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For The First Time: The 2024 Presidential Election Through the Eyes of a First Time Voter
Makenze Humphrey
It appears my faith in this country begun to flourish on the morning of July 21, 2024, when Vice President Harris announced her presidential campaign. I had never been overly cynical or pessimistic about the United States, but I wasn’t hopeful or idealistic either. I lived in this weird middle ground where our country’s dark past limited me from ever feeling patriotic but hope for the future kept me somewhat positive. This hope only grew with the announcement that I could assist in electing the first ever woman, black woman, as President of the United States. Possibility seemed to bloom in my chest, and I became a seemingly better, more civically engaged version of myself. This alter ego of mine was only emboldened by my departure to Howard University the following month and Harris’s connection to this school, as an alumna, made this election more personal, more tender.
For the first two months as a freshman at Howard University, the election was discussed at every turn and programs concerning voter registration and civic education overtook the campus. I was surrounded by Black men and woman who, like me, were ready to work hard and help Kamala Harris make it into the White House. The air was full of ambition and each passing day seemed to be fueled by a sense of purpose. Yet, while support for Harris was widespread, to my surprise, it was not unanimous.
There was a weird dichotomy between Howard students who supported Harris wholeheartedly and those who wanted to but couldn’t. Their choice to abstain from endorsing her historic campaign wasn’t based on indifference but on her concerning rhetoric concerning the conflict between Israel and Palestine. During the only 2024 Presidential Debate, when asked about the ongoing crisis across the sea, Harris said “I will always give Israel the right to defend itself” (Harris 2024). This damning answer, in my opinion, was enough for Harris to lose the support of Howard students who were morally focused on the liberation of all oppressed people and could not, in good conscience, support a candidate who would continuously fund genocide. Honestly, it should’ve been enough for me too, but I began this game of mental gymnastics where I weighed her cons against those of Donald J. Trump. When the two were put next to each other, there was no debate about who was the better candidate.
In Washington D.C, I could tell I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. It wasn’t only Howard students who were mobilized in Harris’s message and ready for country led by a woman. As I walked the streets of D.C, there was an outpour of enthusiasm for the Harris/Walz ticket. In the yard of every other house there seemed to be a sign, and some citizens even took it a step further, creating full-scale dioramas in their front lawn to make sure their political opinions were widely known. I obviously didn’t know this then, but I was living in a vacuum. A vacuum of hope, optimism, determination, and solidarity. This vacuum was sealed airtight and my excitement, as I approached the ballot box for the first time in my life, was at an all-time high.
I voted early on November 2nd at the Stead Park Recreational Center with 6 of my closest friends. The process wasn’t long, but it felt wildly monumental. I wasn’t nervous but I was highstrung. I remember how my hand shook as I darkened the circle below Kamala Harris’s name. I remember smiling as I looked at what I just did with feelings of pride and responsibility soothing my soul. I remember when an election official, who knew I was a first-time voter, shouted my name across the room and prompted everyone inside to clap for me. I remember feeling good and empowered.
The first thing I did, after doing a happy dance with my friends in the park adjacent to my voting location, was post my voting sticker onto my Instagram. It felt almost like instinct, the uncontrollable urge for everyone to know that I was a civically engaged citizen. Voting, in my generation, became a social badge of honor. If you had done your due diligence and voted, there was an egotistical urge to show that you were morally superior. I had this urge and acted on its impulses. With my post came an air of relief and the installment of a pressure I had never felt before. The announcement of my “morally superior” status due to being civically engaged welcomed an anxiety with the acknowledgment that the results of this election were out of my control. I had done my part and that was it. That was all of it. Months of anticipation, hope, and optimism had led up to a 15-minute encounter and now it was simply over. This was a hard pill for me to swallow and the lump in my throat only grew as the impending election became literally unavoidable.
Once it was announced that Harris would be hosting her election night watch party at Howard University, my college campus morphed into a national stage, adorned with bleachers, bright lights held up by cranes, and a grand stage in front of Douglass Hall. Howard became a mighty fortress and those who lived within it were confined. The election was now inescapable, and I spent the days up until November 7th avoiding the uncertainty ahead of me.
Before I knew it, it was November 7th. I had put on my Harris shirt and was prepared to spend the day in a cold sweat praying to some higher power that this election would turn out in my favor. Yet, surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous at all. I was weirdly excited and, more than anything, was grateful to be a part of history. All the previous fears I had about the outcome seemingly drifted away and I faced the day with a tentative optimism.
We waited in a line of hundreds for around 3 hours and were let into the yard a couple of hours before Harris was set to greet the party. While the collective vibe was full of optimism and hope when the sun was up, once it set feelings of unease began to creep in. These anxious sentiments weren’t unanimous or overwhelming, but you could feel the air of the crowd change as the states got closed to being called. My friends and I found a good spot and waited with fearful anticipation for the results to roll in. Once it began at 8:00pm, a new batch of states were called every hour. Each time Harris would win a state, the crowd would erupt in raucous applause and every time she lost, there was an eerie silence, full of tension. As the hours passed and the predicted states came out with their expected results, Trump stood at 170 electoral votes and Harris at 89. This when the once suppressed feelings of dread seemed to encompass the entirety of Howard University. The DJ had turned the music down and spectators, like myself, nervously discussed the chances of a Harris victory. It all came down to Pennsylvania and I kept my eyes glued on the screen, praying that she won.
It was around 12:45am when all hope had left my body. I was filled with a sickening dread that only sunk deeper each passing minute. It was like watching sand fall through your fingers and trying to grasp it. The chance of societal transformation, of dismantling the systems of oppression within this country drifted away before my very eyes. I simply could not sit and watch any longer as the promise of hope escaped us. I went to bed in pain and woke up broken by the news that Donald J. Trump had won 277 electoral votes. I wanted to scream, to cry, to pull the covers over my head, but with the help of my friends, and my mother who I had on facetime, we made the challenging decision to attend Harris’s concession speech.
The funny thing was how beautiful the weather was on the morning of November 8th. I wanted rain or conditions below 50 degrees so it could match my defeated disposition, but it was warm, and the sky was blue. We stood at the front of the stage as Harris gave her address and while my eyes were blinded by a consistent stream of tears, I could hear her unwavering words. With a sense of compassion and strength I couldn’t imagine, we were told an adage which soothed my soul and gave me the fragile chance to hope for a better future.
only when it is dark enough can you see the stars. I know many people feel like we are entering a dark time, but for the benefit of us all, I hope that is not the case. But here’s the thing, America, if it is, let us fill the sky with the light of a brilliant, brilliant billion of stars.
Kamala Harris
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Makenze Humphrey
Ryann Harrell is a freshman criminology major from Atlanta, Georgia. While law has always been a passion of hers, her first love has always been creative writing and the ability to breathe life into words.
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