post hiatus

First and foremost, here is an apology to any who might have checked this blog over the past three months, only to find no new updates. Not even a single sentence. As I returned to Georgia (and later North Carolina) I thought I would have time to briefly share my experiences. ‘Notes from the Campaign Trail’ or something to that effect. It quickly became apparent, however, that my life was no longer my own. I often worked 17 to 18 hour days. How difficult was it to spare ten minutes and write a short blurb? Trust me when I say that it was, well, nigh impossible. When I did have ten minutes I chose to instead walk down the Raleigh streets to the corner coffee shop and get my caffeine fix. Blame my coffee addiction.

So obviously I have returned from my campaign adventures. As I cast my memory over the past five months I find it difficult to summarize my experiences. Friends, professors and family have asked me what it was like to work on a political campaign. To them I offer, “It was amazing. Exhausting, intense, challenging. The toughest five months of my life. Exhilarating. Rewarding.” Yet none of these words capture what it was like to endure this campaign. I’ve set out to write a series of nonfiction essays about my experiences and the people I met along the way. Maybe in doing so I’ll be able to better share the flavors and textures, the vignettes and anecdotes, the trials and victories. For now let me say that I never expected to be as intensely consumed by something as I was with the campaign. A fellow field organizer, Tawny, made a comment back in July that has stuck with me: “You kinda have to sell your soul for awhile.” Yeah right, I thought at the time. Like I would ever reach that stage.

Well, I did. I have no regrets and am currently processing all that took place over the course of summer and fall. I recognize that I’m a stronger, bolder person, an accomplished leader. Yet I’ve also learned my weaknesses in leadership and the pitfalls of all-consuming dedication. While I proved to myself that I could stretch my limits, I also discovered where limits were nonnegotiable. More than anything, it feels good to know that I made a concrete difference. North Carolina won by a little over 13,000 votes. It was close; every vote counted. And to have been a part of that– flipping the state, empowering individuals, helping to elect our next president– is truly amazing. Take that, nihilism. People can make a difference with their efforts and lives. The human spirit is resilient and wants to believe in hope.

The night of November 4 was a triumphant one, and a night I’ll never forget. But it is also necessary for this country to realize that ‘change’ will not come quickly or easily. As President-Elect Barack Obama said the day following Election Day, “Now the real work begins.” When you are as deep as this country is right now, a lot of hard work is required to progress in a different, better direction. I have faith that we will get there, but it will be an arduous journey.

For now, I’m resting. Processing. I plan to catch up on reading. Now that I have time to write again, I’ll post periodic entries about my readings, reflections and future travels. Keep checking in every so often if you so choose. I promise I won’t have another hiatus for a long while. I’ll even brew my own coffee. Because, well, those ten-minute coffee excursions add up.

 

Am I really doing this again?

(Originally written August 15)

I’m back in Georgia—yes, doing the same work as before. If someone had asked me six months ago what I would be doing after college, I never would have thought I would be working on a political campaign. Was not even on my radar. But I’m here, ready to see this election to its completion. The hours will increase, as will the exhaustion and pressure. Every now and then I stop and wonder why I agreed to stay on, particularly since it wasn’t planned. And I remind myself of how historic this campaign truly is. Sometimes the unexpected – the unplanned – are the best experiences.

I had to leave Georgia to attend a couple weddings and retrieve my car. And on this past Monday night, I left Vancouver in my trusty Honda Accord and drove across the country to Atlanta. I arrived yesterday afternoon, bone-achingly tired but happy to dive back into work.

There isn’t much more to write for now. I do need to share about the post I promised over three weeks ago. On the second to last day of my six weeks in Georgia, I returned to Mellow Mushroom to talk with Curt. I was skeptical he would change his mind about the voting process, but I had to check once more before I flew home to Washington. After chatting awhile, he finally shook his head as if to say “I can’t believe I’m doing this” and told me, “Fine- give me the damn form.” Curt registered to vote. And I know that that would have never happened had Matie and I not worked on building a relationship over the preceding six weeks. Out of all the moments of my fellowship in Georgia, watching Curt register was the highlight of my entire trip. So there it is: closure for those who have been following his story.

 

so this is farewell, for now

I cannot believe this is my last night here in Georgia. People back home told me the time would fly by. I did not realize just how quickly that time would pass. I think back to my first night in Georgia and I cannot help but compare it to this night. I arrived in Atlanta dehydrated, exhausted, abandoned at a MARTA station, and unfamiliar with the area. I was anxious about meeting my supporter housing and wary of the upcoming training—anxious about a thousand small details. I remember collapsing into bed and listening to the thick chorus of crickets, already struggling to breathe as my sinuses rejected the different, Georgia air. I was worried. I was overwhelmed. I was in a strange town with strangers.

