On Election Eve, I cannot vote for Donald Trump; I am not yet persuaded for Kamala Harris
As a lifelong Democrat, I linger somewhere between the swamp of disillusionment and disenfranchisement and that so-called American Dream from which so many of my brothers now feel disconnected.
By John W. Fountain
CHICAGO, Nov. 4—ON THE EVE OF the most critical election of my voting life, I stand in the Windy City as a Black man with one foot upon the bedrock of that fragile hope called democracy and the other in that rising and cancerous tide called hate that has long gnawed at the soul of America.
As a lifelong Democrat, I linger somewhere between the swamp of disillusionment, disappointment and disenfranchisement, of disrespect, disregard and disenchantment, and that so-called emerald Promised Land of the great American Dream from which so many of my African-American brothers now feel disconnected.
I want to vote. But I don’t want to vote—even if I am fully aware of the blood, sacrifice and fight that secured this most precious and sacred Democratic right.
My dilemma: I cannot vote for Donald Trump. I am not yet persuaded for Kamala Harris.
The winds tell me I must choose good over evil. But choosing what is good over what is evil has become a game of cat and mouse for me in a two-party political system in which neither party in actuality respects me, nor treats me as a bona fide member until that electoral moment it needs me, then afterwards discards me, renders me once again invisible.
So the Democratic voices upon the boisterous winds now blowing across the nation tell me that as a Black man I must vote for the Black woman. That I am otherwise, as a Black man, “stupid,” a misogynist, sexist, a hater of Black women, resistant to and unwilling to be led by a president who happens to be a Black woman.
Lies.
I have been led by Black women most all of my life. Unlike former president Barack Obama who lectured Black men for not sufficiently supporting Harris or for considering casting their ballot for Trump, I was born of a Black woman.
I was nursed and nurtured by Black women. Loved, adored and raised by strong Black women. I grew up in a church led by Black women who were revered prayer warriors, dear grandmothers and unwavering anchors for generations.
So, with all due respect, Mr. Obama, please don’t lecture me.
In the words of Kendrick Lamar: “They not like us.”
I am Black black. The red blood of the Black American slave courses through my veins. I am unambiguously Black. Often indigestibly and always undeniably Black—whether it is convenient or costly or potentially fatal. I am a Black man in an America where the problem of the 21st century is still—as W.E. B. DuBois coined it 121 years ago in The Souls of Black Folk— “the problem of the color line.”
And yet, on the eve of the election for the 47th president of the United States where democracy hangs in the balance, I remain torn.
I am offended by Trump’s hateful and bitter, often vile rhetoric. By his jeering MAGA supporters and by the general tenor of his campaign message to take this nation back. By his hateful objectionable rambling that seems to grow darker, more sinister, by the day. I expect nothing from Trump. But I have come as a Black man to also expect nothing from the Democratic Party.
I am offended by the Democratic Party that for far too long has taken the Black vote for granted. I feel insulted by Black folk and other Democrats who assert that I am wrong—or a betrayer of Black women or the race—as a Black man for wanting to weigh out Harris’ experience and record or to assess for myself whether she is the best candidate.
The message from them to Black men is loud and clear: “Oh, just shut up and vote.”
Like “shut up and dribble.”
Don't think. Don't ask questions. Don't say nothing. Just get with the program, buddy.
I have heard Black women say: “Black men who don’t vote for Kamala are misogynistic...”
I heard one sister remark snarkily of Black men who plan to vote for Trump, “They probably wouldn’t have let Harriett Tubman lead them to freedom…”
Then there was the sister who told me to my face not long ago with sass and disdain, “If Black men don’t vote for Kamala Harris, then y’all deserve whatever you get… They gon’ be shooting Black men down in the street.”
“We are already being shot down in the street,” I responded. “They already got their knee on our necks…”
I have also heard Black men among the chorus: “Get over yourself… Stop hatin’ on Kamala just ‘cause she’s a Black woman. Put down your toxic masculinity. Support the sister,” they say.
Negro please.
