Nine Days in November: Tales of a No on 8 Volunteer

“First you talk to one person, then you talk to another person, then you talk to another person ...”
— Cesar Chavez, co-founder of the United Farm Workers, on how to organize

Saturday, November 1: Attended a large training session for No On Prop 8 election day volunteers in Palo Alto. Helped pass out materials and, afterwards, prepare materials for next session. Several of us went from there to Mountain View to join a rally organized by local high school students. We held up our No on Prop 8 signs at a busy intersection on El Camino Real as the rain came down harder and harder. We took pictures of each other, smiling and sodden, as cars drove by honking their horns in support. We could tell that it was much quieter a few blocks down the road where Yes on 8 proponents were holding their own rally. It gave us hope.

Sunday, November 2: Having signed up to volunteer all day on Tuesday, this was my day for resting and preparing and conserving strength. I know my physical limitations and knew that I couldn't afford to be sick or in serious pain on election day. I stayed home and spent much of the day studying campaign materials and surfing the No on 8 Twitter stream, passing along information about rallies and tweeting encouragement. I was still hearing stories of voters confused about what No versus Yes would mean ("You mean if I support same-sex marriage I have to vote No?"). I felt vaguely guilty about not doing more -- rallying, calling voters -- but also knew that if I didn't take it easy I would not be able to work for twelve hours straight on election day. I am already looking forward to getting that over with.

Monday, November 3: Chris, the San Jose field director for No on Prop 8, called in the morning with an urgent need to have someone courier campaign materials from the San Jose office up to headquarters in San Francisco. I called My Beautiful Wife (hereinafter called MBW) back from the brink of tabling in San Mateo. We drove down to the office on Gish Road where we picked up a box of donations, maps, and other materials, got instructions for delivery, then drove up to the Castro in SF. At headquarters we doled out the materials to their rightful recipients and introduced ourselves to Moya, the voice behind the San Francisco portion of the @NoOnProp8 twitstream. It was exciting to see the headquarters, to say hi to the incredible Kate Kendell, and to feel we were making a unique contribution. We loaded stickers, buttons, and a few hundred yard signs into the car, grabbed lunch at Cafe Flore, and headed back to the South Bay. First to a busy corner in Palo Alto to deliver materials to the rallyers there, then back to the San Jose office with the rest of the signs. Once there we helped organize the poll captains for the next day, lining the walls with colored Post-It notes. And finally, back home to stay out of cars the rest of the day.

Tuesday, November 4: MBW rose early to start work at 6 a.m., leading a team of volunteers talking with voters outside the 100' perimeter of a Mountain View polling place. At 8 a.m. I headed down to Patrick's Sunnyvale home where we were running a campaign hub out of his garage. I had never been this involved in a campaign before and it was alternately exhilarating and frustrating. For the volunteers at the polling places, it was an emotional roller coaster ride. Every citizen who said "I'm voting No" gave hope, and each one who said "I'm voting Yes," was a kick in the gut. Meanwhile, Patrick and I were in his garage troubleshooting and cheerleading by cell phone. "No, you don't have to leave, you are within your rights to be there." "No, it's the church lady's problem that she told the Yes on 8 people they couldn't come." "No, you won't be arrested as long as you are outside the 100' perimeter and following the rules." "You ROCK!" By 7:30 we had packed things up in the garage and moved inside to watch the returns and handle any remaining calls before the polls closed. When the news channels called the presidential race for Obama we popped open a bottle of champagne. I had 3 tiny sips because I was exhausted and still had to drive home. MBW was already home and resting, discouraged by the voter interactions of the day and wishing she had a thicker skin. I drove home listening to McCain's concession speech, feeling much relieved about Obama's win. I was expecting the Prop 8 race to be close and not to know until the next day, and I was trying not to get my hopes up too high.