I am now in a completely different house than the one I first moved into. After some reshuffling during the first week, I came to live with Matie and her husband. I fall asleep on a folded-up futon, and I still hear the crickets outside my window. But I am no longer a stranger. I have met hundreds of people over the past six weeks and developed good relationships with several of them. I have been responsible for a specific city and have organized the communities and neighborhoods within. I’ve been to every corner of Gwinnett—from Between, Georgia to the edge of Stone Mountain/Dekalb. I helped staff a town hall event, where Senator Obama spoke to 2,000 people. I’ve ridden MARTA up and down the lines, registering people to vote. I have been forced to grow and stretch. Never mind stepping out of one’s comfort zone- I have had to jump and leap out of my comfort zone on a daily basis. After a while the phone calls began to get easier. The prospect of speaking at a house meeting became less frightening and far more exciting. I discovered a kind of resilient confidence – a confidence that continued to grow even as I met brick wall after brick wall. Now, six weeks later, I leave Georgia with a sense of accomplishment, of great personal growth.

But enough about me. The best part of this experience has been the people. My team is one of the most diverse and colorful groups in both personality and background. We have texture, flavor. There is Matie. A New Orleans-native and high school government teacher, Matie has been my closest friend here in Georgia. During our third week, the two of us were dubbed “the dynamic duo,” as we have been inseparable. We’ve spent many late nights entering data at our makeshift office in her living room, alternately sipping wine and coffee. We have hopped clubs for voter registration, created “Wanna Vote?” t-shirts on a whim at midnight, accidentally crashed a staff “hang-out” session downtown Atlanta, debated issues of politics, education and race, and celebrated the end of good weeks with amaretto sours. We witnessed one another’s breakdowns, giggled at early-morning radio en route to the office, and listened to each other when our frustration level was about to exceed its limits. Matie has been an inspiration and constant encouragement these past six weeks, and it will be strange for her presence to suddenly be absent as I board the plane tomorrow.

Then there is John—the most enthusiastic, fired up person on our team. He’s a pastor, and it’s evident in the way he is able to welcome new people and encourage them to join the campaign efforts. This guy has no inhibitions and will take his “Register to Vote Here” sign with him to parks, MARTA stations, churches, bars, Wal-Marts, restaurants…so much enthusiasm can be overwhelming. But we have Jacob to balance things out. Reserved and quiet, Jacob has been the organizer behind the scenes. He’s often silent and off working by himself, but his quirky sense of humor occasionally surfaces – usually in the middle of a team meeting. With a generous spirit and diplomatic air, Jacob has smoothed situations that could have easily turned ugly.

Nick is the fifth fellow on my team to remain with the program to the very end. The youngest at 20, Nick has aspirations of becoming a music journalist and absentmindedly sings throughout the day. He’s our traveling jukebox, covering the latest hip hop, classic rock, and even country. The best part about Nick is his easy smile and the way in which he can lighten any situation.

Any finally, there is Dan – our fearless leader. He’s from upstate New York and paces through the office halls with a golf club in hand whenever he’s stressed. Or planning our next big event. I’m going to miss Dan’s random humor, his quotes of the day, his idiosyncrasies—like the way in which he tosses a racquetball back and forth during conversations and planning sessions.

I haven’t even mentioned the other field organizers or the all-star volunteers: Tawny, Kevin, Olivia, Cathy, Robin, Mark, Joy, Vin, and Danja, to name a few. This experience would not have been the same without them, which I suppose can be said of any adventure and the people met along the way. To continue to write about my reflections would constitute an out-an-out novel (and I’m not exaggerating). I do have one more entry which I’ll post before I board my plane tomorrow. I’m saving it because, well, it’s worth having its own entry. Other than that…I’m finished in Georgia for the time being. In the words of an anonymous radio caller back in Portland, “It’s been epic. Totally epic.”

