Why I March

Yesterday, I went to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. My first time there, the day before the inauguration of #notmypresident (this is the name I will use to refer to the 45th president) to see what it was like. People were preparing for the early evening concert kick off of the inaugural festivities.

What I saw profoundly saddened me.

There were mostly two kinds of #notmypresident supporters.

The first kind were the kind I wanted to yell at. The ones who, like me, have so much privilege. They were affluent white women and men. They were coiffed and with perfect make-up, beautiful clothing, and expensive sunglasses and boots. Their children had Uggs or were dressed in suits with elephant pins, very Michael Keaton. They had #notmypresident’s merch on their heads, necks, and lapels. They were holding flags boasting of an America that needed to be put right. They didn’t look at me as I didn’t have any outward showing merchandise. And if they did look at me, it was to look me up and down from head to toe and either look away before they got to my face OR they would make a snide comment to their companions, something like, “wow. That’s. . . That’s something.” And if one did look me in the eye, I would smile. An act almost never reciprocated except by much older white men. No, I am not making this up.

The second kind? Rural and blue collar. Rural, blue collar with southern accents. The kind I heard, when asking for the price of the t-shirts and scarves, say they couldn’t afford that. Or that they’d be back. And if they did have #notmypresident merch, it was camouflage. The kind who,when we looked each other in the eye, smiled back at me. The ones, when asked by reporters why the supported #notmypresident said, “because he’s going to bring jobs back.” And, “the media lied about the polls for the election, so I believe you are lying now about his approval ratings.” These were the people that would actually talk to the “other side” and answer questions honestly and with no trace of malice towards the asker about their president.

I also believe these are people that will lose with #notmypresident.

And mostly, there were little to no people of color, except for the people putting up the fences or working the security lines or police officer working for these concert attendees’ safety. Seriously.
————————————————————
There was an African American man selling #notmypresident T-shirts, from a black garbage bag. I was walking alone and he was alone between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. As I walked towards him, I smiled, and he smiled back. I decided to get brave, and ask, “Do you support him?” I tried to use a truly curious tone as I was honestly truly curious.

He broke out into an even wider smile, but bowed his head and shrugged his shoulders forward. If I had to apply a word to his action, it would be “sheepish.” He looked sheepish. . . And here’s what he said next.

“Awww, I don’t know, man. I do know he gonna bring jobs back. That I know. All the rest of that politic stuff. . . Man, I don’t know.”

I smiled back at him and said, “thank you for talking to me.”

He smiled back and said, “thank you, ma’am”
——————————————————————
While I was standing at the corner, watching one of what would be many police escorts of black vans and Escalades or Semi trailers pulling concrete barriers, a youngish man with #notmypresident merch told me I could get a deal today. A one day only deal.

“No thank you.”

“It’s a special price, really, I’ll give you a special price.”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to buy any of it.”

“If you buy it, you can burn it.” His realization based, likely, on my tone of voice, one of slightly disguised disgust covered by mirth from such a thought.

“No, but thank you. Really.”

“Just so you know, some of the proceeds go to Breast Cancer research.”

I smile and shake my head a little, thinking he knows his audience, at least. “No, but I appreciate that.”

“You have a good day, ma’am.”

———————————————————————
I went to the American History Museum.

At lunch, I sat across from a young white woman with her laptop open, slouched very low in her seat. The laptop had stickers screaming, “Question Authority” and “Feminist.” If you looked closely, you could see a sticker featuring Hillary Clinton among many other stickers of our today’s youth. But she, herself, looked sad and perhaps a bit nervous. She spent the lunch picking at her food, writing phrases in her book that I am almost certain came from the surrounding #notmypresident supporters. At the end of lunch, I handed her a You Are Beautiful sticker (https://you-are-beautiful.com/) and said, “In solidarity.” It was the first time I saw her smile. I then said, “it’s hard being here today, huh?” She vigorously nodded and then said in a very hushed voice, “are you marching Saturday?” I nodded my head. She smiled again, dipped her head and said, even more quietly, “I’ll see you there.”

