Let’s say you live in New Jersey. You’re a registered Democratic voter, but, for reasons known only to you, you passed up the right to vote a couple of times in the last few elections. The US Senate race in your state is very close, with the Democrat Bob Menendez leading the Republican Tom Kean Jr. by about 5 percentage points. It’s possible that the outcome of this race in New Jersey could end up being the deciding factor in whether or not control of the Senate shifts to the Democratic Party. You might say that the fate of the nation hangs in the balance.
That’s why you, Joe Voter of Anywhere, New Jersey, are a prime target for MoveOn.org activists intent on getting out “the Democratic base.” And why, on the sunny Saturday afternoon before Election Day, I dial your number on my cell phone from a house party in the West End of Portland.
I’m working from a list of people like you. I don’t know your name, your address, or anything about you — other than that, when you ever do get your lazy ass to the polls, you tend to vote Democratic. I’m provided with a script that goes something like this: “Hi, I’m So-and-So. (You don’t need to know I’m calling from Maine.) I’m a volunteer for Call for Change. I’m not fundraising or anything like that. (Let’s get that out of the way right away.) I’m concerned about the direction the country is headed, and I hope you’ll support Bob Menendez, the Democratic candidate for the Senate.”
I dial about 50 phone numbers that Saturday afternoon. About 20 of you Joe Voters of New Jersey greet me with a phone message, either because you’re actually out of the house or because you’ve checked your Caller ID and choose not to pick up. (I don’t leave a message — someone else from Call for Change will try your number later.) A few of you have numbers that are “no longer in service” or “temporarily disconnected.” (I take your number off the list.) A lot of you who do pick up don’t stay on very long. Sometimes you hang up so quietly that I rattle on for a while before I realize that I’m talking to myself. (I take your number off the list, too.) Sometimes you tell me that you don’t share personal information with strangers, or you don’t want to be bothered, or it’s none of my business. (I definitely take your name off the list.)
I do have a couple of pleasant conversations, the longest being with a guy who tells me: “Menendez, he’s got my vote. I’m sittin’ here right now smokin’ a cigar with a Republican. He’s a young guy, makes a lot of money. He annoys the heck out of me. I’m a blue-collar guy, like you.” (How does he know that? And he’s wrong anyway. But he is voting for Menendez, one of the very few out of the 50 calls I make that day.)
One lady in New Jersey I talk to tells me with exasperation, “I got five calls like this already. I was gonna vote for Menendez, but I might not now.”
It makes me wonder. I’m sure calls like this pick up some votes, but who knows how many votes are lost?
