In which our hero ventures into the picturesque middle of nowhere, to register voters who are indifferent or hostile to the electoral process, and are just hoping for a righteous jam and a mellow vibe instead of a political harangue...07/03/04, The Gorge - George, WA
The Gorge Amphitheater is inconveniently located in the middle of Washington State, a long and boring drive from Spokane, Seattle, and Portland. The venue is undeniably beautiful - tumbling down the side of a deep canyon cut by the great Columbia River, surrounded by rolling grasslands and granite cliffs. Camping is cheap and grassy parking lots turn into medium sized villages, filled with vans, tents, and vendors. It can be really hot in the day, but the evenings are cool and comfortable. The lawn tickets afford a decent view of the stage, and the sound is clear and consistent.
In short, it is a favorite of touring bands and their fans, and holds a special place in the hearts of jam bands like the Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic, and DMB. People come to hang out and socialize with friends and fellow travelers. It's a place to get away from it all. In this kind of environment, politics is a tough sell.
I had already mail-ordered my tickets for the Dead/Allman Brothers concert at the Gorge when I heard about Headcount and volunteered. As a political junkie and long time fan of the jam music scene, I loved the concept - "to make sure the live music community is well-represented at the polls." Trying to bring disenfranchised and discouraged folks into (or back into) the political process is important, but frankly, most of them have good reasons for feeling disenfranchised and discouraged.
I know people who are willing to endure grueling roadtrips, primitive lodging, lousy food, and outrageous ticket prices, but who can't be bothered to fill out a voter registration card or an absentee ballot. They really don't see the point. Hell, in the summer of 2004, I was sympathetic. I would rather have heard Bob Weir vamp his way through a 20-minute version of my least favorite Dead song (Corrina) than listen to another Kerry stump speech.
My conservative neighbor Rick, a successful salesman who listens to Rush Limbaugh on his long SUV drives through rural Washington, was also a fan of the Allman Brothers who wanted to check out the concert, so he agreed to come four hours early and help me out. We pulled out of our Spokane cul-de-sac early Saturday morning, and began our trek across the "scab lands" of Eastern Washington. When we got to the venue around 11, it was already in the mid-80s, and we busted into our cooler. The Headcount "organizers" of the registration drive didn't show up until about noon, with some vague advice and a couple of beat-up clipboards.
A long line of fans was already assembled to get the most desirable seats on the lawn, so Rick and I grabbed the clipboards and started walking the line. We adopted a Crossfire-style banter that folks found amusing, if not particularly compelling. As the beer supply went down and the temperature went up, I admit that I started playing to the liberal crowd at Rick's expense - saying things like "if you think this guy deserves another big tax cut - go ahead and don't vote" or "if you think we need to stay the course in Iraq - vote Republican like that guy - if you want a change, register and vote Democrat." Rick got sympathy and a beer or two from the few unabashed Republicans in the crowd, but I got the laughs and high fives.
What we didn't get were many new voters. A multigenerational family of Deadheads watched proudly as their teenage boys registered to vote for the first time, but they would have probably done so elsewhere. Some people had moved, and wanted to essentially file a change of address. After more than an hour of work, we only had about half a dozen forms.
A lot of the older hippies were quite skeptical, and a few were confrontational. One said, "the last time I voted was for JFK, and look what they did to him." Two or three busted out that old chestnut, "I don't vote, it just encourages the bastards." The younger fans mostly avoided eye contact - they wanted to get into the venue, not listen to middle-aged dudes talk about civic duty. We were hot, beerless, and hungry, so we headed up to "Shakedown Street" - the cluster of vendors in the parking lot.
The vibe was definitely more relaxed in the lots. There were people just hanging out, looking for cheap or free tickets, soaking up the scene, and reserved ticket holders who weren't in a big hurry to get into their seats. Tents, RVs, and vans spread out, and folks passed pipes and picnic plates. We were well treated and well fed, but had trouble scaring up unregistered voters.
