It Was Time to Wake Up, But the Georgia Electorate Stayed in Bed

In my December 1st diary entry, I questioned whether or not deploying Obama field staff and volunteers to Georgia would be a successful strategy to elect Jim Martin in the Senatorial runoff election.

Well now that the results are in, it is clear that the Obama magic cannot be transferred by long-distance to candidates in Republican strongholds.


Despite the masses of human and financial resources poured into his campaign, evidently Jim Martin's personal story and vision were not compelling enough to drive the Obama coalition to the polls. Despite appearances by hip-hop stars and civil rights pioneers, Martin's own star power paled in comparison.

Simply put, Martin's platform of anti-crime, child-protective legislation did not display the vision to entrance today's electorate. He did not exemplify the key values of Hope and Change which are so attractive to Obama supporters in the US and around the world.

Could voters truly relate to the idea that Martin's election was a life-and-death necessity, simply in order to give Barack Obama a Super-Majority? Did the electorate understand the need for a Super-Majority? Were voters really convinced of the urgency of this election?

In addition, Martin's campaign was not as clearly focused as the President-Elect's had been. Part of Obama's secret weapon in the general election, besides his oratory skills, his brilliance, his charisma and his magnetic vision, was his insistence that his supporters take advantage of early voting to boost poll numbers. Five-hour early voting lines were not unheard-of in Florida, North Carolina, and other "red", battleground states which were taken by Obama.
However, all the Georgia polls indicated that the early voting turnout was unexpectedly low in Democratic precincts. People, for whatever reason, were simply not sufficiently motivated enough to stand in the rain to vote for a man who did not really represent the Man who Represents Change.

Now Georgia Democrats will be left with the consequences of the loss.



Originally published in The Daily Kos, December 2, 2008.

"We Shall Overcome" In Overtown: Helping Mattie Vote

On the campaign trail as a Deputy Field Organizer for the Barack Obama campaign, I encountered many women, in several states, of all ages, and from all stations of life, whose lives intersected with my own in a variety of ways.

During the last few weeks of the general election campaign, I traveled to South Florida, where I helped get out the vote in Miami-Dade County.

This is the story of one afternoon in one neighborhood, and of one woman whom I will never forget.

OVERTOWN DISTRICT, MIAMI, FLORIDA, October 24, 2008 -- I spent a hot Florida day in the low-income, "Overtown" section of Miami.

Following police abuse-of-power incidents, Overtown (formerly known as "Colored Town") was the site of back-to-back riots in 1982 and 1989, in which one person was killed, hundreds were shot, injured or arrested, and 27 buildings were burned to the ground. Today, the district has an 83 percent concentration of African American residents (vs. 25 percent citywide), and 54 percent of the population lives below the poverty line, with a 23 percent unemployment rate. This area is known for a high crime rate, redevelopment failure, and its invisibility to the political establishment.

I had been warned by an older male family friend not to go "running around" in Overtown, as he considered it a dangerous area where outsiders are unwelcome and easily recognized.

But this is a place where many had been disenfranchised in the 2000 and 2004 elections, and I was determined to enable these people to exercise their constitutional rights of citizenship. I was a child of the Civil Rights Movement. A voice in my mind called out "Yes we can!" and "We shall overcome!" People had died to ensure the rights of people from "Colored Towns" to vote; I would play my role in this legacy of political activism, unfazed by rumors of crime or scary stories from condescending patriarchs.

The Barbecue Rally

Early in the afternoon, my campaign friend and I attended a get-out-the-vote rally at the neighborhood's Youth Center, where union members grilled burgers and hot dogs for the kids and the neighbors. A DJ with a giant outdoor stereo setup played a sampling of music from African American, Trinidadian, Haitian and Cuban traditions. It was a mixed bag; the infectious rhythms jumped from one beat to another. From time to time, the DJ would pick up the mike and begin a rhythmic rap: "Ya got to vote, y'all! It's votin' time, everybody!"

People--men, women and children, mainly single mothers with children, or grandmothers with children--went crazy over the Obama buttons, Obama bumper stickers, temporary tattoos--anything with the candidate's likeness. I had packed a supply of campaign materials in the car and filled my pockets, which helped me to make new friends as I walked among the crowd to introduce myself and initiate conversations about the State's early voting process.

