Sharing Hope By Mali Lorenz
Is it a mistake for me to put hope in a political candidate? I sometimes feel shy about it, depending on whom I’m with. I don’t want to be seen as naive, or not radical enough to meet the true challenges. I’m aware that once I’ve decided to like someone, I’m biased towards brushing off negative information. (One could say the same about romance!) But I notice that politicians are just people, some of them good smart people. Like Elizabeth Warren! Andrew Yang! Even Jeff Flake! I follow politics and current events, letting optimism flow quite readily when I see encouraging traits or trends in candidates or sociopolitical movements. And I often speak up if my favorite candidates or activists do something that disappoints me, that I think undermines the greater good.
Snarky tweets, hypocrisy, insults and comebacks; inspiring slogans, celebrations of diversity, or incremental victories; boring policy details, inconvenient truths, and legislative horse-trading...
Every day I follow the dramas and quirks of the Democratic presidential-primary season. I care deeply; yet I’m also entertained as I place hopes in certain partisan “teams” and leaders more than others. I often think about what I’d say in response to this or that hard question or infuriating injustice. I’ve actually read through foreign-policy developments and some of Elizabeth Warren’s long but impressive policy plans. I also bite on the latest tidbit clickbait, some offhand comment that probably isn’t worth the amount of coverage it gets.
“I’ve got a plan for that!” she keeps saying with her folksy-yet-fighter smile. Am I a crowd-follower? At first, something about Warren didn’t come across as presidential to me; it could have been sexism, or just thinking she was a tad niche. This early impression shifted, as my interest rose along with Warren’s overall poll numbers.
I love Warren’s well-thought-out progressive policies across a bewildering range of important issues, and her consistently sunny and savvy campaign style. I can relate to her as having ordinary roots in Oklahoma, a region that is not particularly hip or attention-getting. Those roots have blossomed into professional success and, in my humble opinion, a seemingly genuine “woke” instinct. She relates to experiences she doesn’t personally share with curiosity and solid analysis about the social trends behind them.
As I told a young woman when I was out volunteer canvassing for Elizabeth Warren, “...and for a seventy-year-old white lady, she’s pretty woke!” The woman laughed and seemed interested in what we had to say even while she worked under the hood of a car at the curb.
“You better vote this year!” she told her brother, who was just turning eighteen.
This was not the case my first time door-knocking for the Warren primary campaign! Perhaps because it was early enough in the campaign seasons, many people were happy to chat, to join me in processing our hopes and fears. Some had their reasons for being wary of Warren, but I never detected any strong “dislike” energy.
On my first day out as a Warren volunteer, a blessedly cool but windy early fall day, I met so many interesting people and enjoyed truly meaningful conversations.
We use a smartphone app that makes canvassing easier, no more shuffling clipboards with pages of maps and unfamiliar addresses or pens and literature packets. The app contains publicly available basic information on registered voters, including names, ages, genders, and party registration. The app lists the registered-voters that the campaign believes are most strategic to contact (Democrats who vote regularly, in the case of Warren’s primary campaign), and makes it easy to plan a route, follow a rough conversation script, and keep track of whether and how you were able to reach the person.
The woman who came to the door was sharp and opinionated! She was watching Rep. Eli Cummings’ funeral.
“Did you hear Obama’s eulogy?” she asked. I made a note to try to catch it later. She was curious enough about Warren’s campaign that she let us put her down as a potential volunteer.
She called her housemate down from the roof. He was a young man who asked good questions that got me to think about why I do this. He seemed to be a deep thinker and iconoclast, not much of a participant in mainstream systems. He certainly didn’t want his data in our app.
“What would change if Warren was elected?” he wondered.
“If we have more accessible healthcare and better education systems, which many candidates have a shot at improving, people and families and our communities will be healthier and more empowered to do whatever they need to do for their own well-being, or to organize around the injustices that impact them!” I responded.
We must have spent forty-five minutes at that old house. I think my canvassing companion impressed the older woman with a success story about wrangling sympathetic Catholics in reproductive-rights organizing out east. The younger guy and I diverged from national issues and discussed the local sanctuary-city initiative, and hugged when I departed.