We joined the crowd of vendors, hawking voter registration along with the other products available. I added my market cry "Headcount. Register to vote. You deserve to be heard." I was slightly more successful than the veggie-tofu pita sandwich vendor with dreadlocks, but got killed by all the t-shirt guys and drug dealers. I started in on my anti-Republican shtick again, but Rick got fed up, and passed his clipboard to a cute 20-something hippy chick with deep brown eyes in exchange for his extra concert pass. It was probably his smartest move of the day - she registered another four or five young men while he relaxed.
Finally, I started walking up to small groups of folks chilling out in drum circles and picnic sites, and introduced myself and the concept of Headcount - "Hey, I'm Jae, I'm trying to help some cool people make some positive changes in the political scene." OK, it was corny, but I followed up with questions like - "where are you from," "have you been to any other shows on this tour," and "did you ever see the Dead when they were Grateful?" Then I asked if they were registered to vote, and if not, why not.
The answers were interesting, and a little sad, but the conversation started. I hate to add to the popular Deadhead stereotype, but a several people said they didn't vote because they couldn't vote - they were felons with nonviolent convictions - mostly dealing or growing. Some had misdemeanor possession convictions, and thought that left them out as well. I wasn't sure how to deal with this issue - state laws vary a lot on the voting rights of felons, but all misdemeanor cases should be able to vote.
A lot of other people were essentially homeless - crashing with friends and family between tours, trying to earn and save money for the next run. I suggested to one young man that he use his parent's address. He snorted a bong hit through his nose, and coughed, "They haven't talked to me in years, dude."
The clear, sharp tones of Dicky Betts' guitar cut through the smoke and heat, and I started to move away, but I lingered. "Sign up anyway, what's the harm?" I said, "Maybe it will work out." But honestly, I doubt that it did. Who knows how many of these forms were successfully processed, and how many of those people actually voted? Maybe none, maybe two or three. But these were people who otherwise wouldn't have tried to vote, even though they were the victims of a punitive drug policy, a frayed safety net, and an inaccessible and alienating political process.
My reserved ticket sat in my pocket, and I missed the entire Allman Brothers show. I started heading toward the gates as the Dead started up. Later, looking at the play list, I felt some regret, but at the time, it felt good to volunteer. I had enjoyed this scene all my adult life, and felt like I was giving a little something back.
When I finally dragged my sorry ass into the reserved seats, I was tired, sunburned, and hung over. I honestly don't remember much of the show, though I felt somewhat vindicated when some of the Allmans returned to jam with the Dead. At the break, I tried to rehydrate and register another voter or two. People wanted to hit the bathrooms, not the ramparts. If I really wanted to get at the nonvoters, I should have probably stayed in the lots and skipped the show altogether, but frankly, that was just too much to ask. I needed a break too.
Rick had fortunately sobered up by the time we took the long trip home across the desert. I dug out some old Pink Floyd studio albums - tired for the moment of the handcrafted sounds of live music. As we drove through the dark sagebrush, Roger Waters howled, "So ya, thought ya, might like to go to the show? To feel the warm confusion, that space cadet glow? Tell me is something confusing you sunshine, is this not what you expected to see? If you want to find out what's behind these cold eyes, you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise." Roger that, Roger.
As everybody knows, the Republicans pulled off a squeaker in 2004, and treated it like a landslide. I was saddened and sickened, but not surprised. We're still in Iraq, there are more tax cuts, and the rising costs of gas will probably hit the slim wallets of the tour rats pretty hard this summer. For better or worse, the Dead haven't toured since 04, and the Almann's haven't been near Spokane either. This year, Headcount reconvened for a less ambitious "Midterms Matter" tour. I volunteered for the Dave Matthews Band shows at the Gorge - the only show on this campaign in relatively easy driving distance. I haven't heard back yet. But if I get the call, I will go.