NEW YORK — Kamala Harris accepted the Democratic nomination “on behalf of all whose stories could only be written in the greatest nation on earth.” America, Barack Obama thundered, “is ready for a better story.” JD Vance insisted that the Biden administration “is not the end of our story,” and Donald Trump called on fellow Republicans to “write our own exciting chapter of the American story.”
“This week,” comedian and former Obama administration speechwriter Jon Lovett said Thursday on NBC, “it was about a story.”
In American political discourse, this kind of talk from both sides is not surprising — even fitting. Because in the 2024 campaign season, as in American culture as a whole, the notion of “narrative” is ubiquitous.
This year’s political conventions, like so many of their kind, were curated collections of elaborate stories carefully spun to achieve one goal: get elected. But beneath them was a fierce, high-stakes battle over how to tell the biggest story of all: the story of America that would be, as Harris called it, “the next great chapter in the most extraordinary story ever told.”
The American story—an improbable tale, full of twists and turns that sometimes feels, as so many like to say, “just like a movie”—is central to American culture for a unique reason.
Americans live in one of the few societies built not on hundreds of years of shared culture, but on stories themselves: “the beautiful city on the hill,” “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” “all men are created equal.” Even memorable advertising campaigns— “See the USA in your Chevrolet” — are part of this. In a sense, the United States — not coincidentally the birthplace of the frontier myth, Hollywood, and Madison Avenue — has wormed itself into existence and meaning by repeating and retelling its story as it went.
The campaigns understand this, which is why they present voters with two different — some would say completely opposed — versions of the American story.
From the Republicans comes one flavor of the story: an insistence that to “make America great again” in the future, we must fight to revive traditional values and recapture the moral fiber and boldness of previous generations. In his speech at the convention last month, Trump invoked three separate conflicts — the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and World War II — to evoke the glories of American history.
To bolster its vision, the GOP enlisted the likes of musician Kid Rock, famous wrestler Hulk Hogan and Lee Greenwood to sing “God Bless the USA.” Trump bowed to the firefighters’ gear. Corey Comparatorwho had been killed days earlier in an assassination attempt on the candidate. Vance spoke of “thugs” and offered the Appalachian coming-of-age story he said in “Hillbilly Elegy.”
Republicans, as they often do, leaned into military narratives, bringing in families of fallen service members to criticize President Joe Biden’s “weak” leadership. And they did everything they could to win over their constituents. Vance’s wife, Usha, who is of Indian descent, praised him as “a meat-and-potatoes guy” — a classic American cliché — while stressing that he respected her vegetarian diet and had taught her how to cook Indian food for her mother.
“What can I say that hasn’t been said before?” she said, introducing Vance. “After all, the man was already the subject of a movie by Ron Howard. “
And the Democrats? Their convention last week focused on a new and different future full of “joy” and free of what Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg called “Trump’s politics of darkness.” It was an implicit “Star Wars” metaphor if ever there was one.
It was hard to miss that Democrats were not only coalescing around the multiracial, multicultural nation that Harris embodies, but that they were also methodically trying to reclaim the obvious fragments of the American story that had been left in Republican hands in recent years.
The flag was everywhere, and so was the idea of freedom. Tim Walz came in to the tune of John Mellencamp’s “Small Town,” an ode to the vision of America that Republicans usually shout. Minnesota Sen. Amy Klobuchar laid out Walz’s defining characteristics: someone who can change a car light bulb, a fighter, a “dad in the window.”
The former geography teacher The football coach’s history was also explored, with beefy dudes in Mankato West Scarlets jerseys spreading across the stage to the sounds of the marching band’s “The Halls of Montezuma.” They even enlisted a former GOP congressman to enhance all the visuals by saying the soft part out loud.
“I want to let my fellow Republicans in on the secret: The Democrats are just as patriotic as we are,” said Adam Kinzinger, an Illinois Republican who has been critical of Trump.
In watching the videos and testimonies at both conventions, one narrative technique stood out: what journalists call “character-driven” stories. Whether advocating abortion rights or warning about mass illegal immigration or channeling anger over inflation, “ordinary” Americans became the narrative building blocks for national concerns.
Historian Heather Cox Richardson put it this way about the DNC on her Substack: “Letters from an American,” the past week: “The many stories of ordinary Americans emerging from adversity through hard work, decency, and service to others implicitly conflate those individual struggles with the struggles of the United States itself.”
In the past generation, the tools of storytelling have become more democratized. We are all publishers now — on X, on TikTok, on Instagram, on Truth Social. And we are all storytellers, telling miniature versions of the American story in whatever way we choose. Perspectives that have long been silenced and suppressed are now coming to light.
Putting questions of truth and misinformation aside, how can a unifying American story be conjured up when hundreds of millions of people can now tell it differently and from their own perspectives? Democratization is useful, but it can also be chaotic and difficult to understand.
“A people that cannot stand together cannot stand at all,” poet Amanda Gorman said in her speech at the DNC. But with so many stories to sort through, is unity harder than ever? Is there even a single, unifying “American story”? Should there be?
Ultimately, that’s why this election is more about storytelling than ever before. Because the loudest, most compelling story — told smoothly with the industrial communications tools of the 21st century — is likely to win.
In the meantime, the attempts to hijack and amplify versions of that story will continue through Election Day and beyond. As long as there is an American nation, there will be millions of people trying to tell us what it means — desperately, angrily, optimistically, compellingly. Stories are a powerful weapon, and a powerful metaphor. As Walz said of leaving Trump and Vance behind, “I’m ready to turn the page.”
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Ted Anthony, director of new storytelling and newsroom innovation at The Associated Press, has written about American culture and politics for 35 years. Follow him on https://x.com/anthonyted