On July 14, 2016, Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton held a rally in front of a roaring crowd, rousing supporters of the Democratic candidate during her campaign against Republican business mogul Donald Trump. “We’re going to have a lot of jobs,” Clinton said to a group of younger voters. “Jobs from building infrastructure to coding. Creating new apps. I don’t know who created the app ‘Pokémon GO,’” she continued, attempting to connect to her audience. “But I’m trying to figure out how we get them to Pokémon GO to the polls.” If only the then-69-year-old would’ve realized the absolute hilarity of her comment, no pun intended.
To her credit, she wasn’t the worst one.
In the 2004 Democratic Primary, candidate Howard Dean, Governor of Vermont, gathered his supporters at Val-Air Ballroom in West Des Moines, Iowa, following a rough third–place finish in the state’s primary, trailing U.S. Senators John Kerry of Massachusetts and John Edwards of North Carolina. Designed to reassure supporters and bolster support among Democrats, the rally seemed to be serving its intended purpose.
That was until he ended the speech.
“Not only are we going to New Hampshire, Tom Harkin,” Dean said, referencing the junior senator from Iowa who had recently endorsed him. “We’re going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we’re going to California and Texas and New York. And we’re going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we’re going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House!” Now, on its own, this would’ve been fine. It was, however, the obnoxiously high-pitched screech that he emitted after, resembling the word “Yeah!”
Within four days, it was broadcast over 633 times on a multiplicity of television networks. And, in the age of the early internet, this was ruinous. Parodies, commentary, and “prehistoric” memes began to proliferate around digital circles, spelling a P.R. disaster for the candidate.
About a week later, Dean suspended his campaign due to the controversy surrounding not only the scream (colloquially known as “I Have a Scream” due to its performance on Martin Luther King Jr. Day), but the ridicule that followed. Dean was decried as “unelectable,” “unpresidential,” and lacking the proper decorum for the nation’s top office.
These, if you haven’t guessed, are extreme examples. But they reveal a genuine issue: “why are the Democrats so unelectable?”
Gaffes alone, obviously, don’t tell the full story. If Democratic candidates were only defeated by awkward phrasing or high-pitched screams, we’d have no Democratic candidates left. And while New York Representative Alexandria Ocasio Cortez can play Among Us, Former Vice President Kamala Harris can admonish us for saying “Merry Christmas,” and President Bill Clinton can play the saxophone like no-one’s business, there comes a certain point where the American people expect a certain level of seriousness from their politicians.
And the Democrats, with their counter-culture narrative and general rebellious streak, oftentimes fail to deliver.
This is not to say that the Republicans don’t have their fair share of swings and misses too (or in President George W. Bush’s case, a drive), but something that the American left fundamentally struggles with is an issue of muddled messaging.
Let’s look at a few examples. In 2004, Senator John Kerry (the same one loosely associated with the “Dean Scream” nonsense we covered earlier) emerged as the victor of the Democratic Presidential Nomination, and quickly became a popular candidate. He was charismatic, a war hero, and a statesman through and through. However, his lack of an ability to take a definitive stance on certain matters seriously hurt his campaign.
Kerry, like Clinton and Dean, was also “memed” to death over this. The popular internet political satire known as JibJab took shots at him for, as the caricatured President Bush put it, “having more flip-flops than a house of pancakes.” But for Kerry, this wasn’t just a joke that he could gloss over. It was a serious issue—one that greatly haunted his campaign.
This culminated in an appearance at Hantington University in West Virginia, where he famously said:
“I actually did vote for the $87 billion before I voted against it.”
He was referring to an Iraq War funding bill —an earlier version which he had supported, but the final one he didn’t. By the time he finished explaining the nuance, however, the damage was done. To most Americans, it sounded like a man trying to have it both ways. Within days, the Bush campaign seized on it, branding him as indecisive and elitist.
