Kamala Harris’ memoir, “107 Days,” has ignited a fierce backlash from Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, who has dismissed her claims as “bullsh–” and “blatant lies.” This public spat reveals a deeper, more troubling narrative about Harris’s understanding of the political landscape and the potential consequences of unfiltered memoir writing.
Shapiro’s memoir threatens to inflict further damage on Harris. Within its pages, he recounts an episode that raises serious ethical questions. During the vetting process for the vice presidency, Harris’s team allegedly asked him if he had ever been an Israeli agent. Such an inquiry not only feels clumsy in execution but also hints at an unsettling association between Jewish people and dual loyalty. The implications are serious, with even former aides of President Biden condemning the questioning as “horrifying.” This moment serves as a reminder that Harris, while aiming to position herself at the forefront of the Democratic Party, may have misjudged the sensitivity of her approach.
What stands out is that Harris, in her eagerness to establish a narrative through her memoir, may have underestimated her targets. In politics, it’s crucial to remember that any assertion made can prompt a reaction, often fiercer than expected. History is replete with examples of memoirists facing backlash from those they criticize, and Harris’s account is no different. Just as past political memoirs have provoked ire among erstwhile allies, Harris’s revelations about Shapiro could come back to haunt her.
The political memoir landscape is littered with stories of reputations at stake. In the case of Arthur Schlesinger, after his significant insights presented in “A Thousand Days,” members of the Kennedy administration were quick to express their discontent. Former First Lady Jackie Kennedy felt his revelations were too personal, while Secretary of State Dean Rusk pushed back against Schlesinger’s criticisms. Rusk, still in his role under Lyndon Johnson, made clear that he was silent in meetings to avoid feeding the gossip mill, showing that memoirs can incite a range of reactions from those portrayed.
Moreover, the aftermath of critical memoirs can be systematic. Charlie Kolb’s “White House Daze” faced collective rebuke from George H.W. Bush’s circle, leading to Kolb becoming something of a pariah. Years later, Tom Scully lamented that “Nobody’s talked to Charlie in seven years.” This demonstrates that betrayal in memoirs can create lasting schisms, turning former colleagues into adversaries.
In contrast, George Stephanopoulos’s “All Too Human” entered the political fray while Bill Clinton was still in office. Although it became a bestseller, it did not escape the wrath of Clinton’s inner circle, who labeled him a “backstabber.” This exemplifies that even memoirs released during a sitting administration can unleash a storm of criticism that reverberates through the ranks of former staffers and allies alike.
Scott McLellan’s “What Happened” aimed sharp barbs at President George W. Bush, describing actions taken by the administration as “self-deception.” Following the release, a concerted effort emerged among Bush allies to diminish McLellan’s credibility, highlighting the organized pushback that can arise from betrayed confidences.
Even established figures like John Bolton have learned the costs of being candid in memoirs. His account, “The Room Where It Happened,” not only invited harsh criticisms from President Trump but also left him vulnerable to an investigation related to classified information. It showcases how the fallout from a memoir can lead to unexpected and serious ramifications.
While memoirists often choose to protect themselves by using anonymity, the choice to name specific individuals, as Harris did with Shapiro, significantly raises the stakes. This strategic decision can invite direct retaliation, not just through public statements but sometimes through systematic exclusion from future political opportunities, as evidenced in Kolb’s case.
Harris’s miscalculation could stem from a broader narrative surrounding her political aptitude. If she had paid closer attention to historical precedent, she might have recognized the risks her approach posed. The notion that past political memoir authors have faced blowback serves as a warning: engaging in memoir writing is not merely a literary endeavor but a calculated political move fraught with consequences.
In summary, the fallout from Harris’s memoir highlights the inherent danger of personal narratives in the high-stakes arena of politics. As governors, aides, or any political figure pen their experiences, they may find that retaliation remains a common theme. Harris, now confronting Shapiro’s account, serves as a case study for the delicate dance of recounting political history, one that demands careful navigation through a minefield of alliances and rivalries.
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