Wednesday, November 5: Shock and numbness at the news that Prop 8 passed, along with similar initiatives in Florida and Arizona and a ban on adoption by unmarried couples in Arkansas. Bewilderment that the U.S. could take such a big step forward for the civil rights of African-Americans and such a big leap backward for the human rights of gays and lesbians on the same day. It's difficult to get excited about Obama's victory, my primary feeling is still one of relief. MBW is crushed, grieving and furious, and there is no way for me to comfort her. She takes a personal day, unable to face a cheery potluck planned at work. I work from home, distracting myself by catching up on the accumulated email from the last four days spent focused on the campaign. In the afternoon we go out for a ride around the neighborhood to blow off some steam. It's a beautiful day, and I see again the many No on Prop 8 signs in our neighbors' yards. But on the other side of the neighborhood we pass a Yes sign and a pickup truck with a large home-made sign mounted in the back. It says "What would he vote on Prop 8?" and there's a face, but we do a double-take as we pass and see that the face is not Jesus but Osama bin Laden. MBW thinks the sign-maker is equating us with terrorists, but frankly it doesn't make any sense to me from any angle. Back home, email from the No on 8 campaign says the votes are not all counted yet and they are waiting before making a statement. We are in limbo, perhaps we have equal rights; perhaps not.

Thursday, November 6: We've lost, Prop 8 has passed, legal challenges have been filed. Still feeling numb, much of which is physical exhaustion. On the drive to work I have to fight back the tears. Then I realize I am more angry than sad. Angry at the lies and deception of the Yes campaign. Angry at the influence of religious institutions on our state constitution. Angry at our initiative process which allows that constitution to be so easily modified. I try to tell myself that I have done everything I could; I'm almost convinced. I work, but it is hard to concentrate. I cannot keep my eyes and voice from the stream of outrage and sorrow online. I want to be a voice of comfort and moderation, to say it is as wrong to hate the Mormons and the Knights of Columbus as it is for them to hate us. I think to myself that we have a lot of people we're going to have to sit down and talk with, calmly, to move our rights forward after this. I think of Cesar Chavez and his description of how to organize, "First you talk to one person, then you talk to another ..." I look at the growing list of rallies but don't have the energy to attend yet. I pick out a couple of events on Sunday and Monday and put them on my calendar.

Friday, November 7: More rallies. I pass the news along through Twitter, updates about new events and news from the events themselves. There are alarming stories of No on 8 rallyers being abusive to African-Americans because as a group the majority voted in favor of Prop 8. I'm horrified and frightened by this response. This is not the time to alienate; this is the time to communicate. "First you talk to one person ..." I'm relieved to see this is the message coming from campaign leadership. Still there are more rallies and candlelight vigils. I keep twittering, gathering new No on 8 friends and followers. I receive an email with photos of us smiling in the rain at last Saturday's rally. I can barely remember why we looked so happy.

Saturday, November 8: Slept late, blowing off a day-long event I'd signed up for. Started catching up on my life: washing the CPAP hoses, loading and running the dishwasher, getting a long overdue haircut. Remembered a Buddhist story I first heard in an undergraduate course. A disciple asks the master what he needs to do to achieve enlightenment. The master asks the disciple if he has eaten his breakfast yet. "Yes, master." "Then rinse your rice bowl." I tell myself this story so I will keep putting one foot in front of the other, doing what's next.

Sunday, November 9: MBW and Ms. V and I go to the Billy DeFrank Center for a post-election marriage equality gathering. MBW and Ms V find seats while I help get people signed in. I'm glad to help out because it gives me a chance to hug some of the volunteers I'd worked with at phone banks and on election day, and to see some old friends. The room is overflowing with people. We squeeze more chairs into the room and there are people sitting on the floor, standing in every available space, spilling up the stairs and out the door. Some want to talk and air their feelings, some want to march and rally. The group agrees to do both ... first meet in the room and then take to the streets. When the group heads outside, MBW and Ms. V want to go home. They know I would march, but they are both in similar funks and not up to it. We head home, sit in the living room and talk about the election results, the legal challenges to Prop 8, and about our options for what we can do now. We talk about which candlelight vigils to attend tomorrow night. We will rest and recover. We will continue to fight for our rights.