Jess' election day experience

My friend Jess spent election day serving as an election observer for the Obama campaign. Jess has always been a "walk the walk" kind of person, and I'm often inspired by her to be more involved and work to share my time and talents. Here is her account of her experience, pulled directly from an email that she has graciously allowed me to post:

Caveat: Obviously my account of election day is very partisan. Please know that we love and respect our Republican family and friends!

November 5, 2008

Whew. Yes I did.

Yes, I woke up at 5am yesterday and got on the computer. Had to print out last minute instructions from Barack Obama’s North Carolina legal team. We just learned that the manuals we received a couple days ago had fake phone numbers for security purposes. I have to print the real phone numbers to the boiler room before getting to my precinct in East Winston-Salem before it opened at 6:30am. Apparently the Republicans will jam our phone line if the phone number got leaked to them. That’s the reason for the last minute roll out.

Coffee. Check. Lunch. Check. Gatorade. Check.

I pull up to the Mallory Jordan Heritage Center at 6:10am and see that there’s already a long line of people waiting to vote. I make my way past all of them hoping they don’t think I’m cutting line. I open the door the door to the voting room… “Good Morning.” No one says “Good Morning” back. They just stare. “I’m the Obama inside legal observer.” “Oh great (sarcastic),” someone says. They tell me to get on the stage with the only other white person in the room – a big ole’ old guy in a leather vest. Meet my Republican counterpart. I go to the designated spot while they search for my name on the credentialed list. They can’t find it. Great start to the day. I go down to provide unwelcome assistance. “You’re not on here.” I scan the 4-person list and quickly see my name. “Oh,” she says. “You have too many names.” Holy cow. She can’t even find my name on a 4-person list….I look over to see three notebooks full of voter names. How in the world are we going to get through those?

“It’s 6:30,” someone says. “Open the doors.” “We can’t open the doors.” Not ready yet. One older lady worker is so out of breath already that I think she may be hyperventilating or having a heart attack. We wait for her to dig around for some medication. I’m wondering if this day is going to start with me calling 911. I seem to be the only one really concerned though. Thank goodness her only job all day is to give out the “I voted” stickers.

“Hello,” I say to Mr. Republican. “I guess we’re here for the same thing,” he says. Hmmm. I give him a little bit of a puzzled look. “To make sure only people who are supposed to vote actually vote,” he tells me. I tell him I’m just observing and making sure people get to vote. It becomes obvious that I’m there to make sure people like him don’t prevent voters from voting.

Here comes the first voter. “What’s your name?” says the same lady who couldn’t find mine. Of the 8 workers, she’s the best one to do this job? Really? After looking for a good 5 minutes the lady says, “sir, your name isn’t on our list.” He starts helping her look for his name. The line grows. I think it’s well over a 1 hour wait outside now. Ugg. My 2 helpers haven’t show up either. I am supposed to have an outside polling counterpart to catch voters like this guy who are aren’t getting to vote. She will help him call a hotline to resolve the issue. I’m not allowed to talk to any voters. I am also supposed to have an inside “Houdini” helper. Obama’s camp set up this database called Houdini. It tracks every potential voter by a 4-digit code. The Houdini person crosses each voter off their personal precinct list and enters the code on a blackberry so the headquarters in Chicago know almost immediately who voted. Later in the day the campaign will start going to find people who haven’t yet voted. They sent a bunch of really cute guys in suits and ties to walk the neighborhoods and bring voters to the polls.

Call #1 to the boiler room. Report illiterate poll workers and other issues. I then walk back into the voting room and am immediately approached by the Chief Judge. Meet Chief Judge Henry. He is supposed to be in charge of this operation. He is about 85 years old and comes equipped with only a pen stashed in his sock. I understand that his friend was supposed to be the Chief Judge but she got sick and went to the hospital, so he’s standing in. Apparently they’ve already given out provisional ballots (bad, bad, bad) and voters have put those ballots (which aren’t supposed to count) into the regular ballot box counter which is locked and no one can open it. Chief Judge wants to know what we should do. We? I’m supposed to be the observer…not the poll worker. I call the boiler room again. Boiler room is in awe. Chief Judge needs to call his boss at the Board of Elections to resolve the issue. Of course he does. I tell Chief Judge Henry this information. He nods and I’m not sure he can even hear all that well.

Mr. Republican stands up and says he is going to have to start challenging (formal process involving paperwork). “No you can’t,” I say. “You aren’t a voter in this precinct and you can’t challenge anyone.” “What are you talking about?, he says” Fortunately our campaign set up yet another helpful database this past weekend matching republican observers with their designated precincts. We all went on the database and printed out the information for our Republican observer. I open my notebook and pull out the information. “You’re registered to vote in precinct 42.” “This is precinct 404.” “Sorry.” “What are you talking about?” Apparently the Republicans haven’t studied this part of the law that closely. “That’s what I’m here for, to challenge voters,” he says. “What are you hear for?” “ I am not challenging anyone.” “The democratic party doesn’t challenge anyone or try to prevent anyone from voting. That is not our job.” He looks at me dumbfounded and calls his boiler room. We step outside to resolve this issue. He gets mad and tells me, “I’m a Chief Judge you know.” “I’m a lawyer. You’re about to violate the law. I have no choice but to report you.” He looks shocked. I can see what he’s thinking. “You’re about 20 years old and wearing running shoes….you are a lawyer?” I’m not scared of his white hair, leather vest, and concealed handgun (last one’s a guess).