I’m still sometimes confused by some random posts on my Instagram feed; then I remember they’re from the Bernie-supporter whose doorway I stood in that day. She seemed like a nerdy artist. Like so many others that day, she was thoughtful, unique, and friendly. Somehow our conversation led to me following her, a goodwill gesture on behalf of the campaign.
The neighborhood I walked around that morning was cute, modest-middle-class. The houses across the main boulevard were on the fancier side. An old man at one of those doors didn’t lean as progressive as Warren does. But he told me the advice he’d want to give Warren: something about doing the right thing for Mali (me, whom he’d just met). I’m not sure what he was getting at but my sense is it came from his heart, an awareness that this time belongs to generations younger than his. His wife wasn’t available.
“She’s edgier than me,” he offered.
“Maybe that’s what happens to women from a generation that didn’t get many chances to have a public voice,” I suggested.
“What are you looking for?”
“Oh, I’m volunteering for the Elizabeth Warren campaign, looking for number #332.”
Her door wasn’t on my list but she was chatty. She expressed mild support for a few of Donald Trump’s policies. It turned out the issue she’s most passionate about is why people have kids when they’re struggling financially. I tried to suggest some context for this; she was unmoved. When I walked away, I noticed the app data indicated she was a registered Republican.
* * *
“So-and-so slams so-and-so!” “New poll shows...” “Bernie Sanders assists a suicidal veteran!” “George Conway calls Trump unfit for office!”Snarky tweets, hypocrisy, insults and comebacks; inspiring slogans, celebrations of diversity, or incremental victories; boring policy details, inconvenient truths, and legislative horse-trading...
Every day I follow the dramas and quirks of the Democratic presidential-primary season. I care deeply; yet I’m also entertained as I place hopes in certain partisan “teams” and leaders more than others. I often think about what I’d say in response to this or that hard question or infuriating injustice. I’ve actually read through foreign-policy developments and some of Elizabeth Warren’s long but impressive policy plans. I also bite on the latest tidbit clickbait, some offhand comment that probably isn’t worth the amount of coverage it gets.
* * *
I’ve been donating to a number of presidential and lower-office candidates who caught my approval. Around June 2019, I decided I was all in for Elizabeth Warren.“I’ve got a plan for that!” she keeps saying with her folksy-yet-fighter smile. Am I a crowd-follower? At first, something about Warren didn’t come across as presidential to me; it could have been sexism, or just thinking she was a tad niche. This early impression shifted, as my interest rose along with Warren’s overall poll numbers.
I love Warren’s well-thought-out progressive policies across a bewildering range of important issues, and her consistently sunny and savvy campaign style. I can relate to her as having ordinary roots in Oklahoma, a region that is not particularly hip or attention-getting. Those roots have blossomed into professional success and, in my humble opinion, a seemingly genuine “woke” instinct. She relates to experiences she doesn’t personally share with curiosity and solid analysis about the social trends behind them.
As I told a young woman when I was out volunteer canvassing for Elizabeth Warren, “...and for a seventy-year-old white lady, she’s pretty woke!” The woman laughed and seemed interested in what we had to say even while she worked under the hood of a car at the curb.
“You better vote this year!” she told her brother, who was just turning eighteen.
* * *
Over the past couple years living in Tucson, Arizona, I’ve done some volunteer door-knocking (canvassing) for this or that Democrat (though I only recently formally registered as a Dem; I’d been a party-distrusting peace activist). I recall the people we contacted being grumpy, having been bothered too many times, by the time I was assigned to take a swing at their neighborhood.This was not the case my first time door-knocking for the Warren primary campaign! Perhaps because it was early enough in the campaign seasons, many people were happy to chat, to join me in processing our hopes and fears. Some had their reasons for being wary of Warren, but I never detected any strong “dislike” energy.
On my first day out as a Warren volunteer, a blessedly cool but windy early fall day, I met so many interesting people and enjoyed truly meaningful conversations.
We use a smartphone app that makes canvassing easier, no more shuffling clipboards with pages of maps and unfamiliar addresses or pens and literature packets. The app contains publicly available basic information on registered voters, including names, ages, genders, and party registration. The app lists the registered-voters that the campaign believes are most strategic to contact (Democrats who vote regularly, in the case of Warren’s primary campaign), and makes it easy to plan a route, follow a rough conversation script, and keep track of whether and how you were able to reach the person.
