Josh Fischel

Because how we’re seen and how we see ourselves matter

All around me here in Boston, preparations are being made to celebrate our nation’s 250th anniversary in 2026. The Old North Bridge in Concord, Massachusetts, where the Revolutionary War began, is being renovated. We’re planning celebrations, reenactments, lessons. 

And it feels important for the person presiding over ceremonies such as these to be someone who reflects who we are now, and who we aspire to be next. Can you imagine Trump—who shares what Stephen Colbert called a “bullet-headed incuriosity” with his pal Sean Hannity—adequately commemorating our semiquincentennial? It would undoubtedly be tacky, revisionist, and partisan. Or we could have Kamala Harris leading us, acknowledging our complicated, multifaceted history with nuance, transparency and compassion.

What about the Olympics that we’re hosting in 2028 in Los Angeles? Do you want Trump to speak or even appear at those games? Talk about bringing the vibe down. The US team in Paris was so ebullient and inclusive! How many of those same athletes would feel as motivated competing under the constant, corrupt cloud of Trump, who would try absurdly to take credit for the prowess of our medalists—plying them with fast food—while undoubtedly ignoring our Paralympians? Or we could have Kamala Harris, a genuine sports fan and a far more embraceable leader—a Californian!—at the head of our delegation. (Ditto the 2026 World Cup.)

Optics feel at once superficial and necessary. When Trump led us, he was a laughingstock, mocked by his peers. His proclamations, his demands, his hissy fits, his finger-filled ears, his adoration of dictators and authoritarians—all of it made the rest of us look bad. Imagine how dumb we’d look if, having endured four years of Trump, we somehow managed to elect him again! Kamala Harris represents hope, joy, and change—a lifting-up of one another.

And so optics lead to representation, and representation leads to influence. Here’s one example: during his eight years in office, Barack Obama appointed 325 judges to the federal bench—the Supreme Court, the circuit courts, and the district courts. Of his appointees, 41.3 percent were women—admirable golf clap for that. In his four-year tenure, Donald Trump appointed 231 federal judges; under a quarter of them were women—boos and rotten fruit at that paltry showing. As of this writing, 64 percent of Biden’s 211 appointees to the federal judiciary have been women. There is no doubt that a second Trump term would be a wonderland for white men, and a Harris administration would be a lot more representative of the country we have and want. 

When we celebrate ourselves, I want to be able to do it in a way that doesn’t feel ick, cringe, or exclusive. Kamala Harris gives us all the opportunity to proudly see ourselves as American—to appreciate how far we’ve come and have hope that we will continue toward who we want to become in the next 250 years.

Josh Fischel’s work has appeared in The New York Times, The Nashua Telegraph, The Believer, The Chronicle of the Horse, and Bean Soup. He lives with his wife and son outside Boston, where he teaches English at a public high school.