7 August 2020: Daily

Friends, I’m starting to update all things Resistance here, so please do check the Event Calendar to learn more about three exciting opportunities, one in person, two virtual, this month and next., as well as the expanded Political Candidates info page. I will continue to apprise you of Get Out the Vote (GOTV) opportunities and other ways to make the most of the 87 days (86 if you read this in your email) until November 3. Please feel free to send me any events of interest, and I will happily add them to the calendar.

writing GOTV postcards for NOPE

writing GOTV postcards for NOPE

Good news:

Let’s give a shout-out to New York Attorney General Letitia James for suing the NRA and Wayne LaPierre himself (+ three others) for rampant corruption and misuse of charitable donations over many years. As the NRA’s original charter was granted in New York nearly 150 years ago, Ms. James does have jurisdiction over it and is seeking to disband the organization. Excellent!

Meanwhile, slimy Jerry Falwell, Jr, Chancellor and President of Liberty University thought this was an appropriate photograph to share on social media:

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and has just been asked to take an indefinite leave of absence from Liberty. Thoughts and prayers, motherfucker.

A giant cheer for these women:

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Not good news:

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No words needed.

A bit of zen:

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Take care of and be kind to yourselves. Channel this cat’s zen.

Super Tuesday

Friends, I have sent more than 5,000 get-out-the-vote texts since Monday morning, and by and large, it has been a pleasure.

I find it so challenging to articulate what I like about politics, but it energizes me to no end. Tom thinks it’s because I’m a caretaker type. That I love to help and support others, and politics offers, optimally, a scaled way to do that. Maybe he’s right. I sincerely enjoy listening to and connecting with people. If I can help in any way, to do so is an honor. I think I am idealistic in the sense that while government seems, is, so very broken, it is, ideally, such an earnest way to care for others. Others you know, complete strangers, folks with whom you disagree, babies and children who don’t have much voice at all, the very planet we call home.

But is that enough to make the more stressful, uglier times worth engagement? For me, yes.

We are lucky to live in America. That fortune, for me at least, means we work to maintain its democracy as functional. We use privilege or time or love or whatever to inform ourselves and expend the energy to educate, inform, and inspire everyone to participate so that the democracy is a truly representative one.

And yet.

America is so troubled. Poverty, racism, sexism, news sources that are so false and propagandistic that to call them news is an insult to new…it takes real effort to be accurately informed and it seems to take, sadly, a greater sense of community than many have to really care about everyone with whom you share this land.

Today alone I was told that:

-“things were becoming too gynocentric, that feminists don’t care about equality- ‘they want it THEIR WAY. I am tired of being man-shamed for being male. Liz should do something about this…But she is much better than Bloomberg or Biden. Really, we’re all on the same team.’ The cognitive dissonance and untruths there boggle the mind.

-”you clearly have never read the Constitution. I am a triple minority and only by going back to the republic as it was founded will give me a real voice.” Erm, at founding, people owned slaves, had slaughtered Natives, and women had zero rights.

-”you should come to my church and see the true way and be saved from the lies you’ve been told. Democrats are anti-Semites.”

-”I’m for Bernie. Fuck off!”

Respectfully, I disagreed with all of these statements. Women and minorities are still not equal to white men in economic and too many other terms, and in most of my experiences, churches aren’t bastions of fact, truth (I do really like my mother-in-law’s church! They are sincere Christians walking the walk every day!), or tolerance. If you’re for Bernie, and I’m for the Dem, we are legit on the same team, so why divide and be ugly? But, ok. Room for all of us in the big tent. Please, though, can we keep the tent big? With plenty of room to welcome others?

tired Em

tired Em

Plenty of room for most others was where the majority of my conversations today fell. I had such meaningful exchanges with Dems, Republicans, and independents from across the country: Utah, Oklahoma, California, Texas, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Michigan…

I talked with tortured undecideds and proud already-voteds. I told Trump voters to have a good day, and they wished me the same. I thanked everyone who asked questions and everyone who voted for Liz. We just talked and challenged each other. And in both the identical and hazy spaces was connection and appreciation. I learned a lot, they learned a lot, we stayed open, we negotiated. In recent minutes, folks I talked to hours ago have followed up with me, letting me know what they decided, how they voted.

It’s meaningful, these fleeting but important connections. I am glad to know why Joseph in CA voted for Elizabeth but didn’t like her exchange with Bernie about women and the presidency. I am thrilled for Jodi who grappled all day with her decision but chose the candidate that made her heart sing. I applauded and thanked those who voted Biden or Bernie because both are good people and want to make America better for all, even though their approaches are dramatically different. And honestly, I appreciate the trump voters who thanked me for reaching out and wished me a blessed day. I detest everything about their candidate of choice, but if we lose all civility, we lose civilization.

If you’re in a Super Tuesday state, I sure hope you voted today (or early, based on your state rules). I hope you participated in the privilege that is each of your votes. The system is broken, but it’s not yet beyond repair. If you’re worried, scared, enraged, disgusted… ACT! That reaction is a call to action. There is ample to reason to feel all those things, so don’t bury your heads. DO something. It feels good.

And read this article.

If you’re in the DC area and care about reproductive rights, head to the Supreme Court tomorrow (Wednesday) morning at 8am to stand up for choice. See my events page for more info. This is mission critical, y’all!

Notes From a 24-hour Political Deployment

Saturday, 7:15am: We sleepily make our way to what seems to be the only open restaurant in Center City: the IHOP. All of us note an odd sign as we walk in but eagerly sit, ask for coffee, and order hearty fare.

Why can you put your mask back on after you sit down?

Why can you put your mask back on after you sit down?

