The Unexpected

I was reading an article about Canadian politics when the C train pulled into the 135^th Street station.  I stood up, as I always do, continuing to read the paper while exiting the train.  The paper was high in front of me and I walked directly into the pole.  I shook my head and laughed as people chuckled around me and found my way off the train.

The world is full of unexpected moments.  Tonight, one of mine happened to be a pole that never moves. 

It was a weird day for many reasons.   After a block association meeting on 21st Street and Tenth Avenue, I walked up Eighth Avenue from 23rd Street to Columbus Circle.  I was on the phone for half the walk, but found myself enjoying the cast of characters that cavort the avenue. The heart of the block vagaries happens from about 38th Street to 50th.  There’s a solid mix of tourists, commuters, and locals, with never enough room on the sidewalk. 

The locals stand out more in the crows than tourists.  I laughed out loud as a father walked out of the pizza place on the northeaster corner of 42^nd and Eighth to find his kids in a tussle.  He stopped them and said, “Guys, come on, lets hide on mom!”  “Over here,” he giddily yelled as the kids ran towards him.  I hope the person a few paces behind me got a glimpse of her reaction. 

As I climbed further north, school-aged youth skipped in wonder and with delight, marveling their way up and down.  I caught a few eyes from passersby and I even noticed a few people in restaurants looking out at me.  I wasn’t dressed special or anything, just being myself, making my way uptown.  Sometimes a walk can make you feel good.

When I reached Columbus Circle, I was happy to see Christopher atop his pillar glistening in the night.  All the scaffolding has come down after the “Discovering Columbus” exhibit and the restoration is complete.  It glows now. 

I sat for a bit, reveling in the crisp spring air, reflecting and enjoying the subtle sounds of the city.  As I made my way back south to exit the circle, a couple was dancing.

She was wearing a white tulle tutu-type dress, wrapped in colored lights.  He was in a black tux, sporting a baseball cap.  She had white point ballet slippers on, laced up to her knee.  They sashayed around the circle, making their way to the southern entrance.  Their timing couldn’t have been better. 

A Broadway party bus, where one side is all glass and people sit facing one direction stadium style, was circling the Circle as she ran up the ledge and leaped into his arms.  He caught her and they spun several times.  Everyone on the bus erupted in applause.  I couldn’t help but smile and watch.  If there weren’t windows, I’m sure we’d have heard the audience gushing and cheering.  Standing by the curb myself, I noticed the tour guide grinning at the unexpected: that impromptu wonder that makes his job better, and damn easier. 

The pit that had loomed in my stomach for the past four hours disappeared during my walk and time experiencing the City.   Of course I was saddened and angered by the events that unfolded in Boston earlier in the day. 

I left my office for an hour and a half to attend a meeting.  I hadn’t checked my email to notice the three news alerts I received from the Washington Post.  (For the record: I get the New York Times delivered to my house, but receive breaking news updates via email from the Post.  Go figure.)  My friend and colleague broke the news to me outside as I was coming and she was going.  I was shocked, but it took seeing it in print for the pit to engulf in my stomach.

The world can be a sad reality. That reality is often delivered at an ever-increasing speed.  Sometimes we don’t get to process how we actually feel before being inundated by others pontificating via 140-character statements, meme photos, prayers, or page likes.  

I’m settling in tonight knowing those I know and care about are safe.  Life is a journey in the unexpected.  Surely there is a quote by someone famous on one of those black and white cards that says something of that ilk.  But I haven’t seen one recently. 

Today I’ll remember something sad but also take comfort from the idiosyncrasies of life.   Always stop to enjoy the dancers and be sure to lower the newspaper from in front of your face while exiting the train.    

That City Called New York

            Sometimes I wake up and forget I live in the best city in the world.  Or at least that’s how I see it.  The textures, the people, the surroundings – they all add up to create an environment that breeds creativity, fuels ingenuity, and sparks change.

            There are so many types of New Yorkers.  EB White, in his brilliant and timeless 7500 word essay “Here is New York” said it best:

There are roughly 3 New York’s. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by the locust each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something...Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.

That passion is unrelenting from those of us who still wake with an unknown, who still yearn for more, who still wonder aloud, and who still seek to do better. 

            We complain about money and development, about change, and about the train that never comes.  But we live here.  And aside from the fare increases and the litter, we love it.

            The bars that become regular and the diners where the coffee is endless are there simply because they belong.  The meetings that never end because of people with new ideas and the passion that brought them here still burns.  It's not something that should ever be slowed or stopped.  

            Tolerance is a word that’s abused.  Acceptance is better, because it is inclusive.  New York strives to be inclusive. 

I really can’t imagine being anywhere else.   

Victory

            I have spent a good chunk of time over the past two weeks breaking into tears.  Some sessions last only a minute and shed a tear or two; maybe just a welling of water in the eyes.  Others have gone on for longer, with drops falling down my face.  Tears grown from frustration, lack of sleep, fear, and in the end: utter bliss. 

