Care more, for more people

None of us know how to build the world of our dreams, but we're trying

On Tuesday, I took my son down to the Harris-Walz rally in downtown Milwaukee. We went for all the reasons you’d expect. We would very much prefer a Harris-Walz administration to the alternative. We also wanted to help pack the arena, as that seems like a small thing we could do that would irk the Trump campaign. Most of all, It felt like a good dad move. I honestly have no idea what my kids will remember from childhood and where the ratio will land on “things we did with them because I thought that they’d be important memories” and “random stuff that just stuck with them because who knows how brains work anyway” but being in the arena when the first Black and South Asian woman was officially nominated as a major party Presidential candidate felt like an obvious choice.

The rally was fun, which means that it successfully did its job as a rally. We cheered loudly at all the moments we were supposed to cheer. We booed at the moments we were supposed to boo. We enjoyed being part of a very large crowd that exploded for applaud lines about unions and public schools. We like those things, and rarely get to express our affection for them at arena-level decibels. Most importantly, my son was legitimately touched by the whole experience. The parts that he says he’ll remember the most were when Harris paused the rally to make sure a fan got medical attention and the moment, during the DNC roll call (which was live-streamed into the arena), when the Puerto Rican delegation made their case for statehood in Spanish. My son has a lot of friends from Puerto Rico, and he lit up hearing a Borinqueño accent on a Jumbotron. Pretty decent memories, all things considered.

The part I’ll remember the most is when a small group of pro-Palestinian protestors unfurled a banner and started chanting for Gaza. They were on the other side of the arena, but it was still possible to see the human drama unfold between them and the rally attendees in their vicinity. There were chants and counter-chants. There were attempts to wrestle banners away. Eventually the protestors were whisked away by security, departing not far from a giant sign with a single bolded word written in an official Harris-Walz campaign typeface. FREEDOM.

I watched the scene, making my best guess as to the good faith motives of everybody involved. The protestors were trying to do everything in their power to end a war thousands of miles away, to prevent more bombs from being dropped on more children. The rally attendees, in turn, were attempting to do their part to make this particular political event a success, likely on the belief that a country led by Donald Trump is many times more dangerous than one led by Kamala Harris. In the days since, I have heard much less good faith accusations made in both directions. I’ve heard about “reckless, naive kids” and “uncaring liberal genocide apologists.” I know both crowds, though. And for better or worse, I trust, perhaps naively, that they all showed up that day with hearts full of love and very real, very fair fears about the stakes of this moment.

That’s just my assumption, though. Perhaps there were other motives at play on both sides. There were no doubt both ideological and tactical differences between the protestors and their neighbors in the stands, likely massive ones. I have no doubt that, as I recounted the scene up above, it will inspire a wide range of potential points and counter-points. Some of you reading this are no doubt scolding the tactics of the protestors. Others are disgusted that rally attendees might be more concerned about the short term efficacy of their event than the absolute tragedy unfolding in Gaza. One side will say, “don’t you see what’s at risk if Harris loses?” and the other side will parry back “what does it matter if a Harris administration won’t change course on this war?” We could yell at each other in the comments for days, but I hope we don’t. I also trust all of your hearts. Truly. The chanters and the counter-chanters. The revolutionaries and the electoralists. Those who are deathly afraid of a second Trump term, and those who can only think about Gaza. And of course, all those of us who hear the whole debate and cry “yes, yes, and yes,” even if that makes us feckless both-sidesers.

We’re trying. We’re trying. We’re trying. And we don’t always know how best to try.

As I write this, the mini scuffle at our rally is being mirrored on a much larger scale in the question of whether or not Palestinian voices will be welcomed— as was the case for the family members of Israeli hostages— on the Democratic National Convention main stage. By the time you read this, that debate may already be in the rear-view. Regardless, it is not the first choice point this particular Democratic ticket has faced on Gaza, nor will it be the last.