And it did feel tenuous at the museum. Strained. There were many families there supporting #notmypresident. Many privileged white kids scoffing at the museum articles. I even heard one very beautiful young girl, while flipping her hair, walking through the civil rights war exhibit, “wow, look at all of these guns. Cool.” Did I mention she didn’t even stop to look at any of the artifacts or read any of the descriptions. And her tone wasn’t sarcasm. Guns are cool. No matter that thousands lost their lives so she could come through this museum free of charge. This may feel judgmental, and it is. I feel sad she doesn’t care. I feel sad no one taught her to care.

————————————————————

I feel sad I didn’t know to care about politics and history and my country and fellow Americans until now.

I recently watched this video of a young man, much younger than me, rapping about how he’s angry people are angry at him for not caring or being lazy. That it’s unfair that people are angry at him because no one taught him his human rights (I think he even says, “did you know we had that?”). No one taught him how his government actually works. No one taught him how to do his taxes, or what voting meant. And I thought back to my own education.

I grew up in an white middle class mid-western town. I was lucky because it was a college town. A very liberal college town, in a state that usually went blue due to Madison and Milwaukee. I learned how to do my taxes before I graduated, you couldn’t graduate until you knew how to balance a checkbook or do your taxes and for that I am grateful.

But I also remember I had only one civics class. Our teacher was a bullish wrestling coach. And I loved his class. We learned about history through songs like American Pie. But honestly, I don’t feel enough focus on our government process. Though, to be fair, when I was in Forensics, I didn’t do the debate team, I did storytelling. And in my family, back then, I was told, “Voting is a very personal decision, we don’t talk about it.”

And so I didn’t learn. And the first year I voted (which wasn’t the first time I could I am saddened to report), I voted for a Bush. And I did that because the only thing I knew was what was around me. And by that point I was living in a rural community. It was before the internet was really a thing and the people I lived around were Republicans who kept telling me Clinton had ruined our country. I did no research, I read no newspapers, and I only watched coverage of an impeachment that felt more like a circus than government, so of course I voted that way.

Luckily, I started to meet more people. The internet started to be a thing. I read newspapers, had conversations, asked questions, watched proper news reporting. And I voted again.

And I became informed. I voted for and saw the first African American president and equal rights for all to marry the person they want to marry.

In the last year, my best friend became an American citizen, I volunteered and helped set up an office for the democratic party in a depressed area of Pennsylvania and I voted for, who I thought would become the first woman President.

I did those things because I have learned that being informed and involved is how you protect your rights and the rights of others. Despite the fact that many think there aren’t problems in government preventing equality in relation to race, gender, sexual orientation, religion and other marginalized groups, there are. Big problems.

And that is why I will march tomorrow, with my sisters; we will not be ignored.

Campaigning is exhausting

And writing about it in real time is pretty hard, too.

cleaning

I have two more days started, but there is that whole recall and editing thing. But after 6-8 hours of calling, cleaning, data entry, organizing and arting, I'm too exhausted to keep up every day, so I'll write and write and write and then edit and edit and edit and then post as I go along. Thank you for hanging in with me.

my notes for calling

And we're not even there the whole day.  The office Organizers are working from 10am to way past 11pm or later and last night, one of them did laundry until 3am. . . . while a bat was flying around his head. In fact, they are working 7 days a week.  They had to ask their office head managers to postpone a voter registration training on Sunday from 10am to 3:30pm because they are so tired and need one day where they can sleep in.

Calling

 And they are ON . . .  ALL . . . DAY. Talking and teaching and explaining and calm and patient. It's amazing to watch.  Most of them have quit their jobs and taken pay cuts to make sure Hillary gets elected. They believe and they are here for the long haul.

using my organizing and handwriting skills

Mischa came from Colorado Springs, Andre from Florida and Brian from Philadelphia. They each believe in this campaign and they have given up places they knew to help this campaign. These are the real heroes.

