Oct. 29. The Obama campaign, which has been positively German in its organizational prowess, takes less than 12 hours from my last-minute request to participate in voter protection in Virginia to assign me to a polling station and sign me up for training.
Nov. 2. On Sunday, two days before Election Day, Amy hopelessly sends an email into the ether - to a nameless address along the lines of vpvoterobama@obama.com - asking if they can switch my polling assignment to hers. They immediately reassign me, and send me an email to remind me that I haven't yet completed my training.
In retrospect, it should have been obvious at that point that Obama was going to win.
Nov. 3. Aaron, Elinor, Amy and I spend Election Eve poring over the final polls and watching the SNL presidential bash. Elinor says she is "freaking out" over the election, and aren't we all? Except that Elinor actually kind of is freaking out, in the sense that she's shaking a little and her eyes suggest that she may suddenly grab something and throw it. So now we're all freaking out a little.
Nov. 4. 3:00 am. Amy and I are supposed to be at the polling station at 5:30 am, half an hour before it opens, to meet the election officials and set up shop. Given the distance to the polling station, this means we have to get up at three in the morning. So naturally we get a late start out the door, and get lost on the way, which means that we miss the first fifteen minutes of polling entirely.
We're not concerned about missing the pre-open, but as the clock ticks past six and we still can't find the polling station, we start getting nervous.
6:05 am. Voters are in line right now with legal questions and no one is there to answer them!
6:10 am. By now the election officials have surely realized that they can rig the ballots with impunity.
6:15 am. Hundreds - by 6:20, thousands! - of African-Americans have already had their vote suppressed, their paper ballots torn up right in front of them while they quietly shed a noble tear. "If only lawyers had been here to defend us!" they say. "Once again, our dreams have been deferred."
6:21 am. We swerve into the parking lot and rush in. The line is already out the door and down the sidewalk! A record turnout, someone tells us. America!
Huh. No African-Americans in line. Are we...are we too late?
Because Amy and I are not registered voters in the county, state law forbids us from standing in the polling room itself. So we set up camp outside, near the door, in the forty-degree morning, and wait for voters to have legal questions. This is going to be a long day.
Our ostensible goal as voter protectors is to ensure that voters are able to vote if at all legally possible, and that any issues that may arise are immediately resolved. This idea presumes nefarious intentions, or at least incompetence, on the part of the election officials, though, which doesn't appear to exist at our station. Susan, the head of the station, is an old hand at this and prides herself on never turning voters away. She is also very aware of the law: as I'm introducing myself, she interrupts to inform a voter that if they don't have ID they can just sign an affirmation of their identity and then vote.
Susan is also a lifelong Democrat, so nefarious intentions on her part wouldn't exactly be a serious concern from the perspective of the Obama campaign, would they? I may need to recalibrate the level of my vigilance.
There's another complicating issue about doing voter protection, which is that, even if the election officials are not corrupt incompetents, our very presence implies that we suspect they are corrupt incompetents. That's not the sort of foundation you can build a warm relationship on.
Amy and I decide to resolve this tension by emphasizing our neutrality as frequently and fervently as possible, and by framing our role in the most deferential terms we can. "We're here to be a legal resource for you!" we say to them. "Your own personal lawyers! Anything you want, you just let us know! Hey, let's do a Starbucks run for you, whaddaya say?"
7:00 am. It's sadly clear that we are in McCain country. Even if we weren't told as such by several polling officials, it's obvious from the demographics of the voters. White single men, white women with 4+ kids, men dressed in military garb or camo, people wearing American flags on their lapels, shirts, socks. Amy and I quietly cheer every time a black voter walks up. We don't want to act any differently toward them, but the tone of our "good morning!" is definitely more chipper, as if we're worried that, fifty feet away from the door, they might suddenly change their mind and walk back to the car if we don't encourage them.
7:30 am.The polling station - like all polling stations - has a sign forty feet away from the entrance, past which no campaign materials can be distributed. An elderly man, Jed (not his real name), has been standing near the sign since we got here, handing out red sheets. We're not close enough to hear what he's saying, but after one voter throws the sheet into a garbage can we wait a few minutes and then fish it out. It's a Republican "sample ballot," with all the Republican candidates filled in.
