In 2003, my parents were walking in San Francisco when they were approached by a politician on the street. Introducing herself as Kamala Harris, she told my parents that if elected as the city’s district attorney, she would be the first Indian American woman in California to hold the position.
It’s easy to imagine Harris now: smiling, her hand outstretched, Converse sneakers peeking out from the hem of her pantsuit. But 17 years ago, my parents — and the rest of the country — had no idea that Harris would embark on a career of “firsts.” She would win her election for district attorney, become California’s attorney general, U.S. senator and eventually vice president.
From the beginning, Harris straddled multiple cultures and identities, including Asian American and African American, and “top cop” and “progressive prosecutor.” But she continues to grapple with a problem that has followed her since her prosecutor days and unraveled her presidential campaign: the struggle to define herself.
Only, is it a problem with her or is it a problem with us? We say she’s unprepared and uncertain, but as she promotes solutions for the child welfare system and negotiates with Poland amid the war in Ukraine, Harris seems to know herself just fine.
Harris seems to know herself just fine. Two years into her vice presidential term, it’s time that we do, too.
Two years into her vice presidential term, it’s time that we do, too.
A few years ago, I watched a substitute teacher sigh in relief when reaching an “American” name on the roll call sheet after stumbling through dozens of ethnic names.
“Finally,” she said. “A regular name.”
I stared at the floor, the sound of “AY-sha” still grating to my ears. In that moment, I felt like an inconvenience.
So in 2020, when Fox News’s Tucker Carlson became angry after a guest on his show corrected his repeated mispronunciation of Kamala Harris’ name, it felt like a personal attack.
“So it begins,” Carlson said. “You’re not allowed to criticize ‘Kuh-mah-luh’ Harris or ‘Cam-uh-luh,’ or whatever.”
Wrong. Public disrespect towards Harris has been the norm, not the exception.
After then-presidential candidate Joe Biden selected Harris as his running mate, attacks on her included “monster,” “communist” and “power-hungry buffoon,” courtesy of Carlson and former president Donald Trump. Comments came from the other side of the aisle, too. Former Democratic senator Chris Dodd accused Harris of having no remorse for “ambushing” Biden during the first presidential debate.
We can’t compare Biden’s nostalgic daydreams to Harris’ struggles to mobilize her party because her situation is different from every vice president before her.
In the first five months of 2022, Harris received over 4,200 tweets containing death threats or the use of the n-word, according to CBS.
Harris stands at the intersection between sexism and racism, and the higher she climbs, the more criticism she seems to receive. Harris can and should be criticized for her political decisions, not her South Asian name or ambition. But there is a complication: Harris’ identity and politics are linked.
After Harris informed Biden she wanted to take the lead on voting rights, the president tasked her with pushing a voting rights bill through the Senate. Twice, the bill failed to overcome Republican opposition. Should Harris take the blame?
Some point to the lack of connections Harris has on Capitol Hill, comparing her to Biden, who cultivated bipartisan relationships in his over 30 years in the Senate. Barack Obama utilized Biden’s connections during his presidency, frequently having his vice president negotiate with Congress when the president couldn’t close the deal.
But Harris inhabits a world very different from the one Biden encountered 50 years ago; she can’t be part of the “old boys” group that her boss still thinks so fondly of. (Chris Dodd, who criticized Harris’ ambition, was his “single best friend.”) Let’s face it: An environment where your colleagues are cordial and take you seriously does not exist for all politicians.
After watching Harris navigate two years in her position, I realized that her status as a symbol is a double-edged sword.
We can’t compare Biden’s nostalgic daydreams to Harris’ struggles to mobilize her party because her situation is different from every vice president before her.
After Harris was elected, she was “ready to fulfill the dreams and aspirations of Shirley Chisholm and myself and so many women of color,” Democratic Representative Barbara Lee said.
These sentiments were ones that I shared in 2020, but after watching Harris navigate two years in her position, I realized that her status as a symbol is a double-edged sword. Because she is touted by her supporters as a voice for women and minorities, she faces both inflated expectations and limits in the way she is perceived.
When I told someone I was writing a perspective about Harris, the first question they asked was, “Are you Black? Or just Indian?”
They didn’t ask for my opinion on Harris’ politics, personality or future. They asked about race, as if that was all that could be said about her.
“I’m just Indian,” I said.
I wish I had said this: Harris is more than her race; she is more than the filler for a quota, more than an accessory to Biden’s agenda.
Harris cannot be defined by the same standards as her predecessors. To be the first is to be alone.
As informed citizens, our job is to push Harris to make the changes we know she is capable of making: negotiating with world leaders, continuing to address the root causes of migration, keeping up the fight for voting rights, supporting the president but pushing back when necessary.
Harris must deal with the aftermath of the November midterm elections, where Republicans gained control of the House. And in 2024, the chances are high that Harris will be on the ballot either as Biden’s vice president or if Biden decides not to run again, his successor.
With the increased pressure and stakes Harris faces, it is more important than ever to look at her actions critically. We must hold Harris accountable for her decisions, while also recognizing the limits of her power and the obstacles she faces as a woman of color.
Harris cannot be defined by the same standards as her predecessors. To be the first means to be alone.