Final car leaves the lot as the polls close in precinct 405, ironically Happy Hills.
I stayed inside the polling place till the last of the 249 votes was counted in precinct 405. Then I went home to watch what I had not thought thinkable as the other many millions of votes were counted. This is probably one of the cleanest elections in our history, which only magnifies the irony.
I’ve been confused about my country since Reagan. And tonight more than ever. So feel free to ignore and discount anything I say about politics in my country ever again.
My read: gender, race, fear and price of eggs. Kamala was a great candidate, but if she were a guy or a white woman…..and we had talked more about eggs.
I can’t give any big strategic guidance about the next four years. We (the planet) really don’t have four years to waste on important things, which now we probably will. And the mud isn’t even dry from Helene. Clearly, those of us speaking of “vital conditions,” public health, or climate have failed to communicate well enough to overcome….gender, race and the price of eggs.
New world, so I’m going to listen carefully to those with whom I disagree so profoundly. Obviously, I’m missing something I need to hear of anger and frustration. I am pretty sure Trump and his Senate will fail to give any real balm to what drives that anger, so it is crucial we listen carefully. And I’ll listen to those who have been deeply disappointed by their nations–Germans, South Africans. This is a crucial time to listen to the pain that would make such a man votable.
In the meantime, I feel like we (at least me) have let down my daughters and grandsons.
But we’re not dead, yet. And we can’t give up on their world.
There is great value in simply doing the right thing even if 2% more than half see it differently, Live by facts, follow basic science, show decency for the poor. These may be minority positions but not by much. We need more Bonhoeffer than Rauschenbusch; Francis more than one of the random Popes with the fancy hats. But some humiility might help, too.
Dawn breaks as the polling opens on Halloween. It was not scary.
I only saw four early voting sites out of the 8,616 open around the nation, now paused until the other 108,374 open Tuesday. But it was real and more Norman Rockwell than Guernica (but don’t forget that is happening in Gaza and the Ukraine, Sudan and and and and). I was a greeter at one historic black church that was one of our vaccination sites, home to events honoring Dr. John Hatch and the anchor of a 300 unit model redevelopment across the street. No wonder people would vote there. And then I served as an inside official democrat observer in three other sites, two rec centers and a library.
As an observer I was trained on very basic election processes so I could be the eyes for a sophisticated quality assurance team of lawyers, just in case anyone has trouble voting who is qualified to do so. There’s an app for that, of course, on which I can report anything I have questions about. I never needed it. There’s WhatsApp channel from the party headquarters that coordinates all the volunteer greeters while also keeping track of the few aggressive wingnuts in big SUV’s people (very few; we all came to know Dave on sight).
I sat next to a jovial republican observer who brought a bowl of candy to set by the ballot machine and reminded me of my dad. We both watched one of the rare technical problems involving an elderly white man from a rural county just north of ours. The elections judge was likely a sorority sister of Ms. Harris. She calmly spent more than a half hour on calls to Raleigh to find his registration before he ended up with a provisional ballot. He almost certainly cancelled out her vote, just as did my republican observer did mine. But these wrinkles were rare, only 299 provisional ballots cast across the county—about a third of a percent. But this is what you-know-who will be shouting about.
Every now and then a first-time voter appeared, registered and voted (6,002 of them so far). Everyone applauded.
There was slightly more action in the library where TC usually goes to get her books. I shared some Trader Joe’s energy bars with the woman who was observing for the other side as we chatted about mutual church friends. On the outside Dave (or one of his buddies) had placed a sign in Spanish warning Hispanics they could be deported for voting. There are two versions of this sign, one more intimidating that the Board of Elections ruled illegal. This was barely legal, so we flanked it with Harris signs. Our Spanish-speaking greeters used it as a motivational prop.
My other site was a rec center than shares a parking lot with one of the tiny churches my hospital FaithHealth program worked with for years. My republican observer was a heating/air contractor as was our outside observer so they had a great conversation in the early Halloween morning sun. The 10-person team running the polls had done it all many times and took pride in making friendly eye contact with every voter of every type. They all had on Halloween garb. Every child was escorted to the room next door to pick out candy while their mom voted.
I saw America vote. Mostly women and lots of minorities. Work boots, bedroom slippers, tassel loafers and flip flops. Just over 155,000 other people—68% of those eligible with election day still waiting. Whatever happens after that will not be the fault of the people running the election process.
And it won’t be the fault of the Democrat party which has a run the first well-organized campaign I’ve ever witnessed. Winston Salem is in North Carolina, so we’ve already had Tim Walz and Bill Clinton, with Jill Biden coming to canvas tomorrow. William Barber speaks tonight. A billion excellent billboards and inescapable social media that is somehow not annoying (unlike the ten billion text messages). I see more volunteers doing actually useful things than I’ve ever seen. And so many yard signs that our homeowners association had to remind us in their grumpy schoolmarm voice to keep them off shared spaces. Kamala has spent her billion+ wisely while Donald and Elon have paid lawyers and grifters. It matters.