I call the boiler room and report him. We’re both on the phone and arguing at the same time. Mr. Republican wants me to argue directly with his attorney on his cell phone. My boiler room says don’t. I state my position and walk back inside to do what I’m there to do – watch voters – not argue with him. Our chief attorney for Forsyth County shows up in about 10 minutes. He pulls Chief Judge Henry aside and tells him (in front of Mr. Republican) that Mr. Republican should be thrown out of the room if he attempts to challenge. Whew, it’s not yet 8am.

Mr. Republican starts steaming and sitting in a corner furiously taking notes. He’s given up challenging. Success #1. This will prove to be my biggest success of the day. I just can’t believe their strategy – send Republicans into minority precincts to challenge voters. I have less respect for the Republican strategy than I did 2 hours ago. It will sink to a new low in a few hours, just wait.

Luckily my outside observer shows up and everything starts to fall into place. That is until Mr. Republican calls me aside and cites the rule that I can’t talk to voters. Yes, I admit that I’ve violated the rule. That’s because I’m actually helpful though. When I hear a poll worker incorrectly telling a voter that he MUST choose a straight ticket option, I correct them. Amazing. These workers don’t even know how the ballots work. I tell Mr. Republican that I’m obviously just trying to help people. I’ve done nothing to influence anyone. He tells me to sit and be quiet. I’ll try.

By 10am two official looking white guys show up in suits and ties. Great, the Board of Elections officials. I immediately approach them and let them know that the biggest problem is that there are two provisional ballots locked in the regular ballot box. The tell me that they’ll deal with it later. Not to worry. I’m not convinced. They also tell me that apparently Mr. Republican has gotten someone to call in to complain that I need to sit still and be quiet. OK. OK. I tell them. Fine.

I walk outside for one of my 1 million calls to the boiler room. I need a little fresh air. I run smack into a woman who asks me if I’m interested in being a foster parent. What? Am I dreaming? Turns out that we’re right behind the Department of Social Services and they seized the opportunity to try to convince people to foster children because there is such a huge need. Bizarre. Our country is in bad shape.

I walk back inside and sit down. Mr. Republican is actually interested in me now and wants to make small talk. I’m not all that interested in chit chat but I participate for a while. Turns out that he’s a retired salesman with a pacemaker and sleep apnea. He can lose weight to take care of the sleep apnea apparently but he’s not interested in trying that because it’s not a guaranteed solution. He just prefers to sleep with an oxygen machine. I’m nauseous and can’t take anymore of this conversation. He is still going though. He looks at a young black woman voting. She has a baby in her arms and two children – one on each leg. “They’re going to have an interesting life…maybe God will take care of them,” he says. My respect is sinking.

It’s about Noon and I’m starving. I’m dreaming of French fries but all I have is a cheese sandwich. I eat it and pray for the day to go faster. I’m getting a little tired. I already had to charge my blackberry 2 times because it’s been in active use for about 6 hours already. Mr. Republican doesn’t understand the blackberry or the fact that we can track voters. For a while he thinks it’s illegal. I tell him maybe they should invest in some tech guys next election.

The next 4-5 hours are a blur. I recall seeing Mr. Republican’s campaign manual. He actually showed me a few pages (I didn’t sneak a peek at it when he went to the bathroom even though I considered it). I was super discouraged by the way it was written and the misinformation supplied. It was essentially a handbook of who shouldn’t be allowed to vote whereas our handbook was about who should be allowed to vote. Mr. Republican’s handbook clearly directed them to interpret all rules to the strictest reading and to prevent any votes beyond that interpretation. For example, it said that any voters past 7:30pm must cast provisional ballots. That’s just plain wrong and not the law. Everyone in line at 7:30pm gets to vote a regular ballot and election officials had the option of extending voting until 8:30pm should there have been a line. My respect bottomed out.

I had a sense of hope though. I, for the first time, feel like maybe I helped secure someone else’s right to vote yesterday. My vote was big. But making sure someone else’s right to vote isn’t challenged is huge. 402 huge in fact. That’s how many votes were cast at the Malloy Jordan Heritage Center yesterday. 402 felt like 402,000. Yes, it took me 14 hours, but I did it. I made sure not one voter in my precinct was challenged. Everyone was able to vote on a regular or provisional ballot as instructed by the poll workers.

You already know the end - the nation picked Obama and the rest, they say, is history. There was this moment though at the end of Obama’s speech last night. Remember after he spoke when the Obama and Biden families came onto the stage? After they all started to leave, Obama seemed to linger. It was like he was finally cracking just a tiny bit and wanted to take in the moment. Look around. See his city and the crowd just for another minute. In the distance you could see Michelle Obama walking away with the families and then she stopped. Looked around for Barack. Turning back, she could seem him hanging around and she just stood and admired him from the distance. Finally, he turned around and walked to her and they went into the night holding hands. I felt like the chapter ended. The last page was killer. That’s what you read a book for. It’s really beyond my imagination and I couldn’t be prouder of my country.