I knew that this would probably upset the people I was running the campaign with.
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There’s suddenly a lot of interest in traditional organizing — essentially, people talking to people without the interference of big money, social media or other technology — in the wake of the upset Democratic primary victories in the last couple of weeks. Reading about how these candidates are getting back to the roots of traditional canvassing reminded me of a moment during my first big race.
We were in the final days of a long-shot bid for Congress and I was knocking on what was probably the 15,998th door of the campaign that we’d launched 8 months earlier. After a minute or two an older woman answered the door, and before I could finish introducing myself (“Hi, my name is Beto O’Rourke, I’m running for Congress and…” ) she invited me in and asked if she could make me a cup of coffee.
I said yes, although I knew that it would probably upset the people I was running the campaign with.
Our whole strategy depended on me personally meeting the voters who were most likely to vote in the election. Because we didn’t have the money for TV (we were outspent 2 to 1) or the name I.D. (the incumbent had been in office for 16 years), we put everything into knocking on doors.
But to get to the target number of voters (somewhere north of 16,000 homes) I had to hit 100-120 a day. That meant spending more than 5-10 minutes with someone would blow up the schedule. I had to be disciplined and get to the goal each day or we weren’t going to make it.
That was always tough for me. The reason I got into politics was because I’m drawn to people. I love getting to know someone, understanding where they’re coming from, figuring out what we have in common. I’m fascinated by the kinds of things you learn, the kind of connection you make, when you’re meeting someone for the first time, especially when you’re meeting them where they are. I’m not saying it always goes well — I’ve had doors slammed in my face, or worse, appealed to people who just couldn’t care less — but when it does, it’s the best thing.
So there was always this tension, between moving quickly enough to meet our targets and moving slowly enough to actually get to know the people I wanted to serve.
When I was at my most focused or when I knew our campaign manager was watching, I could resist the temptation to stay and have a longer talk. But not that day. The offer of hospitality, the kindness being shown to me… the knowledge that air conditioning was on the other side of that door… was too much.
As we walked into the kitchen she showed me a picture of her grandson who’d just enlisted in the Marines. Very proud! His mom, she told me, was a school teacher who did her best to raise her kids right even though she had to take a second job to make ends meet.
The coffee made, we sat down in her living room where she asked me about my family, wanted to know where I came from, who raised me, if I had any kids… you know, the important stuff. Our children were little then, 5, 3 and 1 and of course I showed her pictures and talked about their emerging personalities and our hopes for them.
What struck me about our conversation is that, beyond introducing myself as a candidate for Congress, we didn’t talk politics at all. At the outset I felt an urgency to bring our discussion back to the campaign, but it faded as we fell into the conversation, losing track of time in the process.
But at some point, maybe we’d been talking for an hour or so, I said “Ok, I should probably let you get back to your day and I’ll get back to introducing myself to your neighbors.” I thanked her and gave her a hug at her door and said goodbye. She called out “good luck!” as I walked down the sidewalk to the next house.
I knew that I’d blown our target for the day, but it was nice to just talk to someone, to have a real conversation instead of a transaction, to be a guest in her home, to receive her kindness and encouragement. Not everyone is so nice! She really lifted my spirits that day, gave me a second wind down the final stretch.
The next week, the last one before early voting started, I was walking into a coffee shop when someone stopped me. Asked if I was who I am and after I said yes he said
- Do you remember knocking on my grandmother’s door? She had you in for coffee… talked your ear off about my brother who joined the Marines…
- Yes, of course I remember her!
- Well you must have hit it off, because on Sunday when I and all of my cousins, there’s like 30 of us, came to her house for menudo like we do every week she made us each promise to vote for you. And made us promise that we’d get our friends to vote for you too. I’ve never heard of you before… I wasn’t even planning on voting. But I can tell you now, with our family’s support, you’re going to win this thing.
He was right. On election night we won with a little over 50% of the vote, first in a field of five candidates including the incumbent. I’d go on to win the general election that November.
I knew in my heart that the reason we came out on top was because of all the people I’d met while knocking on doors, all the conversations I’d had, all the time spent just being with the people who were going to vote in this election.
The money, technology, social media, digital ads… all of that’s just substituting for the real thing, human to human connection. Nothing more powerful than that.
That’s why Powered by People organizes by building real relationships and connections. Our volunteers and organizers personally stay in touch with voters and make sure they have everything they need to actually cast their ballot.
Thank you,
Beto
