Kamala or Harris? How to Thread the Needle on Politics, Gender and Race

Democratic presidential nominee, US Vice President Kamala Harris speaks during a campaign rally at the Alliant Energy Center on October 30, 2024 in Madison, Wisconsin. Harris and her opponent, Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump, are currently in a dead heat in the swing state.   Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP (Photo by SCOTT OLSON / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / Getty Images via AFP)
Democratic presidential nominee, US Vice President Kamala Harris speaks during a campaign rally at the Alliant Energy Center on October 30, 2024 in Madison, Wisconsin. Harris and her opponent, Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump, are currently in a dead heat in the swing state. Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP (Photo by SCOTT OLSON / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / Getty Images via AFP)
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Kamala or Harris? How to Thread the Needle on Politics, Gender and Race

Democratic presidential nominee, US Vice President Kamala Harris speaks during a campaign rally at the Alliant Energy Center on October 30, 2024 in Madison, Wisconsin. Harris and her opponent, Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump, are currently in a dead heat in the swing state.   Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP (Photo by SCOTT OLSON / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / Getty Images via AFP)
Democratic presidential nominee, US Vice President Kamala Harris speaks during a campaign rally at the Alliant Energy Center on October 30, 2024 in Madison, Wisconsin. Harris and her opponent, Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump, are currently in a dead heat in the swing state. Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP (Photo by SCOTT OLSON / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / Getty Images via AFP)

What's in a name? For Kamala Harris, it's a way to assert her own authority, implicitly celebrate her identity -- and blunt attacks by her White House rival, Donald Trump.
The former Republican president persists in calling Harris by her first name at his rallies -- a contrast to how he referred to the former Democratic presidential candidate, Joe Biden, either as "Biden" or sometimes "Sleepy Joe."
The 78-year-old billionaire also makes a point of mispronouncing "Kamala," telling a rally at the end of July that there were "numerous ways of saying her name."
"I said, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter what I say. I couldn't care less if I mispronounce it," he continued.
On the surface, it's just another attack by a politician famous for his belittling nicknames.
But when it comes to a woman and a person of color, Trump's insistence on referring to Harris by her first name -- and mangling it -- takes on a more insidious tone.
"Calling women leaders by their first name is often done to undercut their authority," explains Karrin Vasby Anderson, a professor of communications at Colorado State University.
As for the pronunciation, some believe Trump is attempting to "other" Harris -- and remind his supporters that her father was from Jamaica and her mother emigrated from India.
That impression becomes more pointed when created by a presidential candidate who often deploys racist and violent rhetoric against migrants, especially during an election with a growing gender divide, said AFP.
"It's noteworthy that Trump often mispronounces her name for humorous effect, tacitly implying that the notion of a Black woman with South Asian heritage running for president is worthy of ridicule," Anderson says.
"But it's also interesting that he not only mispronounces it, but he makes the claim that she doesn't know how to pronounce her own name. It's the ultimate mansplain."
'La-la-la-la-la'
Harris has turned Trump's attacks around, however -- making a point of both celebrating her first name and emphasizing how to pronounce it.
When Biden withdrew from the race in July, endorsing Harris, the campaign team's account on X swiftly changed from "Biden HQ" to "Kamala HQ."
At rallies, "Kamala" signs are waved side by side with "Harris Walz" posters, referring to her running mate Tim Walz.
In Washington on Tuesday evening, tens of thousands of people chanted the name as Harris delivered a major address with the White House lit up in the background -- creating a contrast between the solemnity of the moment and an almost affectionate note.
As for the pronunciation, the 60-year-old vice president's two great-nieces took to the stage at the Democratic National Convention in August to explain how it's done with the help of Emmy-winning actress Kerry Washington.
The trio divided the crowd up, with one side chanting "Kama" -- "like a comma in a sentence," and the other responding "la" -- "like la-la-la-la-la."
Some Harris campaign signs even read ",LA" -- a cheeky reference to the pronunciation.
Harris's first name has another version: "Momala" -- the nickname given to Harris by her stepchildren, Ella and Cole Emhoff.
'Madam President'
After Biden's dramatic decision to drop out of the race, Harris entered late and with a lack of notoriety. Making herself known by her first name is one strategy among others to bridge the gap.
It's a trick that has been used often by American politicians to create their public persona.
Progressive US Senator Bernie Sanders is often referred to by his first name, and Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg is widely known as "Mayor Pete" in reference to his former title in South Bend, Indiana.
Going by Kamala also allows Harris to sow hints of her unusual background -- and the potentially historic nature of her presidency.
"She does not need to explicitly remind people that she's a woman or that she's a Black and South Asian woman," says Kelly Dittmar, professor of political science at Rutgers University.
"She represents a kind of approach to identity in political campaigning that ... just doesn't need to be explicit."
As for the mansplaining, Harris's husband Doug Emhoff, who hopes to become the first ever First Gentleman, had a pithy comeback.
"Mr. Trump, I know you have so much trouble pronouncing her name," Emhoff said during a campaign event in August.
"Here's the good news. After the election, you can just call her Madam President."