I have been getting wonderful comments and kudos for doing this, but really, I'm just a volunteer that will go home in a week while these three dedicated people will stay here.  They'll stick out the heat and the hang ups and the people yelling at them. They'll listen top how Obama wants to be king. They'll listen to people that tell them Hillary is trying to take away their guns.  They'll listen to people that will say, "two years ago, he [Obama] went on TV and said he was king and is trying to get rid of the constitution. He's trying to abolish the amendments because he wants to be King Obama. He's trying to get rid of the second amendment and when that goes, the first amendment will go, too." They'll try to ask where they heard this information.  They'll try to explain amendments can't be abolished with out the senate and the congress agreeing. They'll finally say, "thank you for your time. Please know, I, as a democrat, do not want to take your rights away. Please know, I, as a democrat, want to get you paid medical leave when you are injured. Please know, I, as a democrat, want to help you. Thank you, and have a good evening" hoping they have made a small impression.

Mischa and Andre are in this pic, but I'll get something better

Every night, when we leave, Mischa gets up and says, "cuddles!!! cuddles!!! I need to give you cuddles!" And she then she hugs us. How can you not love that?

So, I'm exhausted, but I can only imagine what it's like for them.  They are my heroes. And I hope they are yours, too. Soon. . . soon, I'll get you pictures. . . and more words about what I've learned.


(p.s. all credit for photos go to Ciara McGrath) If you want to start from the beginning, here is my caucus post and my backstory about why I'm doing this.

I'm going to PA to campaign!!

I’m pretty passionate that Donald Trump DOES NOT become the president of these United States. Yesterday (and today he double downed on this comments) he implied that the “second amendment people” could do something about Hillary Clinton so she couldn’t pick the next Supreme Court Judges. That “do something”? Yeah, he means shoot her. So - there you go, there is a candidate running for president that promotes killing his opponent.

I cannot abide that.

I cannot abide a country where the Commander in Chief asks, if we have nuclear weapons, “why can’t we use them?”

I cannot abide living in a place where a man who can choose Supreme Court Justices thinks, if a woman is sexually harassed, she should, “find another career, or find another company.”

I could continue to explain why I cannot abide having Donald Trump be my president, but I think those three things are quite enough. Which is what brings me to a suggestion I made to Ciara, my best friend.

A couple of weeks ago, Ciara and I were sitting at her house chatting and watching the Democratic National Convention. I started to cry. Hard. I couldn’t believe I was watching a woman become the presidential nominee. It was amazing, historic, poignant and my emotional reaction was completely unexpected to me. I didn’t know it would mean so much to me. But it brought me back to my childhood when I remember my mom telling me I could be anything I wanted to be, but then growing up to realize that wasn’t entirely true.  Not because I wasn’t qualified or able, but because of how our world works right now. It’s because of how the world of business, politics, art, you name it, was created, structured and run. Let’s face it, it’s been harder for women. It has. It’s been harder for ME because I’m a woman. So watching this woman become a nominee for the highest office in the United States was beautiful. All of this broke me open a little and put a crazy idea into my head.

Ciara and I had been planning to take a quick,”where ever the wind may blow us” sort of trip since I quit my job and she didn’t have to start teaching for several more weeks. We thought we’d just pick a last minute deal and go adventuring. And as we sat there talking about the historic nature of this presidential race, not only that Hillary Clinton was the first woman nominee, but also because Donald Trump is the scariest thing to happen to American Politics in my lifetime, I turned to Ciara and said, “what we if we went to a battleground state for our vacation, and campaigned for Hillary?” She was ON BOARD! You see, Ciara became a United States Citizen in February of this year and was has been excited to participate in the process.  She was with me when we caucused (in fact, I may not have if not for her - I describe it in this post).

And thus our search for WHERE began.  It was pretty clear the battleground states are going to be Ohio, Florida, Pennsylvania and New Hampshire.  I have never been to Pennsylvania so I called the PADems and they told me Harrisburg (where is that???) needs the most help. Ciara was totally game and we booked tickets and a hotel.

