Kamala Harris gives her closing statement at the Ellipse

As you approach the Ellipse, a 52-acre green space about a fifteen-minute walk from the White House, from the southeast, you may pass a bronze sculpture that mysteriously appeared on the Mall last week. It's a replica of Nancy Pelosi's desk, and on top of it is a huge, blown-up pile of feces. A plaque below reads: “This memorial honors the brave men and women who broke into the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021 to loot, urinate and defecate these hallowed halls in order to overturn an election fall.”

In a now-familiar paradox, an anonymous anti-Trump protest artist's artwork is both a joke and completely serious. It draws a contrast between the solemn beauty of the monuments and the ideals they represent, on the one hand, and the shame of the January 6 riots, on the other. Nearly four years ago, Donald Trump addressed a crowd of his supporters at the Ellipse. What happened next — the mob swarming a government building, at least four deaths during the insurrection, and a failed impeachment in the immediate aftermath — is history. Kamala Harris' camp chose the Ellipse as the site of her “closing argument,” the place where she would make her final arguments for her presidency. The rally, like the campaign itself, was an act of reclamation.

About fifty thousand people were expected on Tuesday evening. According to her campaign, the number ended up being closer to 75,000. A Democratic Party member told me that the sea of ​​Harris supporters stretched to the National Museum of African American History and Culture on Constitution Avenue. As with most galactic-sized events, getting there was an experience in itself, and the tenor of the conversations overheard changed as the distance to the venue grew shorter. On Tenth and Eleventh Streets, pedestrians discussed TV shows they wanted to watch, but as we passed 1420 New York Avenue, the mood changed. A man wearing a red lanyard and a speckled hat asked the tall and smartly dressed bouncer, “Who are you going to vote for?” “Trump,” the bouncer replied. “Damn right,” replied his interlocutor. “Kamala and the Democrats hate men.”

As I reached the White House lawn, attendees were strolling in every direction and a deep, accented voice chanted over a reggae beat, “If you're going to the rally, the shortcut is through the park.” I stopped to talk to James McDowell, who designs and sells clothing with political themes. One of his T-shirts featured a cartoon Harris wearing pearls, beaming and holding a pair of pink Converse. McDowell is cheering on the vice president, he said, because “Trump is an idiot.” He wants to overthrow the entire country. I would rather vote for someone who will lift us up.”

Up and down were the two directions of the night, also backwards and forwards; Later, screams of “We’re not going back!” ricocheted through the park. At the Ellipse, an hour before the first speaker took the stage, Pretty Tammi, the DJ, was in charge of the audience. “Make noise for Puerto Rico,” she shouted, cranking up “Let’s Get Loud” by Jennifer Lopez. “We love you!” A few minutes later, hot jazz was pouring out of the speakers. “Someone from Chicagooooooooo?” Judging by the cheering, a lot of people were from Chicago. “If you are part of the Divine Nine,” Tammi shouted, referring to the council of the largest black fraternities and sororities, “I want to see your hands in the air right now.” A sea of ​​small American flags waved. The rally goers took selfies of all kinds: mother-daughter selfie, group of friends, couple, extended family. The signs read “Trump Makes Me Sick,” “USA” and “La Presidenta.” The buttons say “Mamas for Kamala” and “Hotties for Harris” and “We are NOT going back.” Grandstands surrounded the theater. Behind every bench there was a blue billboard that read “Freedom”; The effect was to create the “blue wall” that Democrats sought.

Harris' task for the night was tricky. In recent years, the shock value of words like “fascist,” “rapist,” and “racist” has waned, but they still needed to communicate the importance of the election. She had to evoke the tremendous potential of a Trump presidency, and she had to repudiate Trump in a speech that renewed the country's commitment to American values. But high rhetoric doesn't often seem to hurt Trump. He diminishes everything he touches. Its nature simultaneously requires magnified language and makes that language ridiculous. There is no myth or epic to the Trump situation; no surviving sequel to the Iliad in which Greek warriors openly cling to the wooden horse, brandishing their weapons and declaring death to the Trojans, and yet half of the Trojans still want to drag the statue into the city.

Throughout her campaign, Harris has had more success with an approach based on pragmatism and joy. She's good at undermining Trump by verbally pulling him aside so the adults can get down to business. This strategy makes her appear more down-to-earth and more in touch with voters who are concerned about paying for groceries, childcare and housing. But the election's home stretch requires a subtler balance between urgency and optimism. Harris must raise the alarm about Trump's authoritarian tendencies – she cannot fail to do so – while at the same time making concrete proposals to improve people's lives.

It was clear from Tuesday's speaker list that Camp Harris was aware of the challenge. They were what politicians call everyday or even “real” Americans, none of them famous, and each representing an issue the vice president had promised to work on or a constituency she had promised to serve. Her statements highlighted Harris' support for abortion, affordable health care, small business and military veterans. There wasn't much lofty rhetoric about the American character, although overall the speeches expressed a deeper message, reinforced by the fresh air and the color of the trees – it was time to turn the page.

Shortly before 7:30 a.m PMHarris took the stage wearing a navy suit over a blouse that matched her signature pearl earrings. The opening of her address noted the historic nature of the upcoming contest and painted a picture of Trump as “unstable, obsessed with revenge, consumed by resentment and seeking uncontrolled power.” (Around this point, protesters shouting “War criminals!” and “Liberate Palestine!” briefly broke through the front of the standing room section.) As the speech continued, however, Harris changed positions without completely abandoning her attack. She continued to underscore her arguments with quick criticism of her opponent. But the former president was no longer the center of attention. “It’s time,” she said, “to stop pointing fingers and start locking arms instead.” Next came a thoughtful tour of her “to-do list,” interspersed with intimate ones personal details. There sat her mother at the “yellow Formica table,” covered in banknotes. At the civil rights rally there was the well-known stroller. She spent her career winning “tough battles” against “bad actors and powerful interests” because “something had to do with people being treated unfairly or overlooked…”. . “It just gets on my nerves.” The words “dignity,” “honor” and “pride” played a prominent role in Harris' rhetoric. Nursing work is “about dignity,” she said. Owning a home “is not just a measure of financial security. It's about pride in your hard work.” Harris' plans to cut taxes for “working people and the middle class” reflected her belief “in respecting the dignity of work,” she said.