 

my superhero alter ego

Heroes. No, not the t.v. show. I’m talking about the individuals we admire and aspire to emulate. I have a pocketful of heroes: Edward R. Murrow, FDR, Queen Rania Al Abdullah, my Dad. Another of my heroes is Senator Obama, and I had the opportunity to see him last Tuesday at a town hall meeting in Powder Springs, GA. Because I helped staff the event, I was in the back with the traveling press, peering over cameras and laptops to catch a glimpse of the man himself. I had seen him before with four of my close friends at a rally in Portland’s Memorial Coliseum- one of the greatest moments of my college years. The town hall meeting was different. A good different. Rather than rousing speeches and screaming crowds, the Senator interacted with the attendees and invited questions. I cannot think of a more nerve-racking prospect than opening the floor to any question, particularly when many of the guests were undecided voters. But Senator Obama addressed the people’s questions and concerns with grace, candor, and even humor. On every issue, he outlined his policies but then ended with a charge to the people. He challenged everyone gathered in that high school gymnasium to take ownership of the issues. To not just ask for change, but be a part of that change. On the issue of education, yes we need better programs for our schools and accountability of teachers. But, he reminded the audience, parents need to take responsibility as well. Don’t pass off all responsibility to the teachers and then complain when your child struggles or fails. He was adamant in saying that parents need to be involved with their child’s education, to take an active role. He stressed the importance of bilingualism in this country, joking that the only foreign language Americans know is the phrase “merci beaucoup.” And on the issue of student dropout rates, he said that while schools should do more to prevent dropouts, students need to take ownership of their education and stay in school. Many teenagers need a wake-up call. “You think you’re LeBron James? You’re not,” he said to cheers and laughter. I loved his honesty. It was refreshing. The hall meeting reminded me why I support this man, and why I believe he should be the next President of the United States.

There seems to be a lot of emphasis on heroes in recent pop culture – or superheroes at least. Think of all the graphic novels and comic books adapted into movies: Batman, Spiderman, X-Men, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, Incredible Hulk…whoever tapped into that market must be a millionaire by now. The notion of superheroes is tremendously appealing to people, and I suppose I can understand why. The underlying theme is that anyone – even the most ordinary-looking individual – can become a hero. Peter Parker was a nerdy photographer before becoming Spiderman. And the whole premise of Heroes is about a group of ordinary people who discover they hold extraordinary powers. Overly idealistic and a little silly, the idea of everyone having “superhero potential” is still charming. Yesterday I realized there might be a smidgen of truth to the ordinary/extraordinary superhero theme. Yesterday, I discovered my superhero alter ego.

I was sitting at a picnic table beside the Mountain Park skate park. Teenagers filtered through the park, and a certain pack decided to camp out two tables over. They saw my “Register to Vote Here” poster, decorated with red and blue markers (my artwork at its finest), and yelled questions my way every now and then.

“Hey, are you here all the time?”

“Are you, like, a volunteer?”

“Are you seriously registering people to vote?”

Yeah, dude, I seriously am.

“Cool.”

I struck a rapport with this ragtag collection of skaters, and three of them registered to vote. Three registrations is hardly an extraordinary number, but for those three teenagers, it was. Hours later, as I gathered my things to leave, one of the boys shouted, “See you later, voter girl.”

Voter Girl. It’s a far cry from Spiderman. Or a certain Senator from Illinois. But I’ll take it. (What’s more, I kinda like it.)

 

Thanks for being an American

The Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays, right up there next to Christmas. I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps it’s the memories I had growing up: picnics and Frisbees, hot sun and iced tea, barbeques and sparklers. My mom used to make “Red, White and Blue” cake, consisting of angel food cake, raspberries, blueberries and whipped cream. Most years I would sit on my roof and watch the neighborhood fireworks, and if I felt particularly patriotic, I would venture downtown and participate in the massive celebration at Ft. Vancouver, where the six degrees of separation drops to three.

This year might have ruined July 4th for me. That is a drastic statement, but I feel as though I have seen another side of the holiday- one that angers and grieves me. I was out registering voters this past Friday. My team and our volunteers spread out between three different events. Parades, festivals, concerts…you’d think the day would be pure gold for registering people to vote. Not so. I ran into countless people who were eligible to vote, but were not registered, nor did they want to be. I’ve heard the same negative response before, but it stood out more than usual on July 4. I was startled at the juxtaposition of patriotic-colored clothing and the complete lack of desire to take an active part in this country. The country everyone was celebrating on Friday, on our Independence Day. I thought of Thomas Jefferson’s words as I walked from one family picnic to another, “My God! How little do my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no other people on earth enjoy!” I don’t understand how someone can attend a Fourth of July celebration, take part in the festivities, and yet refuse to be a voice in their communities and country. Thanks for being an American.

As evening fell, thousands of people lined the streets, camping out on blankets and sipping lemonade. Children twirled around with sparklers. People were happy, relaxed. Yes, July 4 is a time for celebration. But it is also a day to remember why we are celebrating. We don’t have an LRA rampaging through our towns, nor do we live in constant fear of bombs dropping from the sky or blowing up our local marketplaces. We have freedom of the press (unlike Russia where at least two journalists were recently killed by snipers). Even with the difficult economic times we’re experiencing right now, we still have freedoms that certain parts of the world can only dream about. Too many people take our rights and liberty for granted. And what’s worse, many complain about everything that is wrong with this country without 1) pausing to see the good or potential good or 2) getting involved with the political process and their local communities. Don’t complain if you don’t vote.

