This was my birthday present to myself, fresh from my Virginia-canvassing-and-family trip, and amped up–only a week later–by democracy’s powerful showing in the November 4 elections.
Notice I didn’t say Democrats (though they did well, and I’m glad). Nine months in to this presidency, people on all sides of politics–including no politics at all!–are starting to coalesce around the basic idea that things should work. And democracy, as Churchill famously said in 1947, is “the worst form of Government…except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.…” [ellipses added for emphasis]
In other words, for things to work (fairness, food, airplanes–that sorta thing), we need democracy. And when you look at election results more focused on immediate outcome than on party, here are some promising signs:
Maine anti-mail voting measure loses
Progressive DAs in Philly and NYC win
Colorado funds free school meals and SNAP support with taxes on the rich
Detroit elects first woman mayor
Cincinnati rejects JD Vance’s brother after endorsement
GOP Redistricting in Kansas failed
Charlotte approves transit tax
Maine passes gun control
Turnout in blue district US House election in Texas higher than 2024 Pres (thanks to Common Power for this compilation)
See what I mean? I have a lot of company in thinking, the IDEA of democracy is having a moment right now. And for democracy to work, we need all hands on deck.
“Wait a minute,” I can hear you saying. “I loathe phone-banking, and I’m donating all I can to things like food banks and my church. And now you want me to do take on ‘democracy’ too? I am SO not that person.”
Au contraire. I maintain that if you are looking out for vulnerable people; if you are protecting green spaces or animals; if you are reading to kids, or making art to share, or donating to organizations that multiply those values, you ARE a democracy standard-bearer.
I mean–don’t forget (or underestimate!) voting! Do all you can to keep your loved ones from feeling that voting’s not worth it. Point them to this book if they need a little inspiration…
I’m giving this book to everyone who’ll take it!
On my walk today I stopped to make a roadside bouquet. November in Washington State = pretty limited wildflowers. But the low-rent, multicolor assemblage I collected reminded me, there’s so many ways to be a flower!
You can be bright, demure, prickly, robust, delicate, complex or simple–and you can still call it democracy. Just do SOMETHING, keep doing it, and keep talking about it.
As Joyce Vance says, we’re in this together. And as Gretchen Wing says, “For things to work, we need democracy.”
What are some of your ways of participating? Anything new, anything especially challenging or rewarding, or both? Please share as many as you feel like.
No, scratch that. I’m writing this BECAUSE it’s Election Eve in America. And even though I went back to my home state of NC a couple of weeks ago largely for political reasons, I’m feeling the need tonight to celebrate a bunch of non-political stuff from my time there.
Herewith, in no particular order: WONDERFUL THINGS IN NORTH CAROLINA.
Red leaves in October. We do have fall color, here in Washington State: gold, yellow, and, uh, yellow-gold. Not red.
Maples!Dogwoods! OK, you get the idea. I miss red.
2. Rolled ice cream. What the heck is rolled ice cream? is what I asked when one of my fellow canvassers in Greenville started raving about it. So I had to find out.
First, they pour your choice of flavored syrup + mix-ins onto a super-cooled surface.Next they add cream…chop and stir……flatten and spread to the width of that circle, and then–voila!–use that spatula to scrape curls…of ice cream into rolls of yum, with toppings! Didn’t get the proprietors’ names, but I was so impressed with their delicious innovation. Look them up in Greenville, NC!
3. NC-style BBQ. This place in Greenville is such an institution, the road is named after it.
Turns out eastern NC “cue” is about as good as the Triangle’s…
…but those weird-shaped hushpuppies got NOTHING on Allen & Son’s in Pittsboro.
I came to Pitt County, in eastern North Carolina, to ask questions of folks who hadn’t yet voted.
Specifically: Greenville, where the Tar River meanders, in no hurry to be anywhere
“What are the top issues on your mind and heart, heading into this election? Tell me more about that.”
“Do you agree that the economy works better when everyone has access to opportunity?”
“Have you heard of Josh Stein? He’s running for governor.”
In four days of canvassing, I had probably 75 doorstep conversations: most short; some dispiriting, more uplifting. But in the process, I came to feel that my home state was actually canvassing me…ringing my doorbell, asking me these questions.
“What does it mean to be from a place?”
“How much of a Southerner are you, really?”
A: enough of a Southerner to recognize cotton; not enough of one to realize how much grows in my home state!
I combined this canvassing trip to NC with visiting my parents and my three high school besties, in Durham—the wealthier, more educated center of the state. But once I said goodbye to my dear ones, I was 100% in the zone with my blue-state teammates from Common Power (if you want to get involved w/ them yourself, now’s the time! Click here) in flat, cotton-fielded Greenville—a place as new to me as it was to my non-Southern team.