Yesterday, I started out. . . And it was an portentous beginning.

The D line had just come to the bus stop and I was half way to the front door but I felt like it was waiting, so I trotted a little to get on more quickly.  I’m sweating a little because I’ve just walked six blocks and I’m lugging my small suitcase. I get on the bus and rustle around my purse so I can grab my bus pass and it’s a bit awkward. I’m in wedges (don’t judge, they actually help my foot) and trying to use my bus pass and keep my luggage close to me. I wobble past the first few seats because there are people in them and where there aren’t people, there are bags. As I grabbed above me with my free hand, an older man, probably 55 or older, got out of his seat. As I passed the woman on the right, she said, “please don’t fall on me.”

“I won’t fall on you, I promise.” I wasn’t kidding but I did chuckle a little since I thought she was kidding. I was feeling pretty stable even though I wobbled down the aisle. I sat where the man, dressed in his business casual khakis and blue polo had just vacated. I look up to the man with silvery gray hair where he has moved to stand in the aisle, smile, and say, genuinely grateful, “thank you.”

He doesn’t respond at first and I feel a bit awkward, so I look away, but he did hear me, and he says, “of course,” and smiles back.

The woman I had passed in the first seat, who was also occupying a seat for her bag (which I remembered later, that I briefly thought about asking her to move since there wasn’t a lot of room), turns to me and says, “he likes you because you are white.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to inflame the situation but I also want to use it as an opportunity to connect with someone who has something to say. But shit, I just don’t know what to say.

It turns out, I don’t have to.  The man who gave me his seat says, “I like her because she’s honest.” This just confuses me because I have done nothing to make this man think I’m an honest person. And the woman has taken exception to this statement. And I am wishing desperately that the man hadn’t said anything at all.

“My father IS dead. That isn’t a lie!” And she turns her attention back to me and says, “he likes you because you’re a prostitute.”

I close my eyes again, take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders and tilt my head to the left and look at her and smile. “I’ve been called worse. It’s ok.”

She notices my suitcase. “You going to a KKK rally?” Not gonna lie, this hurts me.

But. . . This. .. This is my opportunity to connect. “Actually, I’m flying to Pennsylvania to campaign against Trump.”

She stops for a second, but only a second. “AGAINST Trump? I’m surprised. I thought you’d be FOR Trump. He’s for abortion. Maybe you should have been aborted.”

I have this weird flicker in my stomach. I’m adopted, so this is a particularly low blow for me. But she doesn’t know it. I’m stunned and cannot think. And the bus stops and she gets off.

Three men move up from the middle of the bus towards the me. A black man sits right in front of me and says, “Please don’t feel bad. She’s like that every time I see her. It’s not you.” The other men, who are white, start saying that she is “troubled” and “I didn’t want to engage” or “she’s not right” and “you’re not special”, which I can’t say is a thing or not since I literally only met her for the ride between one bus stop and the next. And I also believe in her right to say the things she says.

It wasn’t the best start to my trip, but it reinforced my desire to vote for someone who would protect her right to say these things to me.

We get to Harrisburg many many hours later, taking a long walk down a very Shining-esque hallway to a room where only the door to the hallway closes. We aren’t tired since it’s only 9pm where we are from, but we are eager and lay down to get a good night’s rest. We hadn’t talked to anyone in the actual Hillary Clinton campaign office, only the PAdems office, so we have no idea what to expect. We’re both a little scared but totally excited.

I’m going to chronicle our journey to campaign in a battleground state every day.  I hope you’ll join me and read along and let me know what you think.

On Caucusing, Faith, Friends and Strangers

I was scared and that scared would later turn into something between terrified and thrilled. . . As you do when you try something new and you have no idea how to do it.

And that is how I started my very first caucusing adventure. Afraid but excited.

