One week in Texas
I’d only been to Texas once before. It was a weekend in Dallas, representing the UW at a national conference just after I’d graduated. I spent practically the entire weekend in the hotel, so when my new job at Common Purpose brought me to the Houston suburbs for work last week, I was excited to get a taste of real Texas and play a role in one of America’s most important political moments of 2020.
Myself, my close friend and coworker Channing and 18 committed Northwesterners volunteered for Dr. Eliz Markowitz, running in a special election to represent Texas’s 28 House District in Austin. The district spans the entirety of Fort Bend County, which we would learn is the most diverse county in all of America. With the impending census and a decade of drastic demographic shifts in Texas, this race was important to help flip the Texas state legislature.
I was not expecting to take away so many hard truths from this experience but I’m fortunate to know that I have. I’d like to share a couple of important lessons from the trip, both of politics and of life that will continue to inform my work and maybe can give you something to think about as well. From recognizing my own hypocrisy to managing my emotions in the face of Trumpism, I hope you follow along and enjoy this short read.
An experienced educator and reformer, Eliz, as she’s known throughout her native Fort Bend, inspired our volunteers with her spunk, humble competence, and ingrained commitment to equal protection under the law. Every chance we saw Eliz at an event, she’d spend a good portion of her stump speech describing how everyone ought to be treated, with fairness, respect, and love.
If you’ve been following along my journey on Instagram you’ll know that I had the opportunity to meet Beto O’Rourke this past week. The campaign invited our volunteers to a special event at a private home to hear from Beto and Eliz before heading to knock doors. It was an incredible experience to be met with such authenticity by someone with so much acclaim. After spamming your Instagram feeds with repeated photos of Beto, I had a great conversation with a close friend about my history with Beto. Therein lies my first lesson.
I was a big Beto fan in the Senate campaign days. I loved his commitment to visit all of Texas’s 254 counties, sparing no expense to meet everyone on the political spectrum. But my excitement turned to exasperation as Beto decided to enter the presidential primary. Privately and on social media I said some unflattering things about Beto, turned off by his lack of details and ties to fossil fuel money. At the time it felt harsh, but justified.
But I had an epiphany in Texas. Why was I so harsh last summer ? Why had my feelings changed so positively upon seeing and meeting him in person? Was it hypocritical of me to post these positive photos knowing I’d said some negative things last summer?
Yes, it was hypocritical of me.
I do believe that Beto is a committed public servant who wants to do right by his home and his people. In an exchange with someone whose worked with Beto for a decade, I learned that he knocked every single door in his congressional district three times, himself. Every. Single. Door. That’s a commitment to public service that transcends politics.
As someone who’d love to run for office one day, how could I lose sight of that and not offer him the understanding and patience I would hope to receive if I were ever in the public eye? I think this past week gave me pause and will force me to think twice about what I say about anyone in the future, and especially public figures. I think that’s a good lesson for all of us. Why is it that our political environment prioritizes soundbites over soundness of reason? How can it be that memes carry more weight than meaningful conversation?
As with everything in life, if I don’t want to see something perpetuated in the future, it has to start with me.
Now for some experiences while door belling, one hopeful encounter and one inevitably negative episode.
The app you use for door belling is called Minivan and despite its numerous flaws it’s truly a brilliant invention. One incredible aspect of Minivan is that you can see who you’re trying to reach in a home, their name, age, gender, and other personal voting details. More than once I was knocking for 18 and 19 year old women, which I dreaded because I didn’t want a tough Texan father to come to the door and wonder why a strange 20 something boy was asking for his daughter.
As I approached a home in a lovely neighborhood outside Sugarland, I tensed as I saw I was looking for Alma, a 19 year old female. I rang the door, half hoping no one would answer so I didn’t risk the father’s hostility. But Alma came to the door within seconds and I’m so glad that she did.
“Hey my name’s Daniel and I’m a volunteer with the Eliz Markowitz campaign, are you Alma?” It was roughly 10:30 in the morning and she looked tired but happily replied yes. I explained what I was doing and she said she didn’t even know there was an election. In fact, she’d never even voted before.
She was so happy to have the chance to vote, because she’d made a point of registering last year. Because it was a special election taking place in January, it made sense that she wasn’t aware of the election. I explained the election times and gave her the nearest polling location. “I’m so glad I can do this before my classes tomorrow,” she exclaimed. I was too.
Unfortunately another doorbell didn’t go so well. In the center of Ford Bend County is a wealthy area called Cinco Ranch. Think unnecessarily large and beautiful suburban homes. Sort of like the Sammamish of Fort Bend County. It was Sunday evening and the sun was setting over the perfectly manicured lawns. Maddie, a 19 year old, was one of my last doors for the day and I suspected that she was probably away at college.
Maddie’s younger brother came to the door. “Hey buddy my name is Daniel and I’m looking for Maddie to help her vote on Tuesday. Is she home?” “MOM,” he screamed and walked away. 10 seconds later Mom arrived at the door and I could tell immediately that I needed to end the interaction as quickly as possible. She took one look at the literature in my hand and started in. “Oh my god,” she sighed.
I started in on my piece, explaining I was here to get out the vote for Tuesday’s election and just wanted to make sure Maddie had everything she needed to vote.
