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When Vice President Kamala Harris strutted into the “sleepy” town of Douglas, Arizona, in September, the locals were understandably thrilled. After all, nothing says “we care” like a presidential candidate dropping by — like a distant relative showing up at your door after years of silence, bringing only empty promises and a box of stale cookies.
Among the unwitting audience were three young amigos, Felix, Cáñez, and Pacheco, who were caught off guard by this rare administrative phenomenon. Felix saw the border as just another day in paradise, while Cáñez lamented the invisibility of their “adorable” town, nestled in a desert of political apathy. Enter Harris, with her grand gestures and stricter border policies — just what every town needs before an election, like a sparkly new Air Force One to distract from the tumbleweed of issues blowing through the streets.
With Election Day nipping at their heels, both Harris and her frenemies, Trump (the man who thinks ‘border policies’ are a spectator sport), have been furiously trying to sweet-talk Latino voters — because nothing screams authenticity like a couple of politicians acting like they know the difference between a quesadilla and a taco.
In lands like Reading, Pennsylvania, dubbed the “Latino Belt” — who knew that was a thing? — the demographic skews heavily towards Latin heritage, with families likely to have up to five relatives living off instant ramen from the clearance aisle. Meanwhile, locals squint at the option of either candidate—neither of whom has much more than stock photos of handshakes with people who aren’t wearing the last year’s style.
Despite all the colorful outreach campaigns, one determined resident aptly pointed out that snapping selfies with the border wall solves about as many problems as a chocolate teapot. Enrique Castro, a Puerto Rican voter, summarized the absurdity quite nicely: “Please, keep your campaign photo ops! How about an actual plan instead of just posing against a structure most of us see as a monument to gating our futures?” Wise words, Enrique.
The Harris campaign is so deep in the weeds of identity politics it might as well name the next policy draft “Diversity-Ville.” They’ve launched a “micro-targeting” effort, complete with fancy names like “Boricuas con Kamala,” as if Latinos don’t already have enough to navigate without needing a personal branding consultant. What’s next? Mentorship programs with “Gringos con Harris”?
In the echo chamber of competing strategies, both candidates are waging a war of fancier rhetoric rather than change. Trump‘s red-hot rallies still manage to ignite fears about an “invasion,” mixing candor with a sprinkling of chaos like seasoning on a bad taco. Claims of conquering — now that’s a fun twist on a campaign slogan!
As the demographic tapestry grows more complex, it becomes ever clearer that these crowds are more likely to consider which politician will actually deliver a slice of pizza rather than just a few more photos of them grinning in front of murals.
In the end, three hopefuls at a community college simply waited outside, eyes peeled for Harris — praying for an epiphany, a miracle, or maybe just a free pen — anything to quell the feeling of being perpetually ignored. “We still hold our breath for something new,” said Pacheco, looking for meaning in a time when the only things rising are inflation and unemployment. Because if this election isn’t about rediscovering the soul of politics, then why bother?
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