Luckily, I had Lars and Ciara with me. Ciara, the brand new citizen THIS YEAR, doing her first civic duty in a country she has lived in a good chunk of her life; excited, too. Lars, the encyclopedia of knowledge on this process as an employee of the Washington state government and an official campaigner for Hillary Clinton; determined to do this process despite it’s serious flaws because HOW CAN YOU NOT this year!

I’ve voted in general elections, reading candidate and legislation statements, reading articles on both sides, asking my friends about their opinions and then dutifully filling out my paper ballot and sending it in on time - most of the time.

But this year seemed very different. For some reason, I started to understand so much more about how weird our election process is. I started to realize there is a possibility that someone like Donald Trump could be in charge of selecting individuals that could take away my rights and my friends’ rights and could influence others to hate me and my friends and family, making it dangerous for us to walk outside. I read articles before about how our election process needs to change to be less chaotic, less prone to corruption and more democratic. . . But really, up until this year, left that to others to fight the good fight for me.

This year, I needed to start paying back all the people that paved the way for me to be able to do what I do and be who I am.

For example, the woman, at work, who is at least 20 years older than I. She intimidates me, is direct and displays a Rosie the Riveter poster on her cubicle wall. Is her approach my approach? No, but damn if I am not grateful for the fact that she paved the way for me to have a good job and be valued for my contributions rather than my gender.

So, when I went through a door on the inside of Town Hall, where our caucusing took place, I saw a man with the Hillary sticker and took one, to which he said, “All Right! Go Hillary!”

I’m going to admit, the moment I put it on my shirt and it was there for anyone to see, I got nervous. I didn’t want to be yelled at for not supporting Bernie. I know a lot of people in my community and I know they are enthusiastic supporters of Bernie and have talked about their dislike of Hillary’s record and representation of “the establishment.” It’s an opinion I understand and can, to some extent, agree with.

But instead of covering up my sticker or taking it off, after my initial anxiety attack, I decided I would put faith in the people I know in my community to be supportive of each other’s choices.

When we found our precinct, we went down the stairs and found a whole room full of people; hundreds of people. All the chairs were taken (and there were none left to be brought out)and there were people standing and sitting in the back where there was floor space. Ciara, Lars and I went to the back and sat on the floor talking about the process. Lars would tell us that the general process is a bit of shit show because of the lack of organization and haphazard way caucusing delivers results. And I do have to say, in hindsight, his comments were correct. And beginning to be confirmed, when the official district caucus organizer started speaking to tell us the process,when someone yelled out, “We need a primary!” People followed up this declaration with clapping, in support.

The process then went as follows:

(To help be as clear as I can, let’s call this district caucus organizer Brandon. I’m actually not sure what his name was and I feel terrible for forgetting, but I think it’s something like Brandon).

Brandon tells us he will call out precinct numbers, people should raise their hand, and, in a rule of closeness type of way, someone will hand you the handwritten sign with the precinct number on it and the packet that has instructions on caucusing. Then the person with the sign is to raise it up so it can be seen overhead. And then, “in a the most orderly fashion as can be done, go to your number so you can start to caucus.”

Six or seven precinct numbers are then announced and packets distributed, people try to, as orderly as they can, head to their numbers. Ciara and Lars migrate away from me. And then, they seemed to be done. BUT WAIT!!! My precinct hadn’t be called! Do I not get to vote? Is this right? I’d read articles about some shady things in caucuses and primaries that resulted in many votes not getting cast and people having no recourse since there aren’t any laws that give you the right to caucus if your government runs out of the administrative aids to run this process. So. . . I was worried I would actually become a statistic for voter disenfranchisement (wow . . . That’s a word. A great word.). And Lars isn’t anywhere to be asked. . . And I hope something will happen so I can caucus.

Luckily, Brandon then said, “if you are from precinct XXXX”, I’m your leader, so come up here and we’ll get started shortly.” Whew. . . I wouldn’t be disenfranchised this year!

