Washington, D.C. — Two white boys in Trump 2024 hats crash the pro-Palestine rally on Black Lives Matter Plaza, literally. They are riding pillion on a squat Veo e-bike when they skid into the welcome sign outside St. John’s. Mistaking the crowd for liberals, the boys yell “fuck Kamala.” The crowd lustily agrees, chanting “fuck Kamala Harris” in response. Soon after, Metro police step in to end the fracas, unmoved by the newfound common ground between the parties.
After the boys wander off, a hodgepodge group of speakers address the crowd. Some call for the continuation of the intifada in Palestine, organizers for Bayan speak about imperialism and the Philippines, a formerly incarcerated man shares the joy he finds in activism. As the rally winds down, I approach one of the speakers as she hands out Welch’s gummy snacks. She’s a 28-year-old organizer from Virginia. She wrote-in Yahya Sinwar, the deceased Hamas leader, for president. Later, over text, she explains the vote as a message—less to the powers that be than to her “friends and comrades”—that she would not be complicit in genocide.
Across the way from the Palestine rally behind security fencing around Lafayette Square, a small group holds crosses and croons for Jesus over an acoustic guitar. Juan, a 23-year-old immigrant from Ecuador, holds a Jesus flag alongside his brother who embraces a large cross. Self-proclaimed history buffs, they’d driven in from Indiana in the days prior to soak in the election atmosphere and fallen in with this worship group after meeting them along the street. Although as a non-citizen Juan cannot vote, he supports Donald Trump. Unconcerned about mass deportations, he fears illegal immigration imperils legal immigrants: “if bad people come in, which is inevitable when you are not able to put the right checks and balances, people are going to blame the immigrant and its going to get tough.” The looming specter of Communism, he says, “is a lot more scary to watch than Trump using some fiery rhetoric when it comes to illegal immigration.”
The rest of the evening is subdued. Outside Crush, a LGBTQ+ dance bar along 14th street, a “cautiously optimistic” waiter cites Trump’s outsourced field operations as a boon for Harris. Along U Street, a smug group of “pro-abundance” liberals outside Sudhouse discuss the best place to buy cigarettes in the city. Inside Harlot Lounge, patrons smoke hookah while attentively watching the returns on a projector that dominates the room, while in Solly’s barflies ignore the television in the corner. A waitress at Dukem Ethiopian Restaurant tells me her vote is a secret and that the election is in God’s hands now, thus tipping her vote. A black man in a pink MAGA hat stares at his phone in the corner of the upstairs bar at Political Patties, where the walls are festooned with crass lies from past presidents: “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” and “I am not a crook.” Women stream east in large groups towards Howard to attend the Harris rally.
The last stop of the night is Capitol Fine Wine and Spirits along H Street Northeast. I ask Michael, who works the counter there, if he’s sold a lot of champagne. He says, “No. Only beer… and vodka.”
