Tag Archives: Kamala Harris

Happy Birthday, Mom(ala)

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My mother and Kamala Harris share a birthday. Kamala turns 60 today, and my mother would be 101 had she not died in 1995. (No Jimmy-Carter-like hanging on to cast a vote for her, alas!)

I think of my mother a lot, and especially during momentous political times. How she would have loved to mark her ballot for Kamala! On the other hand, the prospect of Trump as president once, let alone possibly twice, would have killed my mother. Although she died far too young, I am grateful she was spared having to live in an America with him as cause and symptom. Still, I wish she were here to guide me through these times.

I think back to 1972, when I was a senior in high school and highly aware of the presidential election for the first time. I found it impossible to believe that anyone could vote for Richard Nixon, and fervently believed that George McGovern would win. Did my mother share the same delusion? Or simply not want to disturb my beautiful, naive idealism? Was she as crushed as I was? How did she keep on going? Because I know she did. We all did. Less than two years later, we broke open the champagne when Nixon was forced to resign.

I miss my beautiful, naive idealism, and I miss my mother, but of course I’ve kept on going, too. I would like to put champagne in the fridge to celebrate Kamala’s victory. I find it impossible to believe that anyone could vote for Donald Trump. But the traumas of 2016 and the MAGA-fication of the Republican Party have taught me otherwise.

Still, I am cautiously optimistic. Not delusional, but hopeful. I would love to compare notes with my mother about keeping the faith through dire times. I would love for both of us to be able to bask together in the joy and fortitude that Kamala exemplifies, to celebrate her victory.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Wish you were here, though I’m glad you are not. I will work and vote with all my heart for Kamala in honor of you.

And thank you, Kamala. Happy Birthday to you, too!

Election Countdown

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Soon after Joe Biden was declared the winner in November 2020, my husband said, “I thought we’d at least get a mental health break, but I guess not.” Trump and his allies, who’d sowed chaos and seeds of doubt about fair elections long before any votes were cast, wasted no time in spreading the Big Lie and passing lots of laws to make voting harder in swing states. Although personally and even sometimes politically we’ve had many bright spots in the last four years—2 weddings, no funerals, and no red wave in 2022!—it’s been quite a psychological slog.

My mental health improved greatly on July 21, the day President Biden announced he was stepping aside and endorsing Kamala Harris to take his place as the 2024 nominee. Before then, and especially after his disastrous debate performance, I had pretty much felt on a glide path to doom. “At least there won’t be another insurrection,” I consoled myself at the thought of Trump’s re-election.

With the coming of Kamala, hope and joy returned, along with a fighting chance. I have reveled in cat memes, rising poll numbers, a pitch-perfect convention, Taylor Swift’s endorsement, Michelle Obama, Tim Walz, Doug Emhoff, and all the Every-Identity-Group-Under-the-Sun-for-Kamala fundraisers. And whose mood didn’t improve watching an unraveling Donald Trump swallow the bait every single time in their September 10 debate?

And yet, here we are at essentially a coin toss. I feel cautiously optimistic, and also increasingly anxious. It all depends on the day’s vibes, my wish-casting, whether a new Times/Siena poll has dropped, and the number of undecided people who complain that they still don’t know enough about Kamala Harris’s plans, which I fear is a way of saying There’s no way I’ll vote for a Black woman. I feel good about reports of Harris-Walz signs in deep red towns, somebody’s ancient, rock-ribbed Republican uncle voting for Kamala. Then, on a phone bank to Michigan, a guy answers, “Are you planning to vote for Harris or Trump?” with “I would not piss on her if she were on fire. Have a good day!” At least he was polite.

So I’m pretty anxious, but living by the axiom, “Do more, worry less.” I volunteer a lot for Airlift, which raises money to support grassroots groups who excel at turning non-voters into voters in battleground states. I know a lot of people who are responding to Michelle Obama’s call to “Do Something.”

We’re doing what we can for our future. And for our mental health. Let’s bring it home in the next 35 days.

Passing the Torch

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My husband Jonathan and I had recently left the Denver airport and were driving along Highway 70 on the first day of our vacation hiking in the Rockies when the texts started pinging.

Jonathan checked my phone, and there was the news we’d been hoping for: President Biden had stepped aside. The 27 minutes between his announcement and subsequent endorsement of Vice President Kamala Harris had not yet elapsed, but by the time we stopped for lunch, Biden had passed the torch and the $96 million in the campaign chest to his VP. The cafe we chose had good chili and a comfy reading nook. There on the shelf was Kamala’s Way and Let Us Dream: The Path to a Better Future, by Pope Francis. “From the Pope’s lips to God’s ears,” I said to Jonathan.

Now five weeks later, the Democratic Convention has just ended, converted quickly from what likely would have been a valiant but manufactured attempt at optimism to through-the-roof euphoria. On the first night, ear-splitting enthusiasm rocked the rafters as just about everybody’s lips sang the praises of not just the newly formed Harris-Walz ticket, but also and especially of President Biden.

“Thank you, Joe!” chanted the first-night crowd as they waved signs that reinforced the message. The ever-snarky New York Times political reporter Peter Baker wrote, “They were thanking him, yes, for what he accomplished during a lifetime in public service. But they were also thanking him, let’s be honest, for not running again.” He’s not wrong.

At the end of a long night, President Biden delivered his farewell address–reworked just a little, it seemed–from the acceptance speech he had hoped to give at the Convention’s crowning event. It was a poignant moment, and also a reminder that had Convention Joe shown up to the debate, he would still be the nominee, and we’d likely be Ridin’ with Biden over the cliff to defeat.

The most moving part of Biden’s speech came near the end, as he quoted a verse from a song treasured by his family:

What shall our legacy be,

What will our children say?

Let me know in my heart when my days are through,

America, America, I gave my best to you.

He did, over and over again, culminating in this final act of stepping aside. President Biden left the stage, left Chicago for a vacation in California, left the torch in the able and willing hands of a new generation of talent with an incredible candidate leading the way. Thank you, Joe.

Now it is Kamala’s way, a path to a better future. But let’s not just dream or pray about it—let’s work hard to make it happen.