“Well Maddie’s not here and you need to get out of here with that fucking shit before I call the cops! We don’t solicit in this neighborhood!”
I tried to defuse and explained I didn’t see a gate.
“You need to get the fuck out right now. We don’t need that shit here!”
I apologized and left.
I got back into my car and almost started crying. How could someone speak so violently to a stranger? I don’t understand how our politics have gotten to this point, where you can swear at the person who comes to your door because you don’t like that they’re helping people engage in the political process.
Both doors are emblematic of where we’re at as a country. At the same time that there’s a large portion of the country resigned to politics, there is also a new generation of people who believe their voice can be heard and want to be a part of something larger than themselves. We need to reach out to both of those communities in our national conversations and in our personal lives. We need to bring in the young and hopeful at the same time we’re courting the tired and jaded, because to do any different would be to continue politics as usual and treat our democracy like a game. We can find hope in our dejection, and although I didn’t get the chance to have a conversation, I believe it will all start with simple conversations on doorsteps both here and across the country.
On our last day in Texas we volunteered to be poll greeters at the Cinco Ranch public library. We held signs and asked folks to support our candidate as they walked in. It was a foreign concept having grown up in Washington state. Our tremendous privilege means we can simply pop our ballots in the mail or a drop box. In perfect Northwest fashion, we don’t have to interact with strangers. But in Texas and many other places across the country, you go to the polls and you’re greeted by volunteers offering coffee, donuts, and even kolaches (a Czech pastry filled with a spicy hotdog and cheese).
There we found ourselves, looking on at our candidate Eliz, and her opponent, Gary Gates, notable Fort Bend Republican. They were right next to each other, just as we were right next to his supporters. We couldn’t believe that this type of experience could exist in America. Feuding candidates and their supporters standing side by side greeting prospective voters? How could something like this exist without violence?
Throughout the morning I saw two middle aged Latinas canvassing the library parking lot in bright red and blue raincoats, Gary Gates stickers, and Trump 2020 shirts with matching MAGA hats. I wanted to engage with them all day, but thought I should just mind my own business. But after enough time I’d built up enough confidence to approach them.
“Hi there, my name’s Daniel! Thank you for being out here to poll greet.” I offered out my hand. Marri and Claudia smiled and returned my greeting. Claudia offered me a lifesaver from a wicker basket shaped like the state of Texas. She said they were “life savers for the right to life.” I paused before saying no thank you. “Isn’t this great?” they asked me. I said I was happy to have the opportunity to meet voters and supporters of the other side. They started in, saying it was a great day for their candidate, but most of all, it was a great day “for the most important person,” pointing to their hats. “It’s a good day for President Trump.”
Before I could exit, Marri asked me what I thought of her new idea “Tip For Trump.” Intrigued, I asked what she meant. “Well,” she explained, “Tip For Trump is a national movement I started right here in Katy two weeks ago where we tip 20% at restaurants and write a little note for President Trump.” I smiled because I was unsure what she meant. Was this woman trying to make herself seem special because she tips 20% at a restaurant? Is she really trying to convince me that tipping is a political statement? Confused and slightly petty I asked, “you mean, tipping a normal amount?”
“Isn’t that a great idea? We have folks tipping 20% or some even just tipping $20.20 because we believe in generosity for the wait staff.” At that point I think my look of confusion had turned into a look of disbelief, as she tried to convince me further. “You know, because the economy is doing so well because of President Trump, we can afford to tip 20% and just be good people.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Even more scarily, it wasn’t what they were saying, but the looks on their faces. It was almost as if their eyes were glossed over, their smiles permanently stuck to their faces as they praised Trump like a god. Never in my liberal bubble of Seattle had I had the opportunity to witness Trumpism firsthand. It is a morose and dejecting experience. Without the words to express my frustration and nervous to let my emotions boil over, I calmed myself and nodded and smiled as they made themselves out to be saints for being decent human beings and adequately tipping. They went on to implore President Trump, as his work allowed them to be charitable. I congratulated Marri for the success of her movement, shook hands, and made a beeline for my volunteers.
Set to return home on Tuesday, we knew we’d learned a lot from the experience. But there was still one lesson left to learn: losing. We knew it would be a tight race and knew there was a decent chance we’d touch down in Seattle to tough news in Texas. That couldn’t prepare us for the moment we stepped off the plane and saw that Eliz had lost, receiving 42% of the vote.
Reading election coverage on Wednesday morning made me sad, but I think the awareness of my privilege caused me to feel even more down. The most difficult aspect of the journey is that I won’t have to experience the hardship of this hardline GOP representation first hand. Our volunteers got to return home to Seattle while our campaigns comrades are the ones we’ve left behind in Fort Bend. Looking ahead to all of the travel I have yet to do this year, I think it was important for me to understand the feeling of losing and leaving a place early. It will better shape our approach and commitment to our partner organizations and communities, because we know the outcomes won’t be ours to live with. That won’t stop us from doing the work, but rather motivate us to work harder for the communities we come to serve.
I appreciate you taking the time to read even a little bit of our Texas experience and hope it can inspire you to think critically about how you’ll make a commitment to civic engagement in 2020. If you’re looking for a little inspiration on how you can make a difference this year, you can visit cpnow.org or email me at daniel@cpnow.org.
