Confessions of a Poll Greeter

The good news:  For the hours I stood greeting voters at early voting locations in North Carolina’s Catawba County, where just a little over one-fourth of the registered voters share my “D” designation, was that the sun was shining.

Too late did I realize I should have invested in a proper hat to shield my face from the sun and proper armor to shield my soul from the deplorable – yes, deplorable – negativity.

As my skin darkened from hours in the sun, it never thickened from nasty comments. Early on – day 2, I believe – it was clear the life of a Democratic poll greeter in Western North Carolina wasn’t going to be easy. A woman who reminded me of a defensive lineman got into the faces of my coworker and me. She insisted on provoking us, yet we quickly saw no point in discussing anything with her. We ended up moving to opposite ends of the greeting area while she stubbornly stood her acquired ground near the Democratic Party Information Station sign.

This election reminds me a lot of 5^th grade and bullies.

One voter in battle wear 

Another day I asked a woman walking to the voting site if she’d like a sample Democratic ballot. She told the two teen girls with her, “Now, that’s what I don’t want you to go up to be.”

Oh, boy, do I hope those girls rebel, and not with drugs or drink.

Another day at the voting site where political foot soldiers are inches apart, a Republican stalwart asked about my accent. I can be so naïve. I replied, honestly, Texas, California, and Virginia. Later, I learned that he likely cared less about my pronunciation and vocal patterns and more about my activism.  A longtime union organizer explained his inquiry was code for, “You’re an outside agitator.”

Yes, I am. I care about public education, equal rights, and equity.

Next, that individual addressed my candidate for school board. “I hear she’s an atheist.”

“What does that have to do with being qualified for school board?”

Again with the naiveté.

After falling for the bait, twice, I got quicker with my response. Slipping slightly into my native Texas drawl I pronounced, “My grandfather said ‘I heard’ and ‘They say’ are the two biggest liars in the world.”

Later, I realized he was using the same tactic as Trump, smearing others, not with fact, but with innuendo by saying things like “I hear crooked Hillary is …” 

I started out my 2016 poll experience hopeful. Fivethirtyeight.com had our state light blue. I was enthusiastic about our chances to get a new governor who cares about public education and doesn’t discriminate against the LGBTQ community. I thought we could elect a strong and principled woman to the U.S. Senate and send the NRA-financed fellow packing. I want to elect fair judges, not ones who sanction outlandish gerrymandering and voter suppression. Oh, and maybe, just maybe, we could get a new congressman with integrity, and elect someone to the school board who wants to put ALL students first.

By the last day, my adopted state was pink on fivethirtyeight.com and a car emblazoned with hate, notably a “Lock Her Up” sticker, pulled into the polling place. 

That car left me dumbfounded. Was I a fool to think we could take steps, even teeny tiny ones to help our county and state be more supportive, more open, and more fair?

Yet, minutes after that angry car, I gave a sample ballot to a 70-something African- American who was voting for the first time. A young African-American, also voting for the first time, came out smiling. His parents and I applauded. Then, a middle-aged white woman returned her voter guide after her first-ever vote. She gave a thumbs-up for our “blue” guidance.

I scanned the parking lot to find my colleague. The all-time high point of my time in the sun was volunteering alongside this African-American man. He grew up in the Jim Crow era and knows what it is like to be marginalized, disenfranchised, suspected, and hated. He knows the importance of voting and how hard-won and fragile that right has been, and remains.

Of his long hours at the polls, this gentle man says, “I have to be here.”

It’s people like him, my other fellow volunteers, those first-time voters, and the thumbs-up and smiles that lift my spirits and give me hope.

May I offer you a blue ballot?