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.)

 

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.

 

"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.