There was a certain subdued, serious resignation among the attendees, as though they'd seen this all before (had other politicians given them barbecue? had they made promises to these people that had never been kept?). Their eyes appeared veiled with a kind of dull sadness (was this a sad place? was enthusiasm uncool?). But my broad smile, my out-of-state visage and all the campaign paraphernalia I produced brought smiles to their faces, one person at a time.


One spectacularly beautiful woman, dressed completely in black despite the heat, stood out in the crowd. It was Emmy and Golden Globe award-winning, Oscar-nominated, Hollywood actress Alfre Woodard, attending the event with a cameraman in tow. Standing under a tree, she spoke at length into the camera, showing great passion as she answered questions from an interviewer about the importance of political action. Afterward, she stood alone, easily approachable and un-mobbed by fans.

Despite the music, the excitement of the children, the grilled food and the celebrity "photo op", it was unclear to me whether or not the event had actually encouraged anyone to vote. But as my car pulled out of the parking lot, women and their children waved to me, grateful for the campaign "swag" I had been able to distribute. Some cars in the lot already sported their new bumper stickers and many people had affixed buttons to their clothing.

Meeting Mattie

Leaving the Overtown Youth Center event, I visited the tiny, overstuffed, fastidiously ornamented, yet proudly clean apartment of a local woman named Mattie. This woman had been calling the Obama field office several times a day, begging someone to come help her complete and mail her absentee ballot.

Mattie "hadn't been feeling well lately" and had recently been hospitalized, so we went to her home, just to collect her one vote. I had no idea what to expect, but I had been duly informed by a volunteer dispatcher at the campaign office that we were going into to a "ghetto" area.

Driving up to Mattie's block in Overtown, in the shadow of Miami's bustling, downtown, high-rise, high-rent district, I passed block after block of empty and abandoned lots and under-the-freeway dominoes games, played by grown men with nothing better to do and nowhere better to go.

Eventually, I encountered one of the neighborhood’s only remaining businesses, a small corner liquor store, painted a bright, Caribbean-style yellow and green. On the corner, there were various congregations of young and old men and women.



Heavily made-up young women wearing skimpy clothing pleaded with a man leaning against the building (were these prostitutes? drug dealers? just ordinary ghetto teenagers?). Something appeared into his hand; the young women walked away again. Out front, a thoroughly disheveled, dangerously thin woman wobbled on her feet, as two carefully-dressed preteen girls tried to talk with her (how did these girls know her? was she their mother? their aunt?).

I parked my car down the block. Across the street, inside the rusty gates and unkempt courtyard of Mattie’s apartment building, several groups of young men wearing XXL t-shirts and twisted, dreaded and braided hairstyles, played cards in the courtyard and joked loudly on the balconies of the upper floors. Without a doubt, this was clearly a neighborhood full of grown men playing games.

We mounted the stairs to Mattie's second floor apartment. After a few knocks, a sad-faced woman of indeterminate age opened the door wearing a faded, flowered housedress and a red satin hair cap. Her eyes, at first guarded, brightened as she looked at me and my friend, standing there in her doorway, dressed in Obama t-shirts and blue jeans. To paraphrase a refrain from the campaign, we were the ones she had been waiting for.

She bade us to enter the dark apartment; it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. She graciously cleared space for me to sit beside her on the plastic-covered sofa. This piece of furniture easily took up half the space in a tiny front room filled with plastic flowers, ceramic figurines, a nonworking television and an electric radio which blared news and talk from a shelf in the corner.

It soon became clear why she needed help with her ballot; her reading skills were limited or nonexistent (could she see well enough to read? had she learned to read in school?) and she had trouble holding a pen (was it due to her illness?). So my friend and I read aloud the various measures and propositions on the ballot, none of which she had yet considered.

Her only preoccupation, the only thing she wanted to ensure, was that we marked her ballot to vote for the person she proudly called, "my boy"; she wanted to vote for Senator Barack Obama as President of the United States of America.