Thomas Paine said it best when he declared that those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it. The most discouraging aspect of July 4th was that I saw a whole lot of reaping with little concern of supporting and maintaining that freedom.

 

update on curt

I called Mellow Mushroom this past week to see if we could have permission to register voters in their parking lot. And, lo and behold, Curt answered the phone. Not only did he remember us but he pretty much gave us a carte blanche to register voters there whenever we want. Matie and I stopped by Wednesday night- they had just closed, but there was still a circle of teenagers in the parking lot. I was able to register three of them, and when I turned around, I saw Matie chatting with Curt. Closing duties could wait, it appeared, as he stood outside with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, swapping jokes and anecdotes with us. He seemed genuinely happy to see us, and we told him we would be back next week for Mushroom’s legendary trivia night. One conversation at a time…sometimes that’s all it takes.

 

pause

I’ve had writer’s block this past week, partly because my days are crammed full with never-ending work. By the time I sit down at the computer, my fingers freeze and my mind shutters to a standstill. With so many conversations, people, and stories occurring every day, I feel overwhelmed as to what I should share, what to write about. It is like I’m staring into a kaleidoscope with too many colors. Both brilliant and dizzying at the same time.

I cannot believe I have been here for two weeks already. Time has zoomed by, which I suppose is what happens when you can’t allow yourself to think or plan for more than four days in advance. Yet somewhere amidst the chaos, I’m beginning to love Georgia. It will never replace my dear Pacific Northwest as home – (the NW has apparently left its mark on me as I am constantly told of how bohemian, how environmentally-conscious, how “Washington” I look and act) – but I do feel more and more…settled here. I love the colors during the final two hours of daylight as the entire sky illuminates with vibrant liquid sun, cotton-white clouds outlined with electric pink. I like the random lightning that interrupts the night, without the fanfare of thunder or accompanying rain. I actually like sweet tea. I like the frenetic pulse of MARTA and its complete contrast to the swanky, smooth energy of Buckhead (the “Beverly Hills of the South”). I love how open and hospitable the people are here (a lady at the grocery store complimented my friend Matie on her dress, and in the next minute they were exchanging phone numbers and making plans for a social get-together). And I love how I can wear shorts and a tank top at midnight because it’s still a sultry 75 degrees.

Of course there are darker parts of Georgia that I hate, such as the pockets of prejudice and bigotry. Remnants of racial segregation linger all over the city. There are streets that have two different names depending on which direction you turn at the intersection, which was used years ago to mark which side of the street was “white” and which was “black.” Matie and I sat at a stoplight last night, and I saw two street signs: east was “Piedmont Road,” west was “Blackland Road.” I don’t like how the same party controls the school board, police department and local government of the county I currently live in – and how, because of that control, there are people too frightened to speak their own, differing opinions in public. And I really dislike the way the population has matriculated into sprawling suburbs outside the heart of Atlanta, gutting the inner-city and leaving it in stark poverty.

Slivers of love and fragments of hate- I wonder how I’ll feel in a month when I’m about to leave. Maybe I’ll be ready for the Northwest again. But I might wish for more time here in Georgia. I don’t know. I apologize for the lack of political substance in this entry. It actually feels good to pause, set politics and campaign organizing aside for a brief moment, and write about the places and people here in Georgia. With another full week of events ahead, though, there will definitely be a political-junkie post coming soon. Stay tuned.

 

"This is totally trippy, man"

In the South there is this pizzeria chain called The Mellow Mushroom. This place is unreal. So unreal I just had to write about it. Puffy, rainbow-colored drawings of mushrooms are everywhere. A hodgepodge assortment of random knickknacks hangs on the walls, like a stuffed Mario toy and Kool-Aid clock. You expect to turn the corner and see a bunch of beatniks smoking weed around the back table. Every Wednesday, there is a “Trivia night,” and peace signs are stamped upon the canary-yellow, paper menu. When we walked inside, one of my teammates, Nick, just stopped and stared at the decor with widened eyes, then half-whispered, half-laughed, “This is totally trippy, man.”

