I came from a family who did not participate in the political process. I was pretty clueless about how it all worked, until I got into a really rad political science course in college. And then, I was hooked. I squeaked out of college only one course shy of a Poly Sci minor (who does THAT, by the way? Pick up the minor, friends. Pick up the minor.)
I was a radical! (As all angsty college-aged, liberal-arts woman are wont to call themselves.) To be honest, I wasn’t all that radical. I wore shoes and a bra. I shaved. I didn’t own too many clothes made of hemp (ok, I had some. And I still love my Birkenstocks… Whatever. Don’t judge me.) Mostly, I was radical because everyone I was close to up to that point in my life was SUPER conservative. And I just didn’t get all that conservative stuff. (In my old age, I’m really only super left of center on social issues. I’m basically a critical centrist with left-leaning tendencies and a penchant for arguing whatever is the other side of YOUR particular political argument. Alas, they don’t let you affiliate that way as far as I can tell.)
And so my misspent youth as a radical-leftie-almost-poly-sci-major gave in to pragmatism of age and experience. Don’t get me wrong. I still care a lot. I still inform myself on the issues…argue with smart people on the other side of the aisle to clarify my viewpoint. I still vote. But marching on places and attending rallies and hard-stumping for pundits isn’t really my scene anymore. I have my views. I feel informed about them. I vote my conscience. But I don’t typically announce to the planet what’s on my mind politically anymore.
And there are some legit factors that have played into my comparative apathy regarding politics in recent years. First, it’s hard to get super involved in local politics when you move around as much as me, and you’re never really a local. Second, when a pretty solid number of people with whom I am close to these days believe the other end of the spectrum from me…well, I don’t have it in me for ill-advised, in-fighting amongst the fam, you know? Letting the bygones be bygones and all that business.
Add THOSE things together with the fact that for all of my life, regardless of where I have ended up living, I have lived in cities who VERY closely mirror my political views... When you’re routinely winning elections by a 30% margin, the fire-in-the-belly to get out and stump isn’t really there. Everyone gets where you’re coming from—they just got off that train, too.
But participating is still important. And it still matters. And I know that and believe that to be true. Especially in a time where it feels like basic American principles have gone sideways, the world is in flux, and everyone seems mere moments away from pure panic. A friend of mine this week who was asking about “words to describe America right now” was coming up with things like “bifurcated” “disappointed” “shocked” and “reckless.” Not good, friends. Not good.
After all these years, J and I have finally moved to a battleground state. And a state that typically votes the other direction than I do. A state whose politics are weird and wonderful and all a little confusing to me, surrounded by many people who, for the first time in my life, don’t necessarily share my viewpoint on the issues of the day. And a state with a caucus no less. Not a regular ol’ primary, but a CAUCUS. So clearly, this piqued my interest in becoming involved again in the local political scene.
(By the way, definitely had to both 1) look up what a caucus was and 2) crowd-source what that definition actually meant and why it might be important that I attend. Knowledge is power, friends.)
So, partially out of curiosity and mostly out of guilt, I decided that I would attend my local caucus this week. I definitely assumed it would be me and the five other registered voters in my city affiliated with my party.
I could not have been more surprised.
The building was packed; the line, out the door, snaking around the massive high school’s hallways and spilling out into the parking lot. Registration was only supposed to last for 30 minutes, but it took me easily an hour to sign in, and find the room which matched my precinct.
So, as by definition, a caucus is a gathering of people who share a political party or more generally, share political ideals. To caucus then is to gather these people together and to communicate those concerns and ideals with one another. In the practical sense, a caucus in also designed to allow these individuals to assign delegates to members of the party.
There were about 40 of us neighbors gathered in our precinct room. As we went around the room and informally introduced one another as we waited to officially begin, it become evident that no one there had ever caucused before—all of us were there for the first time, because for the first time, this process seemed *really* important.
Now, it may come as no surprise to you (my husband actually guffawed in feigned astonishment at this when I told him) but a few minutes into the proceedings I was elected caucus chair. (Yup, that happened.) So now, not only was I attending my first caucus, I was leading it.