A single sentence became the defining image of his candidacy: a politician too careful to stand for anything at all. And yet, after an embarrassing electoral defeat to President Bush (286 to 251), the Democrats found their Lionheart in a young Senator from Illinois.
Enter Barack Obama.
Senator Obama’s rise was not simply a triumph of timing. It wasn’t just a classical outwit or an archetypal victory. It was the victory of charisma, persuasiveness, and a masterclass in message discipline. While others in his party tripped over how to relate to voters, Obama was authentically himself. After courting the near unanimity of his party (Hillary Clinton had her gripes), he delivered a clarity that far exceeded Dean’s scream or Kerry’s explanation.
“Yes We Can” wasn’t just catchy. It was resonant. Hopeful. And it encompassed what the Democratic Party is supposed to represent.
Change.
That’s not to say he didn’t face his share of cynicism or mockery. Every politician does. But unlike Dean’s scream or Kerry’s flip-flops, Obama’s brand of communication was rooted in emotional precision, deep humanity, and humble optimism. Every speech was built to connect. When he said, “In no other country on Earth is my story even possible,” it didn’t sound like political theater or a brag—it sounded like faith in America itself.
“Yes We Can,” however, is now just a burning memory.
President Joe Biden’s message, cited as a noble return to decency, often struggled to cut through an increasingly digitized world.
And that’s putting it politely.
Appearing outside the White House with Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown-Jackson and Vice President Kamala Harris, Biden aptly described America in one word: “ASUFUTIMAEHAEHFU. Excuse me.”
Somewhere after that, I’m sure an Obama sign rolled in its trash can.
President Biden’s very apparent cognitive decline was never quite assuaged by his staffers. And when he had a particularly good remark, it usually came off as rehearsed, cliché, or something that you’d read off of a notecard during a school presentation. Hardly presidential. It isn’t all his fault; aging, obviously, is a very unfortunate fact of life. And, unlike previous candidates—or the next one—there is little he could do.
Vice President Kamala Harris, however, in her historic 107-day presidential race, had full agency over her remarks. And even before that, she wasn’t exactly a sage rhetorician. Her infamous “Do not come” remarks to migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border in 2021 confused both progressives and moderates, leaving many unsure what the administration’s stance even was. Harris seemed to channel the spirit of Kerry in her policy shifts.
The party today often feels like a brand with no slogan—or worse yet, one that continues to try to appeal to modernity (looking at you, Cracker Barrel). The Democrats constantly try to convince everyone, not realizing that in the process, they’ve convinced no one.
If the Obama era was a symphony of justice and progression, the Biden-Harris years have felt  like a series of jazz improvisations—interesting, unpredictable, and sometimes pleasant to the ear, but almost always off-key.
So what can the left do about it?
First, they must find their voice again. Not the voices of aides whispering into their ears, even though help can be good. Not the voices of algorithms, even when they present important data. The Democrats are nothing without the strength of their conviction. And once they sound like they’re reading from a DNC-approved teleprompter, they lose the faith of the American public.
Second, simplify. If a message takes longer than ten seconds to explain—especially nowadays—it isn’t worth pursuing. The power of “Hope,” “Change,” or even “Make America Great Again,” (that last one really worked), is that they can fit on a t-shirt, bumper sticker, or a billboard.
And finally for God’s sake, stop trying to be cool. Coming from a teenager, albeit a very politically involved one, there’s nothing less cool than doomscrolling at 3 a.m. and watching a political party desperately trying to stay relevant via memes, slang, or pop culture. The key isn’t to mimic culture. It’s to build, defend, and lead it.
Until they rediscover that sense of moral clarity and cultural confidence, Democrats will continue to “Pokémon GO” in circles for the foreseeable future.