Seriously: was all that cotton here all this time? How come I never noticed it while driving to the beach in the 1970s? Answer: I probably didn’t recognize it w/o the white fluffy stuff.
Common Power’s model is to team with local organizations and become their worker bees. Our org was Advance Carolina,
…and our liaison was Ms. Danisha.
…or you can just call her Ms. Powerhouse
We rotated carloads of door-knocking teams each day. Here’s mine from my second day, taking our lunch break:
The guy who offered to take our picture cheerfully told us he didn’t think a woman was able to lead the country. Sigh.
Even though we were talking mostly to registered Democrats, we ran into some bummers. Bummer #1: Donald Trump came to town, to rally at Eastern Carolina U.
His merch tables were all over town.
Those folks sure like their merch!
Bummer #2: young Black men who told us, A) I don’t believe voting matters; B) God’s in charge anyhow, so whatever happens will be His will; C) some combination of A & B (which I personally took to mean, C): I don’t wanna vote for a woman, I just don’t want to say so).
Some neighborhoods were less well-to-do…
But after a day or so, I got good at turning those interactions into real conversations–by pushing back a little, with humor; by asking more questions; by remembering the mantra “Every conversation an invitation.” And every one of those men hung out and talked with me, so open, so friendly…like we were visitin’ on their front steps.
Because of those conversations, I’m 100% sure I “moved the needle” a little with at least one male voter per day. Multiply that by the # of volunteers out there, and there’s our “margin of effort”: the thing that will make the difference in this election.
…while other neighborhoods were much wealthier. I enjoyed the contrast between these houses with those ol’ cotton fields right behind them. Black families live in these homes.
When Team NC packed up and left, I volunteered to stay an extra day and a half to make up for joining late (because of my family/friends visit). And that’s when the tables turned a little.
Advance Carolina sent me even further east, to Bertie County, a place I knew only because I’ve ordered raw peanuts from this place:
There, in the tiny town of Windsor, I was supposed to be a poll watcher, not a canvasser. Only problem: there was nothing to watch.
In fact, I had a good long wait before we even went to the polling place…so I took myself for a walk along their cool swamp boardwalk.
More learning: this is a Tupelo tree! I never knew that’s where the word came from (remember: Elvis was born in Tupelo, Mississippi).
Then, when we finally got to the polls, it was just a bunch of folks sittin’ and visitin’. No scary MAGA pickup trucks circling the block. Locals of both races were greeted, most by name, as they arrived, and thanked for voting as they left.
[not pictured: the polling place; I didn’t care to violate folks’ privacy. But imagine the shade of a nice, big magnolia tree.]
a sentiment most eastern Carolinians would probably agree with, MAGA or not
Me? I was as useful as a fly on the wall. At first I was frustrated. I drove all this way to get WORK done! I could be out there pounding the pavement, chalking up more doors! What a waste of time! Etc.
But as I drove back to Greenville, I considered: those folks were modeling exactly what I had found to be the most effective political work. They were visitin’. Telling stories. Asking how so-and-so was doing. Teasing, laughing. Doing community.
What’s your all-fired hurry? the Bertie County folks seemed to be asking (not that they were paying me any attention). What’s with all the checklists & efficiency? Can’t you see this is how we’ve survived all these decades, here of all places?
Photo from the NC/VA border, ca. 1970 (courtesy musicmaker.org)
Ten years ago, after driving across the country to NC, I wrote a song about my complicated relationship with the South. Most of the lyrics are on the dark side:
Gone to Carolina in my mind, but my heart’s gone mute
One look at a poplar tree and I’m thinking of strange fruit.
This red clay was my stompin’ ground—hardly a boast
When every cotton field is haunted by sharecropper ghosts.
Chorus:
Yeah, it’s another song about the South, y’all,
Just trying to sort my feelings out once and for all.
How can someone feel so in and out of place?
That sweet sunny south where I first saw the light,
If she’s my ol’ mama, I’m a teenager in flight.
Do I want to hug her neck…or slap her face?
big cypress dressed in flounces of poison ivy
But now, as I head home to my blue state, filled with new thoughts about my old red—no, purple!—one, this verse feels more appropriate:
The woods are thick with poison ivy and trumpet vine
More tangled up and twisted than this loyalty of mine
For a countryside that’s suffered more hardship per square mile
Than any place I know—sucked up with sweet tea and a smile.