Beyond rule readings and formalities of procedure, the first order of business in a caucus is to hold a non-binding straw poll—get a feeling for the temperature of the room, see if there are any undecided in attendance and sally forth from there. The straw poll in this particular room revealed everyone came in with their mind pretty much set. There were no undecided amongst us.
And yet.
Every person there came prepared to speak on behalf of their candidate. Every person wanted to talk about issues—the things which were truly important to them. And so we talked. Civil discourse. Well-articulated arguments. Genuine concerns amongst neighbors. Pros and cons of each candidate—things we admired and appreciated about our elected officials. There was no name calling. There was no lowest-common-denominator behaviors. Just well-meaning citizens caring about what happens next in the world who respectfully took turns to voice these views.
It was the most heartening thing I have witnessed in this entire election cycle.
Now, I know that the types of people who attend a caucus have self-selected themselves as likely to be these kinds of people. Ok, maybe not the norm. But when all you hear about in the news these days is the other end of that spectrum, this was a refreshing two hours. Come to find out, not everybody sucks.
In the end, we voted, and everyone ended up voting like they thought they would when they came in. But I had great faith in the convictions of these people. They *believed* what they voted. They had carefully thought out what would be best in their mind for themselves and for others. This wasn’t hype or bluster. This was serious business and we conducted it as such.
As we left the evening, everyone stopped and thanked me, genuinely, for running the session. The people there appreciated and respected the process. They had been heard. They had voiced their minds, and could now with a clear conscience (like confession) go forth and do good work.
Ultimately, our state’s election results mirrored exactly what our room’s vote did. As I sat at home later that evening watching the results roll in, I felt such a sense of community and participation. I had faith that what we had done had had an effect on the larger picture. That we had affected change. What a cool thing to be a part of. And far more encouraging than the tripe we’re seeing on the tv these days.
One of my favorite lines from The West Wing has always been this: Decisions are made by those who show up. I’m encouraged by those who showed up at my polling place this week. I’m really glad that I decided to show up myself. And if we’re going to change the course of history this election cycle, you need to show up too. It’s only those who do who get to make a difference.
And that difference can be real.
I was a radical! (As all angsty college-aged, liberal-arts woman are wont to call themselves.) To be honest, I wasn’t all that radical. I wore shoes and a bra. I shaved. I didn’t own too many clothes made of hemp (ok, I had some. And I still love my Birkenstocks… Whatever. Don’t judge me.) Mostly, I was radical because everyone I was close to up to that point in my life was SUPER conservative. And I just didn’t get all that conservative stuff. (In my old age, I’m really only super left of center on social issues. I’m basically a critical centrist with left-leaning tendencies and a penchant for arguing whatever is the other side of YOUR particular political argument. Alas, they don’t let you affiliate that way as far as I can tell.)
And so my misspent youth as a radical-leftie-almost-poly-sci-major gave in to pragmatism of age and experience. Don’t get me wrong. I still care a lot. I still inform myself on the issues…argue with smart people on the other side of the aisle to clarify my viewpoint. I still vote. But marching on places and attending rallies and hard-stumping for pundits isn’t really my scene anymore. I have my views. I feel informed about them. I vote my conscience. But I don’t typically announce to the planet what’s on my mind politically anymore.
And there are some legit factors that have played into my comparative apathy regarding politics in recent years. First, it’s hard to get super involved in local politics when you move around as much as me, and you’re never really a local. Second, when a pretty solid number of people with whom I am close to these days believe the other end of the spectrum from me…well, I don’t have it in me for ill-advised, in-fighting amongst the fam, you know? Letting the bygones be bygones and all that business.
Add THOSE things together with the fact that for all of my life, regardless of where I have ended up living, I have lived in cities who VERY closely mirror my political views... When you’re routinely winning elections by a 30% margin, the fire-in-the-belly to get out and stump isn’t really there. Everyone gets where you’re coming from—they just got off that train, too.