“Virginia is for Lovers.”

At least, so the slogan goes. When referencing the picturesque landscape, craft breweries or bustling ecotourism industry, the state motto is perfectly accurate. But when it comes to politics, perhaps more apt phrases could be “for the party hardliners,” “heavily polarized” or “deeply partisan.” 

All of this occurring, of course, in the same state that bestowed the world with both George Washington and Pat Robertson and ironically still votes Democratic, the same way it would have in 1861 when it seceded from the Union and became the heart and seat of government of the Confederate States of America.  In a land where every race seems to be decided by a few percentage points and many prayers, Virginia has a very important decision to make—one that may hold true as a referendum on the Trump Administration in one of America’s most politically—and strategically—important states. 

According to The Economist, President Donald J. Trump’s net approval rating, or his disapproval subtracted from his approval, sits at an alarming -14.1%  in the state, putting his actual approval rating at a less-than-desirable ~43%. Since a multiplicity of voters are decidedly unhappy with Washington, they may now look to Richmond for a change.

Enter Abigail Spanberger. A former congresswoman from Virginia’s 7th Congressional District. She left the seat she had flipped from conservative control in 2018 at the end of her tenure earlier this year, focusing instead on clinching the Democratic nomination for Virginia’s gubernatorial race. An alumna of the University of Virginia, Spanberger served as a CIA case officer before leaving to work in the private sector. There, she worked for EAB Global, INC, a consulting firm specializing in providing services to educational institutions. Spanberger is a true moderate Democrat, which may spell trouble for the further right policies of her opponent. Spanberger, anyhow, will face struggles of her own, especially considering the controversy surrounding her pick for Attorney General, Jay Jones. He came under bipartisan fire after 2022 texts surfaced in which he made deeply personal threats against Republican officials, going so far as to hypothetically harm her family. Couple that with Ghazala Hashmi, a Muslim, who made history in 2019 by becoming the first Muslim woman elected to the Virginia State Senate. Hashmi is deeply progressive, which may spell trouble for a campaign in a state that thrives on moderate Democrats to win any races for the left.

Spanberger, however, has positioned herself as a prime example of the modern Southern Democrat movement, never shying away from criticizing the Democratic Party at critical junctures. 

In 2020, Spanberger vocalized her position against the establishment party, citing it as too far left and enamored with socialist tendencies. For instance, just days after winning the election by a margin of about 1.8% in November, she said in a testy exchange with party leadership that the elections were “a failure” from a congressional standpoint, citing Republican attack ads that disparaged “socialists” and “socialism,” as trigger phrases that should never be used again. 

In a state that, among others, saw a sharp rightward swing, a Democrat unafraid to call out her own party may be the antidote national Democratic leadership is looking for. 

Still, Spanberger knows she’d do well to drum up support from notable members of the party, hence why she was more than grateful to receive endorsements from notable Democrats, like Former President Barack Obama, U.S. Senators from Virginia Tim Kaine and Mark Warner, and Former Governor Ralph Northam.

Don’t count out Lieutenant Governor, Winsome Earle-Sears, though. A Marine veteran and naturalized citizen, Earle-Sears has a penchant for making history. In the general election for the 90th district seat in the Virginia House of Delegates, upsetting a 20-year Democratic incumbent to become the first Black Woman in the first Republican-majority House of Delegates since 1865. Running with incumbent Attorney General Jason Miyares, Earle-Sears has the benefit of recency bias, though she is taking a chance with John Reid, a running mate who, if elected, would become the first openly homosexual Republican official in the state of Virginia.

Earle-Sears, though, deeply entrenched herself into the ranks of the Republican Party, supporting President Trump in 2020 and again in 2024. She received an endorsement from the President on October 21, though that hasn’t stopped her from challenging him. In her own words, Earle-Sears referred to Donald Trump in 2022 as a “liability,” urging the Republican Party to move on in a set of 2022 remarks that strained the relationship between the President and the Lieutenant Governor.

Earle-Sears, however, is eager to prove that she can make history outside of Trump’s sphere of influence, even as rivals decry her loyalty to him. 

Nationwide, only six Black Republican women have run for governor since 2000, and Earle-Sears, the daughter of immigrants from Kingston, Jamaica, wants to break the race barrier in the party. 

“My dad came to America with only $1.75 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement — 17 days before Dr. King gave his ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, and here I am, now second in command in the former capitol of the Confederate states,” Sears said. As anti-immigrant sentiment becomes a more ingrained part of Republican dogma, Earle-Sears is out to demonstrate that newcomers can accomplish great things in the U.S.—should they do so legally.

Thus, the party—at least in Virginia—stands at a tug of war between party doctrine and a candidate who directly contradicts it. 








