I’ve long thought that for many Americans, the vote for president is driven by psychological factors—more so perhaps than the vote for governor, senator, representative, state legislator, mayor, or dog catcher. When it comes to selecting the chief executive, some citizens are moved to choose the person who symbolizes their vision of the United States. They are picking the leader of the American tribe—the candidate who best represents their fundamental idea of the nation. This is not a job interview. Qualifications and policy positions are only somewhat relevant. When it comes to other elections, a voter might focus on who can do better fulfilling the duties of the office. After all, you want a dog catcher who can catch dogs. But for the presidency, your vote tells a story: Who is the man or woman who captures and emulates your conception of your homeland? Our president is not only the politician who runs the federal government and commands the armed forces; he or she is our chieftain, our version of a king.

But with the recent flip of the script in the 2024 presidential contest, I’m wondering if there might be a slightly different dynamic underlying this race. As has been much noted, when Tim Walz, the Minnesota governor selected by Vice President Kamala Harris to be her running mate, appeared with her at a Philadelphia rally earlier this week, he thanked her for “bringing back the joy” to politics. And the two Democrats gave speeches in which they spoke fervently about the fight they wish to wage for their priorities, but they did so without anger. “Minnesota’s strength comes from our values, our commitment to working together, to seeing past our differences, to always being willing to lend a helping hand,” Walz said. “Those are the same values I learned on the family farm and tried to instill in my students. I took it to Congress and to the state capitol, and now Vice President Harris and I are running to take those very values to the White House.”

More than one pundit reached for that cliché of politics—“happy warriors”—to describe the pair. And the trope fit. In her short time as a presidential candidate this summer, Harris has tried to promote an inclusive message that echoes what Walz was saying: We’re all in this together. Sure, the Harris campaign is not going to find common ground with anti-abortion diehards, gun-rights fanatics, or Americans who first and foremost want to shut down the border and deport the 11 million or so undocumented immigrants in this country. But her thematic vision is of community. And she and Walz assail (and ridicule) Donald Trump and JD Vance but without demonizing them and their voters.

Compare that to the Trump-Vance playbook. Their core message is anger. The other side, in their perverted view, is actively trying to annihilate America. Their enemies are evil communists conspiring to impose socialism and destroy all that is good in this country. They must be crushed. They are “vermin,” as Trump says. They are “unhumans,” as claims a book that Vance recently endorsed. They must be squashed like bugs. Trump, who has made insult-comedy a critical element of his campaigns, amplified a social media post that included an illustration of Harris’ face—with the skin darkened—on the body of an insect. After Harris named Walz her veep pick, Trump declared, “Tim Walz will unleash hell on Earth”—as if Walz is the envoy of the apocalypse.

We’ve all become a bit inured to Trump’s hateful exaggerations. But they are essential for the GOP ticket—no matter how absurd. Walz has been the governor of Minnesota since 2019. The state is no hellscape. In fact, it is ranked the third happiest state in the nation. Under what version of reality could we expect Walz, a former high school social studies teacher and football coach who grew up in a small town in Nebraska and worked on his family farm, to “unleash hell on Earth”? But Trump’s goal is not to accurately critique a political rival. It is to keep hatred whipped up. When you’re propelled by anger, you say dumb shit. And when you’re relying on the politics of division, you do all you can to delegitimize and other-ize your foes.

Vance, who once positioned himself as a reasonable center-right public intellectual who slammed Trump (as “heroin” for aggrieved Americans) but respected his voters, has been eager to join Trump’s hate-a-thon. Campaigning in Atlanta a week ago, he lambasted the Democrats: “They couldn’t beat him politically, so they tried to bankrupt him. They failed at that, so they tried to impeach him. They failed at that, so they tried to put him in prison. They even tried to kill him.” The Democrats did not try to kill Trump. There is no evidence the would-be assassin who shot at Trump at the rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, was motivated by politics. Yet here was Vance cavalierly making this claim to diabolize the Democrats.

Much of politics is us-versus-them. But for Trump and Vance, the line between us and them is fixed, and those on the other side are heinous and malicious. They are a pernicious threat. They deserve no quarter. (Elon Musk idiotically called Harris a “communist” this past week.) And in this Manichean depiction of American politics, fury is justified. If you think the Dems, the libs, the elites, antifa, BLM, and woke corporations are all scheming together to devastate the United States, rage and resentment are appropriate, and there ought to be no compromise with these traitors.

