Dennis Lehane

Because she’s the fighter; he’s the bully

Because of the toxic masculinity of Donald Trump and his ilk, masculinity itself has gotten a bad rap. Positive masculinity, something I saw embodied by my father and uncles, all working-class immigrants, most with no high school education, was to provide for and protect those you loved without complaint. It was steeped in loyalty and dignity and extreme respect for women. It was guided by a set of fixed principles. (And beer, lots of beer.) It was, above all, steeped in the knowledge that you would be asked to do a lot of shit you didn’t want to do in your life—work overtime, take a second job, confront an intruder, maybe even go to war—to provide for and protect those less strong than you. Positive masculinity is selfless. Toxic masculinity is selfish. (And machismo is just embarrassing.)

In the current presidential race, Kamala Harris is far more masculine than Trump. She’s the fighter; he’s the bully. In her years as a prosecutor, and then as California attorney general, she not only took on the bottom-feeding sexual predators and child rapists, but she also took on big banks. And won. She angered the police union by holding to her stance against capital punishment, even in the case of a cop killer. (See: “principles.”) In her acceptance speech at the DNC, she not only took the fight to the “unserious” Trump and his running mate (“They are out of their minds”), but she went full badass when she promised to keep the American military and its “lethal” capabilities on the cutting edge. For far too long, the Left has allowed the Right to falsely define itself as strong on economics (nope), strong in war (tell it to the Kurds or, if you want him to giggle, tell it to Putin), and strong on keeping the government in check (until it comes time to ban books or have control over your own body). What Harris (and Tim Walz, too, let’s not forget Coach) has projected since the minute she entered this race is strength. Vigor. Will. And she does these things not with the repugnant narcissism of a self-serving faux billionaire, but with the forward-facing clarity of an actual public servant.

All politicians, by their very nature, are self-serving creatures, but self-service, like most things, is a matter of degree. Harris already has a vision for America that, while it’s certain to fall short of some of its ambitions, is a positive one. It’s a communal vision, one in which we come back together as neighbors and work toward healing—not demonizing—one another. Trump’s vision for America is, in contrast, relentlessly bleak and divisive. It’s the vision of an easily frightened man—frightened by Brown people, frightened by women, frightened by laws and principles, but most of all, frightened by the sneaking suspicion that if he loses to a Brown woman who represents laws and principles, he will once and for all be seen for what he has always been—a loser. Of casinos, businesses, trials, and, above all, elections.

Dennis Lehane is the author of fourteen novels, including Small Mercies.