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VEXITATIOUS VIRGINIA: The Commonwealth of Virginia, once a purple state and a “vote your conscience”-based electorate is now a prime example of the persistence of modern Southern Democrats. Though it has become rather arduous for a Republican candidate to hash out a state-wide victory in the Old Dominion, the party has been able to manage significant gains, particularly in executive contests. The GOP holds five of the state’s eleven U.S. Congressional Districts, using the near halfway split to illustrate the fact that the state is still competitive. Image created by Mason Bibby via mapchart.net. 

The victor will need to draw her map through some very specific counties and cities. As North Cross’s U.S. Government Teacher Zachary Virgin says, "Virginia's electorate includes a mix of urban, suburban, and rural communities and has leaned both Republican and Democratic in recent years. [I]ts results can signal how swing voters might behave nationally. A strong performance by either party can either affirm or challenge the prevailing political narrative leading into the midterms or the next presidential cycle.”

There are roughly eleven “swing” counties and independent cities, but for the purposes of this analysis we will look specifically at five [Chesapeake and Virginia Beach].

The first is Nelson County. The county also didn’t have a single individual win more than 55% of the vote until 2020. Even then, it hasn’t happened since. So what makes Nelson, a semirural, sparingly populated area, so swingy? Part of it can be attributed to its booming craft beverage industry and an economy built around ecotourism and horticulture. The county relies mainly on high-speed internet to boost professional and technical services. This educated and elevated populace helps to drive more liberal voters. Nelson, despite its political geographic isolation, borders liberal stronghold Albemarle County, along with its university town Democratic enclave, Charlottesville. The county also attracts a mix of people, including retirees and commuters. 

Both candidates will look to court the county, and to do so, they’ll need to tackle issues like affordable housing and the cost of living, which may benefit Spanberger. But with around 15,000 people, Earle-Sears could potentially make up ground in other locations.

This brings us to Prince Edward County. It voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016, Joe Biden in 2020, yet shifted to Donald Trump in 2024. Even then, Trump barely eked out a victory, only holding the county by about two points. It’s possible the county may have shifted in 2021, when Virginia Governor Glenn Youngkin (who was first to endorse Earle-Sears last November) won it by around nine points. Historically, the county has shifted away from the Democratic Party with the broader ebb and flow of politics. Voters who opposed desegregation gradually left the party after the realization of the fated big switch eventually migrated to—and stayed part of—the Republican Party. It’s important to note, though, that Kamala Harris spectacularly underperformed by Democratic standards. It’s entirely plausible that Spanberger does not, which could potentially signal a win. However, it is equally as possible that Earle-Sears holds on, which could evidence a more permanent realignment to the right.

A fascinating trend emerges in Southwest Virginia. Montgomery County, population 99,000, sees a significant amount of political weight inflicted by students at Virginia Tech, who overwhelmingly wax liberally. Being the largest employer in the county, Virginia Tech isn’t just a product of its students, but also its faculty. In an otherwise conservative county, this paints the region an idiosyncratic blue tint. In 2023, Democrats won the Board of Supervisors race, even with Harris only winning by 3% a year later. 

Due to redistricting, Montgomery County is sometimes split between different legislative districts. For example, some districts combine the more liberal university towns with the more conservative rural areas, resulting in highly competitive state legislative races.  

Still, Montgomery County illustrates how important the youth vote is—and how important it is to capture it early on.

The last two, however, are more alike than you’d expect, and wildly more important.

Welcome to Virginia’s coast, where a county and an independent city exercise an intense amount of power over the state’s races. Chesapeake County and Virginia Beach City, with a population of 254, 997 and 454, 808, respectively, are some of the largest toss-up areas on the East Coast. In Virginia Beach, though it typically lands reliably blue, has seen a notable shift in competition in recent years. President Trump lost the city by only about 3 percentage points, highlighting the increasing competitive nature of the races.

The city is also home to several major military installations, including Naval Air Station Oceana. This traditionally conservative-leaning voting bloc makes up a significant portion of the population. Moreover, Virginia Beach has befallen the larger national trend of the Urban vs. Suburban divide, in which urban centers tend to vote more liberal, while suburban areas wax conservative. But Virginia Beach is a bit of a maverick on that issue, given that the Christian Broadcast Network (CBN) holds its headquarters here, which has led to more conservative trends. Still, the Democratic gains reflect broader political trends in the Commonwealth, as the state as a whole has become more reliably Democratic in presidential elections over the last decade.

