The Illusion of Purity: Why Black People Chose Harris Over a Hollow Vote for Stein

For those who see third-party voting as a litmus test, let’s talk about real impact, compromised allies, and the fight for change within a flawed system.

It’s no surprise that casting a ballot for Biden—and eventually Harris—wasn’t easy for a lot of folks. The Democratic Party has long postured itself as the party of marginalized communities, of women, people of color, trans and queer folks. The party that, historically, championed “the people,” or at least tried to give that impression. Yet, now we’re watching as they make a subtle but clear pivot toward the right, seeking alliances and policies that alienate those who have always fought hardest for the party’s survival and success. I get the hesitation, the sense of betrayal, even the disappointment.

I, too, cast my vote for Harris. Not because I was under some illusion that she was everything I wanted in a candidate, but because, at the time, she seemed like the best option available. I truly believed—and still believe—that it’s sometimes better to elect an “enemy” who might be moved, who might be pushed, than to throw our weight behind a candidate with no chance of winning, or someone who represents an agenda that is already poised to roll back what little progress we’ve fought for. But given the election results for a second Trump term, the stacking of the courts, and the expanded powers the Supreme Court has now claimed, the future looks bleak. We face a likely Republican House and Senate, and it’s clear that our political landscape is shifting even further away from what many of us were willing to fight for.

I understand why people felt disillusioned with the Biden-Harris ticket. It’s hard to rally behind an administration that has deepened U.S. support for regimes that enforce violence against “the othered” (Palestinians, Arabs, and Muslims more broadly)—from Netanyahu’s government to American policies here at home that continue to stifle marginalized voices. And while Biden’s administration cloaks its actions in polished language, the underlying policies have been just as damaging, if not more so, than the bombast we saw from Trump.

Third-party Green Candidate Jill Stein garnered only 660,317 votes, representing a mere 0.5% of the popular vote, and she received zero electoral college votes. While I can understand the personal conviction that led some to support a third-party candidate, the reality is that Stein’s campaign simply didn’t have the backing to make an impact in our current system. Without allies in Congress or any institutional support, there was no feasible path for her to achieve her agenda. Voting in a way that offers no practical leverage within our government does little to shift the policies that affect marginalized communities every day.

For those treating this decision as a litmus test for progressive values, it’s worth scrutinizing Stein’s choice of running mate, Butch Ware. Ware’s record includes transphobic rhetoric and, in a recent interview, he suggested that abortion should be restricted, possibly with a ban after 16 weeks. Not only does this undermine the idea of women’s control over their bodies, but it also disregards why many late-term abortions happen—often due to life-threatening complications like ectopic pregnancies. For those fixated on purity tests, it’s essential to look beyond political branding and see if a candidate and their policies truly align with the values we claim to support.

Returning to foreign policy, we’ve seen this double bind in action: Trump’s approach is open, unapologetic bulldozing, while Biden’s maintains a veneer of respectability but upholds the same violent American supremacist status quo. Both claim to promote “stability” or to serve America’s interests, yet neither can reckon with what true justice and equality would demand from our foreign and domestic policies. For marginalized people, both here and abroad, this often means facing an America that sides with those who assert power by suppressing others.

So when I think about Project 2025, I don’t see it as a shock or an aberration. It’s the natural continuation of a system that always places power above humanity. It’s the ugly face of a long-standing tradition that America has honed over decades, centuries even—a system that views those it doesn’t understand as expendable. For many of us, the decision to vote isn’t a wholesale endorsement of the people in office. It’s a tactic, a way to choose which battles we think we have the best chance of winning. But given where we’re headed, with the courts stacked, freedoms redefined, and the political landscape skewed right, it’s becoming harder to tell which battles those will be.

We’re all collectively oppressed by a system that thrives on our division, and one of the biggest challenges for the Democratic Party—and the left, more broadly—is coalition building, creating spaces where we can see ourselves in one another. As a Black person, this election felt deeply personal, and I wrestled with whether to abstain from voting. For many of us, genocide is a red line, and we’ve seen enough to know that Black people in the U.S. are consistently the country’s most progressive voting bloc. For so many in the working class, for young, feminist, and queer Black communities, our support isn’t automatic; it’s conditional, and it’s tested every election cycle. And yet, as the election drew closer, Trump’s rhetoric about intentionally targeting our communities became an unavoidable threat. He spoke of empowering police, dismantling already fragile protections, and orchestrating mass deportations on a scale that would affect 11 million people, with over 90% of those coming from Caribbean, Latin American, South American, and African countries.

Some argued that both campaigns were morally compromised on foreign policy—an argument I deeply understand—but I felt that the Harris campaign, however imperfect, offered at least a small measure of resistance. They set up weak, often insufficient, guardrails against Netanyahu’s aggression, gestures that weren’t enough but were something. For Black people, our interests were tied to this election in ways that couldn’t be ignored; we’re the most incarcerated, the most affected by poverty, and among the hardest hit by police violence. Now, with the outcome, we’re likely to face the brunt of these policies and the emboldened forces that have long preyed upon our communities. In a system that insists on marginalizing us, our vote becomes not just a choice but a matter of survival, however limited the options may be.