In a democracy, I ask, don’t I—don’t we—have a choice?
Truth is, I’m not so sure anymore.
‘A Good Feeling and Pocket Change’
THE SIMPLE ASSERTION THAT Trump is “bad” for and a “threat” to the republic and that there is therefore no other logical option than to vote for Harris does not fully persuade me. Especially amid my deep disappointment and dissatisfaction with the Democratic Party whose surrogates now seek to browbeat or bully Black men into submission in light of polls and published reports that say some Black men are jumping ship or altogether planning to sit this election out.
As a Black man I ask: So what do I have to show for being a Democrat all my life? Wasn't it the Democrats who gave us mass incarceration and harsher penalties for crack cocaine over powder white?
Wasn’t it a Democrat who during the ‘68 riots gave the order for Chicago Police to “Shoot to kill”? And the ‘68 Democratic Convention where cops and National Guardsman pummeled Vietnam War protestors red with fists and clubs—caused their blood spill? The Democrats who gave us Chicago machine politics and ill will?
Wasn’t it certain Democrats who sanctioned the murder of Black Panthers Fred Hampton and Mark Clark? Democrats who have pulled the wool over our eyes, and most often kept Black folk in the dark.
Wasn’t it Democrats who allowed Chicago’s housing projects to languish: Stateway Gardens, Robert Taylor Homes and Cabrini-Green? The Democrats who have at times treated Black folks so disrespectful and mean?
Are Republicans the only ones to engage in racist dog whistling? Remember, in 1983, when Ed Vrdolyak and other Dems abandoned Harold Washington as their nominee?
I remember those bipartisan racial embers. How some white Dems turned tail and ran to support the white Republican candidate. Whose campaign mantra rang: “Bernie Epton… Before it’s too late.”
And how many of those good white liberal Democrats, may I ask, want to live next door to “the Blacks”?
Here, in 2024, I am surrounded by the facts that suggest that even if I as a Black man now and once again vote “Black,” there is nothing to suggest it will change any of that. Matter of fact, the last time I voted Black and “for change” in a U.S. presidential race—twice—all I ended up with was a good “feeling” and pocket change.
Now here the Dems come again, whipping us in line—telling us that we should vote Black or else be ashamed. It seems to me the more things change, the more they stay the same.
‘A State of Emergency’
WITH THE ELECTION A day away, I have, honestly, contemplated not voting at all. Or perhaps writing in the name of a completely different candidate. For how do I as a Black man choose if either way I feel bound to lose? If I believe that neither candidate has earned my vote?
Neither has offered a message for the poor, for the struggling working class or the permanent underclass. Neither has put forth a comprehensive or serious plan for everyday Black men, for young brothers in the hood who daily face PTSD, for the totality of Black American males who lead in the number of homicides, suicides, premature death, and disproportionate prosecution, conviction and incarceration.
“Black men are 4 times as likely to die from suicide as Black women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.” –American Psychological Association In fact, in Chicago, according to a 2021 report titled, “The State of Health for Blacks in Chicago,” the homicide rate among African Americans is nine times higher than the rate among non-Blacks. Moreover, the homicide rate among Black men alone was more than 18 times the rate among non-Blacks, according to the report by the Chicago Department of Public Health. Black men are four times as likely to die from suicide as Black women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (Related column)
It is no less than a state of emergency for Black men. And yet, I have witnessed during this campaign no detectable empathy or, more importantly, a detailed tangible plan. Only broad cosmetic campaign promises aimed at securing our votes.
I find this as disturbing as many among the sea of faces at Trump rallies that bear the same smug or seething expressions that I have witnessed upon the faces of lynch mobs chronicled in the photographs of the book and exhibit, “Without Sanctuary: Lynching Photography in America.”
It is an old familiar look—etched also in the bloodthirsty faces of those newspaper photographs of those who stoned Dr. King as he marched through the streets of Chicago that August of 1966. Fifty years later, they bore a striking resemblance to the tiki torch toting, vile spewing white nationalists who marched in August 2017, in Charlottesville, Virginia, shouting, “You will not replace us, Jews will not replace us.” Or to the fuming mob that stormed the capital in the Jan. 6 insurrection.
