Winds of Change: Riding the 2024 Election Train
The recent election has brought to light an essential conversation America has yet to fully engage in: What does it mean to be “Black” in this country, and who defines that identity? This election underscored a misalignment in our understanding of Black identity and highlighted the need to unify around a clear and authentic definition. Kamala Harris’s campaign appeared to align with African American communities, but in practice, it felt like an attempt to secure votes rather than genuine engagement. Her role in shaping our current economic and geopolitical landscape has furthered the perception of America as weakened and disorganized, a nation influenced by corporate elites who see themselves as righteous visionaries fulfilling a self-imagined legacy. Yet this vision is often disconnected from the actual needs and values of everyday Americans.
In this post, I reflect on these themes and my own journey through this election cycle, exploring the implications of identity, leadership, and accountability in a country facing pivotal questions about its future.
As the 2024 election cycle finally came to a close, I was startled to find Trump had won so decisively. I had expected a wave of drama and riots, eagerly hyped by media pundits desperate for a headline. But as Trump’s numbers steadily grew in the Electoral College, I had to confront what I’d suspected for months: People weren’t truly voting for Kamala Harris.
Kamala’s campaign leaned into her identity, presenting her as a candidate aligned with African Americans in hopes of securing our vote. She positioned herself as a moderate Democrat—supportive of Israel, a believer in fracking and American ingenuity, with policies designed to keep a careful balance. Yet this alignment felt insincere, more like a calculated move than a genuine connection. The shift in the media atmosphere was so abrupt, it was like the wind had suddenly changed direction. One moment, Abby Phillips was broadcasting from Howard University, capturing the enthusiasm there; hours later, she reappeared, visibly stunned, struggling to put a positive spin on what was unfolding. The Harris campaign’s path had veered sharply from the Sunbelt to the Rust Belt, a last-minute scramble for support in places they hadn’t counted on.
Watching this all unfold, I thought, isn’t it interesting how, today, people can be “lynched” not only by words on paper but by words on video? A video acts like a time capsule, capturing one’s likeness, voice, and stance in a single moment. Kamala’s strong support for the Green New Deal and her stance on energy policies and “Medicare for All”, had once helped define her progressive appeal but were now seen as threats to the very people she needed to win over. In real-time, I was witnessing the train wreck of her campaign, her approval plummeting faster than the wind could keep up.
The night before Election Day, I sat with my ballot in hand, staring at the names: Trump, Harris, Stein, Kennedy, DeLaCruz. I felt the weight of my options. I could follow the usual Democratic narrative and align myself with what was expected of me, or I could go another way. After much reflection, I made my choice. I marked my vote for Trump and filled in the rest of the ticket as I saw fit, satisfying my own sense of history and agency. For the first time, I felt that my vote wasn’t just a reflex but a conscious decision shaped by my economic reality and my beliefs.
When the results started to come in, I felt oddly satisfied, even relieved, as Trump gained momentum across the map. This was the first election I had deeply grappled with. In the past, I’d voted Democrat without much thought, trusting the familiar line. But now, the stakes felt different. My economic situation demanded I consider the facts over feelings, the policies over platitudes.
Since the election, I’ve faced backlash from friends and others online, who question my choice as if it’s some sort of betrayal. The irony isn’t lost on me: liberals, who profess to champion free thought, often act as though we’re only free to think as long as we align with their views. Comments like, “They’ll put us back in chains,” or warnings that my grandchildren might suffer under future Republican policies—these are the responses I’m hearing from people who are supposed to support democracy and respect different perspectives. To them, it’s as if voting anything but Democratic means I deserve whatever consequences come.m
Yet, this reaction highlights a divide not just between political ideologies but between those who claim to represent the middle and working class and those who truly understand it. Teachers, professors, and activists—many from comfortable backgrounds—flooded social media, condemning those of us who dared to think differently. It felt like they were shouting from a distance, far removed from the concerns of people actually living with the policies they advocate.
In my own household, filled with both liberals and conspiracy theorists, everyone has an opinion—even my grandkids. As the election approached, my grandchildren came home from school talking about it. My grandsons were mostly blasé, too absorbed with football practice and Xbox. But my granddaughters soaked up liberal teachings like sponges. One of them proudly declared she was “voting for God,” while another said, “I’m voting for Kamala Harris.”
On election night, when it became clear that Trump had prevailed, we waited for Kamala to make her concession speech, but it didn’t come. Finally, on Wednesday night, my granddaughter lay across my bed as we watched Kamala’s speech together. I could see her struggling to process the loss, her admiration for this woman evident in the way she listened intently. Watching her look so overwhelmed, I felt torn. Part of me wanted to embrace her and acknowledge her feelings, yet I knew I couldn’t have cast my own vote for Kamala. In that moment, I was struck by the strength of her conviction and the pride she felt in this candidate.
As I listened to Kamala’s speech, I felt a pang of conflict but also reassurance that I’d made the right decision. This election wasn’t just about Trump or Harris; it was about stepping back and recognizing that sometimes, the “elite” voices don’t speak for the whole country. Watching the campaign unravel, like a train derailed from its tracks, I realized that maybe, just maybe, America isn’t as fractured as I once thought.
