How The Coronavirus Crisis Has Upended Political Campaigns

It’s still an election year. So, we’ll take a look at how the coronavirus pandemic has upended political campaigns across the country, including the race for the White House.

Anthony Brooks, On Point's 2020 correspondent. (@anthonygbrooks)

Alexi McCammond, political reporter at Axios, covering the 2020 presidential election. (@alexi)

Nicholas Riccardi, Associated Press western political reporter. (@NickRiccardi)

Axios: "The race to change how America votes" — "With in-person elections on Nov. 3 the hope but no longer a certainty, states are racing to chip away age-old barriers to alternatives in time for the general election. Why it matters: State laws and political calculations remain formidable obstacles to expanding voting options. And the price tag for changes could top $2 billion."

Axios: "Two major Democratic groups back Biden with 9-figure campaign" — "Two major outside Democratic groups launched a general election partnership to boost Joe Biden's presidential campaign with polling, opposition research and ads. Why it matters: This is significant support — financially and in terms of resources — to get at a time when the novel coronavirus outbreak has pushed the election to the back burner for the country."

WBUR: "Candidates Adapt To A Socially Separated Campaign Season" — "The coronavirus pandemic has brought much of the world's activity to a standstill, including political campaigns. That means races from Massachusetts to the presidential campaign are suddenly very different."

NPR: "Sanders Calls On Wisconsin To Delay Election As Governor Calls Up National Guard" — "Democratic presidential candidate Bernie Sanders said Wednesday that Wisconsin should postpone next week's scheduled primary election amid the coronavirus outbreak, even as the state's governor said he was turning to the National Guard to help staff polling places on April 7."

Politico Magazine: "Across the Country, Campaign Operatives Are Stuck" — "Most every evening in these strangest and scariest of days, on the second floor of a building that used to be a printing plant downtown in South Bend, Indiana, best friends Greta Carnes and Joey Pacific sit in the doorways of their respective apartments—a responsible 12 feet apart—and just talk."