Seaborn for America

It’s hard to remember what American politics once sounded like.

Not just the policies or the party platforms, but the tone. The cadence of serious people trying, however imperfectly, to govern well. The belief that words mattered, that compromise was not capitulation, and that leadership meant more than commanding attention is fragile, idealistic, and probably even a little naïve. That belief has eroded slowly over the past two decades, and now it feels almost like an artifact.

For many of us who came of age in the late '90s and early 2000s, our political imaginations were shaped by a television show. The West Wing gave us something that was both larger and more intimate than the news cycle. It showed us what government could look like when run by people who cared, really cared, about doing the right thing. It offered characters who were smart, flawed, ambitious, and earnest, trying to hold the center while nudging the country forward. It made politics feel noble, even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.

In the midst of impeachment hearings, contested elections, terrorist attacks, and wars, The West Wing gave us a fictional world that felt more stable than the real one. It wasn’t just entertainment. It was political escapism in the best sense of the term. A place to go when reality felt too cynical, and a reminder that idealism wasn’t dead. Just off-screen.

We need that again.

Not the same show and not a reunion, but a continuation. A story that draws us back to the possibility that our politics can still aim for something better. Which is why I’m making a pitch, half-serious and half-desperate, for a new chapter. A next-generation story that picks up the thread left hanging at the end of The West Wing. This is me driving up to meet you in your office, pulling from my pocket a half-crumpled bar napkin, and handing you a three word idea represented in handwritten magic marker. Seaborn for America.

Yes, I know it’s probably not going to happen, but just imagine it with me. Come on, suspend your disbelief. We need this.

At one point in the original series, President Bartlett tells White House staffer, Sam Seaborn, during a late-night meeting, “You’re going to run for President one day. Don’t be scared. You can do it. I believe in you.” That wasn’t a throwaway compliment. It wasn’t merely a touching scene of character building between two of the show’s leads. It was a prophesy.

But then the show ended, and the world changed.

We got our Santos administration, and in the decade that followed, let’s say it accomplished a lot. Healthcare, education, climate progress. But after eight years, the pendulum swung. A populist wave surged through the electorate, sweeping a far-right candidate into the White House. The similarities to our own history are not coincidental. The country splintered further, institutions eroded, and public trust collapsed into something closer to resignation.

Meanwhile, out in California, Sam Seaborn had built a life that made him almost forget about the promise Bartlett had made. After working briefly for the Santos administration, he returned to law, focusing on First Amendment issues, voting rights, and public interest litigation. He helped found a legal nonprofit defending vulnerable communities across California, taught seminars at UCLA, and mentored a generation of law students who knew his White House years only through YouTube clips.

But eventually, the call came again. In a moment of national disillusionment, a scandal forced a congressional resignation in Sam’s district. Encouraged by friends, colleagues, and a few old West Wing veterans, he ran for the seat. This time, he won.

In Congress, he made his mark quietly. Sam wasn’t flashy, but he was principled. He reintroduced campaign finance legislation no one believed would pass. It didn’t, at first. But he kept pushing. He held town halls in every zip code in his district and co-chaired bipartisan education and voting access efforts. By the time he entered his third term, people had begun to talk about him as someone different, a leader who hadn’t lost the plot.

So, he ran for Senate. He won that too. And now, in the show that exists only in my mind but really ought to exist on-screen, he’s running for President.

The show, Seaborn for America, begins in 2028. Sam is in his late 50s, still idealistic but tempered by time. The Democratic primary is packed with influencers-turned-candidates, cynical operators, and policy wonks with perfect résumés and no soul. But Sam stands out, not because he’s perfect, but because he reminds people of something they used to believe in. He doesn’t promise revolution, but he doesn’t run from bold ideas either. He just...talks to people like they’re smart. He talks to them like they matter.

His opponent in the general election is a principled Republican who will be familiar to fans of the original show. After crossing the aisle to serve in the Bartlett administration, she went on to build a career of her own in elected office. As we enter the world of our new show, she is the popular, two-term, Republican Governor of her home state of North Carolina. She’s spent the last eight years restoring sanity to her state’s politics, earning national recognition as a moderate with integrity. She’s not a demagogue. She’s the kind of conservative who believes in limited government, not no government. Yes, I’m talking about Ainsley Hayes. She’s a formidable opponent, and their campaign is the stuff of civic dreams: two serious people debating actual ideas.

Sam wins. Barely. In a move inspired by President Santos and Arnold Vinick, he invites Ainsley to serve as his Secretary of State. She accepts.

Now we’re back in the West Wing.

But this time it’s different. The staff isn’t made up of Gen Xers in rumpled suits. It’s full of Millennials and Gen Zers who grew up watching government fail and are understandably skeptical of nostalgia. They admire Sam, but they don’t always get him. They’re in awe of his association with the Bartlett administration, but his speeches are long. His references are obscure. He writes his own remarks, by hand. To them, he’s a relic, the last remaining member of a long lost aristocracy.

The show would blend policy drama with generational tension. It would have moments of wit, heartbreak, and optimism, just like the original. And yes, a few familiar faces would appear now and then. CJ Craig, retired but still terrifyingly competent, offering advice from the sidelines. Charlie Young, now heading a major federal agency. Josh Lyman running a think tank, forever annoyed that Sam got there first. Donna Moss, media strategist and political whisperer. Even Toby Ziegler might send a well-timed memo from his cabin in Vermont, filled with moral clarity.

But Seaborn for America wouldn’t be about going back. It would be about asking whether anything from that era is still worth carrying forward. Whether idealism, once stripped of its naivety, can survive the brutal machinery of the present.

I think it can. I think we need it to.

So, Aaron Sorkin, if by some miracle this reaches you, know this: we’re ready. Not for nostalgia, but for re-engagement. For a reminder that the tools of governance: words, compromise, and courage, still matter. And Rob Lowe, the country has never needed Sam Seaborn more than it does right now. You once played a man who believed politics was a place where people can come together. So is network television.

And if none of this ever happens? That’s okay. It was fun to dream. But I’ll tell you this: if The West Wing gave us anything, it was permission to believe that the right words, spoken at the right time, could still change things. That might not be enough, but it’s a start.

So, let’s start again. “We will do what is hard. We will achieve what is great. This is a time for American heroes, and we reach for the stars.”