I still doubt Kamala Harris will win North Carolina, even after all the efforts made here. But I do think she will be elected. And if that happens, I’m going to summon all my powers of visitin’ to help get us through the next steps.
This sign’s in Durham, not Pitt County, not Bertie. But we’re getting there!
For the past couple of weeks on this beautiful island where I get to live, I’ve been enjoying the appearance of some rambunctious fellow inhabitants.
Foot included for scale. If this is a Fairy Ring, those must be some hefty fairies!
I would call them visitors, but it’s obvious that these Short-Stemmed Rusula have been here all along…at least in spore form. Underground. Waiting…for some signal inaudible to the rest of us, which must have been given—suddenly, urgently—about three weeks ago.
Come on up, the air’s fine!
I’ve been walking these trails for fourteen years now. Mushroom seasons come and go, but I’ve never seen anything like these: so many, so huge, so close together.
Hahaha, the forest is ours!!
These shroomy monsters come bursting through the crust of the soil full-sized—no cute babies that you get to watch grow or unfurl. And in their thrust, anything on top simply gets lifted: soil, rocks, even good-sized tree trunks.
Like this.
Which, of course, sets my brain along its favorite metaphorical paths.
Next week, I am heading to my home state of North Carolina to join a host of volunteer canvassers already spread out around the country. They—we—knock on doors, talk to folks, try to energize them to vote and help them over any voting obstacles they might face. Sure, we’d prefer them to vote like us, but the real goal is democratic participation, which is…
But my point here is how much CP is suddenly needing to act like the mycelia beneath those mammoth mushrooms: it’s calling for heavy lifting.
You mean like this? Oof.
See, before, when I canvassed in 2022, we knocked on “friendly” doors: registered Democrats. People whose only beef with us, if they had any, would be that they’re tired of being nagged, or maybe we woke up the baby when we knocked.
But these days, given the potential suddenly presented by the 1-2 combo of 1) Trump-fatigue (or outright revulsion) among traditional Republicans (especially women) and 2) the big-tent welcome of the Harris-Walz ticket (hey, they own guns!)…these days, I say, CP is being asked by its on-the-ground state partners to knock on doors of registered Republicans. Even homes with Maga flags out front.
Which means my time in NC might be more challenging than I was expecting. (See previous photo)
The other day I attended a training for folks like me, headed into the field. A handful of volunteers fresh from the white suburbs of Philadelphia and some even-whiter counties in Montana had this to say:
“This is about talking to people. We’re all Americans. We have to start there.”
“Every conversation an invitation.”
“After you knock—listen more than you talk.”
“Folks are looking for any excuse to vote for a person whose character they respect.”
They cited example after example of folks who might have appeared “hostile,” based on their yard signs or their vehicles, actually opening up and talking.* Maybe not agreeing to vote for Harris/Walz, but finding common ground on a certain issue with a down-ballot candidate.
*[Sometimes, if a woman answered the door, these volunteers said, she might murmur, “Come back when my husband’s not here.”]
I thought: wow.
That’s a lift I can handle!
I also thought, Not only is this good canvassing advice, this is good human being advice. This is the kind of human I want to be–able to knock on any door and hold a conversation with almost anyone. (Note the “almost”: folks who are outright hateful to your face? Nope. See ya.)
I don’t know where those mushrooms get their power. But I do know that when I head on out there next week, I’ll be using those volunteers’ advice as my own heavy-lifting mojo. Every conversation an invitation.
“I was a typical young Southerner, born and raised in LA—Lower Alabama.” Meet Bob Zellner.
I got to do just that, last October, when Bob and his activist wife Pamela joined my Common Power Team NC canvassing group. Over big plates of BBQ, I got to ask Bob questions about events I’d read about in his book, The Wrong Side of Murder Creek. Like the time Bob was beaten badly on the steps of the town hall of McComb, Mississippi, in a march led by Black high school students. But in the New York Times article, they called Bob “the leader” of the march–because he was the only White guy there.
You could call Bob the White counterpart of Representative John Lewis; they grew up quite close to each other in Alabama, both poor, both country–but on either side of the color line. Which explains why Bob started life from a KKK-supporting family, before becoming the first White field secretary of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s.
In Bob’s interview by Dr. Hasan Kwame Jeffries (History Professor at The Ohio State University, and, incidentally, brother of Congressman Hakeem Jeffries), you can hear him explain how, “That was the way you got accepted in SNCC–you go to the dangerous places and do what the people were doing.”
Bob’s a folksy guy; like a lot of Southerners, he’s not into drama. Just tells it like it was–and is. His mission today, he says, and for the rest of his life, is to tell young people: “You can be White, and you can be a Civil Rights activist, and you can survive.”
