There is a line in "Mrs Robinson" that always jumped out at me, as a quintessential detail I always assumed would be a part of adulthood. When they sang "going to the candidate's debate," it gave me this crystal clear picture of people who look like Anne Bancroft and Murray Hamilton, dressed smartly in 1960s chic, tailored clothes, with a cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other, in the living room of a big-time donor to the Republican party, rubbing elbows with mayors and DAs and whatnot, making all of the behind-the-scenes decisions in their little town. That's how I thought being active in politics would look. It's not how either political activism or even generic adulthood has turned out for me.
Two years ago, when I went to the caucus meeting for the presidential nominating process, it was a gigantic nightmare, front to back. The line to get into the building wrapped all the way around the high school where we met, and there were thousands of people trying to get in and go through the process all at once. It took forever, and by the time we broke out to our precinct rooms, everyone was tired, hot, and cranky. That foul mood carried over into the meeting. When we learned we were an "orphan" precinct, without an official leader, I raised my hand and said I knew how to run a meeting, having a passing acquaintance with Roberts Rules of Order. I had no training, and when it came down to the weird math required to figure out how to divide up two delegates when our room was split basically 66-34% between the two major candidates, and each side was desperately passionate about their love of their preferred candidate and their distrust of the other, I barely prevented the 40 or so people assembled from coming to blows. Eventually we found the correct formula online, and we forwarded one delegate for each candidate to county convention. I left there thinking the entire room hated me.
I didn't know then that they were serious when they said I had just signed up for a two-year commitment as a precinct leader. They called me and emailed me and sent me loads of paper through the USPS. They made sure I went to the central committee meetings in Boulder, and when candidates called me to chat, they spent far longer on the phone than I really wanted them to, just to court my vote for party leadership. Over the last month, I've had three scheduled meetings with a supersite coordinator, made it to one big training and missed another, all to run another caucus meeting tonight. I was absolutely terrified that it would be some of the same faces from last time, and they would still be mad at me. I genuinely expected a mutiny, an overthrow of me as precinct leader. I was stressed out.
My worst fears were not realized. Only eight people, including myself and the young woman who recently volunteered to be co-leader, preregistered for the caucus from our precinct. This time, it was held in a small events ballroom a few blocks from my house, for just four total precincts. None of the people from last time showed up. In fact, the other six people who preregistered never showed at all either. We had two other women register on-site (and I had brought my laptop to be the ones to sign them in), and that was it. Four women for a precinct that could potentially be comprised of up to 2000 registered voters. The meeting was ridiculously cordial and collegial. I was elected to a second two year term as precinct leader by unanimous consent. We discussed the five gubernatorial candidates on the caucus slate, sent two forward over the threshold poll, and then all four of us settled on the same candidate. Three are going as delegates to the county assembly in two and a half weeks. One was happy not to have to go. It was almost scary how easy it all was.
It wasn't quite the swanky, smoky picture I had of the back side of politics when I was growing up (although I did dress a little nicer and even wore makeup!). I'm okay with it the way it was. I'm a more casual sort of grownup. This way I am living up to my values without having to put on an act over who I am on the inside. This is the kind of politics I can handle.
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