"Do you think he's going to win?" she asked me in all earnestness, looking deep into my eyes as though she trusted me to know the answer. I promised I would pray for him, but only God could know the outcome of this election (would he be able to win? would the election be stolen from him? would my prayers for his success and his safety be heard?).

Eventually, her ballot was completely filled out. Then we double-checked it. Our task completed, we placed the ballot in its envelope and showed Mattie how to sign her name over the seal on the back. We promised to deliver her ballot directly to the post office. She smiled broadly and seemed to become more animated.

She asked us to wait a few moments while she telephoned another woman, her friend in the apartment complex, another woman who lived alone, another house-bound prisoner of this neighborhood. This other woman needed help, too. Could we pick up her ballot, too? Finally, unable to reach the woman by phone, she resigned herself to the realization that the voting was over, so the visit was over. We gently reminded her that it was getting late and we had many more votes to "get out".

She couldn't stop hugging me, repeatedly saying "God bless you! Thank you! God bless you!" as we struggled to make our exit. She smelled good, like soap and lotion. Then we were out the door, thrust into the bright tropical sunshine, even now beginning to fade into sunset. The radio was still audible from inside the apartment.

We reversed course, heading down the stairs, out the rusty gate to the car, walking the gauntlet of young men with nothing better to do than to play games, all day (what did they do at night? what must it be like to live here, day and night, year after year? exactly what kind of games were played here after dark?). One of the young men approached me. "Sister, do you have five dollars you can spare?"

I laughed and told him, honestly, "Are you kidding? I wish I did!" But later in the car, I said to myself and to my friend, "Five dollars? What is he---crazy?" (was he crazy? was I crazy for laughing at him and refusing his request?)

It was only much later, driving on the freeway across town, that we realized we had not instructed Mattie to write the date on the outside of the envelope, per the written instructions. (Would anyone notice? Would they pay attention to the enclosed ballot and count her vote along with the others? Would they just throw away the envelope? Or was it possible that the State of Florida would invalidate her ballot just because of a missing date on the outside of the envelope? Could they do that? No. Surely her vote would still count...or would it?) We grew quiet in the car.

Should we go back to collect the date on the envelope? I could imagine Mattie then, still sitting on the plastic-covered couch in her dark apartment, smiling at the memory of her nice visitors, listening to the radio for news about "her boy", turning the volume louder to drown out the commotion made by all the games being played on the block beyond her door.

Returning to Mattie's apartment was completely out of the question now; the sun had begun to set and the sky was quickly going dark. Mattie had voted; we would have to pray for the right outcome in Overtown.

Originally published in the online exhibition, Women, Power and Politics for the International Museum of Women

BASTA YA! UNIDOS POR EL CAMBIO! Florida Presidential Race Pits Older Generation Against Younger Cuban Americans

MIAMI, FLORIDA---With the race completed, it is clear that Cuban Americans influenced the balance of the South Florida Presidential election, tipping the scales more in favor of John McCain. But that impact was a reflection of a generational chasm between two groups of people: those who orient their focus toward events of the past, vs. those who face their vision squarely toward the future. While a sizable group of older, more conservative Cuban Americans supported the candidacy of John McCain, a steadily growing group of younger Barack Obama supporters were the children and grandchildren of 1960s emigrants from the island nation. These Cuban American Floridians were either born in the United States or immigrated as young children with their parents. They were educated in the US, in Florida or New York, and they embrace their cultural identity as Cuban Americans, not as Cuban emigres.

Julio gathers more signs to distribute in Little Havana

A few days before the election, Julio, a “Super Volunteer” for the Florida for Change campaign raised in a mixed neighborhood of New York City, summed up the situation this way: “All the Cubans I know, even if they don’t speak English, they all know to vote for Obama. All the Cubans my age and younger are voting for Obama. I drive all over Miami (in an Obama-decorated car) and people just honk their horns at me! It’s amazing! A police officer pulled me over. I was so nervous; I thought, ‘Wow, I hope I didn’t do anything wrong!’ He said, ‘Hey, where did you get your (Obama) flags?’ I couldn’t believe it! I’ve never felt this way since Jack Kennedy. When I saw him speak at the 2004 Convention, I felt this was like someone I had seen before: John F. Kennedy.”

