Kamala Harris’ Pronouns–How An Indian Girl Became A Bollywood Princess

Vice-President Kamala Harris, biding her time until her boss stumbles over the line, said “I am here, ready to assume the leadership of the country and fulfil the anointed course of history”.

Of course she had no idea what the course of history was or would be, but took the phrase out of her songbook, carefully curated and edited by her staff, and used it often. She wanted more than anything to be President of the United States, to assume the mantel of office with pride and dignity, and to rule with justice and vision. It was only a matter of time, she knew, until President Biden finally bumbled his way into the wings, and patience, always a virtue in politics, was now her modus operandi.

Kamala demurred in public, expressing an undeniable, absolute fidelity to her president; but in private she was the agile ferret, alert, ready, and ready to strike.  She had never really liked Joe Biden.  He was far too uxorious. toadying, and simple to be President, but the people had spoken.  They had voted for Biden because they hated Donald Trump, but had no idea what a flaccid empty suit they were electing.   Kamala knew, and although many wondered why she was attaching her wagon to such a fading, dimming star, she knew that his tumbles would lead to a fall, and her time would come.

“I am a proud woman of color”, the Vice President intoned to a crowed of supporters.  “Black, and proud of it.  A woman and proud of it. And a champion of the poor, downtrodden, oppressed everywhere.”

Of course in this day of venal, attributable ethnicity, she conveniently forgot her South Asian, Indian roots and the tradition which got her where she was.  The Upanishads, the Bhagavad-Gita, the Aryan holy scriptures, the foundation of Hindu morality and social structure, were ignored; and yet they, rather than the American inner city- based ties to a much more primitive, enslaved past, were ignored.

Closet shelves are for sorting, organizing, and prioritizing according to preference and inclination, so Kamala should not be dunned for preferring her simple, African roots to the more sophisticated cosmology of Hinduism and its moral precepts.  Color is marketable in  today’s trade.  The nature of being and the prescribed path to enlightenment and God are irrelevant – dust bin material, references to an irrelevant if not discredited past.

A journalist had the temerity to ask the Vice President about her Indian, Hindu roots., inquiring about the moral, ethical, and social traditions which might have influenced her political choices. 

“I am a black woman”, the Vice President responded; “and while I embrace all religious traditions, my heart is in black America.

“I am a woman of the inner city streets”, she said, “and I am proud of it.”

Her detractors immediately called her out for what was a clear if tacit endorsement of the culture of bling, disrespect, machismo, and anti-white animus.  She demurred, saying that while of course she didn’t endorse prostitution and drugs (the hookers and crack of ‘the bitch set me up’ days of DC Mayor for Life Marion Barry)  she valued the indigenous, righteous culture of the streets, a culture of ethnic and racial populism, a fiercely democratic way of life.  She was happy to be the poster girl of the ghetto.

This hyper-glorious racial touting would be ignored for the political pastry it was if it hadn’t occurred in woke times – a historical blip when political sanity disappeared and radical idealism became  the meme of the day. Black is everything, the whole thing, the only  thing.

 “I am the black man”, Kamala said. “His struggles are my struggles.  His blood flows in my veins”, and she went on to political prominence, trading on her middle-age Bollywood looks rather than the heart of darkness. 

The melodrama got even more drippy and treacly when the Vice President said, “I am a woman, my pronouns are ‘she’ and ‘her’, and I am wearing a blue dress”.

Of course everyone in the room knew that this devious, calculating woman was just that – a female, ambitious, political courtesan.  Her disingenuous introduction was meant to signal to all that while she was solidly, unquestionably, and deeply a woman down to her most sacred parts, she respected and acknowledged all other women who might have come to their sex in other ways.  

There is room for the cross-dressing, transgendered, alternately sexed and all other possible sexual permutations in her life and in the Biden Administration.

She brushed back her full, luxuriant hair, turned to the cameras, her face redolent, a bright lipstick chosen to set off the copper-, coffee-, and slightly mauve highlighted color of her skin.  She gave the camera her best side, then her lesser side, a full frontal, and a Bollywood smile.  Let there be no mistake about it, men found her hot, and would vote for her because of it.  AOC was no drop in the bucket.  Multiculturalism – if expressed sensually – was an electoral benefit.

Harris often thought of herself as a modern-day Hedy Lamarr, one of the most beautiful women to have ever graced the silver screen and a brilliant scientist as well, responsible for telemetry, satellite communications, and host of other significant discoveries.  The Vice-President was surely in Lamarr’s league of beauties, and while she had not discovered anything, she was a leader of the free world, a champion of democracy, an inclusive leader who would go down in history for her progressive purity and liberal faith.

Harris had winced a bit when her President nominated transgender, gender-queer, and men and women of questionable sexuality.  While she was front and center in her political commitment to sexual equality, the gender spectrum, and Free To Choose sexual politics, she was a bit queasy when it came to intimacy.  As a whole-hearted, full-throated, sexually active heterosexual woman, she wondered about those faux women in the Cabinet.  In public she always gave them the most gracious and welcoming hugs, but privately shivered at the thought of what they did after hours.

Usually a woman never given to reflection or second thoughts, she dismissed these anti-multicultural thoughts and proceeded with the President’s liberal agenda.  What she would do once he left or was removed from office was another thing, and she would cross that bridge when she came to it.  

Maybe once seated at the presidential desk in the Oval Office she would surprise everyone and go Las Vegas glitter.  She, like all little girls, wanted to be a princess and thought that to be one of those beautiful, sequined, shimmering women on the runway would be life’s dream.  Enough dowdy, sensible shoed, buttoned-up, sexless women.

Of course she would have to run the gantlet of the righteous, but as president she would be able to deal with them unceremoniously and quickly.  Rule by fiat was her secret motto, kept more under wraps than even her sexual revolutionary ideas.  What was wrong with that, especially if you were on the right side of the divide?