One way to begin changing a non-voting neighborhood into a voting neighborhood:

Canvass the “super-voters” as well as those who miss elections

Many non-voters live in low-voter-turnout neighborhoods—neighborhoods where, election after election, a disproportionate number of people aren’t registered or don’t vote.

But that is never the whole story. Every neighborhood also has some “super-voters,” people who never miss an election.

Here are four examples of why we should always engage the super-voters. All come from deep canvassing in the year of a Presidential election.

The first two examples are from the fall of 2020. They were shared with me by Dave Nimmons, a very capable canvasser and an uncommonly considerate person. He’s also my former partner; we were together for 17 years and, afterwards, have remained close friends for 20 more.

In the final 100 days before the November 2020 election, Dave was part of our Safety-First deep canvassing organized by the LGBTQ Connection PAC and Changing the Conversation Together. As Dave kept going back repeatedly to his assigned neighborhood in Philadelphia, he got to talk with a wide range of voters: many non-voters and infrequent voters; and also some “super-voters” (aka “prime voters,” “frequent voters,” or as my friend Liz Kaufman calls them, “the chronics”).

What Dave learned is super-voters believe in voting. They are often eager to help others vote.

Sometimes they even offer to help before we ask.

Neighbors helping neighbors

Dave Nimmons wrote me back in 2020 after the election, recalling some of his most recent conversations:

I was laboring to speak in Spanish with a fairly infirm elderly woman, Emilia, at her door. At the adjoining stoop, not ten feet away, was her neighbor Tamika: a mid-20’s Black woman in a track suit, moving at warp speed up her steps, small child in tow. Tamika and I had spoken the prior day, when I learned she was fervently ON THE VOTING THING, 10 out of 10, both feet.

Today, on Tamika’s way up her steps, she stopped to listen to what was transpiring on ours. There, I was learning that Emilia would not be voting because she couldn’t get to the polls. The bus was too hard.

I didn’t have a chance to say anything helpful before the voice on the next stoop said: “So, mommy, what if I drive you?” I stood there watching neighborly magic do its work. It seemed they had not known each other’s names. Then . . . they did. Emilia and Tamika: introductions, a plan, and an agreement that I would check in with tech-friendly Tamika tomorrow. When I called her the next day, just before 11 a.m., they had gone, voted and returned. I thanked her.

Then she asked, “Maybe someone else needs a ride?”

Family members helping everyone in their family

Dave Nimmons wrote:

I remember a day when my voter list had an address with nine registered voters: Latonya, Lawanda, Laquita, Terrica, Shamika, Shanequa, and Reggie, all seven of them between age 18 and 32. The other names, an older couple. The door opened to a young woman in a bright blue headscarf, chatty, friendly, bright, and informed. This was Latonya, occupying the middle slot in the family’s sibling list. Over the next week, she would become the shero of her family’s voting story.

Latonya had graduated college the year prior in poli sci. She spoke eloquently and at length about democracy and patriotism, enfranchisement, Black suffrage, voter suppression and power. She had not yet voted in this year’s election but fully expected to. Everyone knew Trump was bad news. We started by discussing Latonya’s own plan to cast her ballot—at least we had one vote!—before plunging into the tangle of the names. Her parents, both ex-military, strongly believed in voting and, she thought, had already voted. Maybe . . . three votes? The rest of the cast remained for me a muddle of stats on a page: similar-sounding names without faces attached, all offstage and dauntingly numerous.

The first thing I learned is that it’s hard to keep track of nine names and stories of people you’ve never seen while being seemingly effortlessly conversational.

The second was that Latonya really wanted to talk. One by one, she clarified the cast of characters. Lawanda lived across town. Shamika was away this weekend; nobody knew when she was due back, but she could be called. Laquita currently stayed elsewhere but, like Latonya, was registered here. Shanequa and Reggie were out at work now.

Latonya offered to call her siblings to prod them to vote. That involved a lengthy discourse on how she planned to reach each one. I promised to provide what information I could in any medium possible. Intrigued, if not yet fully convinced, I pried myself from the door 30 minutes later with a promise to return.

My first return was a call. Latonya had only reached Shamika, who would be back in time to early vote. She also confirmed her parents had voted. We were up to three votes and Shamika needed a more concrete plan.

By our next call, it was “Hey Latonya, it’s Dave.”

The last time I knocked at the door was the day before election day. This time, a new face answered: a young man radiating the idea that my going away would be much more preferable than my staying. I asked if Latonya was there, which unnerved him. Rolling the dice, I said: “I’m Dave, I think Latonya mentioned you—are you Reggie?” By dumb luck, he was, and as he was working to make sense of any of this, a familiar blue headscarf swirled into view over his shoulder and greeted me with a smile.

Reggie, less wary but no more enthused, was now outnumbered by people who seemed to think this was a perfectly OK conversation to be having, one of whom was his older sister who greeted me “Hey, Dave”; then to Reggie: “This is the guy I told you about.” Latonya’s update: she had reached all but one; they would be voting. One had gone the day before on the last early vote day. We reviewed plans, places and times.

I wish I could wrap this up neatly. I don’t know what happened with everyone in the family. I was in bed by 8 p.m. to be up at 4 a.m. on election day, to be poll captaining, ready to help voters who ran into any problems at the polls. But I think if I went back, Latonya would have lots to say.

Two examples from when I canvassed in Philadelphia last week

On March 3, 2024, I got to help Changing the Conversation Together with their first deep canvass of the year. Again, we were in Philadelphia neighborhoods with low voter turnout. The day began with training and role plays before 34 of us walked or drove to our nearby turf. There we had 2¼ hours to talk with voters before we returned to the church to debrief what went right; what went almost right; and what needed much more attention or improvement.

Personally, I had 6 conversations: four with people who miss elections; one with someone who usually votes; and one with a super-voter.

Cheryl, the super-voter, was turning 65 in less than a week. She told me all about her birthday party plan, clearly a major event. She also gave me her take on multiple elected officials and the Presidential race; she wishes she could view Trump as comical, but the situation is far too serious. When I asked if she might be open to going door-to-door in her neighborhood with us, she started to say no; then she interrupted herself and said, “Put me down on your list, I will do it.” Then she added with a laugh, “I know everyone on this block!” She gave me her cell phone number; I immediately texted her so she had mine. Then I wished her a happy birthday and was on to the next door.

Randall, the mostly-voter, is a 58-year-old Black man who was already closely following this year’s election. He told me Trumpism was an extraordinarily serious threat. He also told me about his experience years ago as a community organizer and, in 2008, volunteering for Obama. When I told him we’d be back in the neighborhood soon and asked if he’d be open to canvassing with us, he immediately said yes. He gave me his cell phone number; again, I texted him right away and said we’d be back in touch.

A half-hour later, I noticed Randall had texted me back: “Good afternoon, Dave. Good convo. Stay Blessed, sir.”

It made my day.

In any neighborhood where people are overwhelmingly against Trump, everyone we meet is the right person for us to talk with

Randall’s text reminded me: those of us canvassing March 3—eight months ahead of the election—are not alone seeing this year’s election as make or break.

Most importantly—as Tamika and Latonya reminded Dave Nimmons in 2020, and as Cheryl and Randall reminded me this week—we are far from alone in our willingness to step up.

These reminders can help all of us face the big ups and big downs coming this year.

Because the way we’ll win is when more of us start asking each other to step up. That’s what it means for us to be in this together.