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Edited on Mon Jul-12-04 03:07 PM by theHandpuppet
Brother, what a demoralizing experience.
This is the first time I've done any voter registration canvassing since moving to this neck of WV, so I decided to begin with the neighborhoods within walking distance of my home. As things turned out it started to rain after I had completed only one block of my journey -- which was just as well.
But before my most NOT-so-excellent adventure began, there was a matter of picking up the proper registration forms at the county courthouse. This was no problem (though I had to sign for them) but the registrar's office wasn't even sure if they had any handouts for voter information guides. Someone eventually sifted through some files and found about ten trifolds, of which I was given seven. Imagine that. Only ten handouts of voter information FOR THE WHOLE COUNTY. I was told I could call the Office of Elections in Charleston and ask for more, which I did when I got home. Guess what? They didn't have them either.
The folks in Charleston were quite nice, but really. They did tell me they had a voter registration guide which they could fax me or they could send me a copy and I could, on my own dime, make copies to distribute to any potential voters. Ah well, that's what I decided to do. Better than nothing at all.
So on to the canvassing...
Got my notebook, the forms, the seven voter guides, small memo sheets upon which I had copied the email addy for online registration and the phone number of the county registrar. Put on my best smile and headed out for what I hoped would be a friendly jaunt through our working class neighborhood. Let me give you an idea of the responses I got within just one block:
From one lady who declined to say whether or not she was interested in registering: "You need to talk to the Mexicans!" (Huh?)
Then there was the house where the man of the home didn't allow his wife to vote. I don't know if the twenty-something son was registered, since he never looked up from his reclining position on the couch and I could only tell his mute, glassy-eyed self was conscious because the TV remote in his hand was clicking incessantly throughout my brief conversation.
Next came the country chic house with all the cutout hearts, the flags and the many signs which bore little sayings like "Welcome, Friends". Espying a middle aged couple on the porch fussing with the potted plants and still not too discouraged from my previous encounters, I smiled, "Good afternoon. I'm your neighbor from a few blocks up the road and was wondering if you folks might be interested in registering to vote."
The woman peered up at me and smiled sweetly.
"Well now, that's really none of your damn business," she said, then turned on her heel and went in the house.
After a moment of admittedly stunned silence, I turned to the man whose eyes barely lifted from the tomato plant he was tending. "I'm just offering registration forms to anyone who might be interested," I offered meekly.
"She told you it was none of your damn business," he grumbled in a way that told me to move on, and quickly.
Well, wasn't that special. I suppose all those little heart signs painted with invitations such as "Welcome Neighbor" must have been written in a kind of secret code for "Get the fuck outta here" and someone forgot to provide me with the proper decoder ring.
By this time (and there were more examples of this type) I was becoming fairly discouraged -- not at the lack of response, but the consistent, downright rudeness and hostility. Fortunately a thunderstorm came rolling in, making my next stop my last stop of the day. It was there I encountered a sullen, dull-eyed young man who responded to my offer of voter registration information with a decidely rude gesture and something equally rude mumbled in my direction.
By this time I was pretty well fed up.
"Just trying to be friendly, there's really no need to be rude," I said calmly.
"Why don't you go rude yourself off this street," he yelled, and continued to scream invectives at me all the way down the block.
By the time I reached home I was soaking wet and thoroughly pissed. I'm no novice at voter registration canvassing, but I've never encountered this kind of hostility before, even in some rural mountain areas of northern Virginia which folks advised you to avoid after dark.
Perhaps I'm just not cut out for this anymore. Then again, the guilty thought passed that although these folks wouldn't say whether or not they were registered, perhaps it was just as well. I don't think I want to know, but if I'm going to keep doing this I at least need to care.
So that's my whine for the day. Right now I guess I just need a word of encouragement, some sound advice, or even some uplifting anecdotes.
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