As crazy as the place appeared, the pizza was a-maz-ing. And the two employees working there were chill. One employee (I’ll call him Curt) was a self-proclaimed nonvoter. “The president will always be some white dude saying whatever he needs to say to get elected,” Curt said as he punched our orders in the register (circa 1987). Later, he pulled up a chair to our table and chatted with us. He was easy-going, humorous, smart – yet obviously disenchanted with the political system, something to which I can relate. Curt asked how we knew each other and our interest in civic duties. Hesitant curiosity and aloof cynicism fought and flitted across his face, and I could tell there was…potential there. Perhaps Curt will never vote again in his life, but maybe he will. As my team left the pizzeria, we half-joked about carrying out “Operation Curt.” I’ll be going back. I want to hear his story. For if someone as skeptical as that young man decides to register to vote and engage in public affairs once more, then there is hope. Hope to ignite and excite the disenchanted, the cynical, and the apathetic.

 

Political boot camp

I used to run cross-country, and one of the goals my team had was to “leave your guts on the field.” Sometimes this was quite literal as runners crossed the finish line and immediately threw up whatever was unfortunate enough to be in their stomachs. You give your everything in such a race, and by the finish, your body is exhausted to the point of utter collapse, your brain fried after pre-race visualization and gritty, mental determination of completing the 5K. Complete body-and-mind fatigue.

That how I feel right now. The training for the Obama Fellowship was not a joke. Up at six each morning and not getting sleep before midnight, the past three days have been filled with intensive organizing training, relationship and team building, voter registration, and planning. It was a political version of boot camp. And this is just the beginning. Despite the exhaustion, the entire weekend has been exciting. It’s both inspiring and energizing to sit in an auditorium with 200+ volunteers, all passionate and committed to the same thing. Despite the vast differences of backgrounds, life experiences, personalities, and leadership styles, everyone involved is united behind a common purpose, driven by a common goal and hope.

I must say that my adventure in Georgia had a rather rocky start. To provide a little flavor of my first 48 hours…Because I flew out of Seattle, I had to leave at 2 a.m. to get to the airport in time for my early EARLY morning flight. I discovered at check-in that my suitcase was seven pounds too heavy (despite having checked the weight at my house earlier and being fine), so out came one of my books, conditioner, and some clothes. Once I actually arrived in Atlanta, I found MARTA (Atlanta’s rail system…think Portland’s MAX but more confusing, crowded, and the longest voice-speaker announcements in the history of public transportation) and waited for over an hour for my host mom to pick me up. I felt more than a little conspicuous with my luggage and crazy-pale Pacific Northwest skin sitting on the curb at an Atlanta train station. I finally got to my host’s home – her name is Millie – and we sat on her deck and ate oranges from the nearby international produce market. Travel-weary, I went to set my alarm on my phone that night and observed that not only was my battery low but my phone charger had broken en route to Atlanta. Organizer’s nightmare right there. Your phone is your best friend. Mine was dying, and I had no car to quickly drive to pick up a new charger. And the next day was the first of training. Twelve full hours, 7 sessions of new information. Overwhelmed is a gross understatement.

However, the people make it all worth it. During voter registration on the second day, one of my teammates and I encountered a street musician at Piedmont Park, whose entire face lit up when he learned that, despite his prior felony, he was able to vote. People with prior convictions are able to vote in Georgia as long as they have completed their parole and any fines/comm. service, but the state does not advertise that fact. The state tries to soft pedal this information, which is wrong on so many levels. The musician believed that he was not allowed to vote for several more years. It was rewarding to watch him fill out his voter registration form as one of his civic rights was returned to him. Episodes like that reinforce the importance of what I’m doing here in Georgia and make the long days and fried brain cells worth it.

So many other stories happened the past three days, but more work is waiting to be done. Peace out.

 

"And that’s the way it is."

Walter Cronkite used to say that. I think it encapsulates the meaning of candor. No euphemisms. No exaggerations. No needless drama. That is just the way it is. I tend to write in a candid style (something I developed during college), and especially in the realm of politics, I believe it’s needed. I’ve spoken to several people who believe politics to be a waste of time. Other words have been used too. Absurd. Ridiculous. Pointless. Talking heads. Double talk. Hot-button. And my favorite: Unpleasant. As Cecily says in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, “I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to say, one should always be quite candid.”

The point of this spiel on candor? I created this blog for my trip to Atlanta, Georgia. I will be working on the Obama campaign down there. It’s going to be grassroots politics in its rawest form. I’ve been told it will be exhausting and intense, but I am excited to be a part of the political process. To experience field organizing and community politics firsthand. More than anything, I’m excited to use this experience as an opportunity to practice my editorial and political writing. Some of those writings will end up here on this blog (as well as updates of everyday goings-on). Please read, enjoy. Mull over, digest, get angry, get inspired. Leave comments- I’d love to dialogue with you about one of the most intriguing political campaigns this country has witnessed in decades.