There is no Obama force out here, and it's not like we can step in and fill the role. Amy tries to call state headquarters to get someone over here. In the meantime, I watch Jed smile and chat up everyone who walks by. Everyone is very friendly to him. Obama is totally going to lose Virginia.
A woman walks up to me and asks me if I know where she can find Eddie from the McCain campaign. I tell her, very fervently, that I'm just a nonpartisan attorney volunteer, and the only guy I know with McCain is Jed over there. She bitches to me for ten minutes about the wretched state of the McCain campaign's volunteer infrastructure. All she wants to do is donate her time for McCain, but apparently they can't even coordinate their heads out of their asses enough to get her some flyers. Also, on a side note, their offices are filthy, and as a woman in sales she knows that one can't overemphasize the importance of having clean offices. I nod sympathetically, but inside I'm feeling pretty good about Obama's chances in Virginia.
8:00 am. Amy and I have settled into the rhythm of the place. Voters walk past Jed, who hands them a Republican sample ballot. Then they walk past us, and we cheerfully say, "Good morning, let us know if you have any questions!" They ignore us and walk into the polling station. This is the kind of public service I went to Georgetown Law for.
9:00 am. Sweet Jesus, it is cold. Why did I have to wear a suit?
9:30 am. We start getting to know the poll workers, who are disappointingly smart and kind. One of them clues us in about Jed: he's deeply involved in local politics, and used to be on the board of elections himself. (This explains why everyone happily greets him. Maybe Obama will win Virginia!) Her voice drops, and she says that even though he lost his office, he insists on meddling as much as possible, and that we shouldn't encourage him. There's a whole saga of small-town drama behind this whisper, but before she can elaborate she's called into the polling room that I'm legally prohibited from entering. I won't see her again the rest of the day.
10:00 am. The ballot counting machine is broken! Finally, a chance for us to utilize our training! Quickly, to the Voter Protection Hotline!
Which is busy. Amy calls three times and leaves a message. In the meantime, Susan has already called in a replacement machine that works like a charm.
I'm just glad we were here to help.
A black voter walks up to Jed and talks to him for ten minutes about the Marines, then takes a Republican sample ballot and walks inside. My worldview is shattered.
Amy tries out "Hello, we're here for questions!" a couple of times. Voters seem to get it, but I don't think it gets across the idea that we're voter protectors. We'll have to fine-tune.
Two women walk out of the poll station and hesitantly walk up to me. "We...we have a question," they ask, and I grab my legal binder and Incident Report sheet. "Where can we volunteer for the McCain campaign?"
Jesus, is there something about me that suggests I'm the go-to guy on this? Is it because I'm wearing a suit? Because my tie is blue.
10:30 am. Three Obama volunteers arrive! Finally, Jed has competition. I walk up to them and let them know, quietly, that Amy and I were also sent by the Obama campaign, although we're lawyers acting in a nonpartisan manner so we probably shouldn't be chatting too much. The Obama volunteers, all guys, ask me if Amy is single. I suggest that we all stay focused.
11:30 am. Two people in suits walk over to the sidewalk and start checking it with a level. I look over their shoulders and see an ADA enforcement manual. Man, everyone has their magnifying glass on this election.
They make a big show of checking the area for accessibility, and I don't have the heart to tell them that they're wasting their time. The few disabled people who have come have been immediately swarmed by the industrious poll workers, who offer to open their car doors, wheel them inside, bring a ballot out to the car, or whatever else they want.
SOMEBODY SUPPRESS A VOTE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
God Almighty, it seriously cannot get any colder.
12:00 pm. While Amy and I are chatting with a poll worker, a woman who looks All Business marches up and announces that the Obama guys are blocking the sidewalk and must be told to move. We're immediately falling all over ourselves to mollify her - "We're just volunteer attorneys!" "We have nothing to do with them!" "We'll do whatever you ask!" - lest she order us to leave the premises.
The poll volunteer goes over to Jed and the Obama guys to ask them to step off the sidewalk, and the woman turns and points to my "Voter Protection" button. "You can NOT have advocacy buttons on this close to the polling station. You can NOT wear them."
We're a little confused now. "These...these aren't advocacy buttons, they just say Voter Protection on them."
