Kamala Harris has always known how to read the room. Back in 2009, when she released her first book, “Smart on Crime”, she wasn’t just another California prosecutor—she was a prosecutor with a message. The title, seemingly hinting at a more compassionate approach to justice, was actually a declaration of intent: Harris was determined to make the criminal justice system truly tough, not just pretending to be tough.
But by the time Harris was running for president in 2019, the landscape had shifted, and so had her messaging. Gone was the hard-nosed prosecutor who championed tough justice; in her place was a self-described “progressive prosecutor.” Her platform called for the end of the death penalty, mandatory minimum sentences, and cash bail—positions that aligned with a growing movement for criminal justice reform. Yet, the left wasn’t entirely convinced. Critics within the progressive wing of the Democratic Party were quick to point out that her record as a prosecutor wasn’t as progressive as she now claimed. To them, Harris’s past was a stumbling reminder of the old guard of prosecutors more interested in conviction rates than in true justice reform. This played a part in her early exit from the presidential race.
Now, as she repositions herself once again, Harris has leaned back into her identity as the “Top Cop.” Her speeches are peppered with references to her record—taking down “predators, fraudsters, and cheaters”—and she draws a direct line from that experience to her ability to take on Donald Trump. “So hear me when I say,” she tells crowds, “I know Donald Trump’s type.”
Harris’s shifts in rhetoric and positioning could be seen as opportunistic flip-flopping, but they could also be viewed as a reflection of her ability to evolve alongside the changing views of American society on crime and justice. In the late 2000s, the tough-on-crime approach was still dominant, even as cracks in the system were beginning to show. When *Smart on Crime* was published, one in four Americans expressed little confidence in the criminal justice system. A decade later, as Harris ran for president, that number had grown to more than one in three. By then, there was bipartisan support for reform, with a significant portion of Republicans acknowledging that the system was skewed in favor of the wealthy and that it often failed to deliver true justice.
However, the past few years have complicated the narrative around criminal justice reform. The killing of George Floyd in 2020 ignited global protests against police brutality and systemic racism, bringing the issue of reform to the forefront once again. At the same time, the events also brought images of chaos—burning police precincts and Molotov cocktails—into the public eye, leading to a backlash against the very idea of reform. The pandemic, with its surge in violent crime, only added to the sense that the system was in disarray. And for the first time in history, a former president—Donald Trump—was criminally convicted, further polarizing opinions on what justice should look like in America.
For someone like Harris, who has spent her career navigating the shifting tides of public opinion on crime, the moment is a challenging one. Her return to a tough-on-crime stance seems almost inevitable, especially given her opponent’s legal troubles. But it also raises the question of whether this shift signals a broader return to the politics of “tough on crime” that dominated the 1990s and early 2000s.
The roots of the reform movement, after all, were planted in the failures of those earlier tough-on-crime policies. The 1990s saw a wave of harsh laws—mandatory minimums, “three strikes” policies, and the like—driven by fears of superpredators and a crack cocaine epidemic. But as DNA evidence began exonerating wrongfully convicted individuals and the beating of Rodney King highlighted police brutality, it became clear that the system was deeply flawed. Over the years, study after study exposed the racial disparities, the inhumane conditions in prisons, and the fact that harsh sentencing did little to deter crime. By the late 2000s, the U.S. had the highest incarceration rate in the world, a dubious distinction that fueled calls for reform across the political spectrum.
Reform, once seen as a liberal cause, had by the late 2010s become a bipartisan issue. Even deep-red states like Texas and Georgia began passing reform packages aimed at reducing incarceration rates and addressing the root causes of crime. Progressive prosecutors were elected in cities across the country, and new laws made it easier to expunge old convictions and keep juveniles out of adult courts. The momentum seemed unstoppable—until it wasn’t.
The backlash against reform has been swift and severe, with calls to “defund the police” proving so unpopular that they likely contributed to Republican gains in recent elections. Progressive prosecutors like Chesa Boudin in San Francisco faced recalls, and states like Louisiana and Maryland rolled back juvenile justice reforms. Meanwhile, gun homicides surged, and public anxiety about crime returned to levels not seen in years.
Now, Harris’s pragmatic repositioning might be less about ideology and more about survival. As a candidate, she reflects the conflicting views of a nation still grappling with how to handle crime and justice. While her tough-on-crime rhetoric may resonate with some voters, it’s clear that the criminal justice landscape has changed too much for a full return to the policies of the past. The reform movement, though battered, is far from dead. Voters still largely support alternatives to incarceration, and many police departments have implemented changes that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.
Harris’s ability to read the room may once again serve her well.