Finally, perhaps the most interesting trend reflects in one of the state’s eastern counties. “As Chesapeake goes, so goes the nation,” is a popular saying among political pundits. In fact, the winning presidential candidates between 2008 and 2020 won the county, often scraping by with 1 or 2 percentage points. Kamala Harris broke the trend in 2024, being the first non-victorious candidate in decades to win the county. Because of its high population, both Republican and Democratic campaigns invest heavily into securing the region, even at points garnering national attention. Chesapeake could be an important bellwether for the national mood ahead of the 2026 midterm elections.

And, if Earle-Sears or Spanberger wants to take Richmond, they’d best be “lovers” of these swing players indeed.











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I don’t often take the role of the sentimentalist in my work. My opinions are presented pragmatically, logically and shaped by factual evidence. Emotional aspects play into it too, sure, but I generally avoid taking up stake in “I think” statements.

But today, I’m breaking my own rule.

For those who know me personally, this might seem a bit idiosyncratic. As a proud University of Virginia fan (Go Hoos), I’m writing about Virginia Tech. Not to lambast, not to criticize, but to celebrate and honor this beautiful institution of great renown. Those who know me well might also cite that I am a proud American, and to that extent, a proud Virginian. And on April 16, 2007, something tore at the very fabric of that pride. 

Just after sunrise on what was meant to be a beautiful spring day, one of the most tragic events in American history unfolded on the campus of Virginia Polytechnic Institute, or Virginia Tech, as a lone gunman, Seung-Hui Cho, opened fire in a co-ed dormitory hall. Here is how the harrowing incident occurred.

7:15-7:17 am: Cho begins his rampage in West Ambler Johnston Hall, where he critically injures Emily Hilscher, a 19-year-old first year from Woodville, Virginia. 22-year-old senior Ryan Clark of Martinez, Georgia, attempts to help her, but is fatally wounded as well. Both succumb to their wounds, with the former staying alive for around three hours after the initial shot. Afterard, he returns to his room to change out of his bloodstained clothes and reorder his armaments.

7:20 am: Campus police are notified of the shooting in West Ambler. Cho remains in his dormitory, likely grappling with the weight of his actions. Sources close to the perpetrator state that he, a South Korean immigrant, long struggled with mental illness and feelings of isolation. This in no way absolves him of his responsibility in this heinous act, but emphasizes the importance of mental health support everywhere. 

8:00-9:01 am: As Cho remains in his dormitory, where sources speculate he deleted his student emails and his VT account as a whole, campus police deduce that the shooting was an isolated domestic dispute, and did not have implications on any other facet of campus life. The students continue about their day, including those making their way to classes in Norris Hall. That decision would prove to be fatal.


 9:01 am: Cho mails a package to NBC News containing a manifesto, photos, and videos in which he explains his motives. As the investigation continued, it became clear that these texts were mostly ramblings, and not revealing about his motives.

9:26 am: Virginia Tech Administration, as a cautionary measure,  sends an email to students and faculty warning them of a "shooting incident" at West Ambler Johnston Hall and advising them to be cautious and report suspicious activity.

9:40 am: Cho enters Norris Hall, an engineering building, and chains the main doors shut from the inside to prevent anyone from escaping or entering. In a backpack, he carried heavy duty chains and locks, a hammer, a knife, two handguns with nineteen 10- and 15-round magazines, and nearly 400 rounds of ammunition. He attaches a note to a door that reads: “if you try to escape, you’ll just die.” On another, he detailed that a bomb was rigged to explode should they try to open the door.  He begins shooting students and faculty in classrooms. In Room 204 specifically, Liviu Librescu, a Romanian Holocaust survivor and engineering and mechanics professor, selflessly blocks the door where Cho attempts to enter, allowing 22 students to escape with their lives. 

 9:42–44 am: The first 911 calls from Norris Hall are made. Cho moves methodically through the building, targeting students and professors. This is when the majority of the killings occur.

