“Historic,” the word most often used to describe Vice President Kamala Harris’ presidential candidacy, is just shorthand for the fact that in nearly 250 years of this country’s existence, no one who looks like her has ever been at the top of a major party’s ticket.
That’s got nothing to do with ability. Racism and sexism are rigorous gatekeepers of America’s halls of power. Consequently, the mere presence of a biracial Black American woman of Indian descent in the race at this stage is a challenge to the status quo. But Harris’ run is also historic in another, less discussed way.
On the campaign trail, Doug Emhoff and Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz — Harris’ husband and vice presidential running mate, respectively — embody figures rarely before observed in American life: white men who know their place.
Racism and sexism are rigorous gatekeepers of America’s halls of power.
That is to say, white men who know their supportive place and seem to occupy it without hesitation or resentment. This is the first time our national political stage has hosted two white men whose role is to passionately champion a Black woman all the way to the White House.
Obviously, it’s vitally important not to diminish Harris as the main character in this political story. But it’s still worth examining the optics presented by Walz and Emhoff, because those two white guys are defying and potentially redefining America’s vision of authority and leadership. Amid all the racist, sexist MAGA detritus that surrounds us, the Harris campaign is a necessary glimpse at what American power, equality and truly inclusive democracy could someday look like.
That redefinition would be notable in any moment, but it’s particularly important in the dark timeline we find ourselves on. Former President Donald Trump’s frequent attacks on Black women journalists and insults toward Black women lawmakers have energized masses of racist misogynists. The corrosive spillage of MAGA identity politics — in addition to innumerable anti-woman and anti-anti-racist laws, policy proposals and civil rights rollbacks — has included the absurd notion that white masculinity is in crisis.
Walz seems to have understood the assignment from the jump. During vetting interviews, Walz reportedly volunteered that he wasn’t “angling for anything else” and emphasized, “This is not about me.” Both quotes suggest Walz not only understood the level of deference and loyalty required, but also took pains to establish that he would have no issues offering both to a Black woman superior.
“Being strategically invisible or staying in the background will require a humility that many white men have never had to demonstrate,” Sheletta Brundidge, a Minnesota-based Black woman author, wrote in a Minnesota Star Tribune op-ed. “She’s going to be Gladys Knight; he will be a Pip.”
Since his selection, Walz has seemed joyful as second-in-command, radiating an ease in the role that most likely assuages the reflexive discomfort some voters — and particularly white voters — would feel seeing the boss is a Black woman.
The tendency to view Black women with suspicion and hostility remains.
The misogynist smears that might allow MAGA types to portray Walz as a “beta” for playing second banana to a Black woman are simply less effective because of his background as a football coach, hunter, gun owner and National Guard veteran. Misogynoir falsely pathologizes Black women as inherently anormal — but as an older, rural-coded Midwestern white man, Walz is regarded as almost aggressively normal — or as the headlines put it, “all-American” and an “everyman.”
The tendency to view Black women with suspicion and hostility — to interpret the mildest pleas for equitable change as inherently dangerous and threatening — remains. But the Harris campaign might succeed in moving the needle a bit on those perceptions.








