Texas Primary Day (and Caucus Night)

The day begins with a whimper.

After a tense morning of answering phones, staying patient with stressed and fatigued campaign managers, and becoming more and more frustrated by people pulling me in different directions, I have been commissioned to drive our “Hope-Mobile,” which is a minivan covered in Obama posters. Catherine, a softly spoken actress from LA, sits in the passenger seat with a bull horn, and we are both somewhat nervous about the repercussions of actually using it.

The intention was for us to drive to crowded areas (the bigger polling places and downtown) reminding everyone to return for the caucus at night. However, we are quickly sidetracked to drive back and forth to the subtly named Texas City solving crises arising from incompetent management of the polls. There is always an element of skepticism with this type of mis-management of the polls, as city leaders have a powerful ability to undermine the voting process for their candidate. In Texas City, we have all sorts of problems, from police turning our volunteers away and uprooting our signs, to poll judges telling constituents they are in the wrong district. However, we have expected a democratic fiasco in Texas, and we are prepared. Throughout the day, we will constantly hear, “you folks can’t come in from New York and California to tell us what to do,” to which we reply, “we understand your frustration with this process, and we’re just here to make it easier. Now talk to our lawyer.”

We constantly forget that we’re in the Hope-Mobile, only to be reminded by cars hooting at us and people jumping up and down on the side of the road as we drive by. We are as conspicuous as possible, when we receive a call to go to districts 227 and 228 in Santa Fe, as our volunteers need support. Our next call is to the volunteer, who is absolutely terrified. Apparently, Santa Fe is a hotbed for the KKK, and there is an anti-Obama rally in front of the polling location. We have anticipated resistance, and sought to reassure Obama voters with a presence of our own. And how better to do it than with a provocatively decorated van? I have images running through my head of a Molotov coctail being thrown at my on the ten o’clock news. Catherine tells me that she’s not afraid of rednecks, but she wouldn’t have seen the Top Gear where the lads drive around the south with “legalize gay marriage” written on their car. Fortunately for us, we get called off the assignment. Apparently, people eventually realized that a story on the ten o’clock news would be a bit too late to sway the vote. Or they just had some sense.

Our new assignment is at the critical district of 336, an almost unanimously poor, black neighborhood, which happens to be the largest district in the county. And fortunately, our last encounter has given us the courage to break out the bullhorn. So we ride up and down this neighborhood thinking of phrases to remind people to come to the caucus at 7 p.m. My favorites were “7 o’clock is the time for Barack” and “Change begins today, at 7 p.m.” As time goes by, more and more people come out of their houses, mostly to just laugh at us, but they all claim to have the caucus on their calendar. We pick up some old ladies and drive them to the polling place, a little one room community center next to the local park. Finally, we speed between polling places to make as much fuss as possible before the caucus starts.

Once we return to 336, the tiny shack has a line stretching at least 250 meters. This is where we realize why this district is so large… the powers that be have given this community as little opportunity to vote as possible. The smaller the voting place, the more people will be dissuaded by the line and go home. But this is a community not willing to leave. This is a community united. Spirits are high, as the longer the line becomes, the more people realize that, while we have been given a short stick, the community is united and mobilized.

As inspiring as this turnout is, we cannot stay, as we are called out to a problem location where the polling judge is refusing to follow the caucus rules. She is refusing the community to elect their own caucus chair (a strange peculiarity behind the caucus system), and she refuses to take a tally of who supports whom (a system designed to ensure that the count isn’t rigged), and they are dangerously close to running out of voting sheets. We press the issue, I run off to make copies of blank tally sheets. Upon my return, half the community has left, though we have succeeded in establishing the rules in this location. This precinct ends up splitting its delegates 7-6 for Obama.
All across the county, and across the state, we run out of voting sheets. Despite the high returns in early voting, party chairs assumed a traditional low turnout for the caucus. In districts previously tallying 3 people, we are consistently getting 60. 336, the large black district, ended up recording 640, undoubtedly a lower number than the original turnout, as high morale still is no match for a 4 hour wait to be recorded. And this caucus illustrated a fundamental change happening across our country. Our system, just like any system, frustrates many participants, and this frustration limits engagement. This complex caucus system in Texas is just as effective at disenfranchisement as a poll test. However, while Jim Crow is still alive, he certainly took a beating in Galveston County.