This feeling is shared by many, not just in the immigrant community. But, among older Cuban Americans, instead of having an endearing effect, the comparisons with Kennedy have the opposite effect. They only alienate a distinct population with a historical gripe to settle.

According to Cuban American Obama supporter and media producer Mercedes, who emigrated to this country at the age of 9, “Cuban Americans are very loyal, so that’s one of the reasons why they have remained anti-Democrats and Republicans, because during the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy did not keep his word to support the troops of Cuban volunteers who landed in the Bay, and really, they were left to die, so ever since then, there’s been this animosity against Democrats”.

Furthermore, to many older Miami Hispanic residents, Obama reminds them not of John F. Kennedy, but of their old nemesis Fidel Castro, and his younger, fellow leftist Latin American leader Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, both of whom have made the education, health care and well-being of the poor a central part of their popular platforms. According to Mercedes: “both the Cuban Party in Cuba and Chavez said, ‘We wish Obama will win because we can better talk to him.’ But the minute (the) Castro regime said that, some of the ones that were on the fence went berserk.”

At polling locations, handmade signs supported this rabid anti-Obama fanaticism. The signs read, “OBAMA & FIDEL Castro Marxist” and “Cuba Got Change in 1959 Be Careful What U Wish 4”. Fears of another Castro-style Communist takeover, this time of the US, were palpable and painful. The equivocation of Castro and Obama was so complete in their minds, that many older people tearfully pleaded with younger family members to reconsider their political stance in light of the experiences of their elders, still rich in recent memory. These are the people who yelled, “Communist!”, “Go back to your country!” and various expletives at Obama volunteers conducting honk-and-wave visibility events, wearing campaign buttons, even catching a meal at Miami’s famous Versailles restaurant, a culinary and political hotspot on Miami’s SW 8th Street, also known as “Calle Ocho”. It was said by campaign workers that cars carrying Obama bumper stickers might be vandalized there, and it is a fact that two young volunteers, the Vazquez sisters, were verbally harassed by fellow patrons at the upscale diner for wearing Obama campaign paraphernalia.

Maria-Teresa and the Vazquez Sisters in Obama Field Office

But on polling lines and in Obama field offices throughout the Miami area, younger people readily offered their disdain for the fear and paranoia of their elders. This generation was eager to wear Obama stickers, campaign buttons, and to actively volunteer to educate their community about this new style of American presidential candidate. They manned Spanish-language phone banks, canvassed the streets of Little Havana, even supported donations of Cuban fast food to nourish the hordes of local and out-of-state staff and volunteers at area field offices.

As several younger people candidly admitted, many lied to their parents and grandparents about their choice of Presidential candidate to keep peace in their families, yet were openly proud to be able to make their own decisions in the privacy of the voting booth---and that choice was overwhelmingly for Barack Obama as President of the United States of America.

Mercedes eloquently explained the opposite pull of generational politics among this community. “The new generation is looking beyond old gripes. And we’re more open to solutions vs. old rhetoric. The Cuban Americans that are open-minded see Obama as someone with the vision, someone with substance, and someone who wants to bring people together vs. splitting them apart.”

Ironically, as articulate as Mercedes’ own explanations are, it appears that it is Barack Obama’s tremendous verbal eloquence, and the radiance of his promises, that arouse the most paranoia among Miami’s Cuban American emigrant community.

She explains: “Another thing: Cubans are very suspicious about what a great speaker he is, and they associate that with Castro, because Castro was a very great and engaging speaker. So, for Obama, some of them say, ‘He speaks so beautifully and he speaks so well, that we don’t trust him.’ So there’s this association and old wounds that never healed. Because everybody that came afterwards, nobody has done anything for Cuba. They come down to Miami when it’s voting time, and promise that this time, something will be done for Cuba, but nothing happens. It hasn’t happened in 50 years. The Cuban community has been sensitive for so many years to broken promises from both parties. But the Republicans have done a better talk; they have been smarter to promise what the Cubans want to hear, regardless of their real intentions. We believe that Obama will help all the people, because he has a plan to help, not just the rhetoric to promise help to win an election.”

