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Harris's policies are smart on crime and centrist. I would know

I always found her approachable, but the humor and humanity she radiated in small circles were never properly expressed in her public persona.

John Diaz
| Opinion piece

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From the beginning of her rise in politics, Vice President Kamala Harris proved herself to be a pragmatist with strong principles and the political skills needed to anticipate pitfalls and learn from her missteps.

Her determination to rise above political dogma and posturing is summed up in a standard phrase: “wrong choice.” I first heard that phrase during her campaign for San Francisco District Attorney in 2003.

Harris entered the race as a clear underdog, with many expecting a rematch between incumbent Terence Hallinan, an unabashed liberal whose father ran for president in 1952 for the Progressive Party, and his challenger Bill Fazio, who was pursuing a more unconventional, hard-line approach to crime fighting.

Enter Harris: She proposes to correct a “wrong decision” by attacking Hallinan's abysmal conviction rate while simultaneously advancing the social justice issues that are so central to San Francisco's political culture. “Smart on crime” was her mantra.

She won – and governed as a centrist, increasing the conviction rate and developing innovative programs to keep young people away from crime and reduce recidivism.

A “liberal from San Francisco”? That’s too simple.

To caricature Harris as a “liberal from San Francisco,” as the Trump campaign team chants, would be to ignore the complexity of the bitter political struggle between the Democrats and the more Democratic (citywide, the brighter Democrats tend to win), nor the character traits that have enabled Harris to endure and rise over the past two decades.

Harris rose from local to state to federal politics by refusing to be pigeonholed into any one role.

In the days leading up to the announcement of her vice presidential nominee last week, pundits widely characterized it as a choice between playing it strategic (by nominating Governor Josh Shapiro of the battleground state of Pennsylvania) and appeasing a left wing campaigning for a more pro-union candidacy and more concerned about the carnage in Gaza.

It turned out to be, to put it in one sentence, a wrong choice. Her choice of Minnesota Governor Tim Walz met both criteria and, perhaps most importantly for Harris, personal compatibility.

In my work on Harris over the past two decades, I've seen how important it is for her to have people around her that she can trust. Her extended political family includes staff and donors from her first campaign who remain loyal to her.

I always found her approachable, but the humor and humanity she radiated in small circles were never properly expressed in her public persona.

Why Harris had problems in 2020 and as Vice President

During the times when she struggled – in the 2020 Democratic presidential primaries and in her early years as vice president – ​​one of the reasons she was constrained was clearly the presence of people whose own plans and ambitions did not necessarily coincide with hers.

Her first presidential campaign was often marked by conflict between East and West Coast strategists, each with a different vision, vying for her ear. Her vice president's office was initially staffed with experienced Washington aides, not necessarily chosen by her.

Now the Democratic presidential candidate is less burdened by the demands of others, and the result is reflected in the surefootedness, energy — even joy — that Harris has displayed since President Joe Biden withdrew from the race and passed the torch to her.

As someone who has conducted several one-on-one interviews with Harris, moderated two of her debates, and seen her handle a barrage of questions in editorial meetings, I know she can be thoughtful and responsive.

However, she can be cautious at times.

Harris' indecision can make her vulnerable

One of the weak points in her unsuccessful attempt to win the 2020 presidential nomination was her apparent indecision about whether to accept or distance herself from the principled and pragmatic decisions she had made as prosecutor.

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She was criticized by the right for ensuring that no one sentenced to federal death would be executed during her term – a criminal list that includes church shooter Dylann Roof of Charleston, South Carolina, and Boston Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.

She was pilloried by the left because, as attorney general, she appealed a federal judge's 2015 ruling that a long delay in the case of a murderer and rapist amounted to “cruel and unusual punishment.”

Harris was also caught off guard in the summer of 2019 when her running mate Tulsi Gabbard, then a congresswoman for Hawaii and a Democrat, cited a long list of examples suggesting that the former California attorney general had put too many people in prison and kept them there.

Another low point in the campaign was a town hall meeting on CNN, where Harris shied away from sensitive issues – should felons be allowed to vote from prison? Should the voting age be lowered to 16? Should there be reparations for slavery? Should student debt be forgiven? – with phrases like “we need to discuss that” or “we need to investigate that.”

She advocated the abolition of private health insurance, but then withdrew this demand.

It was clear that a “wrong choice” in a primary where ideologues demand certainty is not exactly a safe choice.

But Harris is also a powerful, strong speaker

Yes, Harris still occasionally gets caught up in the word salads that serve as fodder for social media. But the former prosecutor can also be forceful.

And that must be frightening for the Trump-Vance campaign team, which would undoubtedly have preferred a hesitant and confused opponent, which Donald Trump faced in the June 27 debate.

Just ask Brett Kavanaugh, Jeff Sessions or William Barr about the questions they faced in Harris' Senate confirmation hearings. Or Joe Biden in the 2020 primary debate, where Harris took him to task for his praise of two senators who support racial segregation and his opposition to school busing to integrate students.

“That little girl was me,” was her devastating comment.

Rarely mentioned, but crucial to understanding Harris, is her central role in enshrining same-sex marriage in the country's legislation.

The 2013 U.S. Supreme Court ruling, which invalidated California's Proposition 8 by a 5-4 majority, was based on the justices' reasoning that its proponents had no “direct interest” in the outcome and did not meet the standard of “personal and individual concern.”

The outcome might have been different had Harris, as Attorney General, intervened to defend the initiative, but she declined to do so, arguing that the measure's restriction of individual rights was clearly unconstitutional.

Her stance was both principled and pragmatic – and the direct opposite of her Republican opponent, whom she had narrowly defeated the previous year.

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Harris is resilient and often defies expectations

Her ill-fated attempt to become president four years ago doesn't necessarily predict what Americans will experience between now and November 5. Hers is a story of resilience, lessons learned and defiance of expectations.

Harris may be the ideal candidate to take on a former president who relies on false alternatives: Open borders or mass deportations? Free trade or America-first protectionism? Lower energy prices or a healthy planet? Second Amendment or sensible gun laws? Support the police or pardon the January 6, 2021 insurrectionists?

Rule of law or Trump rule?

With American democracy at stake, now is not the time for false choices, mere “talks,” or endless studies. Now is Harris's opportunity to demonstrate the mix of principle and pragmatism that won her the Democratic Party nomination.

American politics in 2024 is anything but nuanced. Her candidacy is a test for herself—and for an electorate accustomed to the superficiality of tribalism, biting remarks, and bad decisions.

John Diaz, editorial page editor of the San Francisco Chronicle from 1996 to 2021, now lives in Scottsdale, Arizona. This column originally appeared in the Arizona Republic. Follow him on X, formerly Twitter: @JohnDiazChron

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