For the last several months, I’ve helped lead deep canvassing in West Philadelphia. We seek out people who don’t like Donald Trump but are at high risk of not voting this year.
We talk with a lot of non-voters! Here’s the most common way they explain why they’re not voting.
Just as importantly, here’s what we do to help them reconsider.
Trey: he’s absolutely never going to vote, except . . .
A few weeks ago, I went canvassing with a 1st-timer, Laura. She was nervous. When we got to the first street on our list, I asked if she wanted to do our first conversations together. She said, “absolutely.” As we turned a corner, we saw four friends sitting on a porch talking. I said “Laura, there’s our first stop.”
We climbed up the stairs, introduced ourselves and shook hands, and met Trey, Che, Nina, and Billy. I explained we were asking voters to vote against Trump.
Immediately, Trey revealed he was the alpha person on this porch. Loudly and clearly, he delivered a passionate soliloquy. He said he had never voted; he never would vote; nothing ever changed; every politician was a bum. He commanded our attention and spoke for three minutes without pausing. I noticed that, even though I’d heard non-voters say these things before, Trey came across as smart, caring and thoughtful as well as angry.
When he stopped talking, I gave him a moment, to be sure he was done.
Then I said, “Thank you, Trey. You’re right, voting is political; but, for me, it’s also personal. I think about the people I love.” And then I shared a story I had never told before. I told them about my sister Amy. I love Amy, but at times I’ve also worried about her. I’m almost 70, and Amy’s almost 68, but she hasn’t always had good luck with men. Her best boyfriend was her first one, way back when she was a teenager. Bruce was six years older than her, no longer a teen. They were in love.
My Mom was upset, and told me the problem was the age difference. But Amy could tell something else was going on. Amy, like me, is white. Bruce is Black. It seemed our Mom couldn’t accept Amy dating a Black man.
I love my Mom but, looking back, this was one of her worst moments. And it had consequences, because it undermined and ultimately helped undo the relationship between Amy and Bruce. Amy went on to date others who weren’t the right guy. She married and had three wonderful kids, but over time, she and her husband grew estranged. It was sad and tough. When divorce came, it was a relief.
Years passed. Then, when our Dad died, Bruce reached out to Amy. Two years ago, when Amy was 66, he knocked on her door: he was now divorced, too, and wanted to see if Amy was willing to try again.
In the two years since, my sister is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. And Bruce is a great guy, which I knew even when Amy and I were teenagers. Bruce loves Amy, and she loves him—and now we’re family. I love Amy, and I love Bruce.
Then I asked Trey, Che, Nina, and Billy, what about the four of you? Who’s someone you love?
Quickly, all four had someone they wanted to talk about. My co-canvasser Laura started talking one-on-one first with Nina, who votes every time. Then, Laura checked in with Billy while I huddled with Che; both of them frequently miss elections. Eventually all of us ended up sharing stories in groups of 2 or 3 or 4 until finally all 6 of us were back in one conversation.
Then Trey cleared his throat. He had something else to say. Once again, he commanded all of us to listen. This time, he talked about women. How women are weak. How they can’t be President, because a President has to be strong and tough to get respect from world leaders. Trey spoke for two minutes, passionately, and we listened.
When he stopped and was done, I knew what I had to do.
I told another mini-story.
I said, Trey, you already know I’m an old white guy. But here’s something that hasn’t come up yet today. I am actually an old, white, Jewish, gay guy. And I have had the experience when someone knows I’m gay but they don’t know me as a person, that they think they know me; but they don’t know me.
And you, Trey, as a Black man, I wonder if you have ever had that experience, where someone sees the color of your skin and they think they know you; but they don’t know you. They make assumptions. But they don’t know you.
I paused and was about to say more, but Trey looked me in the eye and I could see he had something to say. I waited; then he said, “I was wrong to say what I said about women.”
There was another long pause as all of us took in what Trey had just acknowledged. Then Nina broke the silence. In a voice filled with both real and heightened outrage, she said “Yes, you fool, you are absolutely wrong!” And everybody burst out laughing. Which led to another round of discussions about women as leaders, Kamala, Trump, reproductive rights, other topics.
By the end, Che had made a plan with me that he would vote with his mother, who is in her 80’s and needs someone to take her to the polls. He sometimes misses elections, but this time he’d vote with his mom.
Billy likewise made a plan to vote.
Nina already knew she was going to vote. Laura asked her to join us to help motivate others to vote; she said yes.
Then Laura sat down beside Trey, spoke quietly with him—and he registered to vote. As he filled out the form, he said to Laura: “I don’t know if I’m going to vote. I don’t want to vote. I already told you. I don’t know why I am doing this.” On and on, as he filled out the whole form and then signed it.
6 of us on a porch. Strangers 30 minutes ago. Now, friends? At least no longer strangers: instead, people we had begun to get to know. 3 people saying they would definitely vote—and 1 newly registered voter who was inching closer to voting. I doubt any of us will ever forget the conversation.
What made this conversation possible?
1. When a person tells us they are definitely not going to vote, we’re tempted to give up. But that would be a mistake.
The alternative: listen with radical respect. That means no judgment; no eye-rolling; and no interruptions. Often, the other person will then listen to us.
2. When we talk with a small cluster of friends—a group, not just one other person—probably someone in the group is the alpha. They will speak first whether we want them to or not. They may speak at length.
What to do? Enjoy listening to them. Your patience and genuine interest are the last things they would anticipate.
Also, remember: listen to the alpha; but also engage the whole group. You’ll end up having a group conversation and individual conversations with each person present. We need to connect with each individual (not just the alpha), because each person will make up their own mind about voting.
So start with the alpha; keep the group together as you tell your story; and then, organically, you’ll find that you get to speak with each of the others in 1’s or 2’s.
3. Your mindset matters. Don’t be intimidated when you approach a group of 2-6 people. Instead, think of each conversation—with an individual or a small group—as an “adventure in human connection.” That’s how one of our volunteers, Michele Ochsner, put it a few nights ago in a training session. With Michele’s mindset, each conversation is something we’re co-creating with the new people we’re meeting. All of us might be surprised where we end up.
4. Maybe you’re also wondering: how can someone like Trey offer very strong opinions and then, in a short time, nevertheless change their mind?
Here’s the answer. It’s because they believe their real, lived experience—the reality they have seen with their own eyes—more than they believe their opinions. Dueling opinions almost never change a mind; but sharing our stories—our lives—and asking for theirs sometimes does.
5. Most fundamentally: who is a non-voter? Maybe you haven’t met one lately.
Here’s the scoop: they’re a human being with conflicting feelings. Often, part of their internal conflict is between hope and doom. So they may be angry or torn, but they’re not stupid. They’re not lazy. And they most likely have not given up on everything in life. In other words, they are not apathetic. They are at the crossroads of hope and doom. So let’s not give up on them before we know what’s on their mind and what’s on their heart.
Which leads me to my most important point.
Our super-power
6. Sometimes, newly trained deep canvassers hear all of the above and know they are supposed to tell their story; but they view it as a burden. They’re tempted to skip it, or get through it fast so they can get back to sharing their own opinions—our side’s own rants—about Trump.
But what if telling our story is our best chance to connect with a non-voter, much better than just making an argument? What if our story is the way we can help each person we meet focus on their known reality rather than their opinions?
After visiting one front porch after another, here’s what I’ve learned: when we tell a story about someone we love, we alter the entire dynamic of the conversation.
So telling our story is never a burden. Quite the opposite: it’s our super-power.
And if you’re willing to try it, it’s your super-power.