Finally, I will share with the reader a community secret: there is another sort of resistance to Obama, seen among some older Cuban voters, that was often expressed in a surreptitious gesture, silently made in kitchens and living rooms throughout Florida, to widened eyes and slow nods of the head: that of the index finger of the right hand being rubbed back and forth across the back of the left hand. Some old traditions have not died in the new country. But a new generation’s attitudes have begun to meld with those of their non-immigrant cohort in the wider population. They view Obama’s biracial ethnicity as a promise fulfilled, not a nightmare in the making. A revolution, yes; but one which is welcomed and long awaited, like a warm, tropical rain washing away years of bitterness and regret.

"Vote Esperanza, No Miedo"

More:

I helped register thousands of voters in California, traveled to Texas to campaign and watch the polls in the primaries, traveled to Florida to get out the vote and organize poll watching and voter protection for the general election. Over the past year, I served as a deputy field organizer and precinct captain, I have hosted house parties and local fundraisers, hosted voter registration events at public events and I have traveled a great deal for the campaign.
I worked to help voter outreach to the Caribbean American, Haitian American, Mexican American, Guatemalan, Cuban American and African American communities, and with young people and middle class families in several states.

Voting experience:

I voted early.

What I did:

I voted, convinced someone, shared info, donated, phone banked, canvassed, helped someone register, drove someone to polls, raised money, worked as a pollworker/monitor, helped election protection efforts. I published several pieces on the Huffington Post.

Originally published in Our Stories: Obama 08 on ColorOfChange.org, November 2008.

South Florida Early Voting Lines: Cesarean Sections, Nonagenarians and Sam Cooke

MIAMI --- (As told to the correspondent by husband-and-wife Obama Volunteers Pierina and Aramis in the Coral Gables office)

The last early voting hours for Miami-Dade County were 9:00 am to 5:00 pm Saturday and 1:00 to 5:00 pm Sunday. "You could feel the hope in the votes," according to an Obama volunteer named Aramis. At the Model City Library, early voters were predominantly Haitian immigrants and African Americans, with a sprinkling of Hispanics. Among the polite crowd of all ages, there were many grandmothers with lots of grandchildren. From time to time, the poll workers would pull the most elderly people and bring them to the front of the line, as a courtesy. While voters waited up to three hours for the number on their admission ticket to be called, everyone displayed mutual respect, calmness and an uncommon patience.

People stood for hours in the pouring rain, to vote. The line curved along four long, downtown city blocks. According to the volunteers who experienced it, it was like something out of a movie. Human drama unfolded in the line as the rain gave way to sunny skies, and later to dusk and darkness.

One woman had just given birth through Cesarean section at a nearby hospital. Instead of going home, her husband drove his wife and their new baby directly from the hospital to the Library, just so she could vote on the last day of early voting. She knew she couldn't come on Tuesday, so she stood in that line, just so that she could vote for Barack Obama. Her tiny, newborn baby stayed in the car with her husband; this woman was still wearing slippers from her hospital stay. She could barely walk in her condition, yet she waited stoically at the Model City Library to vote.

Late in the day, a young man played music on a boom box. Slowly from the speakers came the strains of Sam Cooke's 1963 song, "A Change is Gonna Come" and the scene became an indelible memory, a dreamlike scene from a film still to be produced.


As the song blasted on speakers in the background, an old woman, well in her 90s and using a walker, slowly approached the line, dressed in her Sunday best (although it was only Saturday): a brightly-colored, flowered polyester dress with big shoulder pads, earrings and a pocketbook. She was one of the last people trying to get in line before the five o'clock cutoff time. Entering the library required ascending a long, inclined wheelchair ramp. The old woman had brought two people to accompany her, perhaps her grandchildren or her great-grandchildren. One walked on each side and one behind her, in case she fell or needed assistance. She walked slowly and methodically up the ramp to take her place in line, as the lyrics to the Sam Cooke song echoed off the concrete walls of the library courtyard.