Harris and Walz are more inviting. Join us to work together to strengthen America, they say, and we can bolster freedom, opportunity, and security for all. Yes, to do so means beating back Trump and the forces of MAGA that threaten the rights and economic well-being of many Americans. But let’s do this with a positive spirit.

So there is a stark choice between these two teams: angry and happy. Which side do you want to be on? The change in the Democratic ticket makes this delineation clear. Not every voter will approach the decision this way. But the election now poses the question: What tribe do you want to be part of? The one that emphasizes acrimony and rancor and sees America as a dark place on the precipice of collapse? Or the one that promotes joy in politics and celebrates a communal spirit? How one answers this question might have much to do with how he or she views the world and their place in it. That is, psychological factors.

There is much that will go into determining who wins this titanic face-off in November. In the past few days, the Trump-Vance camp has tried to Swift Boat Walz by challenging his account of his military service—which is quite rich given that Trump escaped the Vietnam draft with the cooked-up excuse of bone spurs and that Vance’s overseas tour as a Marine was as a public affairs specialist. (Remember, Chris LaCivita, the co-manager of the Trump campaign, ran the defamatory Swift Boat crusade against John Kerry in 2004.) And there’s no doubt that Trump and his allies will spend hundreds of millions of dollars to hurl tons of mud at Harris and Walz, hoping that something—be it true or false—sticks.

Yet one basic current in this campaign—which could determine the future of American democracy—is how it feels to be on either side. Do you want to be with the gang fueled by animosity and resentment or the squad that exudes delight and cooperation?

Joe Biden was right: The 2020 election was a battle for the soul of the nation. So has been the 2024 election, but his age-related issues and the persistence of high prices made that a tough sell while he was the Democrats’ meh nominee in a meh-versus-meh race. The Harris switcheroo returns the contest to this elemental choice, but the way she has burst out of the chute and her saddling up with America’s Dad render the contest something else as well: a referendum on America’s psyche.

Got anything to say about this item—or anything else? Email me at ourland@motherjones.com.

Sen. Paul Wellstone (D-Minn.), who died in a plane crash in 2002, was a friend. He was one of the best politicians and best people I’ve known. I relished spending time with him, especially when I could witness him campaigning. He knew how to talk to voters. No BS. No artifice. Even voters who didn’t align with his progressive politics trusted him because they recognized his authenticity and thought that he was always trying to do what he considered the right thing. He was short and balding and had a loopy smile—not Central Casting charisma for a politician—but he connected with people and believed passionately in the power of grassroots organizing. He practiced politics with an open heart and plenty of spirit. He was genuine.

So when a pal of mine informed me that Tim Walz, in a way, got his start in politics at Camp Wellstone—a training session for novice candidates set up by Wellstone Action, a nonprofit created after the senator’s death to advance his legacy—I leaped at the chance to report this out and write about it. I found that in early 2005, Walz, then a teacher and football coach in a small town, showed up at the three-day-long event to learn how to be a candidate and run a campaign. He then went on to mount a successful bid in 2006 to unseat an incumbent Republican congressman in a conservative district. In a way, Wellstone gave Walz his first boost in politics. You can read all about it here.

The judges never cease to be amazed at the depths of sycophancy among conservatives. Are they so adoring and protective of Donald Trump because they truly believe this failed casino operator and reality TV con man is indeed their political savior? Is it because sucking up to a convicted felon is highly profitable? The judges don’t know. But let’s look at Mark Levin, the right-wing commentator and Rush Limbaugh wannabe. This week, he brayed, “Donald Trump throughout his life has not demonstrated one ounce of racism.”

C’mon. Discriminating policies at Trump family properties, the Central Park Five, the birther conspiracy theory, “shithole” countries. If you need one, here’s a list of Trump’s racist actions and remarks spanning decades. Is Levin auditioning to be Baghdad Bob?

After Vice President Kamala Harris chose Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz to be her running mate, Lee Zeldin, a former GOP congressman and Trump ally who lost the New York gubernatorial election in 2022, tried to exacerbate religious division. He tweeted: “It’s amazing that despite America’s right, left, and center agreeing that Josh Shapiro was Harris’ best pick for VP, at the end of the day, Shapiro being Jewish disqualified him. It says so much about the state of today’s Democratic Party.”

