Love cannot be explained. The first time I saw Kamala Harris, I felt a pang in my heart, a rush of the soul that has never subsided since. Her intelligence delighted me, her smile bewitched me, her passion, her enthusiasm, her determination have made her precious and indispensable to me.
What I like most about Kamala Harris is that when you look at her, you can guess the child she must have been. You should always be wary of people whose candor and childhood innocence have disappeared from their faces; they are often austere, severe, and boring to death. They have kept nothing from childhood, as if they had come into the world already adults, almost dead.
There is nothing like that about Kamala Harris. She has kept intact the mischievousness of childhood, this propensity to go through life without ever losing a certain prettiness. She has the mischievous look of children who have already understood everything about life, both its comic side and its tragic side, the sum of the opposites on which we are dependent but which instead of overwhelming us should provoke in each of us a call to joy and cheerfulness.
Kamala Harris sparkles with intelligence. Not the haughty, somewhat pretentious intelligence of clean-cut people, but true intelligence, that palpitation of the mind capable of grasping a problem without ever giving the impression that it is costing it, as if the tranquility of a thought as fresh as dew were flowing through it. There is something infinitely spontaneous and natural about her, not naivety, but the enthusiasm of someone busy celebrating life in all its splendid diversity.
To have some mixed originsbeing a child of immigration, gives him that placid assurance typical of people who know that to triumph, one must show constant obstinacy. Nothing is ever acquired or easy for such people and when they nevertheless manage to climb to the top of the social ladder, they retain the humility of their beginnings, of those obstacles in disarray that had to be faced without ever thinking of giving up, so much so that the simple idea of failing would be tantamount to betraying the trust placed in them by the nation.
Kamala Harris seems to be as warm as she is pugnacious. Her smile that she wears in all circumstances is not a circumstantial smile but the emanation of a soul that knows both the harshness of life and its extraordinary nature. Laughter is always a facade, a way of hiding from others one’s inner turmoil, those torments that we keep inside ourselves so as not to burden others with the weight of our cracks and other despairs – a modesty that does not say its name.
I don’t know if Kamala Harris would make a good president, but if the American people ever chose her to lead the country’s affairs, she would display an eloquence that would command admiration. She would send a signal that all is not completely lost, that there are still individuals in this world capable of resisting the onslaught of infernal stupidity as Donald Trump magnifies it.
Donald Trump is a convulsive idiot whose fortune inherited from his father has allowed him to have a national destiny. Donald Trump has the arrogance of the imbecile, who thinks he knows everything about everything but knows nothing about anything. In this sense, he is the reverse mirror of Kamala Harris, her perfect opposite. Where she exalts the candor of grace, the gentleness of intelligence, he opposes her with the face of dull brutality, of filthy vulgarity, of sniveling ignorance.
We have to believe in Kamala Harris. She is the best thing that could collectively happen to us. The best.
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Source: www.slate.fr