As a sign of her advanced years and the effects of osteoporosis, her body was folded over, almost in a 90-degree angle. Yet she was focused, looking straight ahead, as though she wasn't about to take her eyes off the prize. The way she was walking, stoically, steadfast and with purpose, it was as though she was holding her head up high. Even though her body was stooped over, her spirit was in the clouds. With this vote, she would make history. Slowly, step-by-step, she walked toward the future; yes, after a long, long time, a change was coming.

"A Change is Gonna Come", by Sam Cooke, as performed by Otis Redding.
Video montage by handlinsd on YouTube.



Originally published in the Huffington Post, November 3, 2008.

Anti-Abortion Protesters Storm South Florida Obama Office

CORAL GABLES, FLORIDA--- A group of approximately fifty anti-abortion protesters, with Spanish-language press in tow, descended upon the Obama for America campaign offices in Coral Gables, Florida yesterday, October 30. Escorted by their activist priest, the group was armed with printed signs depicting aborted fetuses. Their hand-printed signs read, "A Vote for Obama is a Vote for Dead Babies", and other slogans equating support for the Democratic candidate with a pro-abortion stance.

Obama, like others on the Democratic Party slate, is pro-choice, not pro-abortion, and supports a woman's right to choose. This event was clearly organized in concert with McCain campaign supporters, as cars and vans decorated with McCain paraphernalia were seen driving around the rally, honking horns.

Police arrived to keep the marchers from blocking streets, parking spots and entrances to retail businesses along the "Miracle Mile" district in downtown Coral Gables. Obama volunteers refused to engage the protesters and quickly responded by printing signs reading "People of Faith for Obama" and "Women for Obama", attaching the signs to their personal cars, parked on the street. If the protest's organizers had hoped to block the everyday goings-on of the busy Obama office, they were mistaken. Eager volunteers walked the gauntlet and continued to enter the field office to pick up yard signs, printed material and instructions for canvassing and phone banking. A group of volunteers inside the office shook their heads and clucked their tongues, describing the crowd in Spanish as "los fanaticos..." commenting that the protest rally was clearly the sign of a desperate campaign in the midst of defeat.

Despite the obvious presence of many McCain-Palin supporters, Obama offices are hubs of continual activity, with new volunteers dropping in throughout the day and evening.

Originally published in Huffington Post, October 31, 2008.

Campaign Journal: Young San Francisco Does Its Part for Obama While Dancing

San Francisco is the darkest blue of cities in the bluest state of the red, white and blue United States. It's the least red (and the least white) of cities as well. For two centuries, the "City by the Bay" has attracted the young, the adventurous, the bohemian, the fun-loving, the aesthetically-sensitive and the creatively-intense from all over the world. What gives the City its charm is this diversity and a sense of being on the cutting edge of the new world, on the Pacific Rim. Fortunes are made here; trends begin; people "find themselves" and each other. The climate is kind, the food, wine and coffee are good, and people are generally tolerant of one another's differences.

As an Obama volunteer, I have been active in my local community, when not traveling to a battleground state for the campaign. I know that the swing states are where my work will have the most impact, but I always get excited about the opportunity to reach out to Bay Area voters.

In particular, I have focused my attention on organizing registration drives at the many cultural events which attract members of the City's avant-garde arts community, including street fairs and jazz festivals. In the past week, I participated in three local events that epitomize the cutting edge of the campaign among this diverse group of fun-loving art-lovers.


The LoveParade and LoveFest

The LoveParade and LoveFest were imported to the City from Berlin, Germany. These concurrent events attract hundreds of thousands of young people to lose themselves in movement, as they dance to underground electronic music, blasted from flatbed trucks tricked out as mobile discos. After the LoveParade heads down Market Street, the floats are parked around the plaza near City Hall to create the thundering vibe of LoveFest. People deck themselves out in colorful and creative costumes which emphasize the power of fantasy, music and dance as means to achieve peace, love and communal happiness. The more outlandish, the better. The outdoor dancing goes on until 9:00, when Civic Center Plaza is cleared, cleaned and swept; the parties continue until the wee hours in the City's many nightclubs and art galleries. In short, LoveParade/LoveFest is a 21st century "be-in".