She looks at them and pauses for a minute. "Well. Well, alright then. Well, then, you need to know something. The Democratic Party is handing out illegal sample ballots. They are ILLEGAL."
Now we're very confused.
"Your volunteers up there are handing out sample ballots that are different from the official state ballot. That is illegal."
Goddammit, she's not an election official, she's just a McCain operative. We immediately adopt a more confrontational tone, and Amy goes so far as to open our legal binder and read the entire relevant statute, which says nothing about prohibiting inexact sample ballots. That shuts her up, and she marches over to Jed and starts handing out flyers with him.
We've been out here six hours, and this is the first actual legal advice we've given all day.
12:30 pm. Amy and I run out to get lunch. When we return, the Obama volunteers tell us that they've been interacting with the McCain Operative, and that they will confirm that, yes, bitch is crazy. Also, Jed is gone! Did she take over his shift? Drive him away? Crystallize a silent but long-simmering disgust he's always had with the Republican Party and prompt him to vote for Obama?
No sooner do we finish our conversation with the Obama guy than the Operative marches over to the poll workers and tells them that Amy and I shouldn't be allowed to talk to voters if we're going to advocating for Obama. This requires us to plead our case to Susan, who seems on our side, if only because the Operative is just coming on way too strong with everybody.
Still, we're a little worried our neutrality is being compromised. We offer again to get the election officials some coffee.
1:00 pm. It starts raining. Obama had better win this miserable state.
1:15 pm. Heartwarming story of the day. A feisty old lady walks by and responds to our greeting with, "I DO need help! This is my very first time voting and I haven't the slightest idea what to do!" Amy's eyes immediately get damp, and we all cheer and applaud and then direct her to the appropriate election official, a sweet old man who takes her by the arm and guides her in.
"This is such a beautiful country," Amy whispers.
"She's voting for Obama, right?" I ask. "I mean, you wouldn't spend the first vote of your life on McCain, would you?"
1:30 pm. Word on the street is that Virginia voters are having huge problems across the state - long lines, intimidating election officials, a couple of fistfights. Meanwhile, Amy and Zhubin are effectively Wal-Mart greeters for the one or two people who stop by every ten minutes.
2:00 pm. I change my greeting to "Good afternoon, we're attorney volunteers, let us know if you have any questions we can help you with!" This has the advantage of telling voters that we're nonpartisan attorneys, but the disadvantage of taking four minutes to say. More fine-tuning.
2:15 pm. The Operative has now been replaced by a prettier version of Ann Coulter. Amy is a little concerned, because Pretty Ann Coulter appears to be very convincing, at least from our distant vantage point. She hands out the flyer and chats up each voter, and then clasps their shoulder or hand. They walk away a little bit taller, with new determination in their eyes.
Amy rejects my suggestion to go counter-flirt with voters. Obama is going to lose Virginia because Amy doesn't want to giggle.
2:30 pm. Walking out of the polling station, a small, wiry elderly man shouts, "What are you poor kids doing out here in the rain?"
"The things we do for our country, huh?" I say.
"Are you kidding me?" the man says, walking up to us. "I've been in the Arctic Circle for our country!"
I start to explain that I certainly wasn't trying to equate my volunteer activity with his military service, but he cuts me off with, "In 1967, I was assigned..."
He wasn't offended, he just saw his chance to tell army stories. Amy and I settle in for the boring long haul.
2:40 pm. He tells Amy to put her hands over her ears, and then tells me about all the places in Europe you could "have a great time" in the 1970s. This guy is not all that boring, actually.
2:50 pm. He has very strong opinions about why Lebanon has suffered in the past fifty years, and I'm terrified that he's going to casually say something viciously anti-Islamic. But instead he makes some very good points about the instability that naturally arises when religious differences are emphasized over common social institutions, and how Western colonial powers have taken advantage of this to protect their influence over the Middle East. I really, really want this guy to be an Obama voter.
2:55 pm. He says he'll let us get back to what we're doing, since he has to go feed his horses on his horse ranch. His horse ranch. I want Amy to ask for his phone number and then give it to me. We can be best friends if he'll just let me have a chance.