What will happen next? I don’t know. I see through blue tinted lenses. I expect Kamala to carry North Carolina—thank you Mark Robinson, Black women and the blue ground game. She’ll be President facing the worst job in the history of the species. Do you have any clue about how to handle the climate, Russia, China, North Korea, Israel, Iran, Ukraine, immigration and and and and?
That’s the sign attempting to scare Spanish-speaking voters. Kinda weak, really.
We’ll see negligible violence as the bullies go back to wherever they hangout. Few of them will want to take a last hurrah bullet for an aged loser. He’ll be old news by the time the maples bloom in Asheville. It is easy to enjoy the suffering of the “republicans” who have run my dad’s party off into the swamp. But, if I’m right about President Harris, we will owe a great deal to the loyal opposition of Liz C., Arnold S. and all the republican women who will never tell their husbands. And the tens of millions of Black women who protect us again.
One basic poll observer job is to take a photo of the opening count.
And you and me? We should be ashamed of what almost will have happened. Time for Micah 6:8. We should walk humbly and love “hesed” –a Hebrew word with no direct English equivalent; the ensemble of strong mercy, kindness, compassion.
When the stomach grinds, remember elections are decided by the people who actually vote.
Elections are decided by the people who actually vote.
Even in places where every effort had been made to make that harder than it should be.
Even in places where people in red hats huff and puff and threaten to blow democracy down. Even in places where it takes a few days to actually count the votes once they are cast.
Despite our venomous public mud-wrestle, to a remarkable degree there is every evidence that when a vote is cast in the United States of America, it is counted accurately.
TC and I were in a normal country for three months, Scotland. Like most of the places that have clawed its way to a modern democracy after centuries of craven royal idiots, the Scots are shocked at how casual we Americans are about letting ours circle the toilet. Their national animal is the unicorn and one of their modern national heroes is the old man who won’t sell his tiny plot of land which is encircled by the golf course owned by a certain American gold-course fraud threats. He won’t even let him on his doorstep. So the Scotts are confused about how we might allow him into office….again.
Yikes.
I grew up a Dick Cheney republican. My dad was friends with Ted Agnew. I licked stamps for republican candidates for this or that after school. I even have a card I carry in my wallet that I was among the first to support Richard Nixon for President. Once I got old enough, I even voted for a republican once on a whim (a friend running for clerk of court who did get elected and then screwed it up). I’ll leave the name of their party uncapitalized because I don’t think any of these actual Republicans think it is the same one. It’s not.
I don’t have a plan for what to do if JD Vance is sworn in as Vice President of these United States. It makes my stomach grind to even type the sentence. My counsel to myself and you is to put down your clicker, walk away from the internet and spend the next 28 days making sure that everyone inclined to vote for Kamala Harris, Tim Walz and a remarkable array of decent people wishing to serve their country as Democrats—actually votes.
Don’t spend 5 minutes trying to convince anyone undecided or, God save them, committed to the lunacy. Leave them alone. I suppose there are some worth a conversation, but you’re your expectations low. Don’t stir them up.
Instead, find your local Democrat precinct chair (google it…) and ask to help with your body, time and probably some cash. I served in that role, replaced by the giant upgrade named Kevin. Old school: post cards, poll-greeters, organizing rides to the polls. (Because elections are decided by the people who actually vote.)
If your precinct is not organized, find your county level Democratic party. They’ll have a good website with plenty of opportunities to do real things that take time (postcards, phoning, more phoning, and then some more). You’ll feel like you are in the bar scene from Star Wars with all the odd and wonderful characters. You won’t feel your stomach grind because elections are decided by the people who actually vote.
Plan to take a week or even a few days off before the election and do whatever the local party says do. You really don’t have anything more important going on that can’t be scheduled for November 6th. Because elections are decided by the people who actually vote.
Maybe you’re a writer like me. Even writers can be useful for the survival of the planet, depending on what and when they write. This is the time for you to write personalized emails and hand-addressed notes. Make a list of the 10-20 friends most likely to vote Blue and make sure they do so. Email them (not a group mail). Make sure they are registered. Ask if they are voting early. Ask them where. Offer to go with them. If they are waiting for election day, ask to reschedule conflicting appointments on the day. Make them know you care.
Don’t forget your own family (you’ll know which). We had a daughter who would probably move to Canada if Project 2025 was realized. She got busy and didn’t quite vote for Hillary.
In some odd parts of our fragmented states there will be huffing and puffing intended to make people nervous about voting. The bullies almost always evaporate when a grown-up appears. But offer to take anyone you hear is wobbling. And make sure your precinct and county Democrats know you’re willing to do that as they’ll have a list of folks who need rides.
It’s a human process, not at all what it sounds like on Fox or MNBC. Last election cycle I was the poll greeter at our precinct and a man who was big in his imagination showed up loudly. He ran a training center for 70-pound girl gymnasts but talked all about his exotic military service. And we ended up talking to each other, sort of. We handed out each others’ literature when one of us needed to go to pee.