Come to think–that’s a pretty good message right there. Reading Bob’s story, not to mention rubbing shoulders with him, reminded me how ordinary these extraordinary “ACTIVISTS” can be. Maybe a teensy bit braver than I am…
I hope you listen to Bob or check out his book. Pass it on!
I’m not going to spend time talking about why I’ve stepped away from this blog for the past year. I’d rather talk about what brought me back.
Since Sandy Hook, since Trayvon, since Charlottesville, since [fill in your own moment of “whatthefuckishappeningtous”], I’ve been looking for people and ideas and groups which provide myself with hope and purpose. Along with my family; some dear friends; some small-but-mighty organizations within my community; music; nature, and writing, I found Common Power, and its educational branch, The Institute for Common Power, both of which I have written about.
For the last three years, I’ve gone deeper into action to protect and extend democracy, mostly through phone-banking and donations, but also writing letters to elected officials, and, last October, canvassing in my home state, North Carolina.
This is VA, not NC, but you get the idea–this kind of thing (photo by Charles Douglas, CP)
Dr. Williams is a History professor at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, MN, and founder of their Racial Justice Initiative. It was his part of that 24 hours of teaching that got me back to Wing’s World. He talked about two “challengers,” starting with NASA’s Challenger Space Shuttle, which exploded live on TV in 1986 (which many of us remember all too well).
R.I.P. (photo courtesy Wikipedia)
Dr. Williams reminded us how Ronald Reagan went on TV to tell American children the tragedy:
“We don’t hide our space program. We don’t keep secrets and cover things up. We do it all up front and in public. That’s the way democracy is, and we wouldn’t change it for a minute.”
His message: Ron DeSantis, anti-“woke” Republicans–are you LISTENING? Democracy means FACING UP TO BAD STUFF. Like, you know…U.S. History.
Dr. Williams closed by talking about Muhammad Ali, of whom actor/director Ed Begley Jr. said, “Ali’s secret was that he was always the challenger.”
Ali in 1976, filming The Greatest (courtesy Wikimedia Commons)
And this historian/activist then looked at the camera and asked us listeners to find ways to continue to be the challenger. To do more than what we’ve been doing to help our country be its best self.
And I thought: okay. At the very least, something I can do is to expand Dr. Williams’ message.
So in the next few weeks, I’ll be highlighting some of the talks from that incredible 24 hours. I’ll be sharing, amplifying, extolling the messages I’m absorbing about how to help our country. And if just a few of you reading this decide to do the same, consider yourselves challengers too.
When it comes to the state of the world, be it locally, nationally or globally, everyone I know–and probably most I don’t–has felt like this a good deal of the past five and a half years:
I…give…up.
Most folks I know–and even more I don’t–have also found sources of inspiration to get themselves up off the floor and stay positive, or at least productive. Staying within my immediate circle of control is my go-to: cooking a meal for someone; spending time with an elder or a child; sometimes just contributing money.
But for me, real hope takes larger-scale action, and I would like to share my personal “hope-workout” of the last few years: Common Power.
Originally named Common Purpose and founded by UW Communications professor David Domke, “CP”s goal is “to foster, support and amplify a democracy that is just and inclusive.”
Even better, in my book, is the way CP goes about their work. I was first introduced to their three-part mindset when I attended a standing-room-only (obviously pre-pandemic) meeting in Seattle back in…2018, I think. This image speaks for itself:
Since joining, most of my “work” has been calling elected officials or phone-banking in “red” or “purple” states, which, no, I do not love. (Who does?) But most of that calling hasn’t been about trying to convince people to vote a certain way. It’s simply been working with in-state, non-partisan organizations (like NC’s You Can Vote) to give folks information they need to register, or to get their ballot accepted, or find their polling place. Do we target traditionally sidelined or disadvantaged voters? Of course. That’s the point. And as a result, those folks we do reach are, often as not, more grateful than grouchy.
My recent tally sheets from NC calls. GOTV = Get Out The Vote
Besides providing me with an escape ladder from the Pits of Helplessness, CP has also become a source of inspiration, learning, and even joy.
Close to home, when I can, I attend AJ Musewe’s Lunch and Learn series midweek, where the delightful AJ explores themes like the history of redlining, or little-known democracy pioneers. (When I can’t attend live, I listen to them recorded.)
the delightful & wise AJ Musewe (photo by CP)
The monthly meetings (fully accessible now–no more trips to Seattle!) begin with music and good news, and always leave me pumped up about the next event, like…the inauguration of the newly-expanded Institute for Common Power, coming up June 4! That one’s in-person, so I don’t know if I can go, but maybe you can go, and personally mingle with some civil rights heroes, compatriots of the late Rep. John Lewis, who survived the campaigns of the 1960s.
