By Brent Lang
Allison Lacko, 20, exhaled deeply, checked the address of a bedraggled row house with the one on her sheet, and knocked on the front door.
No answer. She rapped again – more forcefully. Something rustled inside and a chain lock jerked free from its runner. A man peered out and scowled as he glanced at Lacko and her clipboard.
Undeterred, Lacko launched into her trademark opener: “Hi, I’m Allison. I’m a volunteer for Barack Obama’s presidential campaign checking to make sure everyone here is registered to vote on Nov. 4th. Are you registered?”
Over the next seven hours, Lacko worked to get past the same resistance as she knocked on more than 100 doors in south Philadelphia, an overwhelmingly African-American section of the city where crime and drugs are endemic and 30% of the people live below the poverty line. Lacko is a foot soldier in an army of thousands of predominantly white, college-age kids descending on Pennsylvania in a last-ditch effort to register voters and swing the state to the left. Deployed every weekend by the Obama campaign, the College Democrats of America, and regional chapters of Students for Obama, this massive get-out-the-vote effort has led many experts and historians to compare Obama’s ability to electrify young Americans with that of President John F. Kennedy, who inspired a rising generation of voters with his 1960 run for the White House.
Since Obama announced his candidacy nearly two years ago, Lacko — who had never worked in politics before — has become a seasoned campaign veteran, traveling to Ohio to help with voter drives and going door-to-door in Brooklyn and Manhattan on behalf of the Democratic National Committee. She’s developed a system for fighting off the mixture of fear, fatigue and disappointment brought on by hours of canvassing. Her prescription: a fixed smile, a military adherence to the campaign’s script and a playlist of power ballads by Queen and Van Halen.
“I always keep in mind what I’m fighting for,” said Lacko on a recent Saturday, as she slogged door to door. “I don’t think I could do it otherwise.”
On that day, Lacko and seven fellow Columbia students parachuted into Philadelphia at the behest of the college’s chapter of Students for Obama to sign up new voters before the registration deadline the following Monday. Though varied in their beliefs, socio-economic backgrounds and political experience, what unified the students was a deep concern about the direction of the country.
It is a concern that has been tapped effectively by Obama’s campaign, which has seen its 78 Pennsylvania field offices swell with college volunteers in recent weeks. These students make phone banks calls, distribute literature, arrange rides to the polls, and, like Lacko’s group, press those in heavily African-American and other traditionally Democratic neighborhoods to register to vote.
With Republicans experiencing a net loss of 28,000 registered voters in Pennsylvania over the past year, Obama’s get-out-the-vote effort has bolstered the ranks of registered Democrats in the state by more than 500,000 since last November. Yet Pennsylvania, with its enclaves of blue-collar workers, proved problematic for Obama in its April primary, going to Sen. Hillary Clinton by a margin of 9 percentage points. And despite having landed in Sen. John Kerry’s column in the 2004 presidential election, Pennsylvania remains a battleground state. Campaign analysts contend that Obama’s ability to win this state and its 21 electoral votes hinges on maximizing voter turnout in urban areas where Democratic support is strongest.
And so, under handmade signs that read “Respect,” “Empower,” and “Include,” college students from out of state furiously assembled voter identification packets at Obama’s south Philadelphia campaign headquarters. Others sent out bands of canvassers in staggered shifts to register as many voters as possible. The bulk of the volunteers were under 30 years old and for many, it was their first foray into politics.
This youth infusion isn’t unique to Pennsylvania. Voters aged 18-29 are avidly following the race and are twice as enthusiastic about Obama as McCain, according to Rock the Vote, a non-profit organization that engages younger voters in the electoral process. The group’s’ poll of 500 young people in September found that more than 10% are translating their enthusiasm into volunteer work – activity that’s apparent across the nation, said spokeswoman Stephanie Young.
Residents of south Philadelphia didn’t always echo the students’ passion for the campaign. Many people opened their front door only halfway, responded curtly through cracked windows, or shouted that they weren’t interested. Even those who did support Obama were irritable when pressed about their registration status or their willingness to volunteer.
But others responded enthusiastically, singing out encouragement and thanking volunteers for their hard work. Some expressed dismay that more young African Americans people were not involved. “I seen five white people walking around and no blacks,” Kyle Well, a south Philadelphia resident, said to Aditya Mukerjee, 19, as he canvassed. “Kids here should be helping. How are they gonna get change?’
Dario Abramskiehn, 20, who coordinated the trip and has been on past voter drives, winced at the disconnect between the comparatively privileged lives of the Columbia canvassers and the hardscrabble existence of the people they were pressing to vote for Obama.
“It can be hard,” said Abramskiehn. “You have to be sure not to exhibit privilege or condescension. You just accept that you look like an outsider.”
As the canvassers trudged from one door to another, they found a neighborhood pockmarked with abandoned homes, victims of the foreclosure crisis, making it nearly impossible to find current addresses for likely supporters. Even in homes that were occupied, it was often difficult to engage residents long enough to confirm that their names matched those on the Obama campaign’s lists. Others were unsure about whether all eligible voters in the household were registered, and still others slammed the door before providing up-to-date phone numbers.
Yet these difficulties did little to cool the ardor of the members of the Columbia expedition. By 10:30, as the waited for the bus that would ferry them back to New York, many exuberantly vowed to travel to Virginia and Ohio in the days before the election.
Whether they would spend election night south of the Mason-Dixon or west of the Alleghenies, all agreed that this time their generation would make a difference.