I moved towards the stage and there were so many people around the stage that I sort of hung out a minute or two, not knowing what to do since nothing seemed to be happening. So I turned to my right and looked up at a tall man with a few Hillary stickers on his shirt and asked, “are you XXXX precinct?” He replied by repeating our number. And we made a pact to stick together to get to the right place. My anxiety started to lift because now I had an ally and a friend in the process.  Not only was he unsure about what to do next, he was a Hillary supporter, so at least there would be two of us.

Brandon started to tell his precinct to come up on stage and then one of us in our precinct pushed the curtains back, revealing a small side stage with a small platform, an actor block and some technical equipment for a stage. We all migrated back there and I saw Liz, my neighbor and friend and stuck by her. We moved into the back of the side stage and sat down on the platform together. My tall Hillary ally was across the room from me. Liz and I started to catch up and we exchanged the “I still love you even though you are for .” Because we do. And because our friendship is more than the political candidate we choose. And because we trust each other. Plus she is fucking cool, I can’t not love her. 

Brandon started to read off the sheets in the packet and when asked for a volunteer tallier, a man named Roy raised his hand and said, “I’ll do it.” We all applauded him because YAY for volunteering to make the process happen. Brandon quickly explained to us that we needed to count Hillary supporters, Bernie supporters and undecideds.  Someone said, “Let’s just go to sides of the room for our candidates.” And someone else yelled, “Bernie supporters over here.” That was the side I was sitting on, so I got up and moved to the other side.  Someone yelled, “Undecideds on the end, over here.” It was close to the onstage part of the stage. When everyone stopped moving, it was me and my Tall Hillary friend from earlier on one side, 3 Undecideds on the end. . . And then everyone else which will eventually turn out to be like 25X more than Hillary supporters.

So here’s where I feel more scared. It’s hard to be in the minority for anything when emotions are high and investment is deep on both sides. And to be worried that, because you had read one or two articles about nasty comments to each other, you would be reviled for your choice. But I believed in where I was and had faith that we’d all hear each other out if it came to needing to do that. My belief and faith in other people won over my fear.

But it’s time to actually count. And to be fair, it was easy to count the Hillary and Undecideds. . . But we needed to record the official record of Bernie supporters so we can determine how many delegates our precinct will have. And it’s clear this isn’t going to be as super easy as someone looking over our heads and counting in their head.  I have no idea what had gotten into me, but I stand up and get on the small actor block and I say, in my most loud stage managery voice, “Ok, I’m going to count you!”

Then I proceed to count about 44ish or more people.

Our tallier writes all of this down, Brandon hands him the absentee package and Roy tallies those into our total. He does some math and we learn that based on our numbers, we will get 4 delegates for Bernie, no delegates for Hillary. My Tall Hillary ally asks how many people Hillary would need to get to get a delegate. Roy tells us between 4-6 people. In my head, I realized we would not be able to convince all three undecideds and at least 1-3 Bernie supporters to come to Hillary’s side, so I felt sad my duty is pretty much done. But I wanted to stay for the next part. I wanted to see if the Bernie supporters and frankly, me and Tall Hillary ally would feel compelled to talk about our candidates.

I was scared because I know I am terrible at remembering facts and figures and, while I read a lot, and feel pretty intelligent, when it’s a high stress situation, I am apt to forget my supporting evidence and look like an idiot. And I didn’t want to be judged for my poor performance. I also decided for any next year I do this, I am definitely going to have to practice a speech for my beliefs so that I can engage in rational discourse. . . But alas, you live and learn.

Brandon then told us that we could speak for 3 minutes a person on our candidates, it would be timed by Brandon’s stop watch and an end indicated by wild flailing. A gentleman on the Bernie side started.  It was clear, concise, passionate, and well delivered. Everyone clapped.

At this point, my heart is in my stomach and my anxiety, which usually only resides in the middle of my upper chest and is only about a fist size large, is now all over my arms, abdomen and back. I am vibrating with fear but excitement, too.

But then a few new people show up and we need to count them. We need to put them in the right category.  And all but one of them supports Bernie. So now it’s three of us.

As I vibrate and feel like my insides are actually going to explode, I get back up on the block and say, “I’d like to tell you why I am voting for Hillary. It’s very personal to me.”

