What it feels like to lose an election.
During the 2016 election I worked in north Charlotte for the Democratic party as a field organizer. We supported all of the Democrats running and there were quite a lot in our neck of the woods. To no one’s surprise however, the presidential race took up most of the oxygen. Helping Secretary Clinton in particular was a primary driver for many of my co-workers. I point this out because even though we had some victories election night, our Congresswoman, several State Representatives, and (eventually) our Governor, the contest we were most concerned with was the one at the top of the ticket.
I’m not trying to analyze anything about how the race was run. Or what went on during the campaign itself. This is not a gossip piece or Wednesday Morning quarterbacking of the election. I’m not qualified to speak on any of that. I might still do it at some point in the future, if I’m desperate for content and have acquired a flame proof router.
This is a simple story of my life from about the time the polls closed until I forced myself to watch Trump’s acceptance speech.
The first thing I did once I got ‘released’ was call my mom. They told us in training we should try and make time for that when we could. Not bad advice. I think I managed it three other times during the two months I was on the campaign. It’s a tough life.
They sent me up to the far edge of my territory to make sure the polling station wasn’t too crowded. Luckily for me (and democracy) everything went smoothly. I had little of consequence to do until polls closed. The diligence I saw there from the poll watchers and organizers is why I never believe any of the GOP hand wringing about voter fraud.
But I digress. Unfortunately, this put me rather far away from our office. It took me about half an hour to get back, by then the watch party was in full swing. On the way, I remember listening to early returns on NPR which sounded good for our team. I may have pounded the steering wheel in excitement. Adrenaline was high at this point.
Volunteers packed the office by the time I arrived and the mood was rather jubilant. Despite a difficult race to the finish most of us were still optimistic, if cautiously so. The rest of my crew sat around the TV, stone faced. We had worked too long and hard to ruin it with a jinx. No, not even politics is immune from superstition. I was surprised to find an empty chair right up front with a stellar view. Especially given how crowded it was in there. It took me a few moments to figure out that my friends had saved me a seat. Probably the most touching moment for me on the entire campaign.
It’s hard to describe how what followed felt. A slow and steady draining of optimism comes closest. Trump’s path to victory was so lengthy that each block he kicked over failed to set off a full-blown panic. The electoral equivalent of slow boiling a frog. We lost North Carolina but to be honest most of us didn’t trust our state to go blue.
But we could do without it we told ourselves.
A small glimmer of hope when we took Virginia. It wasn’t enough though. Most of the big states we needed were too close to call for far too long. The mood darkened.
I’m not entirely sure when the volunteers left. The biggest group probably went around when Pennsylvania got called red. Soon it was just the most dedicated among us remaining. No one smiled. It seemed like the hours of work and lack of sleep caught up to us all at once. A few of us were hoping for an upset in Alaska at one point turning the tide. Should have known it was doomed at that point.
Only a few of us stuck around for the final states to get called. Waiting for the inevitable as the analysts looked for new ways to say, “the votes just aren’t there.” A few people didn’t want to watch Trump’s speech. I demanded that we did because I had to make it real. As much as I wanted it to be a bad dream, I knew it wasn’t.
The next day was weird to say the least. The sun shone like it often does despite the early November chill. Everyone seemed too shocked for emotions beyond a small number of tears.
We were too exhausted.