In the aftermath of the most recent U.S. presidential election, political analysts dissected the reasons behind Kamala Harris’s surprising defeat. Many pointed to the stark generational divide between Harris’s campaign and her opponent’s. Harris, born in 1964, straddled the edge of the Baby Boomer generation but was too young to truly experience the seismic changes of the 1960s. Her team, composed largely of millennials and Gen Z strategists, lacked the lived experience to channel the raw emotions and cultural traumas of that turbulent decade.
Donald Trump, by contrast, had grown up during the 1960s, a period marked by civil rights marches, political assassinations, and the Vietnam War. As a young man, he witnessed the nation grappling with its identity, torn apart by debates over justice, equality, and war. That era left a lasting imprint on him, sharpening his instinct for navigating chaos and recognizing when lofty rhetoric about ideals masked ulterior motives.
Trump’s mastery of this dynamic was evident during his second-term promises, such as the release of classified files related to the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Senator Robert F. Kennedy, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. In a move that resonated deeply with older voters, Trump positioned himself as a champion of transparency, revisiting the unfinished narratives of the 1960s. He ordered the FBI, the Department of Justice, and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence to expedite the review and release of the records, framing it as a symbolic step toward healing a nation still haunted by those events.
Harris, by contrast, struggled to connect with voters who felt alienated by the modern focus on abstract ideals. Her campaign leaned heavily on themes of unity and progress but failed to acknowledge the unresolved wounds from half a century ago. For many voters, especially those old enough to remember the 1960s, Harris’s message seemed detached from the visceral realities of the time. They felt she lacked the wisdom that only comes from living through such upheaval, leaving her vulnerable to accusations of naivety.
Trump’s decision to gift the pen he used to sign the executive order to Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—the son of the late senator and Trump’s nominee for Secretary of Health and Human Services—was a calculated move. It symbolized a bridge between the unresolved past and the present, a gesture of respect to those who had lived through the trauma of losing icons like JFK, RFK, and MLK. The gesture resonated with older voters who saw it as an acknowledgment of the sacrifices made during that era.
As election night unfolded, the results revealed a stark generational split. Younger voters gravitated toward Harris’s vision of a modern, inclusive America. But older generations, who had lived through the 1960s and felt the weight of its unfinished business, sided with Trump. His ability to channel the lessons of that chaotic decade and frame himself as a steady hand in uncertain times ultimately tipped the scales in his favor.
The election underscored a profound truth: American politics is as much about addressing the past as it is about envisioning the future. For Harris and her camp, the loss was a stark reminder that ideals and principles must be grounded in the lived experiences of the people they aim to represent. For Trump, the victory reaffirmed his belief that understanding history—particularly its pain—can be a powerful tool in shaping the present.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
Trump signs executive order to release more JFK, RFK, MLK assassination files
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