Every Vote(r) Counts

TBT to Election Day 2008. Philadelphia. I was canvassing in a tough Philly neighborhood, going through my list, one by one, in a housing project with an entrance protected by bulletproof glass. I encountered one resident in his underwear and another who told me it was unsafe for me to be there, a warning I ignored until a second resident told me I could get shot if I kept knocking on doors. Disappointed I couldn’t complete that building and, in turn, my commitment to the campaign, I ventured outside to visit the rest of the addresses on my list. And that’s when I met Gladys Jackson. 

Gladys was 66 and housebound due to congestive heart failure. Because her health conditions prevented her from heading to the polls, she had sent in her application for an absentee ballot. When no ballot arrived, she followed-up by phone. She did everything she was supposed to but, here we were, Election Day, and she was still unable to exercise her right to vote. In that moment the responsibility I felt to get through my entire list fell wildly short of the responsibility I felt to ensure Gladys Jackson had her chance to vote that day. 

After multiple phone calls, lots of bureaucracy and two trips to City Hall, the first to get her ballot, the second to return it, Gladys cast her vote. I am fairly certain I technically failed at canvassing, never completing my list, focusing on one woman and her right to vote instead of reminding dozens of others to get to the polls. But I wouldn’t change a thing about that day. It showed, at the most micro level, what that campaign stood for: human connection, helping others, doing what was right even if it wasn’t what was easy.

The excitement of Gladys’ vote segued into the unbelievable electricity in Philadelphia as Pennsylvania was called. I was surrounded by Obama staffers and deeply proud of my brother Michael who worked tirelessly for the campaign for 11 months across 7 states. I was also deeply proud of our country and the promise of tomorrow. 

Here’s hoping that, in our current tomorrow, we can hold onto that incredible hope that we all felt 8 years ago despite the unimaginable transfer of power we now face. In the words of MLK, in the week we celebrate him, as we say goodbye to a president who has given us so much to hope for: “We must accept finite disappointment but must never lose infinite hope.” 

Yes we can. Yes we did. And yes we will, again.