            A few months back I made a conscience decision to join the folks on the ground in Pennsylvania to re-elect President Obama.  I was hesitant at first, because there were places across the country I’d thought about going – where could I be the most effective?  Expanding the map in the West was most appealing to me, and I do love Colorado.  Marriage was on the ballot in three states, too, and one of them was Maine.  In 2009, I spent a month in the great cliff state, knocking doors, making phone calls, and talking to people about why marriage equality matters.  In the end, we lost that race by 5 points.  Fast forward to 11/6/12 and we reversed the numbers: equality reigned and we won by 5 points. 

            The thing about working a single-issue campaign is that you’re not working with party people.  You might not believe it, but I worked with Republicans in Maine who were for marriage.  I learned quickly to hold my partisan tongue. 

            I was called upon and lobbied by folks I’d met on the trail there to come back because they’d returned.  But I yearned for something grander.  So I dropped the holding of the tongue and went all in for the Democratic Party to secure the White House for another four years.  Fuck it.  I’m a party person.

The 44^th President is also the first sitting president to tell me that I’m equal.  He told me and millions of others that as gay and lesbian Americans, we’re worthy and indeed entitled to the same rights as our straight brethren.  And that to me held far greater weight than winning the rights in just one state.  Now sure, equality is a battle we’re waging town by municipality, county by state.  So in no way am I discrediting the great wins across the nation for marriage on 11/6.  And let’s note that there were three wins, HUGE wins, for marriage at the ballot box: Maine, Washington, and Maryland.  Minnesota rejected an anti-gay amendment to their state constitution – also a first in the nation.  But the national leader was in our boat, and he needed to be kept in office.

So I joined the national fight.

My friend Troy, whom I’d met on the marriage campaign in ’09, was tapped to direct Outer Alleghany County in Western PA.  It’s the whole county, sans Pittsburgh – which had its own team.  It’s crucial turf to securing the 20 Electoral College votes that PA awards when you win the state.  Pittsburgh and Philly turn out big and we buttress those votes by holding the line and pushing it blue in the suburbs on Election Day.  And that we did.

The team I worked with boosted county turn out from a standard 50% to 70% on Election Day this year.  That is remarkable.  And it’s one of the many reasons we won, and won by a solid 5 points. 

Pennsylvania is a unique state.  It’s always in the swing category because you have to fight for it.  It has not voted for a Republican president since 1988.  But it’s blue is not a given.  Romney had money, but didn’t have the ground game.  He also had the gall to show up after being absent for a month three times in the last four days of the election.  How cute. 

Another unique factor is that you’ve only got 13 hours to win it.  There is no early voting and it’s extraordinarily difficult to get an absentee ballot from.  They don’t like voters in the Keystone, and more so since they enacted an oppressive voter ID law.  So you’ve got to fight with what you’ve got and you do that by organizing.  You do so by talking, by planning, by out smarting and being ever prepared for the unexpected.  You knock doors until your knuckles are blue and people ignore you.  You go back to the same doors the next day in the rain, and maybe the next day, too, to make sure people realize just how important it is that they exercise their fundamental right to vote.  And do so on behalf of Barack Obama.

There was a wrench in this battle though, and her name was Sandy. 

There’s a saying, and I’m not sure where I got it, but it’s that Republicans vote come hell or high water and Democrats vote when it’s convenient.  The fear I had from the storm – bringing lots of high water – was that it would suppress Democratic turnout.  Thankfully, that didn’t happen.  It was in large part because of how long organizers had been engaged with voters whom they made realize just how important a role they had in determining the course of this country. 

Dealing with the storm was also particularly difficult for me.  New York City was a direct target of the storm, and it really hurt that I wasn’t there to help.  Everyone tells me how lucky I was to be spared by not being here, New York is my home.  Seventy percent of the people in the district my boss represents were without electricity, heat, and hot water; homes were flooded; lives upended.  These are people I know and have been working with for years.  Not to mention the friends who were in trouble.  While I was thanked profusely upon my return for helping to re-elect the President, it hurt that I wasn’t there to lend them a hand in their time of need.  Thankfully, I was distracted and kept busy by the campaign and an amazing team.  Even once we won, I was nervous to come back to New York.  I wasn’t sure what to expect and afraid of what might have changed. 

Which brings me to time.  A month is a pretty long time though it felt like only a day.  I decided to head to Philly for the close out and party.  Friends sent messages saying, “Are you coming back?  You won!”  And yes, I came back, but didn’t necessarily want to.  Campaigns only come around every so often and the people you work with are some of the most amazing people in the world.  Maybe it’s just because I’ve been working campaigns since before I could vote so know a lot of these types now, but still.  I’m reminded anew each time just how great people are who work to win for something you believe in.  It’s a familial thing.  You work to turn out crazy Americans to vote, but you’re all just as fucking crazy being the ones there day in and day out until 3, 4, or 5 in the morning, or sometimes just not going to bed at all.  It’s because there’s a deadline, and it’s set in stone. 