I’d attempt to quote myself, but, when I perform, I often blank out the experience of it happening while I’m in front of people speaking. I feel confident enough in my message that apparently my brain blocks out an exact replay of it in my mind, only the feeling is left for me.  So, instead of quoting, I will give you the cliff note version. I also know that because I’ve had time to reflect, my arugment will be more clear/well delivered than it actually was - please keep that in mind as it is a lens though which you will have to consider my experience.

I’ve been experiencing a lot of sexism my whole life. Most of my life I have just accepted it, maybe didn’t even know that was what the behavior even was. But recently I have had my eyes opened to the way in which I am treated and it is clearly rooted in my gender. As it turns out, I care about how I am treated. And it is true how much I have had to do to change to fit into a world that was created by the other gender. I have been told I am emotional, dramatic, that I dig for the drama. I have had to try to be liked, yet strong where people would call me confident rather than bitchy, pushy, or bossy. I have been watching the debates and how the discussion is around Hillary’s likeability and these types of characterizations are being used to discredit her. I’ve seen the way she is treated and that treatment has required her to change herself to fit into a process created by men. And she’s succeeded. Do I want to vote for her just because she is a woman? No. I don’t. Do I agree with everything she’s done? No. I do believe she is qualified. Do I think what Bernie stands for is great? I do. Hillary has paved the way for me and I am here today to pave the way for her.

There were people nodding at the end and then they all clapped.

It felt supportive. These strangers confirmed my faith in each other as a community. They listened to me and supported my choice even though it wasn’t theirs.

Then a woman raised her hand, from the Bernie side, and she started to speak.  She talked about how last year she became a citizen because she could no longer stand by and allow the to establishment to continue on it’s path. That Bernie is the only candidate that makes sense for her based on her experience. She shared that she carries a shame of having voted for Margaret Thatcher because “I was a girl, and she was, too.” There were some audible gasps at her admission of a Thatcher vote. But what bravery to own something she considers a mistake and talk about how that informs her choices today.

It reminded me of the one time I voted republican. . . And how naive I was back then. Yes, I voted for George W. Bush against Al Gore. I was 25, living in rural Wisconsin on a farm where I listened to mostly country music and drank beer and had bonfires. I really liked my life and the people around me informed me of political things. It was before regular internet use, smart phones, and I was in my twenties still thinking I was invincible and didn’t know there were things other than what I knew.

My state went blue that year, so my mistake was corrected by those wiser than I. I am grateful for that even though I still have guilt about it.

Back to the woman finishing her speech about why she is voting for Bernie. Everyone claps and then my Tall Hillary ally gets up on the actor block and bravely says his name is Chris. He then tells the story of why he is voting for Hillary and it is beautiful. He was in the Peace Corps and his work was in Morocco, where he could not acknowledge or look upon the women who were his students, outside of school in the neighborhood streets. And during his service, Hillary came to Morocco and spoke to these girls and women. These young women later came to ask him, in the safety of their classroom, “how do you come from a country where this is possible? Can it be possible for me?” He told how these women were grateful to meet a woman who had gotten beyond the external limits they face every day. She was an inspiration and a motivation for them. And that’s why Chris, my Tall Hillary ally, is voting for Hillary. He was impassioned as he delivered this message. I was moved. Everyone clapped for him.

Another gentleman spoke about his passion for Bernie and his ideals. And we closed with a young single mother who feels that Bernie is the only person that cares about her. And his policies will help her and her family. And that’s why she voting for Bernie. Everyone claps for everyone.

