Opinion | Kamala Harris Is Using a Strategy Rooted in Civil Rights Activism

Much has been said, written and memed about all the ways in which joy has been a central part of Kamala Harris’ presidential campaign, from her trademark laugh, to the cat and dog TikToks , to the way she strides out onstage, beaming, to Beyoncé’s power anthem, “Freedom.” “I think we should all find joy and have a sense of optimism about who we are as Americans and what we mean to each other,” Harris said recently at a National Association of Black Journalists panel interview.

Most liberals thrill to it; conservatives grouse about it, seeing the campaign’s embrace of joy as proof that the vice president is a political lightweight. “It’s so manufactured,” a Fox Nation host complained . “The joy thing is an attempt to distract people from how bad things are,” complained another.

But rather than a distraction, joy is precisely the point. Joy, and its companion, fun, are powerful political weapons — weapons that have been used successfully to undermine the ridiculous habits of white supremacy.

It’s a strategy rooted in decades of civil rights activism, in which joy, particularly Black joy , is used as an instrument for political change. Joy can be much more transformative than lecturing or scolding, a lesson that Democrats are learning to embrace. It’s also a tactic I know well: In my own family’s civil rights organizing, fun was used as a mobilizer, a way to laugh and be resilient in the face of the outrages of structural racism.

Back in 1963, my mother and father arrived at the Ryman Auditorium's Grand Ole Opry in Nashville at a time when the state’s Jim Crow laws required it to be segregated. They were dressed in a gown and tux respectively, driven in an antique Rolls-Royce by a white couple dressed as chauffeur and maid. The white couple were fellow activists and friends from the Unitarian church. The "chauffeur" got out and opened the back door to escort my glamorous parents past the crowd at the entrance. He handed someone a $100 bill to park the car, the maid following close behind.

If the gatekeepers had any thought of objecting to Black people entering, they were not prepared for this scene. My father moved swiftly, presenting his tickets and stating his case, “This is my trusted chauffeur and butler.” “Oh and I have to have my maid,” my mother added. They had reframed the issue. Would the white servants be excluded? Of course not. An usher escorted them down to the front row and a hush fell over the audience. On that night Nashville’s Jim Crow was subverted through bloodless audacity and mocking humor — a relentless practice my parents and others had used to successfully desegregate public accommodations in Huntsville, Alabama the year before.

This biracial group of change agents would stage other spectacles, laughing and having fun as they fought for Black freedom and freedom for all. Once they even forced their way into a White Citizens’ Council meeting in Huntsville; white allies entered first, followed by my parents and other Black activists. This motley crew stood at the back and cheered each time something pro-white was said, to the consternation of the Council members (a scene that was a precursor to Dave Chappelle’s famous skit of a blind Black man heartily embracing white supremacy ).

The same coalition of Black civil rights agitators and long-haired white liberals created a new independent party, the National Democratic Party of Alabama to break up George Wallace's hold on what passed for democracy in the state. (My father, John Cashin Jr., even ran against Wallace for governor in 1970 and lost but helped scores of down ballot Black candidates win local races.) White people who participated in this predominantly Black party saw Black voters not as a threat but the answer for creating a better Alabama. NDPA was powered by a spirit of fun, gleefully rattling those not ready to give up Dixiecrat “white power .”

Moments of fun can be pivotal in politics, an easier way of turning the page to a brighter future than pummeling voters with grim entreaties.

Many progressives view this presidential election as an existential but easy choice between optimistic and dark visions for America, between democracy — or a strongman. And yet the race is very close . How could this be, gobsmacked Democrats wonder? A 78-year-old convicted felon, adjudicated sexual predator, election-denying insurrectionist, would-be dictator who winks at white nationalism has a 43 percent approval rating ? Whaat?!

But here’s the thing: Trumpism, despite its message of America going to hell and an us-vs-them nihilism that casts non-MAGA folk as evildoers out to destroy the country, is powered by the festivities and fun Trump supporters find in rallying with like-minded souls. Nobody likes a scold. Trump entertains them, turning his rallies into a political standup act , and in a tribal America his uncouth, often cruel attacks on others signal he is with them and their preferred understanding of what it means to be a great American. Clearly, they feel seen by him and like what he stands for.

So what is the role of fun for progressives in what feels like a very unfunny election? Well, violence-backed Jim Crow was dead serious and decidedly unfunny, too. And yet my parents and their allies enjoyed staging spectacles that used humor and absurdity to show others a different way of being in an ever-diversifying nation.

The white people in the audience at the Opry inherited Jim Crow society and were raised on a politics and rhetoric of “segregation forever. ” But in an instant, when an alternative was in fact presented, many were ready for it — ready for something less exhausting, without stringent limitations on individuals’ choices of whom they could love or ally with; something more optimistic, and yes, fun.

With the whipsaw summer in which now Harris ascended to presidential nominee, Democrats may have stumbled into a new transformative politics with a seasoned candidate who smiles and laughs — a lot. And Gov. Tim Walz, her running mate, showed the genius of humor when he called Trump and JD Vance “just weird ” — a poke with a strain of truth that deflated the GOP’s post-convention bounce.

Like my parents’ generation of joyful civil rights warriors, Harris and Walz are using fun in similar ways to celebrate — and also bring about inclusion. At the Democratic National Convention, the traditional roll call of delegates casting votes was transformed into a raucous DJ dance party. The right cringed. Democrats loved it, exhibiting a joyful openness to difference. A rainbow of humanity — urban, rural, Indigenous, young, old, straight, gay, trans, Republican, independent, yellow-dog Dems, it did not matter — all were welcome to join in a politics powered by country songs, hip hop, salsa and more.

One thing that made the civil rights movement joyful, if not fun, was white allies crossing the color line to defy the southern segregationist way of life. People of all races working together are very dangerous to white supremacy. The difference between the fun of the MAGA movement and Kamala’s political ode to joy is that one faces back, looking fearfully at immigrants as pet-eating invaders, while the other faces forward, embracing America’s demographic destiny, when no one racial group will be in the majority.

Fun offers a much more uplifting choice — and it’s a useful tool to make white people less resistant to change: C’mon in. The water’s warm.

The Democratic convention showed what is radically different about America today, compared to the America of the Grand Ole Opry in 1963. Today, many people have acquired friends, lovers and allies of different backgrounds — much like Harris’ blended family with its rainbow coalition of very cute young relatives.

Social science supports my intuition that “cultural dexterity” can help accelerate us to a point in which enough white Americans grow to accept and embrace diversity — even though at first, it might have been bewildering or uncomfortable. Cultural dexterity, a phrase I coined in my book, Loving: Interracial Intimacy and the Threat to White Supremacy , is the ability to walk in a room and be outnumbered by another group of people and experience it with an openness to trying it, as in, “This is cool, I can hang.” A country with cultural dexterity is one in which most people can feel at ease with each other — which frees us to find consensus and find solutions to our problems. This culturally dexterous future would be a lot more fun than shouting at each other across a great, angry divide. But not only that — building a diverse political movement with fun can also help bring this culturally dexterous future about.

It is not Kumbaya to speculate that more people than ever before are primed to accept or embrace a joyful message of “let’s move forward together.” If this sleeping majority is offered a ticket to get excited about — and turning the page with joy certainly helps — we may clinch a tipping point in which we move past toxic dog-whistling.

Like the audience at the Grand Ole Opry that just relaxed and enjoyed the show when my parents made their dramatic appearance, my guess is that most people are tired of “carnage.”

They would much prefer joy.