Kamala Harris sold us “joy.” Instead, we got a crushing defeat and a return to the miserable days of Donald Trump’s presidency.
I’m looking at a photograph taken by Stephanie Keith at an October 5 rally for Gaza and Lebanon in Manhattan’s Times Square. It captures a pair of young protesters, one donning a Palestinian keffiyeh, marching in an embrace. Their almost identically green eyes gaze in tandem at someone or something outside the frame. Their faces wear a pensive but focused countenance. In the background, a blurred blend of flags, protest signs, and Times Square’s blinding digital billboards. The bottom-left corner of the photo reveals a beaded “VOTE” bracelet on the wrist of the protester on the right. But vote for whom, exactly?
Israel’s brutal US-backed attacks on civilians in Gaza and Lebanon left many American voters politically orphaned. For them, there was no “lesser evil” on either side, no one to believe or trust. The house was already on fire, and both presidential candidates showed up to the race brandishing a box of matches.
Amid Washington’s butchery, fakery, and fuckery, individuals like those in Keith’s photo have discovered a different kind of joy. It is the joy of solidarity, of purpose and community. Sooner or later, it will prevail.
