As the sun rose the morning after Donald Trump’s emphatic return to the White House, the Democratic Party was already in post-mortem mode. Texts and calls flew back and forth, brimming with recriminations and speculation over what had gone wrong. Had President Biden stayed in the race, would he have been the better candidate? Or was Vice President Kamala Harris, with her historic but polarizing candidacy, simply up against insurmountable odds?
The factions quickly formed. Some Democrats argued Biden’s decades of experience and steady image might have blunted Republican attacks. He didn’t have the baggage of a viral video endorsing transgender surgeries for prisoners, nor was he seen cozying up to Hollywood celebrities—a strategy Harris employed that clashed awkwardly with the electorate’s mood.
Others contended that Harris, while flawed, had faced an impossible task. She had inherited a fractured party, grappled with an unrelenting wave of GOP attacks, and struggled to carve out a distinctive identity that appealed to independent voters. Yet, the criticisms of her campaign piled up: a perceived lack of boldness, a failure to reassure voters of her centrist credentials, and a reluctance to confront extremism within her own party.
Harris’ campaign, insiders said, lacked daring. Despite advice from close advisers to take risks and address polarizing issues head-on, she often erred on the side of caution. Brian Brokaw, a longtime California adviser, sent a memo in October urging her to call out “extremes across the political spectrum” and name the Republican lawmakers she’d collaborate with on bipartisan legislation. Sean Clegg, another trusted adviser, wanted her final campaign speech to more sharply contrast Trump’s extremism with her moderate vision.
Harris, however, avoided unscripted encounters in the campaign’s closing weeks. While her debate performance and convention speech were strong, they were meticulously rehearsed and lacked the spontaneity voters craved. Her broader messaging fell flat: platitudes about unity and vague calls to “turn the page” failed to outline a compelling rationale for her candidacy.
Structural challenges compounded her struggles. Harris faced deep-rooted sexism and racism that undoubtedly shaped some voters’ perceptions. Still, her cautious approach and reliance on scripts reinforced doubts about her authenticity and readiness to lead.
Harris’ difficulties also reflected Biden’s influence. He had chosen her as his running mate despite her limited national experience and deep-blue California political background. Her brief tenure as a senator and a progressive-leaning 2020 presidential primary campaign left her ill-prepared for the demands of courting swing voters in battleground states like Wisconsin and Michigan.
Throughout her vice presidency, Harris was handed thankless tasks—immigration reform chief among them—and rarely given opportunities to build her own brand. Her clashes with Biden’s West Wing further isolated her, and she cycled through staff before stabilizing her team. By the time she declared her candidacy, she lacked the foundation to launch a credible campaign in the Midwest or present herself as a leader with substantive policy expertise.
Critics argue Harris failed to seize critical moments to define her candidacy. She avoided bold stances that might have reassured centrist voters, such as taking a firm position on women’s sports or rejecting calls from the far left. Without a clear ideological anchor—like Ronald Reagan’s conservatism or Bill Clinton’s third way—her campaign lacked the conviction needed to inspire confidence.
While Harris performed admirably in controlled settings, she struggled to connect with voters in high-stakes, unscripted situations. Her reliance on briefing binders rather than lived experience left her vulnerable to criticism on everything from domestic issues to foreign policy.
Harris’ defeat, however, isn’t just about her campaign. The Democratic Party faces a deeper problem: a growing disconnect with key voting blocs. The retrenchment of working-class and non-white voters, combined with the party’s inability to counter Republican narratives effectively, contributed to a resounding loss in 2024.
The blame doesn’t rest solely with Harris or Biden. The Democrats’ challenges reflect a broader identity crisis. In an era of realignment, where economic and cultural divides overshadow traditional partisan loyalties, the party must grapple with how to rebuild trust and appeal to a more diverse electorate.
In hindsight, Harris may have been a candidate out of time—one who needed more experience, a clearer vision, and a less hostile political environment to succeed. But her loss, as decisive as it was, is less about her and more about a Democratic Party struggling to find its footing in an evolving political landscape.
Ultimately, Democrats must ask themselves not just whether Harris or Biden was the better candidate but whether their broader strategy—and their connection with voters—was ever strong enough to win.