I’m so thankful to my boss and colleagues for letting me take the time off work to fight.  When I spoke to Dick the day after the Election Day, after we both calmed down about how many glorious victories there were, I thanked him again for letting me join the race.  He then thanked me for doing it, because it meant just as much to him as it did to me.  The same goes for my Chief of Staff and all my colleagues, they thanked me in the end and it means the world to me. 

We won.  We defended every Democratic Senate seat and picked up two more.  We gained seats in the house, and made sure rape continues to be recognized as an egregious and horrific act of violence – not some god created event to bear a child or being such thing as a legitimate or not.  We legalized marijuana in two states.  I call this a progressive cause for a couple of reasons: one of them being about choice.  And with pot legal, we can tax the shit out of it and put that money towards education and infrastructure.  People keep calling for creative solutions to fixing budget deficits.   Well there is one growing right in front of us, and two states said yes to it (CO and WA). 

And we won on equality.  The bigots were sidelined and will continue to be banished to the back pages of history with the likes of all those who have disregard individual liberty. 

So that’s why the tears keep coming.  Headlines and news stories, commentary and conversation all bring an emotional validation of victory. 

The resident of the White House stands for me (not to mention the millions of other Americans who he fights for – for healthcare and jobs, for education and access to contraception).  The wins of 11/6 carry weight because of what was at stake and I couldn’t be happier to have been a part of it.  It feels good to fight; better to win. 

Congratulations to all those who chose to take up the mantle for a cause this year.  Revel in your victory, and when it hits you, let the tears roll. 

13 Hours

Home at 2:30Am, up by 7am. Surely I've joined a campaign.

My host family is just fantastic. I've only spent about three house total with them, but they're caring and delightful. Both retired, she a nurse, he a nuclear engineer, they're always buzzing with energy. Fascinated by what we're doing on the ground and curious about my life, they are the perfect hosts for campaign housing. I keep thinking in my head how I'd love to host someone for a campaign, but in New York I can't imagine why I'd ever have to. Also, unless I was sleeping with the person, my studio isn't necessarily condusive to such long term stays.

Today is Dry Run 1. Testing out the systems for GOTV and reporting to make sure all is working like a well organized and well oiled machine 17 days from now.

Pennsylvania is different than most swing states in that there is NO early voting and getting an absentee ballot is not simple. So, it boils down to having 13 hours on election day to motivate, mobilize, and win.

And that's exactly what we intend to do.

Why We're Here

            In my Voter Corps Fellow training today, we all had to share reasons why we joined the campaign.  They were all moving.

            Highlights:

1.     Unemployed master-degreed woman, Chicago native.  “If the President wins, then I win.”

2.     25-year-old woman with a pre-existing condition.  “I’m 26 next year and so longer will I be on my mother’s insurance plan – if Romney overturns the ACA, then I’ll never get insurance again.” 

3.     A New Yorker who was a bit lazy in 2008 because of his love for Hillary.  But the President has done great things, including stating that he believes in marriage equality.  

4.     A Floridian since 3-years old, he moved to PA to help his sisters with their children.  However, if Romney gets elected, his entire family is moving back to their native Germany.  

5.     A middle aged attorney who was living in London for 9/11 and the drumbeat to the Iraq war.  He realized the only way he could change things, even after marching with millions in the countries that later followed the US into Iraq, was to help elect people who wouldn’t do that.  Obama was ALWAYS opposed to the war in Iraq.

That’s just a start.  It was emotional and pretty remarkable. 

            Pittsburgh is interesting.  This office is on Smallman Street in the Strip District.  There are tons of lofts and warehouses down the block.  Grand in their brick and limestone, carved granite and leaded glass windows, there are few sidewalks because it's all loading docks.  Some have been converted into nightclubs, others to local farmers-like markets; some are still active for warehousing and manufacturing.  There’s also Marty’s Market where I got a grilled BBQ tempeh sandwich.  It was heaven.  

Day One: Observations

            The train station was nothing to brag about in Pittsburgh.  People park their cars facing either direction no matter what side of the street they park on here.  Also, it is very hilly; bridges of all styles, sizes, and colors lunge across the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio Rivers. 

Campaign HQ in Pittsburgh is great.  It’s a massive former bar/restaurant that we’ve all floors of.  The old bar is storage for signs, paint, literature, and all things Obama.  Booths double as cubicles for field officers.  And the kitchen remains a kitchen for the endless number of volunteers streaming through the doors to make calls, report numbers, drop off food, or just say hello. 

Today the work begins.  I’ve a three hour training this afternoon and then off to my field office in Monroeville.  My host family is amazing.  Upon arriving at 11:30 last night, they offered food.  When I said I was fine, they quickly insisted on having a beer – I had a few with both of them.  Upon further conversation, it was discovered their son lives five doors west of me on the very same Striver’s Row block in Harlem.

It is such a small and wonderful world.