Kamala Harris will be fine; she’s a Californian

Lord knows, you shouldn’t trust Kamala Harris — she is both a politician and a lawyer, two professions that have earned your skepticism. But you should trust the Golden State that made her — as a proving ground for navigating the endless complications of 21st century life.

Is there any better preparation for running a country as insane as the United States than a political career in a state as crazy as California?

Let’s say you were put in charge of producing a vice president, which is to say, a person who could be president. Where better to raise her than the Berkeley of the late 1960s and ’70s? Just by moving around the city, you would expose her — as Kamala Harris’ mother did — to all kinds of people, rich and poor, activists and academics, those with brilliant ideas for changing the world, and others who were offtheir-rockers. You would make hers a mixed-race family, and her parents would be immigrant scholars to give her the broadest perspective on America.

For work, you’d have her start as a prosecutor in Alameda County and San Francisco, so she could see the horrors that ensue when societies and families fail. And you’d assign her to the most wrenching cases, involving domestic violence and child abuse, so she could understand the depths of human vulnerability.

To steel her for America’s nasty politics, you’d have her launch her electoral career in San Francisco, with the toughest political culture of any city in the state. You would not give her an open seat, but rather force her to beat an incumbent district attorney — her former boss — in a tricky three-person race. You’d have her stay close to the local political machine while also forcing her to figure out how to separate herself from insiders like Willie Brown and how to collaborate with reformers.

And once she’d triumphed in San Francisco, you’d send her to Los Angeles. You’d have her run for state attorney general against a very popular district attorney, a Los Angeles Republican named Steve Cooley, who had locked up the endorsements of all the state’s law enforcement organizations. And because a Republican who wins Los Angeles wins statewide, you’d have her all but move to a city where almost no one knew her name, and make her find a way to beat the hometown boy in his hometown.

You’d send her, victorious, to Sacramento, where she would work with the most experienced governor in history, Jerry Brown, and learn how to get things done quietly. Her work as attorney general also would force her to learn the whole California nation-state, with hyper-complicated regions than most states.

Then you’d have her run again, statewide, for the U.S.

Senate. And you’d put her in a strange top-two system that would have her competing not against a hapless Republican — but rather against another popular Democrat, from the state’s largest ethnic group.

And in surveys just a few months before the November election, you’d have Kamala Harris — the leading Black politician in a state with a small and declining Black population — losing Latino votes by 25 percentage points to Loretta Sanchez. But then she would dig in, and by November, she would have figured out how to be more popular with Latinos than her opponent.

Through all of this, she would taste every flavor of California crazy, while retaining her powerful calm, and her sense of humor.

Of course, so many varied and challenging experiences also would make her cautious, and disciplined about protecting herself from attacks. And in a polarized time, such caution — even coming from, by voting record, the second most progressive person in the U.S. Senate — would sometimes look like moderation. This would be quite a distinguishing trick, at least in California. Most people here like to sound progressive but are actually quite moderate, while she would manage to look like a moderate while being quite progressive.

But the appearance of moderation would draw its own attacks, from progressive partisans, and end her presidential campaign before it got started. Of course, abandoning her presidential campaign — a first defeat — would allow her to regroup, to forge new alliances and address weaknesses, and to win the vice-presidential nomination.

And she would be ready for whatever came next. California, after preparing her for nearly all her life, had already made sure of it.