It happened when I took a bite of chicken tenders at lunch on Thursday. A friend asked, “Would you be interested in coming to Philadelphia with me over fall break for the Kamala Harris campaign?”
My immediate reaction was, “What is canvassing?” Anxiety soon follows. It was almost ridiculous. As a black teenage girl, I walked around Philadelphia over the weekend and asked random strangers who they would vote for, but most of the time I didn’t want to ask such a question to my own family. It wasn’t even there. I already had plans for the weekend in question, so I felt safe turning my friend down. But my plan failed and the idea was brought up again. I found myself thinking, “Why not?”
We are faced with different monolithic ideas of each other every day. As a Black woman, I am very aware of the types of iconography that relate to me. The mammy, the matriarch, the Jezebel, the welfare queen, all of the portrayals portrayed in American media categorize black women as a handful of stereotypes that can be easily consumed. I know the power of stereotypes, but the activities I had that weekend completely changed the image I had of many Americans in my head. As I walked the streets of South Philadelphia, I spoke to a variety of people: independents, many Democrats, and a few Republicans. The campaign’s goal since the election began was not to change voters’ minds, but to help them plan to vote.
The more I talked to people while relaxing on a Saturday morning, smoking marijuana on a Sunday night, or right after they finished their shift on a Monday afternoon, the more I realized that my perceptions were being challenged. Ta. Some people were frustrated that the Democratic primary was not held and chose not to vote. One man I spoke to said he had never voted because there were no candidates who could help him, and many said their families had suffered and they had received no sympathy from the government. Ta. They had given up on a system they believed had turned its back on them time and time again. I thought we would be arguing on people’s doorsteps until they silently voted for a candidate who claimed to make their lives better. In reality, we couldn’t guarantee that.
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Kamala Harris supporters in Philadelphia, October 2024
I was standing in front of a man’s house as he gave an impassioned speech about why he wasn’t voting in the upcoming election. At one point, he began talking about how his daughter was arrested and he lost custody of the child. Since then, she has found a job, taken regular drug tests to prove to the state that she does not use drugs, and attended every possible court hearing, he detailed. Despite this, she was repeatedly denied custody and began to doubt that she would ever see her children again. “How is that fair? What kind of system is that? How are those politicians going to help my daughter get her children back?” When he asked, I thought something was wrong with me. I felt it thrust inside me. I no longer spoke to monolithic figures of Trump supporters, ignorant and confused voters, or disaffected Democrats. Instead, I was talking to ordinary Americans who were dissatisfied with their lives and just wanted to feel seen and heard. Feeling that you are important to someone.
I am faced with my own desire to be recognized in everything I do. I write to express myself through letters, because if I have to be transparent, at least my letters can be seen. I go to a university with a lot of colorful people, and I’m wondering how the colors pop out in a rainbow. I make music as a way to expose my heart and reach people who will listen. What can these people do to pierce the veil of invisibility between full-time jobs and managing a home and family? What can they do to get noticed? How to be recognized?
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Brooklyn Pollster, October 2024
While preparing for the promotional trip, I expected many emotions: anger, sadness, frustration. But as I walked away from the door I knocked on, I realized that I wasn’t feeling any of those emotions. There was a strange thing bubbling in my stomach that I didn’t even know the name of. I understood what it was like to feel out of control or unseen. I’m 19 years old. Don’t most 19-year-olds feel that way? I saw myself in the people I spoke to. These include the frustrations of teenage years, girlhood, adolescence, and the desire to be accepted. It never occurred to me that perhaps those feelings were not simply limited to our teenage years, and perhaps those feelings of helplessness were what bonded us as humans. This election brought to light for me the connections we all share with each other. Granted, it may not be the exact same experience, but it’s true that we all struggle with feelings of anxiety. Don’t we all think there has to be something more? If not, I think you’re pretty lucky and better than others.
There are very few moments in history when we can walk through knowing that we are experiencing a momentous event. The 2024 US election is certainly one of them. I am fortunate to have come of age in the midst of such uncertainty and fear, and in a time of such political division. This election has allowed me to expand my belief system, understand history, do my own research, talk to people, and stand up for what I believe. If you didn’t realize the importance of this election, I’m sure. I would have skipped this trip to Philadelphia. But in return, I am grateful. When I talk to people, I no longer see them as separate from myself. Instead, we are looking for something that connects us and connects our very being. Seeks a desire to be recognized. And I recognize them.
