The Democratic National Convention 2024 in Chicago was a spectacle, a carefully choreographed parade — it has always been a stage for storytelling, a platform where narratives are woven to inspire, to console, and, most importantly, to galvanize a fractured electorate. This year’s convention was no different, with the Democratic Party pulling out all the stops to paint a picture of hope, unity, and resilience against the looming shadow of Donald Trump.
Barack Obama and Michelle Obama’s return was a nostalgic balm, survivors of sexual abuse shared their stories, the Exonerated Five brought their hard-won truths, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’ fiery speech injected youthful idealism, and Joe Biden delivered a teary farewell. But amidst these compelling stories, the crowning story of Kamala Harris — a Black woman, the daughter of immigrants, and the first woman of colour on a major party’s presidential ticket — was positioned as the heart and soul of the Democrats’ pitch to a divided nation.
But this story crafted to inspire Democrats is more problematic than it appears at first glance.
Sure, Kamala Harris’s story, as presented at the DNC, is one of triumph over adversity, of breaking racial and gender barriers to realise the so-called “American Dream.” But her story is embedded in a colonial framework that remains unchallenged by the very candidate who claims to stand for change. Harris is the daughter of a Jamaican father and an Indian mother, both hailing from nations whose histories are marked by brutal colonisation, exploitation, and resistance against imperial powers.
Jamaica’s history, brutalised by British imperialism, is soaked in blood and resistance. The Maroons’ War in the 18th century – where enslaved Africans fought for and won their freedom – stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of those who refused to be subjugated.
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India’s struggle for independence too bears the scars of centuries of colonisation and genocide. While India’s freedom struggle is often romanticised as a Gandhian triumph of non-violence, which it is, yet this narrative in the Western circle conveniently overlooks the parallel armed uprisings, starting with the revolt of 1857, that challenged the British Empire’s hold on the subcontinent. Indian freedom fighters, branded as terrorists by the British Empire (and their enablers, allies, historians), fought them tooth and nail.
These were not just resistance movements.
These are the legacies that shaped Harris’s ancestry – a lineage of defiance against imperial powers and existential battles against a dehumanising force that sought to strip entire peoples of their identity, dignity, and future.
Harris, who has often spoken of her parents’ roots and the struggles they faced, should be acutely aware of the legacy of colonialism. Yet in her acceptance speech and her political stances, there is a glaring dissonance.
Harris’s declaration that she will defend Israel’s “right to defend itself” at the expense of Palestinians’ freedom and right to self-determination is a blatant contradiction to the histories of resistance that shaped her own lineage. What, exactly, is Israel defending itself from?
The Palestinian people, who, like the Maroons and Indian freedom fighters, are resisting their own colonisation, fighting against a 10-month-long onslaught and murder of more than 80,000 Palestinians, including babies, mothers, and elders? Does the Jewish people’s right to live contradict Palestinians’ right to live and self-determination?
The idea that one group’s right to safety and existence should inherently trump another’s is a remnant of colonial philosophy. It assumes a hierarchy of humanity, where the aspirations and rights of one set of people are seen as more legitimate, more worthy of protection, than those of another. This mindset has justified centuries of oppression, displacement, and violence in the name of “security” or “civilization.”
The parallel is hard to ignore, yet it is dismissed in Harris’s rhetoric, which aligns more with the colonial oppressor than with the oppressed. This irony is as obtrusive as it is painful, a betrayal of the very histories that brought her to this moment.
Kamala Harris supporters at 2024 Democratic National Convention. Photo: X (Twitter)/@DemConvention
The “American Dream” that Harris has ostensibly achieved is itself a colonial construct – a storyline masking systemic oppression behind the pretence of meritocracy. It is a dream that demands hard work and perseverance, yes, but one that is also built on the erasure of systemic barriers, the silencing of racial inequities, and the perpetuation of a meritocratic myth. This dream, far from being a beacon of hope for all, is a tool of control, and ensures that only those who conform to its colonial standards – standards set by a white, capitalist, patriarchal order – can succeed, rise.
Kamala Harris’s nomination is not the radical breakthrough as it is being touted. It is a continuation of the status quo, a perpetuation of the same white supremacist systems of power that have long oppressed people of colour, not just in the United States, but worldwide.
The fact that Harris’s candidacy is seen as radical speaks more to the colonial attitudes still pervasive in American society than to any genuine progress. If her story truly represented a break from the past, there would be no need for the cautious talk of whether America is “ready” for a Black, gay or women candidate. The very fact that such discussions are necessary exposes the hollow nature of the so-called revolution Harris represents.
In truth, Kamala Harris’s rise to political prominence is less a symbol of progress and more a case of tokenism – an attempt to placate calls for diversity and inclusion without challenging the underlying structures that maintain white supremacy. It is a gaslighting tactic: a way to blunt criticism by putting a Black face at the forefront of a system that remains fundamentally unchanged.
So, no, Kamala Harris does not represent a revolution.
She is not the embodiment of a new, inclusive United States. She is, instead, a reminder that the colonial dream is alive and well, dressed in the language of progress but entrenched in the same oppressive ideologies that her parents and ancestors fought to escape.
Her presidential nomination, far from being one of liberation, is evidence of complicity — a tale of how the colonial legacy endures, now cloaked in the skin of those it once oppressed. And as the DNC wrapped up, it became clear that the true story of resistance, freedom, remains buried beneath the sanitized rhetoric of a party that promises change but delivers more of the same.
Pius Fozan is a photojournalist and public policy graduate from the Willy Brandt School and Central European University.