A few more people come on the side stage and we tell Roy he needs to add a few more numbers.  At this point, we decide we just need to count again. I don’t immediately stand up to continue this duty because I’m still shaky from my declaration for Hillary. Brandon looks at me and starts to say, “Would you mind. . . “ And I realize I have been nominated by my earlier courage. I almost literally POP up from my sitting and stand up on the actor block. I say in my loudest stage manager voice, “I’m going to count. “ After an initial attempt I lose track, we decide everyone will raise their hands and when I point to them, make eye contact and say a number, you will put your hand down. And we start again. This goes well until about 23 where I have to put my hand out to have one person put their hand down and another to put their arm up so I don’t lose track. We continue successfully until 43 where I am nervous and almost forget where I am. But the group has my back, and the gentleman I am trying to count says, “you are on 44, I am 44.”  He also has his hand up showing me the number 4. There are murmurs of agreement, so I say, “44” with confidence and continue counting until the end, where the final number I utter is 52.

Roy is surprised because that seems lower than when  we determined how many delegates we have, but it only takes a minute for us to remember the other number was higher because it included the mail in ballots. I see why this process is a bit of shit show and chaotic. . . But it’s also kind of exhilarating. I am out here with my neighbors talking about important things. Meeting new people. Creating relationships.

There is a few more tallying things Roy has to do and so there isn’t much talking. And so I turn to Brandon, thinking I understood enough of the process to know that because there were no Hillary delegates, my duty was done, and ask him, “what’s next?” He confirms my suspicion. I nod, hand him my ballot and said, “do you need anything else? Since I am no longer needed I think I’m out.” He smiles and says, “hey thanks for helping.” I am happy to do it and smile back, “of course.”

As I’m walking out, the new US Citizen who had confessed her Thatcher vote, grabs my arm and says, “thank you!” and I said, “no, thank you.” And she really stops me and says, “no, really,…” There is a very meaningful pause and then she continues, “thank you.” And I get the feeling she really does thank me. She is thanking me for standing up for me, for not tearing her down, for letting her talk, for being a human to another human even when we disagree on this. She was thanking me for taking part in the process even though I knew I wouldn’t get a delegate. It felt very safe - this thank you. It felt right. We respected each other’s choices.

It felt like all things we find different from us should be handled; with humility and compassion.

Leaving, towards the back of the group, I ran into my floor neighbor, Gus, of Gus and Erin fame (I love them!), and we exchanged, hellos and thank yous and good to see yous.

I exited the building and was met with the sun. I stopped at the bottom of the entrance stairs to Town Hall, closed my eyes, put my face up to the sun, took a deep breath and smelled the freshness of spring. The newness of it. The potential for it all. I crossed the street on my walk back home and watched people caucusing on the sidewalk, voting and speaking passionately about their candidates. I watched people take pictures of these people caucusing. I heard people yell, “45 Bernie, 32 Hillary.” And “4 Bernie delegates and 2 Hillary!!”

It was all refreshing and empowering to see my friends and neighbors caring about how our lives can be shaped by our government.

Later, as I’m walking to a local pub, Bill’s Off Broadway to meet back up with Lars and Ciara , where we are expecting to share our experiences, a group of three younger-than-I people yelled to me, “HI!” and I recognize them as Bernie supporters from my precinct.  I smiled widely and waved and said, “Hey! How are you?”  and one of them said, “oh my god, this is great, now I know all of my neighbors!”

It felt like community.


 At Bill’s, Lars, Ciara, Gabe (he joined us later; he didn’t caucus but a public defender who always is participating in our government process), and I share our experiences with each other and drink beer and eat pizza and pepper Lars with questions about the process and the likelihood of a win by any of the candidates; Hillary, Bernie, Ted or Donald. We watch CNN as Washington state started reporting. We laugh about pirates and what they may have smelled like and how awful and smelly it would be to have been around George Washington and his wooden teeth.

We raised our glasses on several occasion' to celebrate our participation. We were happy in Ciara’s happiness to be able to participate in this type of thing for the very first time and how monumental it all felt to her, and to all of us.

And then we walked home, talking about the Light Rail and how it has improved our lives and how we love it so much. And then we hugged each other and said good-bye. . . Knowing we’ll see each other soon.

It was a special day and I shared it with special people.

I started out afraid, but like it always does, the universe reminded me that taking a risk and trusting in your community. . . It’s worth it. It’s important.