Who says that being Jewish disqualified Shapiro? Or that everyone agreed he was the best pick? Zeldin is just making stuff up to libel Harris and the Democrats as antisemitic. This is foul business.

Donald Trump thought he was being clever when he came up with a new nickname for Harris: “Kamabla.” What is this supposed to mean? It seems juvenile and maybe somehow racist that he won’t refer to her accurately or respectfully. To explain this insult, Steven Cheung, a Trump campaign spokesman, posted on social media a diagram that placed him in contention this week:

It’s as if Beavis and Butt-Head are handling strategic communications for the Trump campaign. S.V. Dáte of HuffPost pressed the Trump team for a better explanation of this silly insult. The top two campaign aides, LaCivita and Susie Wiles, did not respond to his queries. Cheung replied with a single word: “Kamabla.” When Date repeated his question several times, Cheung responded the same way. These people.

It was another Trumper who took the prize this week: Stephen Miller, the white-nationalism-aligned former Trump White House adviser. After Walz was selected, he said: “Under the Harris-Walz plan, they’re going to turn the entire Midwest into Mogadishu. That’s their plan. That’s their policy. I don’t think there’s a market for that in the United States of America.”

Miller was referring to Walz’s previous support for the resettlement of Somali refugees in Minnesota. But this hyperbolic fear-mongering—the entire Midwest?—smacks of racism. For playing the race card so heavy-handedly (yet again), Miller is our winner.

In response to the issue that examined fun as an often overlooked and critical factor in politics, Larry Roth emailed:

I was at a flea market on Saturday, and there were several booths selling Trump merchandise among the usual stuff. I don’t know if this is “fun” in politics—more like some kind of fandom, like supporting a sports team or a band. It seems like some proportion of Trump supporters don’t really care about what he says or plans to do. It’s not about politics or ideas. It’s more like a lifestyle for them. Or a cult.

Is this a passing fad or are we seeing something comparable to Peronism or Maoism—a cult of personality? Someday Trump will die. Will people still be buying Trump hats and t-shirts after he’s gone? Is this going to become something like the toxic myth of the “Lost Cause”?

 I’m attaching a couple of photos from the flea market. “Women for Trump” seems like a tough sell, but what do I know? And I can’t believe the bloody Trump photo is now a flag.

For some Trump supporters, devotion to him does seem to combine fandom and religious fervor. While we are hyper-focused on what will happen the first Tuesday in November, I also wonder how Trumpism will play out in the years ahead. Will this cult continue to be a potent political force, or might it fade once he does? Or might it morph into another political movement led by yet another demagogue?

There were many sharp messages about the issue that examined how JD Vance has incorporated racism into his right-wing populism.

Betsy Karasik wrote:

I appreciated all the info on Vance. However, I do feel that his war on women deserves to be equally front and center. His attack on "childless cat women" is part of the much larger MAGA agenda of removing reproductive freedoms, policing and criminalizing abortion, and coercing women to stay in unwanted and abusive marriages. You notice Vance hasn't attacked any males for being childless. He clearly sees childbearing as a woman's central purpose and duty.

Good point. There are no “childless cat guys” on Vance’s hit list. We know why.

Mary Bristow sent in a recommendation:

I hope you have time to read Jamelle Bouie's column in the New York Times on JD Vance's misreading of The Lord of the Rings.

I did, and Jamelle did a fine job of explaining how the lust for power in J.R.R. Tolkien’s fantasy series parallels Vance’s own ambitious climb. Here are the key passages from the article:

In the years since he came on the scene as the author of a best-selling memoir, Vance has transformed himself from a stalwart opponent of Trump to a MAGA acolyte. Where once he denounced Trump as an opiate, he now hails him as the best, last chance to save America from decline and ruin. Vance has jettisoned old friends and old beliefs in a bid for power and influence. He will do and say whatever it takes to reach the point where he holds the power to shape the world. He will save Gondor [the kingdom].

If “The Lord of the Rings” is a cautionary tale about the desire for power and the use of power, then it is a cautionary tale that was lost on JD Vance.

Is it going too far to think of Vance as a modern-day Gollum?

“Sorry we can’t go outside and play with the ball, Moxie. There’s a tornado warning.”
“What’s a little wind?”
“And it’s pouring outside.”
“So?”
“We will get soaked.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”