I’m not suggesting that supporting Trump makes someone a racist. Not anymore than being a Black male makes me a criminal. But it is clear that so many of those who love Trump hate me and those who happen to be Black like me. Clear that Trump most resembles a divider-in-chief when what America needs right now is a uniter-in-chief.
And yet, Donald Trump did not produce this America. America produced Donald Trump. Fact is, I’m less worried about Trump and more worried about what comes after him.
Four years ago, after the Jan. 6 insurrection, I reluctantly shared a bold prediction: That Trump would be elected again. For I realized then that Trump was not the problem. America is. Not all of America. But millions upon millions of Americans voted for Trump the last time—to the tune of approximately 74.2 million votes in the 2020 presidential election, according to the Federal Election Commission.
And millions will once again choose a character-less, self-confessed sexual assaulter named Donald Trump who admitted to grabbing women by their genitals. They will choose a well-documented incessant liar who is also a felony convict (34 counts), who was twice impeached and still faces both federal and state election interference cases.
This much is also clear: That this election does not hinge ultimately on how Black men vote, but on how the preponderance of white America does. So whatever happens in the end, please don’t blame Black men. This ain’t on us.
It’s on white women who voted for Trump the first time, despite his promises to seek to reverse Roe v. Wade. It’s on white Evangelicals who pledge allegiance to Trump while embracing a theology that more resembles white nationalism than the teachings of Jesus Christ. It’s on the Democratic Party for presenting voters with an 11th hour replacement at the top of the presidential ticket rather than a candidate of our choice.
How could it be on Black men when they don’t even listen to us?
“For me, the Democratic Party emasculates Black men… And I say this because they weaponize identity,” said Nina Turner, who is African-American, a member of the Democratic Party and a former member of the Ohio Senate, speaking in a recent interview.
“…So what the Democratic Party does (is) they put Black women on a pedestal, and they say we’re the mothers of the movement and we saved the party…
“So when I talk to Black men across this country, they don’t see themselves in this party. It’s one thing to recognize the power and prowess of Black women and the sacrifices that we make. It is another thing to put us above Black men. The Black struggle—Black men and Black women have to be together. We don’t have the luxury to be separated. So I resent the Democratic Party for doing that. So Black men do not see themselves in the party…”
I don’t. That’s for damn sure.
And the sad truth is that the Democratic Party doesn’t seem to care until their political back is up against the wall and it decides to come a calling. Where I’m from, we used to call that “big pimping.” And if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it ain’t a swan. It’s still a duck.
As a Black man, sometimes you just get tired of the same old same old.
And yet, whatever happens tomorrow, in the words of that great philosopher—Kendrick Lamar: “We gon’ be alright.”
So I stand on Election Eve uncertain, bristling against the winds and the static as I embrace my sacred democratic right, still unsure of how I will vote. But I know I must. For as long as democracy and I live, I must.
Email: Author@johnwfountain.com
I hear the truth of your conflict and grieve that it is so. I am choosing the candidate that casts a vision of hope and inclusiveness which contains at least the possibility of positive change. The other I fear is a dark path where people who say "How bad can it be?" will be shocked at the answer. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with honesty. I hope you can come to a livable if not totally satisfying resolution.
So as black people, we are essentially 50 years into being a legitimate part of the political process. Even with "the right to vote" Black folks vote at around 50-60%, sometimes much less and we are only 13% of the population. We water down our political power. Yet, within those 50 years, Democratic party has become more diverse. If she wins, she will be the 2nd black president in the 25 years. That representation matters. I said all of this to say, we can't move the party from outside of it. Also, change is measured across decades. So our elderly can see change that perhaps I, in my 50s cannot. I suspect that I'll be able to see change in my 80's that my children will not. The way I see if-We have to play the long game, for our children and not showing up waters down our presence and our power even more.