But participating is still important. And it still matters. And I know that and believe that to be true. Especially in a time where it feels like basic American principles have gone sideways, the world is in flux, and everyone seems mere moments away from pure panic. A friend of mine this week who was asking about “words to describe America right now” was coming up with things like “bifurcated” “disappointed” “shocked” and “reckless.” Not good, friends. Not good.
After all these years, J and I have finally moved to a battleground state. And a state that typically votes the other direction than I do. A state whose politics are weird and wonderful and all a little confusing to me, surrounded by many people who, for the first time in my life, don’t necessarily share my viewpoint on the issues of the day. And a state with a caucus no less. Not a regular ol’ primary, but a CAUCUS. So clearly, this piqued my interest in becoming involved again in the local political scene.
(By the way, definitely had to both 1) look up what a caucus was and 2) crowd-source what that definition actually meant and why it might be important that I attend. Knowledge is power, friends.)
So, partially out of curiosity and mostly out of guilt, I decided that I would attend my local caucus this week. I definitely assumed it would be me and the five other registered voters in my city affiliated with my party.
I could not have been more surprised.
The building was packed; the line, out the door, snaking around the massive high school’s hallways and spilling out into the parking lot. Registration was only supposed to last for 30 minutes, but it took me easily an hour to sign in, and find the room which matched my precinct.
So, as by definition, a caucus is a gathering of people who share a political party or more generally, share political ideals. To caucus then is to gather these people together and to communicate those concerns and ideals with one another. In the practical sense, a caucus in also designed to allow these individuals to assign delegates to members of the party.
There were about 40 of us neighbors gathered in our precinct room. As we went around the room and informally introduced one another as we waited to officially begin, it become evident that no one there had ever caucused before—all of us were there for the first time, because for the first time, this process seemed *really* important.
Now, it may come as no surprise to you (my husband actually guffawed in feigned astonishment at this when I told him) but a few minutes into the proceedings I was elected caucus chair. (Yup, that happened.) So now, not only was I attending my first caucus, I was leading it.
Beyond rule readings and formalities of procedure, the first order of business in a caucus is to hold a non-binding straw poll—get a feeling for the temperature of the room, see if there are any undecided in attendance and sally forth from there. The straw poll in this particular room revealed everyone came in with their mind pretty much set. There were no undecided amongst us.
And yet.
Every person there came prepared to speak on behalf of their candidate. Every person wanted to talk about issues—the things which were truly important to them. And so we talked. Civil discourse. Well-articulated arguments. Genuine concerns amongst neighbors. Pros and cons of each candidate—things we admired and appreciated about our elected officials. There was no name calling. There was no lowest-common-denominator behaviors. Just well-meaning citizens caring about what happens next in the world who respectfully took turns to voice these views.
It was the most heartening thing I have witnessed in this entire election cycle.
Now, I know that the types of people who attend a caucus have self-selected themselves as likely to be these kinds of people. Ok, maybe not the norm. But when all you hear about in the news these days is the other end of that spectrum, this was a refreshing two hours. Come to find out, not everybody sucks.
In the end, we voted, and everyone ended up voting like they thought they would when they came in. But I had great faith in the convictions of these people. They *believed* what they voted. They had carefully thought out what would be best in their mind for themselves and for others. This wasn’t hype or bluster. This was serious business and we conducted it as such.
As we left the evening, everyone stopped and thanked me, genuinely, for running the session. The people there appreciated and respected the process. They had been heard. They had voiced their minds, and could now with a clear conscience (like confession) go forth and do good work.
Ultimately, our state’s election results mirrored exactly what our room’s vote did. As I sat at home later that evening watching the results roll in, I felt such a sense of community and participation. I had faith that what we had done had had an effect on the larger picture. That we had affected change. What a cool thing to be a part of. And far more encouraging than the tripe we’re seeing on the tv these days.
One of my favorite lines from The West Wing has always been this: Decisions are made by those who show up. I’m encouraged by those who showed up at my polling place this week. I’m really glad that I decided to show up myself. And if we’re going to change the course of history this election cycle, you need to show up too. It’s only those who do who get to make a difference.
And that difference can be real.
