When she first ran for president, Kamala Harris launched her candidacy with a flashy rally that packed downtown Oakland with more than 20,000 enthusiastic supporters.
It was a heartfelt nod to his birthplace and a nod to the city's aspirational history.
But the feeling wasn’t necessarily mutual. To some — aware that Harris had moved on and made a name for herself across the bay in San Francisco — the image rang hollow. It was as if a rarely seen relative showed up at a wedding to give an elaborate toast and then showed up in photos.
“It was a political move,” Oakland resident David Omosheyin scoffed as he walked across the nearly empty City Hall plaza a month after Harris’s big party in 2019.
In her latest sprint-like bid for the White House, Harris once again embraces Oakland as an integral part of her identity. The soul. The determination. The vitality of the rainbow.
This time, however, local feelings are different.
If the vice president and new Democratic standard-bearer wants to wrap herself in the aura and energy of Oakland, many in this proud and struggling city are happy to accept the accolade.
“It’s nice to see a candidate we can relate to,” said Deb Tisdale, 71, who has a part-time administrative job at City Hall and lives at the crossroads of Oakland Hills and Flatlands, a social and geographic divide that defines the city and which Harris notably mentioned in her convention speech. “It’s nice to see that she put Oakland in the spotlight.”
“Local kids do good,” said Fred Haliburton, 57, who works in the city's finance department and lives in East Oakland.
Harris's relationship with the city is complicated, or at least requires some explanation.
Although born in Oakland, Harris grew up primarily in nearby Berkeley (he also made stops in Evanston, Illinois, and Madison, Wisconsin). He moved to Canada at age 12, where he attended high school. After graduating from Howard University in Washington, he attended law school in the Bay Area. In 1990, Harris began his professional career in Oakland as a local prosecutor.
Ten years later, she crossed the Bay to work in the San Francisco City Attorney’s office. In 2003, Harris was elected San Francisco District Attorney, launching a political career that took her to Sacramento as state attorney general and, from there, to the U.S. Senate.
Currently, when Harris is not living in the vice presidential mansion in Washington, she resides in the Brentwood neighborhood of Los Angeles.
That frequent change of address makes Harris unlike many migrant Californians, but it does make her connection to Oakland somewhat fleeting.
“I think of it as the ‘Bay Area,’” said Kelly Pschirrer, 52, an Oakland Hills resident, citing the political and cultural similarities that blur the lines between the cities of Oakland, Berkeley and San Francisco, which are so close to each other. “We’re all connected here.”
Politically, Harris’s decision to affiliate with Oakland is not hard to understand. The city is not as pretentious and snobby as San Francisco (which considers itself The City, with a capital “T” and a capital “C”). Oakland also does not have the leftist, hippie reputation of Berkeley (the “Berzerkeley,” as some call it).
By contrast, the city has long been a disadvantaged municipality — an image that Harris, who has made the word “struggle” a key part of her campaign, is eager to project.
Of course, not everyone here is enamored with the “daughter of Oakland, California,” as Harris now calls herself.
Bella Ramir, 37, who lives in the hills and works in criminal justice mediation, is no fan of Donald Trump. “But at least you know what you’re going to get with him,” said Ramir, who plans to vote for the Republican candidate instead of Harris. “I know the answer he’s going to give me is real. With Kamala, I feel like I have to guess what her true intentions are.”
Aether Cavendish, an artist who lives across the water in Oakland's bustling Jack London Square, wondered whether the vice president's celebration of the city was more calculated than sincere.
“It’s all buzzwords and catchphrases and memes now,” Cavendish said, as she stood outside the Alameda County Courthouse, where Harris once prosecuted sex crimes. “If I were in her shoes” — as a Black and Asian American woman who made history — “and I wanted to play the inclusion card, I would tell people, ‘I’m from Oakland. It’s a great place. Look how far we’ve come.’”
(Having no faith in the political system, Cavendish, 53, has no intention of voting in November.)
On a recent sunny morning, the square in front of City Hall was slowly coming to life.
A lively game of dominoes was underway at a card table on the sidewalk, while loudspeakers blared hip-hop music. Beyond a row of boarded-up storefronts, a work crew arrived and began setting up canopies and chairs on the expansive front lawn. Purple and white balloons lent a festive air; the gathering place was meant to commemorate International Overdose Awareness Day.
It was a reminder of the joyful spirit and deep issues that make Oakland such a welcoming and disconcerting place.
“It would be better if the city was in a better position,” Haliburton said of his moment of national notoriety.
As he left his office, Haliburton pointed to the spot where his new car was recently stolen in broad daylight. “As everyone knows, the crime rate is not very high right now,” he said. “Our mayor is facing recall. There are a lot of things that are not right in Oakland.”
Haliburton realizes that as president, Harris would have to worry about an entire country. Still, he said, perhaps the city could benefit.
“Maybe,” Haliburton said, “just maybe, somehow, that will trickle down and she’ll say, ‘Oakland really needs help. ’ And something positive will happen.”
Pschirrer, on a break from his post at the public works department, said that at the very least, Harris leading the Democratic ticket means the city could become known for something other than the ills — murders, shootings, alleged civic corruption — that produce one depressing headline after another.
“We have a big heart in this city and a lot of things to offer that you don’t hear about in the news,” Pschirrer said. He held up his hands and crossed his fingers. “Yes,” he began. “No, when, [Harris] “When someone becomes president, maybe we can change some of the images that people have in their heads and transform them into something positive.”
For many here, eager to do better, voting for Harris is not just a matter of civic pride, but an act of hope and faith.
It turns out you can go home again.
