I’ve been reflecting on how hopeful I felt in the early weeks of Kamala Harris’ presidential candidacy.
People were gathering in identity-based groups at first, then in cross-identity groups based on shared interests: farming, climate, acting, writing. In a Times Magazine article titled Identity Groups are Mobilizing for Kamala Harris, That Shows Progress, writer Koritha Mitchell asserted that “by publicly acknowledging the specificity of experience, it facilitates an honoring of differences that makes those differences strengths.”
She went on to say about the “White Women for Harris” call: “By coming together as white people who recognize that the United States has given them very different experiences than it offers Americans of color, they are pinpointing precisely why joining a broad coalition matters.”
In watching varied responses to this phenomenon, it struck me that a lot of people still don’t understand the power of identity to connect, collaborate, and drive change. Some assume those thousands of people were supporting Harris because she’s a woman or because she is Black. But that wasn’t it, exactly. They were connecting based on shared values. Those who gathered in small groups—and in larger coalitions combining those groups—did so because they care about the same things and they wanted complementary outcomes. And yes, they were also aligned on the outcomes they didn’t want.
On a foundation of shared purpose, hundreds of thousands of Americans effectively formed a new tribe. The vision expanded before our eyes, and as someone who’s done deep work at the intersections of identity, this lifted my spirits.
Of course, we know how it all shook out. And when it shook, it quaked. The sense of connectedness many of us genuinely felt unraveled when voting data revealed that some groups, including white women, voted as they always had despite the energy, fundraising, and calls for cross-difference coalition. Black women retreated to our corners not out of malice, but due to a combination of heartbreak and righteous indignation. Politics aside, quieting experience to put your faith in something unseen only to be disappointed—again—always leads to withdrawal. It’s human nature. We must protect ourselves at some point, right?
I watched what was a rising new “us” backslide into a dividing “them” with alarming speed. And while I know how lived experience creates commonality across race and ethnicity and gender (my own research validates this fact), I also know that shared values can be a powerful solidifier too.
92% of Black women voted for Harris. Only 45% of white women did, AND—that’s tens of millions of white women who value equality and progress and civil rights. To bring it home, one of two white women I see in the streets values what I value.
What, if anything, does this mean to me personally?
It means that beyond Black women, I can’t tell who values what I value just by looking at them. Considering this, based on the facts, it feels safer to assume risk when I see anyone who doesn’t look like me. But if I’m being honest, that frame doesn’t feel true.
I worked with Dr. Maya Angelou, whom I considered a love warrior, for ten years. She used to distinguish between truth and facts:
“There’s a world of difference between truth and facts. Facts can obscure truth. You can tell so many facts you never get to the truth. You can tell the places where, the people who, the times when, the reasons why, and never get to the human truth which is love and pain and loss and triumph.”
I know I’m not the only one experiencing pain and loss. And I know I’m not the only one desiring love and triumph.
It’s a delicate dance, but I’ve decided to seek first the hearts of people—to invest in relationships with those who value what I value. Who see helping as both the calling and an answer. Who want to work together to create beauty from these ashes, without putting undue burden on any one individual or group.
I’m not sure how realistic this is, honestly. But when I consider the daily barrage of news, I’m choosing to believe and behave my way toward the world I want to live in. This is what it means to be before the world—to go before…to show us all what’s possible.
Tara Jaye Frank