Dr. Terry Scott will be the new Director of the Institute for Common Power in Seattle (photo by CP)
CP enthusiasts are also encouraged to join state “Teams” to focus their energy on one of seven states where democracy is both imperiled but also salvageable. Of course I chose Team North Carolina. And while I’ve limited my participation to online and phone work so far, I intend to travel next fall with Team NC to my home state to do the most effective GOTV work of all: knocking on doors, connecting with people. I CAN’T WAIT.
I’m coming, NC!
Best of all, for my teacherly soul, CP’s emphasis on next-generation leadership means that my NC fieldwork will be directed by leaders younger than my own kids. They’ve all been through CP’s Action Academy–a completely rad organization in itself; maybe you’d like to contribute, or recommend a youth to attend?–and I also CANNOT WAIT TO WORK WITH THEM.
Can you hear that hope-muscle working? Does your own hope need a workout? I invite you to check out Common Power.
Even though, like many Americans, I’m furloughed from my job at the moment, I recognize that I’m in the 1% of ridiculously lucky people who has no one in my home demanding care nor worry; ample resources; and lovely outdoor space close to hand.
I’m sorry, New York–I wish I could send you some!
What I also have? A sense of helplessness. When we finished quarantining after our road trip, I signed up to deliver food around our island. But then I had to go off-island again. Twice. I understand the reason for the quarantine rule, but still I chafed. What can I DO to HELP?
Enter University of Washington professor David Domke and Common Purpose. I’d already attended an Orientation with this impressive group dedicated to promoting voting, and signed up for national get-out-the-vote work next fall. But next fall is so, so far away, and the daily COVID news weighs heavily. So I was thrilled when the email call came to ADVOCATE FOR EXPANDED VOTING OPTIONS FOR NEXT NOVEMBER,* from my own living room.
*Notice I’m not saying voting for whom? That’s not what this push is about. You don’t have to dig too deep to find which party supports more voting and which party wants to limit it…but that ain’t my affair. I just happen to think America has had about enough disenfranchisement for our past couple-plus centuries.
Plus, Professor Domke said it would be fun!
27 of our 50 states don’t allow for any way to vote except in-person on one single day. Which, in a pandemic, sounds pretty CRAZY, right? Right. Just ask Wisconsin. So I signed up to contact elected officials in those 27 states. Two senators. One governor. And one person in charge of elections.
Oh dear. That’s 4 x 27…128 people. Fun, huh?
I decided to treat this task like a job. You have the option to call, email, or tweet, and since the only thing I loathe more than making political calls is receiving them, I chose email as my medium. I tweaked the form letter Common Purpose sent to make it sound more like me. Okay. Ready for fun.
For the past 2 days, I’ve emailed for approximately an hour. Because there’s a Senate bill coming up now (Thank you, Oregon Senator Ron Wyden!) I started with Senators.
Copy email letter. Open provided link to given Senator. Autofill all my details. Pick topic. Paste letter. Make sure I’m not subscribing to any newsletters! Prove I’m human. Click Submit. Next…
Y’know what, Professor Domke? This is NOT fun. This is boring as all get-out. I hate this.
So I started embroidering a little.
I let the two senators from North Carolina know I’m a Tarheel born & bred, and finished my letter with “Go Heels!” (Too bad for me if they’re Duke fans.)
I congratulated some of the senators who recently (or less recently) dropped out of the race for being so stalwart.
I started noticing stuff. Like: Some senators make you choose a prefix for your name; others let you opt out. Some senators have “Abortion/Right to Life” on their Issues list; others, just one or the other. Some senators don’t have anything on their Issues list that covers the topic at hand–Elections? COVID? Civil Rights?–forcing me to choose “Other.” Hmph.
And Cory Booker has the most adorable website, which asks for your first name right off the bat, then goes to “Hi, Gretchen!” Awww…Miss you, Cory.
After thirty minutes or so, I noticed something else: I was actually having a kind of nerdy fun. Go figure.
Hey, time’s up. I contacted 40 senators. Only 14 to go. And then all those Governors and Secretaries of State…
Wonder if any of their websites will tell me “Hi!”?
If you’d like to join this fun enterprise–no, really, in all seriousness, if you’d like to participate in the push to keep voters safely at home without being deprived of their right to help elect our next President, click here.
Woohoooo! Democracy! At least until I get to back to work at the bakery.
Wing's World 