This moment mirrors, in turn, so many other moments that the Democratic Party, our nation’s deeply flawed but often big-hearted home for many of us who dream of a government that protects and loves everybody. Looking backwards through history, it’s easy to say when it passed those tests and when it failed. In 1948, when Hubert Humphrey led the party to its first major rejection of the Dixiecrats? That memory fills Democrats of a certain generation with pride. But what about 1964, when Fannie Lou Hamer and the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party were denied their seats, or 1968, when the kids in the street were bashed with billy clubs merely for asking that same Humphrey and the party to finally break from LBJ’s war? We modern liberals and leftists look on those moments with shame and regret.

One of the points that many of the more electorally-inclined pro-Palestinian protestors make is that a break from Biden’s stance on Israel-Gaza (such as being willing to stop arms shipments) isn’t just moral policy, but would also be good politics, in that it will be a meaningful signal to many voters currently considering staying home. I’m personally compelled by that argument, but truth be told I have no idea what is or isn’t good politics. Like all of us, my belief as to what the Democratic Party should or shouldn’t do is rooted in my own biases and proclivities. More broadly, none of us actually know how to build a world that takes care of everybody. We’ve never lived in that reality. To what extent is or isn’t it built electorally? How much can you pressure an American President to take a meaningfully different stance from all their predecessors? Is the calculus different if the Presidential candidate we hope to pressure is a Black woman rather than a White man? If so, why? And does any of that matter when children are dying? We’re all guessing here. We’re all doing our best. None of us built this empire, but w’ere all forced to make sense of it.

We’re trying. We’re trying. We’re trying.

I’ve watched a fair bit of this convention. There are parts of it that have made me extremely proud and other moments when I have wondered if the whole affair is more about rooting for a party rather than a party rooting for people. It has been at its best when it has named groups of people and said we care about you. Trans people who’ve been the subject of heinous witch hunts. Women whose lives have been put at risk by anti-abortion laws. Communities that have been left behind by— workers, poor people, Black and Brown families,, immigrants. I was happy to see the families of hostages on stage. Of course they deserve care and love. For that same reason, I’m still crossing my fingers, perhaps in vain, that the same dignity will be given to Palestinians. I’ll take a thousand human beings asking us to hold their families in the light over a dozen more “rising stars in the Democratic Party” trying to make a name for themselves with the same anti-Trump zingers.

The convention is almost over, though. We’ll soon forget who did or didn’t speak. But it’s a choice point, and it won’t be the last. How open are the arms of the American political party that claims to be the voice of the voiceless? What are the limits of our compassion? Who is actually welcome in a big tent, and who is left out in the cold?

Back to the rally in Milwaukee, for a minute. Everybody in the arena saw the altercation with the protestors. I saw it, but more importantly, my son saw it. Which meant, in turn, that, over the cacophony of a raucous crowd, I had to do my best to explain this moment to an eleven-year-old whose dreams for the world include both the election of Kamala Harris and a free Palestine, who has now attended marches and rallies alongside those who unfurled their banners and those who tried to snatch them away.

“I’m going to cheer for the protestors,” I told him. “They’re asking us to care for others. They’re asking us to end the war.”

“And also, whenever Harris and Walz ask us to care for others in their speech, cheer for that too.”

And so we did.

End notes:

-If you’re reading this on Thursday afternoon, the Not Another Bomb movement is asking for urgent calls to the Democratic Party urging them to reverse their decision to keep Palestinian voices off the DNC stage. I’ll be making a call as soon as I publish this piece, and I invite you to join me (note: open that link on your phone; doing so will enable you to take a pledge and then be immediately be patched through to Democratic leadership).

As folks who’ve been around her for a while know, I usually reserve Thursdays for subscriber-only posts and/or discussions, but occasionally I’ve got something on my mind that I need to process out loud to all of you. There’ve been a lot of weeks like that this summer, so thanks for your patience. Paid subscribers, expect something tomorrow (since I promised you a follow up with back-to-school pics!).

-Speaking of paid subscribers, this is my day job, and it’s a pretty darn tenuous one. Thanks for considering supporting this space. I’m trying my best to make it the kind of community that you don’t find everywhere on the Internet. Sharing helps too. Thanks for considering.