3:00 pm. From the few words we can pick up, Pretty Ann Coulter isn't talking about McCain at all, but is trying to convince voters to vote on whether the county should issue a bond to pay for various improvements to the transportation infrastructure. How she wants voters to vote we can't figure out, and it's driving us crazy.
3:45 pm. By this point, we have overheard at least two voters tell our Obama guys that they are not voting for "Obama bin Laden." This is a classy precinct, through and through.
4:00 pm. Streamlined the greeting to "Hello, attorney volunteer if you have any questions!" Thinking of getting rid of "any."
What a ludicrous exercise this whole thing is. These past two years, all that fundraising, all that polling, all those rallies and debates and ads and snipefests - not one bit of that had a single effect on the presidency. You forget that at some point in mid-April, around the time you get sucked into the hypnosis of the daily news cycle. Obama wins June, McCain wins August, Obama wins September. Palin takes women with her convention speech, but Obama gains points after the first debate. McCain loses voters with the lipstick-on-a-pig, but Obama is hurting on the Wright associations. Surely this all matters, doesn't it? Why else would it seem so important?
But it doesn't matter. All of that was just for these twelve hours. It would be in these twelve hours if the campaign was two years or two days. So for God's sake, why do we choose two years?
4:30 pm. Pretty Ann Coulter is talking to a voter who does not seem interested in her argument. As he walks away, she shouts, "Please, I have three teenage sons!"
This doesn't help us figure her out at all. Is she still talking about the bond issue? If so, how on earth could she reasonably invoke her teenage sons in a plea over a transportation bond? Is she terrified that, without the bond approval, her teenage sons will be killed in car collisions caused by poorly paved roads? Or is she terrified that, with the public coffers drained by an unnecessary bond, local businesses will be so burdened by taxation that her sons won't be able to find a job? Or maybe she's just invoking her children to generate a general atmosphere of sympathy?
5:00 pm. Amy and I are so tired that we're now speaking in sentence fragments. WE take a coffee break at Starbucks, but at this point we've been awake 22 of the past 24 hours, so it's just plugging a dam with gum. We sit at the table and slowly sip our coffees.
Zhubin: "Newspaper...Obama's picture."
Amy: "Peppermint mocha, you try?"
Zhubin: "Good! Peppermint patty taste. No, like Yorkshire."
Amy: "Yorkshire is a peppermint patty."
Zhubin: "I know. (takes a five second blink, sighs) I know."
5:30 pm. Pretty Ann Coulter is gone, and Jed is back! Man, what was the deal with her and that bond issue?
6:00 pm. Only an hour left to vote, but no rush has started. The poll workers tell us that 2/3 of the precinct has already voted. If McCain can generate that kind of turnout across the whole state, then, assuming that every precinct is also exactly like this one, and after twelve hours standing in the freezing rain I can no longer envision a world beyond this precinct, he's definitely won Virginia.
6:15 pm. "Hello, attorney volunteers!" appears to be the final draft. You'll make a good speechwriter one day, Zhubin.
6:45 pm. Jed and I start talking. He's a sweet guy, who is more interested in helping a local friend get elected than McCain. He's been nothing but kind to our Obama guys, and when I reluctantly tell him that I'm for Obama, he tells me how delighted he is that young people like me are getting involved in the process.
I feel terrible. Jed is the kind of guy you think of when you imagine the old-school Republican Party, before it devoted its energies to Christian fundamentalism and elective invasions. Maybe when this is all over, people like him will come back to power in the GOP? Of course, for all I know Jed shoots abortion doctors for sport, but as long as he keeps his pleasant old-man demeanor it would still be an improvement over the past eight years.
7:00 pm. Susan announces that the polls are closed. Amy and I say our goodbyes and jump into the car to race back home. Ten minutes into the drive, we realize that we're just now regaining feeling in our legs.
10:00 pm. At a local bar in DC, the place is shaking with roars and cheers when CNN calls Ohio and Iowa for Obama. That puts him at 207 with the West Coast yet to be called, and now there's no doubt that he's won the election. MSNBC pundits give up even trying to pretend the outcome is in doubt and just start talking about History.
10:58 pm. Two minutes before the entire election is called for President-Elect Obama, CNN projects that he wins Virginia. He didn't even need it. I've never been so happy to be so useless.
_
