or why "Victory is sweet even deep in the cheap seats"
By now we have all poured over the posts on multiple blogs and heard the pundits talk endlessly about how and why Barack Obama was elected as the 44th president of the United States. The numbers are clear: Barack Obama has won the electoral college in a landslide, and he has won the popular vote by more than seven million votes. But the real victory can be found beyond these metrics.
Many of my friends and family have asked me about my experience as a Minnesota DFL (Democratic-Farmer-Labor) poll challenger yesterday. If it’s OK, I would like to share a few thoughts about this historic night.
I’ll admit to having a sleepless night on Monday. My chest was tight and my mind raced. If Barack Obama lost this race – after all of the hard work, the carnage of two wars, amid the worst economy in a century – what would that say about us as a country? I simply could not fathom how I would ever explain a loss to our young children (11, 8 and 5). After all, they had put so much of their own efforts into this election – working alongside my wife and I at Obama headquarters, making their own posters, spreading the word at school! Finally, at around 3 a.m., I found clarity. Barack Obama would win the election because this year we were voting for a man we deeply believe in – not against a candidate we distrust and abhor (see election results from 2004). It was hope triumphing over fear.
At 6:15 a.m. yesterday, I made my way to Scheffer Recreation Center, the polling location for St. Paul Ward 1 – Precinct 10, where I would be working as a DFL Challenger. The location was in Frogtown (a few blocks north and west of the Minnesota State Capital), a predominately African American and Hmong community. I should note that the title of “challenger” is a bit of a misnomer – my role was to make sure that every eligible voter in the precinct would have a chance to cast their ballot. With a handful of documents and a cell phone, I pulled up a chair behind the election judges at the registration table. More than 20 people were already standing in line at this tiny precinct, waiting for the polls to open.
At 7 a.m., voters began to enter the windowless, brick-walled gymnasium at the rec center to cast their vote. And I was inspired. My own voting experience, a white, comfortably middle-class male, has consisted of little more than stopping into my polling location at the local Catholic school, signing my name, coloring in small ovals with a black marker and collecting a sticker. In-and-out, and I’m on with the rest of my day. But what I witnessed yesterday has changed my life.
I was humbled watching dozens of infirmed, physically-challenged, amputee and blind voters make their way to the voting stations throughout the day. I was grateful for Mai, the Hmong election judge who translated the ballot for more than 30 voters who did not speak or read English – including a very old woman who was dressed in beautiful traditional Hmong clothing and jewelry (from hat-to-shoes). I smiled in wonder at the many Muslim women who proudly affixed their “I Voted” stickers to their hijabs. And I was awed by the more than 300 men and women who registered to vote on election day. Incredibly, nearly one-third of the total voters in the precinct registered yesterday (using Minnesota's voter-friendly same-day registration) in time to make history. And a vast majority of those new registrants were young African American men and women becoming engaged with the political process for the very first time.
Sisters went home to get brothers. Entire families registered together. Wives vouched for husbands as they prepared to vote for the first time. Young men stopped in to register and vote between working two jobs. Two coworkers walked over from McDonald’s during their break, and looked at me and said, “We wanted to get one of these stickers because everyone coming in to eat has one.”
And perhaps most touching was a young man who walked in around 7 p.m. last night. He had just moved to the precinct a couple of days ago. He had a driver’s license and a utility bill with his previous address, but nothing that proved residency in the precinct. Two election judges – Richard and Robert – helped him locate the polling place for his previous address. They even helped fill out the registration form so he would be ready to vote when he got there. Time was running out. It would take about 15 minutes to get to his polling location, and he would have to ask to borrow a car. But he was determined to vote before the polls closed at 8 p.m.
As he left the polling location, a few of us gathered. We could see the disappointment in the young man’s face when he left – and even though we did everything we could within the law to help him, we felt there was a very real chance that he would not get to vote.
As the crowd thinned, we suddenly saw the young man return. He had a huge smile on his face. Along side of him was a friend he had run into on his way home – someone who could vouch for his residency in his precinct. He registered, voted, and as he put on his sticker he walked back to the registration table and shook Richard’s hand and gave Robert a kind slap on the back. Tears rolled down our faces.
Over the course of 14 hours, you really get a chance to know the people you work with. And even though I was at the polling station as a challenger, the election judges treated me as one of their own. After all, it only took about 25 minutes to figure out that the whole crew was a bunch of lefties. Richard and I ended up having a number of connections. Now in his 60s, Richard grew up in my hometown in “one of the six St. Cloud Jewish families.” An experience he would rather not relive. He later taught at my alma mater, Saint John’s University in Collegeville (we shared a lot of stories about the monks!). He has worked on numerous political campaigns, including two months in Oregon during Carter’s election campaign. And he was at the 1968 convention in Chicago. He has been active in politics his entire life. At the end of the night, as we were saying our goodbyes, Richard turned to the group and said, “This is the most of fun I have ever had working on an election. And I really enjoyed the 60s!”
As the head election judge finished some paperwork, I sat down with the rec center custodian. He rigged-up a TV so that we could watch some of the results come in on C-Span. He lived in Chicago for a few years, but has been in Minnesota since. He kept shaking head, saying, “I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it.”
At 9:15 p.m., the scanner was finally closed out. In all, 938 voters made their voices heard at our precinct. And in case you’re wondering, the final results were 826 for Barack Obama, 98 for John McCain and 11 for Other.
And at 10 p.m. CST, those 826 voters from St. Paul Ward 1 – Precinct 10 raised their voices with ours and millions of others around the world and shouted, “Yes we did!”
It’s been a magnificent and beautiful journey so far. And tears of joy continue to flow pretty easily today. But this is just the beginning. In years to come we can tell our children, grandchildren, friends and family that we stood up and believed in hope over fear. Yes we did.
BCB