When Vice President Kamala Harris accepts the Democratic nomination for president on Thursday night, her campaign will only be a little more than a month old. It’s tempting to say that it feels longer than that, given all that has happened since President Joe Biden departed the race. But time flies when you’re having fun.

The optimism, joy, and, yes, hope in the air is palpable. I’d use a word like “Obamaian” to describe the energy we’ve seen online, particularly from young people, if that didn’t sell the Harris-Walz campaign short. It’s a reminder of how quickly and effectively we can mobilize for social change, and not just when we’re trying to help a politician get a job or promotion. All that energy promises to explode at the Democratic National Convention during the course of this week. An event that once stood to have all the pep of a funeral dirge is now about to be a giant party.

I can’t join these “joyful warriors,” though, despite feeling that Harris and Walz are both excellent candidates. It’s because I can’t recall a time when I didn’t think of voting as a method of self-defense. 

I cast my first vote for president to re-elect Bill Clinton, for goodness’ sake.

That vote came in the 1996 election, about two years after Clinton signed into law the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act, known also as the “crime bill.” Four years ago, an analysis published by the nonprofit Brookings Institution noted that among the varied and valid criticisms of the crime bill is the fact that it “interacted with — and reinforced — an existing and highly problematic piece of legislation: The Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986, which created huge disparities in sentencing between crack and powder cocaine.” 

It was a recognizably bad law then, and it certainly has had explicitly racist consequences for Black Americans and other underrepresented groups since. Yet, I still voted to send both of the men behind the crime bill to the White House: Clinton, who signed it, and Biden, who drafted the Senate version of the legislation and co-sponsored it. Same as today, I did that because the alternatives were worse.

How can we in good conscience abstain and, in the process, expose our communities to the harm promised under a second, decidedly more deranged Donald Trump presidency?

Days after Biden dropped out, I talked about this with Kiese Laymon, author of genius works such as Long Division and his widely lauded memoir, Heavy. He’d recently posted to his Instagram account a nuanced but caustic message to those choosing not to vote. Recognizing those who say “they aren’t voting because they cannot stomach voting for genocide,” referencing the violence Israel is visiting upon Gaza and Palestinians, Laymon wrote, “I absolutely understand. And shut the fuck up.” 

He wasn’t saying that to the Gazans, dismissing their suffering; no, to be clear, this is about the Americans who feel as though abstaining in November will actually help those Gazans. I sensed this went beyond the words he could fit into a social media post. 

“I wanted to lead by saying that I do understand folks who are just like, ‘I cannot vote for someone who sanctions the sending of weapons to destroy people who don’t have no weapons.’ I mean, I get it. And as Black folk in this country, we should get it, too,” Laymon told me “My argument is that we also have to tie that destruction to the mining of Black life in this country, too, and then I think the conversation gets more robust.”

Neither Laymon nor I agree with Israel’s retributive military campaign, one which has now killed more than 40,000 people. But what good would withholding our vote do? I learned from my elders that sitting out an election is the quickest way to ensure a politician will ignore you. Electing Harris may very well be the best path to effectively pressuring the White House to do better, including on the Gaza crisis. Moreover, how can we in good conscience abstain and, in the process, expose our communities to the harm promised under a second, decidedly more deranged Donald Trump presidency?

To resolve that dilemma, perhaps we should focus less upon the “joyful” and more on the “warrior” Harris describes herself to be. Growing up in Mississippi, in particular, Laymon told me that “we never thought we were voting for someone who had our best interests at heart. I think we acknowledged we were going to vote for someone who was going to enact things that were going to terrorize us and other people.”

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In that respect, Laymon and I also share a less rosy view of the presidency we’d both like to see Harris win. “The job is a terrible job, right? This is what we understand,” he said. I nodded. “But my belief is that that terrible job will be done less violently by Kamala Harris than Biden, and most definitely by Trump.”

Viewing the election through such a pragmatic lens may be what distills one of the most potent arguments against Trump’s vision for America. 

This nation has any number of corrosive biases at its core, but thanks to the history of enslavement and all that has come afterward, racism remains its most pernicious — and pessimistic. But in Republicans’ indolent grasp of this country’s original sin, they submit to the conclusion that this country’s glory days lie in its past. They long for a time when a thin shroud of folksy, conservative Americana tried and failed to hide the scourges of discrimination and rampant racial terrorism.

Racism is an inherently pessimistic strategy. Harris’ rise is an indication that while voters want to see candidates understand and plan to address the harsh realities of their world, they also want to see that the candidate is hopeful. Many may see the Vice President’s policy platform, her intellect and demeanor, and her experience in government as reasons why we must elect her. 

I say “must” and not “should” simply because Harris is running against a narcissistic seditionist who pimps his assorted bigotries like a preacher hyping the prosperity gospel, promising a heaven to those who invest in hatred. Trumpism won’t stop metastasizing if he is defeated, but defeating him will stop the worst from coming to fruition.

Electing Kamala Harris is harm prevention. This strategy, admittedly, is an acknowledgment and critique of America’s flaws. The optimism at the center of her surge is belied by the fact that the reasons why we must elect her are rooted in fear. That’s okay, in a sense, because falling in love with candidates is an unhealthy thing in a democracy. It implies we shouldn’t be critical thinkers when we enter the ballot box, or afterward. 

I don’t begrudge anyone their joy, but my own passion for electing Harris stems from my passion to protect Black people from the harms a government can do in the hands of a madman. None of that brings me joy. But for now, it is enough.

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Jamil Smith is the editor-in-chief of The Emancipator. An incisive opinion writer, television producer, and cultural critic, Smith has primarily covered the intersection of politics, culture, and identity during his decades in media. He also co-hosted “One Year Later,” a limited radio series for KCRW, as well as several podcasts. In 2019, the New York City chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists awarded Smith its prize for arts reporting for his Time cover story about the film “Black...