yourself moments around past social media posts, not to mention a tattoo that forced him into public apology. But Platner’s message is sharp; he’s pushing for sweeping changes, none bigger than a demand to dismantle ICE. “That’s just one of a hundred reasons she doesn’t deserve a sixth term,” Platner tweeted recently, fully aware that in 2026, quoting an old Collins promise to serve only two terms still holds bite.Money’s talking plenty already. Platner’s $4.6 million haul screams outsider momentum—he’s outpaced both Mills, who trails at $2.7 million, and even Collins, who hadn’t officially entered the fray last quarter. Not that the senator’s hurting: her campaign account closed 2025 with more than $8 million at the ready. In practical terms, that’s enough to blanket Maine TV for months, fend off dark money attacks, and still have resources left for eleventh-hour outreach.To make matters murkier, Collins’ rapport with Donald Trump remains a study in contradictions. She publicly withheld her vote in 2016 but then quietly backed a good swath of Trump’s domestic agenda—supporting tax cuts, cabinet picks (Robert F. Kennedy Jr. among them), and various spending deals. Perhaps most stinging for Trump loyalists: she joined the Republicans who voted to convict after January 6th. The former president hasn’t forgotten, labelling Collins and the rest “should never be elected to office again.” For her part, she’s tried to walk both sides, sometimes with more grace than others.Look back at 2020 and you can see why Collins is hard to write off. That year, Democrats—and Sara Gideon in particular—poured astonishing sums into the race, nearly $70 million, and still came up more than eight points short. A lesser figure might have been buried, but Collins came up for air armed with years of constituent services and the memory of countless one-on-ones in small Maine towns.Yet, some numbers have drifted out of her reach. There are now more registered Democrats in Maine than independents, a first since 2019. Republicans sit at third—a far cry from the days when the party could count on a more even balance. The very makeup of the state keeps evolving; Portland’s leftward turn, the changing faces in Lewiston, new industries along the coast—all these have made the case for a new generation of leaders even as old loyalties stay surprisingly sticky.In the end, this race goes well beyond Maine’s borders. With the Senate majority hanging by a thread, every seat could tip the balance. North Carolina, Alaska, Ohio all present their own puzzles, but few are watched with the intensity of Collins’ Maine. Whether the old brand—sober stewardship and a knack for last-minute dealmaking—can survive the turbulent currents of a new political moment is the question. One side bets steady hands, the other, fresh conviction. As ever, in Maine, the answer depends on who is willing to turn out on a cold November day.