Obama Volunteer Leila with newly-registered voter at LoveFest, taken in front of San Francisco City Hall

On the occasion of LoveFest, we set up a "Voter Registration Station" near the City Hall steps and registered hundreds of new, young voters. No matter how wild they were dressed, how much they might have looked like thugs, bikers, druggies or gangsters, these ethnically-diverse young people were enthusiastic and polite. They smiled warmly. They were so grateful to us for coming to them to make the voter registration process convenient and easy, and for helping to explain the California voting procedures, because they just didn't know how to do it.

"Wow! You guys are here! Awesome! Can I register to vote right now?" One young man came to the booth with two of his buddies. They looked like young barrio toughs, with bandanas and XXL-sized plain white t-shirts. "Hey, can I register?" he asked. It turns out that he had just turned 18 two weeks earlier. His friends patiently waited for him to finish, while leaning over the counter to help him answer the questions correctly. All three were bubbling over with excitement, and they chatted with me about their plans for a fun evening in the City. It occurred to me that for those young men, registering their friend to vote was the 2008 equivalent to taking him for his first tattoo, a bold step towards manhood, accompanied by his older buddies. I handed them campaign stickers which they proudly affixed to their shirts and jackets, heading off into the crowd.

Later in the day, another newly-registered young man asked, in all sincerity, "Now, if I can't make it to that voting thing on November 4th, can I reschedule it?" A young lady beside him at the booth yelled, "Oh, no! You can't! It won't count!" and I patiently explained to him that he had the option of voting early at City Hall, if he felt he could not be available on November 4.

The most touching moment was when I registered a man in his late 50's, a long-ago native of Arkansas named Robert. Robert had obviously been drinking before arriving at LoveFest; he was probably just in the neighborhood, saw the excitement and decided to wander over. Robert came to our voter registration booth with a sad look on his face, to announce that he wished he could vote for Obama, but he couldn't. When asked why not, he responded that he could not vote because he "had a felony." I asked him if he had finished serving his time ("Oh, a long time ago!") and if he was currently on probation or parole ("No, I finished with all that years ago"). So I informed him that yes, he was indeed eligible to vote and that I would register him right then and there, even help him to understand the procedure. As he painstakingly started to fill out the form, placing every letter in the correct box, and squinting his eyes to read the small print, he abruptly stopped, put the pen down, and looked at me with watery, fearful red eyes. "I won't get in trouble for doing this, will I?" I had to catch my breath and call the other volunteer in the booth for support. I called Registration headquarters on my cell phone just to make sure, just to reassure Robert, and to confirm what was written on the handout and the form: If a person, even a convicted felon, wishes to vote, it is his American right to vote, so long as he is no longer in prison or on parole.

Robert completed his form and handed it to me with all seriousness. He seemed to sober up as we went over the form to search for errors or omissions. I signed the form and handed him his receipt, which he slowly and carefully folded and placed in his wallet. He looked into my eyes with gratitude, thanked me, shook my hand, and accepted the big hug I gave him. My last words to him as he walked away toward the street were, "Robert, look--you tell everyone you know that they all have the right to vote! They can vote! Once they've served their time, they can be a citizen again! Tell everybody! Tell them all!"

"Salsa4Obama"

"Salsa4Obama" was a fundraising event at a nightclub on the waterfront side of the City, what used to be the working-class docks of a bustling maritime community. On this night, the area's top Latin musicians had donated their services, the club donated the venue, the promoters donated the production, and the printers made the flyers. Invitations were sent via e-mail, so there were little or no overhead costs.

Salsa4Obama vocalists

I worked the front door of the event, welcoming hundreds of people and explaining that 100% of their hard-earned contributions would go directly to our candidate's campaign. This put a smile on everyone's face. "That's what I'm here for---to help Barack!" The crowd was patient in forming a queue outside the door, the pace regulated by the burly doorman, as each person who entered had to complete a donation form to comply with federal campaign finance requirements. No one wanted to stand out on the waterfront, in the foggy night, but no one wanted Barack to "get in trouble" for not having the proper paperwork attached to his donations from the event.