Iraq Opens Arms to Lebanese Fleeing Israeli Attacks

Displaced Lebanese people who fled Israeli bombardment in their country to find shelter shop at a market in al-Qassem town in Iraq's central Babylon province on October 20, 2024. (AFP)
Displaced Lebanese people who fled Israeli bombardment in their country to find shelter shop at a market in al-Qassem town in Iraq's central Babylon province on October 20, 2024. (AFP)
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Iraq Opens Arms to Lebanese Fleeing Israeli Attacks

Displaced Lebanese people who fled Israeli bombardment in their country to find shelter shop at a market in al-Qassem town in Iraq's central Babylon province on October 20, 2024. (AFP)
Displaced Lebanese people who fled Israeli bombardment in their country to find shelter shop at a market in al-Qassem town in Iraq's central Babylon province on October 20, 2024. (AFP)

Israeli bombardment of Lebanon forced Mohammed Fawaz and his family to flee so often that they finally moved many kilometers (miles) away to find respite in central Iraq.

"Wherever we went, danger followed," the 62-year-old white-haired Lebanese man told AFP in the small town of Al-Qassem, sitting with his wife and daughter.

"That's when I thought of Iraq. It was the only way I could see to escape the danger after we saw death with our own eyes."

Opposite the small house where they now live, beyond a road busy with traffic, tall palm trees emblematic of Iraq's Babylon province stretch as far as the eye can see.

According to the United Nations refugee agency UNHCR, more than 19,200 Lebanese have arrived in Iraq since the escalation of hostilities in Lebanon.

The Baghdad government and Shiite religious authorities mobilized quickly to cope with the influx.

So did the Popular Mobilization Forces, an alliance of pro-Iran former paramilitary groups now integrated into Iraq's security forces.

Everyone turned out to welcome the refugees, helping them get to Iraq and also arranging accommodation.

The solidarity has highlighted the close ties between the Shiite communities of both countries.

Iraq had always welcomed Lebanese pilgrims visiting its famous Shiite shrines at Karbala and Najaf.

But now the Baghdad government, in which pro-Iran parties dominate, is also willing to signal it stands staunchly by Lebanon in the wake of daily Israeli attacks on Hezbollah strongholds there.

Fawaz is originally from south Lebanon, and moved to the southern suburbs of Beirut before later moving again to the outskirts of the capital.

- 'Invited guests' -

"We fled from place to place," the father of four said, bursting into tears when he spoke of relatives back in Lebanon.

"My displaced brothers now live in schools in different areas."

His journey to Iraq included a coach trip across Syria.

After a stopover in the Sayyida Zeinab area south of Damascus, home to a Shiite shrine protected by pro-Iran groups, their entry to Iraq was coordinated by the PMF.

Fawaz hailed what he called "the best welcome" and Iraqi generosity, especially from his host, one of many Al-Qassem residents who have opened their doors to Lebanese refugees.

He praised Iraq's government for "treating us like invited guests, not refugees".

The war in Lebanon has displaced at least 1.3 million people, according to the UN migration agency, and more than half a million have fled into neighboring Syria.

Those who opted to stay often find themselves in makeshift and under-equipped shelters set up in schools.

In other areas, their presence can sometimes provoke unease or mistrust.

Iraq has made things easier for the new arrivals by extending visas. Those with no passports are helped out with new travel documents, in coordination with the Lebanese embassy.

The UNHCR says that some 62 percent of the Lebanese arrivals are women and children, and that the children will be able to attend Iraqi schools.

Nearly half of the arrivals are being housed in Najaf and also Karbala.

The religious authorities have taken over hotels previously reserved for pilgrims.

- 'No alternative' -

Jalal Assi, who is in his forties, is now in Karbala.

"We had no alternative, and decided to come to Iraq," he told AFP, citing the "facilities offered to Lebanese".

"We hope the situation will get better and security will be restored so we can go home," he added.

Neemat Mussa, 44, originally from the south Lebanese village of Hariss, is now living in the Babylon provincial capital Hilla.

She and her husband, their two daughters and an aunt are staying in a house owned by an Iraqi police officer.

When she does the family shopping she is driven there accompanied by a local benefactor who also foots the bill.

"We chose Iraq because it's a safe place where we are not afraid," she said in a tired voice. It is her first time in the country, although her husband came previously on pilgrimage.

The warmth of Iraq's welcome cannot mask the bitterness of exile.

Mussa has lost her cousin and sister-in-law in the war, and she follows the news intently on her phone.

She weeps when she talks of their loss and of the country to which she longs to return.

"I'm in a comfortable home, and the Iraqis make sure we lack for nothing," she said, adding: "When I got sick, they took me to hospital."

"But I miss my house and my own country, my neighbors and my family. That's my real home."