For Black women, politics has always been personal. While others might have had the privilege of voting to thrive, often, we have had to vote to survive. When Black women are still more likely to die in childbirth than anyone else, or when Black families are more likely to be torn apart by gun violence or police brutality, or when Black families still disproportionately face an uphill battle just to own property or to be able to afford college, we know we have to vote for survival in this country. Maybe that is why we consistently show up at the polls on election day.
But this time around, this Democratic primary was also personal for a different reason. Because Kamala Harris’s candidacy and campaign were personal. She centered Black voters, and particularly Black women, in a way that perhaps no other campaign has before. She brought to the forefront issues that had never been in the forefront of presidential politics, particularly issues relevant to Black women. Hers was a campaign in which we could see ourselves, both in policy and in representation.
The power of that was crystallized to me when I visited my then 8-year-old niece in July, sometime after June’s Democratic debate. Unprompted, she started talking to me about the debate, which she had watched with her mom, my sister. And she talked about how much she liked Kamala Harris.
We talked about how she was only the third Black woman to run for President, and my niece asked me to show her videos of Kamala. As we watched, I saw her face light up. I thought I had always known it, but it was in that moment when I really realized how much this meant. My niece got to see and be inspired by someone who looks like her on a presidential stage, as a serious candidate for the highest office in the land. And she didn’t have to wait decades to see it. She didn’t have to wait until adulthood. She would get to carry that inspiration with her through her formative years, always knowing there would be no limit to what she could pursue.
In November, as my niece’s 9th birthday approached, I asked her what she wanted me to get her as a present. She said she wanted a pantsuit. I asked her what kind, and she said: “The blue one Kamala had.” She had watched another debate and seen Kamala on stage in her blue pantsuit. I ended up getting her one.
And while my niece will grow out of that pantsuit in a couple of years, the inspiration she has felt will stay with her forever. And it will stay with me, too.
The news of Kamala suspending her campaign came on a day when I was supposed to visit my niece in the afternoon. On the drive over, I was thinking about what to say to her, and I couldn’t seem to find the words. I knew she would be devastated. I got to my sister’s house and she told me she had given her the news on the way home from school.
I then started talking with my niece and my sister, and admittedly, we all cried a little bit. I told my niece that it’s okay to feel sad, but that she should always remember the way Kamala’s campaign made her feel. I told her that the inspiration she has given us was more important than winning or losing. (I’m sure I probably said it less eloquently than that, as I was trying to hold back tears.) She was quiet for a while, and then said: “I still want her to be President.” I told her I do too.
And it is for that, more than anything, that I want to thank Kamala Harris. My family is just one among millions who have felt connected to her campaign, lifted up by her leadership, and inspired by her candidacy.
And many times, over the course of the campaign, I have found myself thinking about all the obstacles she has had to jump over; all the double standards she has had to endure; all the misogynoir she has had to battle. Whether or not she was your candidate, those things have been obvious to see for anyone who has bothered to look. And those are the things I haven’t had the heart to tell my niece about. At least not yet.
And while Kamala herself is not one to complain or ask for anyone’s sympathy, she does often say: “Breaking barriers isn’t easy. There’s breaking involved. You might get cut, you might bleed, and it might hurt. But it is worth it.”
I’ve reflected on those words a lot during the last 24 hours. I can barely imagine how hard it has actually been. I can’t imagine how much some of the unfair criticism and questions about her character must have hurt. I don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to forgive those who engaged in the relentless and ugly smear-campaigns against her.
But when I think about the excitement and encouragement my niece has felt as a result of Kamala’s campaign, I know the fight has been worth it. And while the chances of her ever reading this are probably very low, I desperately hope that Kamala knows that too. And for the sake of my niece’s generation, I hope we will follow Kamala’s lead and continue to break those barriers, even when it hurts, so that those who come after us won’t have to have it quite as hard.
For showing us that example, for opening the door for so many who will come after her, and for fearlessly lifting up those of us who often haven’t felt represented, I am eternally grateful to Senator Kamala Harris.
From me, my niece, and my entire family:
Thank you, Kamala.