Both Trump and Harris are swinging to the ‘center’. What does that even mean? | Moira Donegan

Who, exactly, could be an undecided voter in 2024? It's not as if the candidates do not draw a sufficient contrast. There can be few people alive these days, let alone few registered voters in America, who do not know much more than they ever thought they would about the habits, history, and inner psyche of Donald Trump, who has now been a singularly domineering force in national politics for nearly a decade. The Harris campaign has been trying to play their candidates' comparative newness on the national stage as an asset, rigorously keeping her from saying much of substance, but Kamala Harris, too, is by now a well-known figure: once a popular and high profile senator from the country's biggest state, she moved on to a busy, energetic, and extremely visible vice presidency.

The candidates are about as familiar to Americans as they're going to get; anyone still saying they are "undecided" now, just four weeks out from the election, seems like the sort who has been paying so little attention that they're not likely to remember to vote at all.

And yet it is this undecided voter, that irresistible phantom in American politics, who both candidates seem to be chasing as the race enters its final weeks. Both candidates seem, for lack of a better term, to be trying to cast themselves as making a pivot to the center, seemingly in a bid to convince this imaginary voter - the one who is apparently torn between a center-left bureaucrat of obvious competence and a raving, racist narcissist who wants to be a dictator and has already tried - to pick them. If such a person exists, I'm not sure that I, for one, would place much value in their esteem. But the campaigns are making a different calculation.

On the Republican side, Trump, never one to miss an opportunity for cynicism and dishonesty, has tried to cast himself, in somewhat feeble and unconvincing terms, as a moderate on abortion. He has tried to say that his position is that abortion should be left to the states (which conveniently elides several of his past statements, as well as leaving unacknowledged the homicidal and sadistic policies that many states have enacted). Now, his wife is shilling a book in which she claims, with conspicuously convenient timing, that she is personally pro-choice. At the vice-presidential debate, Trump's surrogate, Ohio senator and pronatalist activist JD Vance, spoke in patronizing terms about women who need to be given "more options" - not the option to have an abortion or dictate the fate of their own bodies or the course of their own lives, of course, but the option to drop out of the workforce to stay home and raise babies.

The lies, obfuscation, and euphemism from the Trump camp are an effort to conceal the substance of their anti-woman policies behind a slick style of obscurantism. Distressingly, it might be working: polls show that many voters wrongly believe that a second Trump presidency would not further erode abortion rights.

Harris, for her part, has been seeking to court the imagined undecided voter by bear-hugging Republicans - sometimes literally. On Thursday, she held a rally in Ripon, Wisconsin - the birthplace of the Republican party - to campaign alongside former Wyoming Congresswoman Liz Cheney, who has endorsed Harris. The women stood together in front of large signs that said "Country Over Party." The official pitch was that Trump is a great enough threat to democracy that figures who agree on little else can unite to oppose him out of a sense of patriotic duty. But the appearance also seemed to signal Harris's bid to attract Trump-skeptical conservatives, and to lessen her liberal California image in favor of a moderate, conciliatory one.

But if the two candidates seem to be looking to gain the same kind of voters, they face very different risks in trying to court them. Trump is the charismatic leader of a personality cult whose voters respond to his efforts to ignite their grievances and largely seem to ignore his own repeated and well-documented lies and contempt for them. This has always been Trump's paradox: that he is loved by a base of support that he himself seems to profoundly disrespect, and that, in the eyes of his followers, his transparent self-interest only serves to make him more trustworthy, more authentic, with each of his lies seeming to evoke a larger truth.

As Trump has ostentatiously tried to pivot to the center on abortion, there has been some grumbling from the anti-choice movement, which has been not a little bit disturbed by the way their cause has become a political liability for the Republican party. But for all the anti-choice set's dissatisfaction with Trump's recent statements, there has never been any real risk that they would withhold their votes from him. Their loyalty is permanent.

Not so for Harris. In the Trump age, the Democrats have cobbled together a coalition too large and internally contradictory to be sustainable - consisting, as it does, of people with fundamentally different worldviews, opposed interests, and a great deal of mutual mistrust. Harris's efforts to win over Republican voters will run a much greater risk of alienating her party's progressive base, many of whom see Republican policy preferences as a threat to their civil liberties and way of life. The day after she appeared on stage with Cheney in Wisconsin, Harris met with leaders of the Arab and Muslim communities in Flint, Michigan, many of whom have been distraught at the horrific suffering in Gaza and outraged by the Biden administration's complicity in Israel's increasingly reckless and aggressive actions.

Their votes will be crucial to her victory in Michigan, an essential swing state. But it's not clear how much the meeting will do to reassure them. Back in Wisconsin, Harris had taken time out of her rally with Liz Cheney to specifically thank the former Vice President Dick Cheney - the architect of the disastrous 2003 invasion of Iraq. He, too, has endorsed Harris.