* * *
My co-canvasser was a retired married lesbian who recently moved from Massachusetts and was coordinating all our local canvass volunteers. One of our first doors was listed as belonging to an eighty-two-year-old woman. I hesitated to bother her because sometimes an elderly person has more difficulty answering the door, or is hard of hearing or disengaged due to reduced faculties.The woman who came to the door was sharp and opinionated! She was watching Rep. Eli Cummings’ funeral.
“Did you hear Obama’s eulogy?” she asked. I made a note to try to catch it later. She was curious enough about Warren’s campaign that she let us put her down as a potential volunteer.
* * *
A side-benefit of canvassing is seeing different neighborhoods and getting glimpses of the diversity of homes. The most interesting home on our list had a historic plaque, a very tall and solid wooden door, old furniture, a slightly haphazard vibe, and vivid art inside. It was owned by a sixtyish, spry, small, talkative peace-monger who had her own political projects and some almost-conspiracy theories about a few local groups.She called her housemate down from the roof. He was a young man who asked good questions that got me to think about why I do this. He seemed to be a deep thinker and iconoclast, not much of a participant in mainstream systems. He certainly didn’t want his data in our app.
“What would change if Warren was elected?” he wondered.
“If we have more accessible healthcare and better education systems, which many candidates have a shot at improving, people and families and our communities will be healthier and more empowered to do whatever they need to do for their own well-being, or to organize around the injustices that impact them!” I responded.
We must have spent forty-five minutes at that old house. I think my canvassing companion impressed the older woman with a success story about wrangling sympathetic Catholics in reproductive-rights organizing out east. The younger guy and I diverged from national issues and discussed the local sanctuary-city initiative, and hugged when I departed.
* * *
I believe that all systems affect each other. A good candidate can carve out a space that fertilizes grassroots and authentic change. I believe in a balance of not treating a candidate as an infallible savior, but also not writing off the mechanisms of electoral politics altogether.I’m still sometimes confused by some random posts on my Instagram feed; then I remember they’re from the Bernie-supporter whose doorway I stood in that day. She seemed like a nerdy artist. Like so many others that day, she was thoughtful, unique, and friendly. Somehow our conversation led to me following her, a goodwill gesture on behalf of the campaign.
The neighborhood I walked around that morning was cute, modest-middle-class. The houses across the main boulevard were on the fancier side. An old man at one of those doors didn’t lean as progressive as Warren does. But he told me the advice he’d want to give Warren: something about doing the right thing for Mali (me, whom he’d just met). I’m not sure what he was getting at but my sense is it came from his heart, an awareness that this time belongs to generations younger than his. His wife wasn’t available.
“She’s edgier than me,” he offered.
“Maybe that’s what happens to women from a generation that didn’t get many chances to have a public voice,” I suggested.
* * *
In one area of small housing units, a thin blond woman in a cowboy hat noticed me.“What are you looking for?”
“Oh, I’m volunteering for the Elizabeth Warren campaign, looking for number #332.”
Her door wasn’t on my list but she was chatty. She expressed mild support for a few of Donald Trump’s policies. It turned out the issue she’s most passionate about is why people have kids when they’re struggling financially. I tried to suggest some context for this; she was unmoved. When I walked away, I noticed the app data indicated she was a registered Republican.
* * *
I know that the most effective canvassers hit the main script, gather some data, and then move on. They sure don’t spend forty-five minutes talking policy and personal projects or random local issues while glancing curiously into strange rooms. I trust that the pro tactics are battle-tested. But that day, after the person who got me set up went her own way, I was in charge of my own style. Meeting people face-to-face, on a nice fall day, in pursuit of the issues on our minds, hopefully expressed with kindness, respect, and even humor, was a good enough use of my time. It was where my general love of people (okay, plus my busy blah-blah mind) met the needs of a massive political campaign. Door by door, my efforts have the potential to give someone hope, and to let them know that they matter, their voice matters, and that there are plenty of us out there who think this is all worth a shot. |
Mali is a Minnesotan, Tucsonan, and sometimes rancher and sometimes activist, who does bookkeeping and other things. She has eclectic tastes and interests. She keeps busy reading the news or cleaning, and probably thinks too much. New things for her as of late are middle-age, marriage, a black cat, and some new friends. |