8:30am: We head southeast to the staging office, register as volunteer canvassers, are given clipboards, turf packets, and training, and disperse just before 10. I make my way further south and back west toward the Schuylkill, a bit nervous and certainly unsure. I have never canvassed before, and I am armed only with my I'm With Her shirt, a Rosie Riveter for Hillary pin, and some earnestness.

Most people don't answer their doors (though it's easy to tell quite a few are home), but those who do range in age (20s to 80s), are predominantly white, and clearly feel varying degrees of enthusiasm for this election. Many give me an enthused thumbs up, thank me for canvassing, say they can't wait to vote for Clinton. A few seem more committed to keeping Trump out of office than to any love for HRC. Almost everyone seems to have a dog.

The first conversation I get to have is with a 77-year-old man whose wife is largely bedridden. He still works and also cares for her. He seems so tired. His thinning hair is slightly mussed, his nose is running. He seems suspicious at first but we settle in. Talking with him was perhaps my favorite experience of the weekend. He said, "You know, my wife and I have voted regularly, done jury duty whenever asked, done our civic duty. But I don't know where it's gotten us. She can't get out anymore, and I think maybe we'll just let the younger folks do the voting."

"Sir, I do understand any disaffection you feel, but if I may, I do believe this election is so important and will be close. I live in Maryland but came up here this weekend because Pennsylvania seems like it's going to be an especially tight race. Every vote counts. I really believe that. Would you consider going out? I can get you a ride, I have all your voting site information."

"Well, I don't know if I'm even registered anymore. I haven't voted in a couple years. Haven't I been stripped from the rolls? That's what I've heard."

"No sir! If you have voted as a resident of this address before, you are good to go."

"Really? Well, that is something. I had no idea."

"Would you like the information on getting a ride to the voting site?"

"Oh, no, that's OK. It's not far and I could use a walk. I will go. I'll vote."

"Thank you, sir. So much." We smile, I wish his wife the best, and I head on.

One man, 50ish?, with a long ponytail, scruffy beard, and raspy voice, comes to the door just after a darling child-maybe 6-answers and begins to tell me all about his Halloween costume. What I can see from the stoop of the interior of their home is so decorated it looks like it could be a haunted house. I admire their spirit. The man politely but with a real edge of anger lacing his voice says, "I've voted Democrat my whole life. But now? You've got a clown versus the queen of darkness, and I simply cannot vote. I won't."

I thank him for his time, wish them a Happy Halloween, and head on. Across the street and down, I have a great conversation with a man my age. He and I both seem heartened by it. "Even if people don't like Clinton," he says, "how can anyone vote for Trump? He's awful, scary. Where are his tax returns? Um, sexual assault?" Yep!

Near his home, I meet another man, roughly the same age, who holds and pets his dog as we chat. He asks how he can get involved. I take his cell number and promise to pass it on to the volunteer coordinator back at the staging office.

I meet a delightful couple who are heading to the same staging office in which I'm based. I think they are just younger than my parents. They have been canvassing all month. We click and become Facebook friends.

12:30pm: Back at staging, we complete tally sheets, turn in our turf packets, and break for a quick lunch. I sit by myself, thinking about the morning. Thinking about how glad I am that I came even though knocking on doors still doesn't feel natural or particularly comfortable.

1:15pm: We obtain new turf packets and again disperse with the reminder that we need to be back by 3:30 for a "special visitor." We can head back out afterwards if we haven't finished our lists. I am near my first turf but less south and west, and the differences are interesting. The ages skew a bit younger, the population seems more diverse. It feels very hipster- coffee shops, cool restaurants, young families and parks.

Again, most people don't answer, fewer seem home. I leave information cards with the rides hotline and a URL where people can check to see if they are actually registered to vote, request an absentee ballot, confirm voting site locations and so forth. 

I don't finish my turf before needing to head back, but I'm getting tired and when I find out our "special guest" is Al Franken, I am even more psyched for the respite. He gives a brief and encouraging talk about the work we're doing. He beat Norm Coleman by 321 votes so underscores that really, every vote counts. 

Just sharing this again in case you missed it earlier.

Just sharing this again in case you missed it earlier.

We head back out, back in, get to run by the campaign's Philly headquarters which is extremely cool, and race to the hotel for five minutes so we can change for dinner. I am very tired and dying for a shower. It has been a tremendously good day. I recall that iPhones track your daily health stats. I see that I've walked 7.5 miles and taken 17,405 steps. Definitely more than my average day. After dinner, I fall asleep after briefly blogging. 

Sunday, 8:30am. I wake up and my body is stiff. It does not want to wake up. I force my eyes open. My friend* texts: real coffee or the stuff at the staging office? 

Real coffee! I order a very large latte.

10:30am: We are back at the staging office and are handed two re-walk turfs. I am still thinking about the 77-year-old man I talked to yesterday. My friend and I walk past two Trump canvassers, a boy of about 10 and a man I assume is his father. I can feel them looking back at us, their eyes boring into our retreating figures, and then I hear, "IS SHE LOCKED UP YET?" being yelled in our direction. We choose not to respond. This, I think, this is awful. This is why I came here. I have no qualms about educating children about and involving them in politics, but to teach such hate and to yell publicly such ugly things...well, it's not good. 

12pm: We turn in our packets and thank everyone for organizing us. I hadn't had breakfast, and I suddenly realize that I'm starving. We head to a grilled cheese restaurant which is, inexplicably, 900 degrees inside. We get sandwiches to go. I begin eating as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk outside. 

2pm: We leave for the train station. I'm so glad I did this. Bye, Philly. Go vote!

*A very special thanks to my friend, Liz, for her political involvement over the years and for organizing this wonderful weekend.