9:50 am: Campus police respond to the calls and attempt to enter Norris Hall but are delayed by the chained doors. They eventually breach the building by shooting off the locks.

9:51 am: Cho continues his rampage, killing a total of 30 people inside Norris Hall. Police reach the second floor, where Cho is located.

9:55 am: As police close in, Cho takes his own life in a classroom on the second floor of Norris Hall. As the shooting’s 33rd victim, the massacre was over.

10:17 am: Virginia Tech sends an email alerting the campus to the second mass shooting and advising everyone to stay indoors and away from windows.

10:52 am: The university announces that classes are canceled and the campus is on lockdown. Law enforcement confirms that the shooter is dead and the immediate threat is over.

12:00 am: A press conference is held by Virginia Tech officials and law enforcement to provide updates on the situation and confirm the number of casualties. Charles Steger, then-President of Virginia Tech, began the conference with one of the most resonant phrases of the day. “Today, the university was struck with a tragedy that we consider of monumental proportions.”

The Virginia Tech shooting was a devastating event that left 32 victims dead and many others injured. It led to significant changes in campus security protocols and emergency response procedures nationwide. And yet, the world kept spinning–leaving us to make sense of the senseless, to find light in what seemed to be an endless dark. As we look back on this tragic loss, we must never forget that we have a responsibility to make, wherever possible, a positive impact.  Because as President Bush said the night of that fatal tragedy “it is impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” As we come together on this 18th year of mourning and commemoration, my prayers rest, as they always have, with the families of the victims, Virginia Tech, and the greater Commonwealth. We also must stand steadfast in our commitment to a safer state and nation. We must ensure that such indiscriminate violence can and will be prevented whenever possible. At the time of my writing, another shooting at a Dallas High school has injured five, and a shooting at Florida State University has added five more to that count. Two lives were claimed. We cannot—must not—allow these instances to be waived away as “isolated incidents.” On this day of mourning, our resolve must be the same as a community in Virginia in 2007. One of quiet reflection, of reserved anguish, but ultimately a choice to move forward, and honor those who were inhibited from moving forward with them.