Inside the club, there was a popular voter registration station with buttons, t-shirts and a giant Obama paper doll with which people could snap photos. There was a fundraising display by the group "Obamanos", which is recruiting volunteers for a campaign to send Spanish-speaking volunteers to battleground states: Nevada, Colorado and New Mexico. The cheerful and well-dressed crowd included many nationalities of Latinos and Hispanics of all ages, from new immigrants to 3rd or 4th generation residents. But, in true San Francisco Bay Area style, the crowd was packed with so many others: African Americans, West Indians, Asians, Filipinos, European Americans and European tourists from France and Italy, who had heard about the event on the internet and just wanted to check out the scene.

And what a scene it was! Dancers sweating, moving their feet and swinging their hips around the floor to the "clave" rhythm of the percussion beats, beautiful young couples, contented middle-aged couples, single women dancing with one another or alone, single men on the sidelines watching the women and enjoying the pyrotechnical skills of the band. And the band! It was a multinational, all-star band, assembled for the night by arts commissioner John Calloway, himself a noted jazz educator and musician. Everyone had fun onstage performing with one another-- for one night only--to support the candidacy of someone they believed in, someone they hoped might help lift that embargo, so that the good, good music could keep on flowing from one shore to another, and back again.

From time to time, the vocalists would improvise, revamping the Spanish lyrics to weave in the candidate's name with the Spanish words for "Hope" and "Change"...and "Si se puede".

"Decompression"

Burning Man is an artistic and cultural event that began on the beaches of San Francisco but has now become a worldwide phenomenon, including the creation and destruction of a virtual "city" each September on a space known as "The Playa" in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. The climax of the festival each year is the actual burning of a giant wooden sculpture, ("The Man") which represents the impermanence of man's presence on the earth. The 50,000 participants are instructed with the mantra to "leave no trace" on the desert, the temporary city is dismantled and everyone returns home.

Held each October, "Decompression" is an annual event which marks the return to the Bay Area of local event organizers, Burning Man camp residents and many of the artists who create the Burning Man sculptures, architecture, music, dance and participatory events. The event is a welcome-home fair, covering six blocks of the city's industrial Dogpatch neighborhood, converting it into a fantasy miniature environment, "the closest thing to the Playa", as I have been told.

Newly-registered voters throwin' up O's at Burning Man Decompression Event, San Francisco

I organized a Voter Registration Station at "Decom" and recruited a colorful group of volunteers who represented a cross-section of the Burning Man community. Lara and Rick came dressed in "Steam Punk" regalia, as though they had just stepped out of the 1870s; the energetic, yet even-tempered, 20-something couple hustled all day to register as many voters as they could, making a game of it. Another volunteer, Gary, came dressed in his fire engine-red work jumpsuit, fresh from the desert, where he operated a giant crane to de-install the massive steel sculptures on the playa. Between registering voters, he took the time to introduce me to the "movers and shakers" of Burning Man, who had insisted that our voter registration efforts be non-partisan, to preserve the independent ethos of the Burning Man community.

A bandstand was near our tent, so we were treated with everything from country fiddle music to roller disco to Brazilian samba and classic rock covers throughout the day and into the night. Amidst the flaming metal sculptures, marching bands, hula hooping, futuristic photo displays and costumed participants, we registered over a hundred voters and provided information to many more. Once again we were greeted with thanks for having made the registration process more accessible. Some registrants had just turned 18; some had recently moved; some were middle-aged people who had never felt compelled to vote before. As the evening wore on, at least one young lady was too inebriated to complete her form, but she was an exception to the rule. As we were closing down our tent and taking down the signs, one last man came over to beg us to stay open for a few more minutes. He had been thinking of registering and decided there was no time like the present.

Over the course of the day, we registered members of the Democratic, Republican, Green, Peace and Freedom and Independent Parties. One guy wrote his own party name on the form, the "No More War" Party. We registered artists, poets, musicians, one well-known rock guitarist (Stephan Jenkins of the group Third Eye Blind), and, if the name was correct, one well-known local billionaire. If that was not his real name, we were taken in, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it had not been the real guy, the real billionaire, that we registered. Like San Francisco itself, and like this 2008 Presidential campaign, Burning Man attracts all kinds to the party.


Published in the Huffington Post, October 15, 2008.