I love politics. Elections are like a giant chess match to me, with each opponent's move being rebuffed by either a defensive or offensive strategy. As a former debate team member in high school, breaking down press releases, doorbelling, and ads have become not only strategy, but toys. As dramatic and overly-animated this presidential election has become, I've never been more enthralled. As a college student finishing a political science major, I've never found present-day more applicable. As a writer, I've never found more subject material that excites me. As a campaign manager for a state house race -- my full time job -- I've never had a harder time reminding myself that not all races run as quickly as the Presidential.
Friday, February 29, 2008:
I was working with a discussion group about a couple papers for my English class -- At this point, I was gearing up for Finals week of a very busy quarter -- when my phone started ringing. Excusing myself, I answer to find my contact in DC (fancy term for high school friend interning in a House office), who wants to inform me that Boeing just lost the Tanker contract to Airbus. We both went to high school in western Washington, went to college at Western Washington University, and have an undying love the the area. With the Everett Plant just an hour or so down the road from us, the loss hit home. As a citizen, I was worried for our economy.
As a campaign manager, my mind started racing. "What's this mean? Who's going to be affected? Does this touch our district?" Questions went pouring forth to be studied. While the Everett plant wasn't in my district, it sat right outside. Surely there were machinists who lived in my district and commuted. "This will definitely be a large part of the election, now," I decided.
My candidate was in Olympia, Washington's capital, for a teacher's meeting. He's a high school teacher -- the same high school I went to -- and is pulling double duty with work and the campaign. He and I go far back, having played youth soccer with his son around middle school. My mother is the Vice President of the Teacher's Union for the district, and my dad was on city council. As he's active in the school district and community, our paths crossed often.
Calling him immediately after learning the news, I told my candidate all that had transpired. We talked about how to best word messages to quell the fears of voters and show them that we're resolved in creating more manufacturing jobs to the northwest through the addition of ferries. We discussed how the opponent might react to this. Finally, I asked, "What are your opinions on how we respond?"
When I was in second grade, my best friend's dad ran for mayor. That was in 1991. I remember it well, because we took the Weekly Reader poll for who we thought would make a good president. It was the only chance I'd ever get to happily vote for Clinton. I remember standing on corners with yard signs, having mailing parties and attending events. It was interesting, but I was young. Later, my dad ran for city council, but I was too caught up in growing into an awkward teenager to really take notice. It wasn't until high school where I competed in debate and worked on the school newspaper that I started getting hooked on politics fully. From there, entering college, I started working on campaigns as an intern and later as a coordinator. When I ran into my old friend from high school -- my candidate's son -- and he mentioned his dad's campaign, it just seemed easy to say I could help out. Little did I know he wanted me in charge.
"How should we respond?" I had asked, and received only laughter in return.
"Let's just sit back and see what happens. Take it easy." I'd made a rookie mistake of thinking that what's good on the large scale works great at the small scale. While responses by Maria Cantwell get news coverage, a high school teacher hoping to lead a rural district doesn't command the same newsworthiness -- a lesson I'd learn well trying to get coverage of campaign kickoffs later.
Still, it's good to realize that this is the person who will have the greatest direct affect on that district. Not Maria Cantwell, not Barack Obama, not Hillary Clinton, and not John McCain, whether they individually end up as President or return to the senate. While I don't need the lighting fast responses that occur on a national stage, the people affected by the loss of Boeing's will be who we interact with while going to events, doorbelling, or sending our mailers to. And they'll expect far more personal coverage. A press release may be a quick way to respond to the financial setback, but it's only a quick word for press coverage. Being able to go out, door by door, and assuring people that we have the interests of the community at heart is the real message, and no quick press blip could ever cover that on a local level.
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This is the first in what will become a continuing diary on the campaign I run and the local Washington community. As a student as well as a political worker, I'll be taking different angles to look at how it all plays into my life and the life of the community as the year progresses. While the first entry is intentionally vague, later I'll be discussing concrete issues and how they affect the region. As the campaign is in its beginning stages, anonymity will be saved until we have all of our ducks in the proverbial row.