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Roanoke–much like the rest of the country–is a city of contrasts. It is quiet yet industrious, historically conservative yet home to diverse communities, and grounds for immense change. Here, I viewed firsthand how the battle for the White House could shape life in the region, and how quickly it could stir up political fervor.
 In March 2024, Donald Trump, with wins in the Republican primaries, easily became the presumptive nominee. He was to deliver an acceptance that July, at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee. Despite it being before his certification. The right-leaning populace in Southwestern Virginia, had already taken Trump’s nomination and run with it. This was evident in the form of many signs campaigning for the former. The sheer scale in which these signs cropped up was a bit idiosyncratic to me. During the 2020 election, I saw far fewer signs during my commutes. I could not help but wonder if the local economy was single-handedly kept afloat by the sudden demand for campaign signs. Nevertheless, I shrugged this finding off, believing myself significantly older and to that point, more observant. Soon enough, the nation was primed for the first presidential debate between incumbent Joe Biden and former President Donald J. Trump on June 27. There was a certain degree of enthusiasm for Trump; running after a Biden presidency that a large proportion of Americans from both sides of the aisle thought anticlimactic at best and disastrous at worst. To his credit, President Biden made several key points, including those about the COVID-19 Pandemic, the soaring prices of goods and services, and national security issues. 
However, it was only downhill from there.
At the end of the night, top Democratic officials were practically tugging at their hair over Biden’s “disastrous” debate performance. Not only had Biden confirmed his age was an issue–a subject that millions of voters were already anxious about–he had failed to effectively combat the attacks on his administration. Republicans, meanwhile, were more than giddy. Trump had effectively destroyed the incumbent’s reputability. To that point, it was less than 24 hours before notable members of the Democratic began to call for his removal as the Democratic nominee. On July 21, his hand was forced, and he acquiesced to the demands of several members of his party. 
But who was to be the new nominee? 
Names flew around the nation like wildfire. But who better, the president thought, to run for his successor than the woman who had made history as the first female, Black and Asian-American Vice President of the U.S.? Who better than Kamala Harris? It was not long before the rest of the party began to rally around Harris as their nominee, to be certified at the 2024 Chicago Democratic National Convention. At this point, aforementioned signs had begun to proliferate more profusely, and in unexpected areas as well. Soon enough, the scale and location of these acts of political advocacy got me wondering about the race’s outcome. In Roanoke’s predominantly minority neighborhoods, for instance,  I noticed more campaign signs for Trump-Vance, with slogans like “TAKE AMERICA BACK.” But just when I thought the election was decided in favor of the Republican nominee, a “HARRIS-WALZ” or “WHEN WE FIGHT, WE WIN” reset my sentiment and reminded me the only certainty in politics is uncertainty–and a lingering headache. The road to the White House, then, would lead through Pennsylvania—the Keystone State to finish the “Blue Wall.” What neither I nor arguably anyone else expected was a Trump rout, leaving Democrats stunned and Republicans euphoric. 
This got me wondering: how did Harris manage to fall short of the White House? What made Trump more attractive this time around? What did Trump get right, and what did Harris get wrong?  It all came down to campaign strategy, party support, and even a sense of morality. 
The first thing I noticed during the race was the way in which the Trump campaign was managed. It showed a heavy desire to invigorate its base while simultaneously pulling in those who may be skeptical of the nominee’s policies. Trump’s overall goal this year was to paint himself as a unifying figure, a standpoint that ultimately depends on the voter–even some who voted Republican do not feel that way. However, the situation remains: enough people saw him that way, which led to his victory at several key junctions. He called for the scrapping of several government entities which a number of Americans saw as useless or overly bureaucratic. Donald Trump, overall, ran on the promise of returning several powers to the states: abortion, education and even some previously federal expenditures are all expected to forthwith (or at least, semi-immediately) be returned to the states come January. So what makes this practice particularly alluring toward Republican and swing voters? Right-aligned individuals typically seek to limit government size, influence, and oversight. This can yield positive returns, especially in the case of economic freedom, or laissez-faire, which the country is built upon. But above that, it also makes Americans believe they have more civil liberties than they would possess under a larger government. By returning interpretation of certain issues to state legislatures, Trump courted citizens who believed it is their right to decide. But this is not necessarily the prevailing stance for those to the center and left; those leaning in that direction argued that the best path to unity was through acknowledging all voices, rather than vesting their hopes into one person. 
Another thing Democrats could not foresee this time around was Trump’s utilization of different voter demographics. His campaign was unprecedentedly skilled at appealing to disillusioned minority voters, his own base of primarily White, older, rural males, and swinging voters in regions that had been principal Democratic strongholds. For example, the church I attend weekly is in a fundamentally lower income, minority community. While pockets of affluence are present, the scale is not comparable to those surrounding school or home. This cycle, I noticed several signs campaigning for Trump in front yards, on storefronts, and on street corners in the area. This was evidence of Republican work with those who may not typically swing towards the base. In battleground states, particularly Pennsylvania and Georgia, this was also the case. In 2020, Biden won 13 pivotal Pennsylvania counties to ultimately win the state and the White House. This year, Harris ceded five of them. Trump took fewer stops in Pennsylvania–22 to Harris’ 26–he was more adroit in using language that appealed to a broader demographic. He set up several “Latinos for Trump” and “Blacks for Trump” pop-ups in counties where those enumerations were the highest or most important, and continued to cultivate support by promising a better alternative to a nominee who many non-Democratic voters saw as too divergent from their values. Harris’ performance was not all failure; she won women by a ten percentage points. While the spirit of Obama’s ‘Yes We Can’ was perceptible in the Democratic campaign, it faced significant headwinds from economic challenges, global instability and erosion of trust in the government which occurred under Biden, all of which proved difficult for a candidate coming (literally) out of left field. In all, Harris failed to get a large enough proportion on board for what she presented as a noble cause. But it was not just in Pennsylvania where Kamala Harris fell short of her expectations. In Michigan and Wisconsin, specifically, there was a large disparity between expected outcomes and actual results, especially in the former. In fact, Michigan had one of the hardest right-oriented swings of any state in the Union–though all experienced it. In nearly every county, Democrats faced a hard shift to the GOP, one that stings even worse when it could be observed across every anthropological poll. What gave Trump the edge in the seven swing states was not necessarily his ability to draw in large swaths of people, which he certainly was able to do, but his personality that served as a foil to his opponent’s. Trump’s victory in the battlegrounds came not solely from drawing large crowds but from a strategic focus on incremental gains across demographics. By contrasting his governance reform-focused persona with Harris’ broader progressive vision, Trump appealed to voters seeking a transition into stability over one into social justice. 
As we now accept the results of the presidential election, the query of moral advantage is brought to light. Depending on who you ask, this election could be seen as either a perfect success or crushing failure on the basis of American morality which many dissenters argue has been shattered due to the election’s outcome. Many around the world feel these effects too, as the 2024 Election in the United States occurred simultaneously with a volley of far-right elections—and united left retaliations—in Europe. While many leftists around the country fear Donald Trump’s purported contempt for globalization and resurged nationalism, the right has viewed this as a new age: an “America first” one. When Joe Biden was a Democratic Senator from Delaware, he once lamented to Congress that “Europe cannot stay united without the United States. There is no moral center in Europe.” That thought has been reflected in Trump’s attitude toward foreign intervention, specifically in the context of broader global conflicts such as the War in Gaza—another focal point behind Harris’ loss. For example, Dearborn, Michigan, which has one of the highest concentrations of Arab-Americans in the U.S., voted 47 percent for Trump, 28 percent for Harris and 22 percent for Jill Stein. Trump was able to capitalize off of the geopolitical stress that has bemused the Biden Administration for the past four years. Much like Europe, Trump’s camp prioritized the importance of an ultranationalist America preserving its individuality in the face of mass immigration movements and international tumult. By conflicting with Harris’ progressivist hopes for an globalized society, Trump carried the narrative of moral high ground in an era where nations are receding into their own circles following crisis after crisis. 
In both the U.S. and Europe, the concept of morality was fundamentally reframed by rightists as a defense of tradition, sovereignty, and self-determination. He echoed this in a speech at a Turning Point Action rally, saying “You’re fighting against an oppressive left-wing ideology that is driven by hate and seeks to purge all dissent.” Morality, as they saw it, was ensuring America remained a certain demographic’s view of it. Trump cemented his policies as an ethical imperative to, literally, “Make America Great Again”, explicitly by protecting its denizens from perceived external threats—be they economic, cultural, or geopolitical. Trump altered his persona around the preservation of American individualism and exceptionalism. The recuperation of chauvinism across the Atlantic, furthermore, occurring concomitantly as it does in the United States has offered a vision into shifting tides. In this, Trump seized the opportunity, and rode the wave of an electorate becoming incrementally more resistant to internationalized governance.
Kamala Harris lost: What did she get right? Harris was able to mount an antithesis in an election that appeared to have been decided. She shattered fundraising records. Harris took on the role of underdog against a well-known opponent. She endured relentless criticism compounded by her identity as a woman of color. Harris managed to craft a compelling counter-narrative against a GOP platform many Americans either feared or outright opposed. Her efforts laid the groundwork for future Democratic campaigns and inspired a level of grassroots resilience within her party. Her loss can teach important lessons about strategy, appeal, and how to combat polarization. 
The election is over, and ultimately, the outcome hinged on a combination of campaign strategy, party cohesion, and underlying questions of morality–a word with murky meanings as of now. These factors not only shaped this election but could also serve as a blueprint for a Democratic resurgence in the future. 
As new officials take office, signs are taken down, and individuals once again become unbothered by Washingtonian affairs, there is one fixture that remains as resolute as America itself. As I passed the campaign signs daily, gazing longingly and attempting to ascertain clarity on the situation, one sight always served as a reprieve for a mind abuzz with thoughts about the nation’s future. It was a symbol of the nation itself. There, resting triumphantly atop the peak of Mill Mountain sat the Roanoke Star, illuminated in its characteristic Virginia charm. The star does not shine simply for Republicans or solely for Democrats, but for all Virginians. It shines for all Americans. It shines as a beacon of unity, resilience, courage, and hope. In its light, we are reminded that the promise of America belongs to us all, no matter who we vote for.