The Things I Learned

Kaitlyn MacDonald
Nov 4 · 9 min read

Reflections from a Beto Volunteer

“You Beto Believe it,” rang in my ears for days after the New Hampshire Convention. Chants of “B-E-T-O Beto, Beto, Beto!” and, of course, “All People, No PACS,” would swim in my mind replacing my circadian rhythm. Who needs sleep when you are changing the world? When you are a part of something bigger than yourself? We were Crazy Motherfuckers; we were awake before the sun, we were screaming into the Manchester morning light, rain be damned. We were Team Beto and on September 7th in Manchester, NH, day of the New Hampshire Democratic Convention, I just knew we could win. I felt dizzy. I felt alive. I felt hope…

It all started for me on a cold New Hampshire night in March. Beto O’Rourke was speaking at UNH. I had followed his Texas campaign and was among the masses that waited for each new live-stream. Beto in Tarrant County while I chopped vegetables for dinner. Beto speaking in a church while I washed the floor. Beto driving in a mini-van talking about justice while I colored with my kids.

I had spent some time in Texas as an AmeriCorps NCCC volunteer and had a soft spot for the high desert, but in watching Beto’s campaign stops, I learned about the political diversity of the state. He showed me Texas could go blue, so I paid attention. It was entertaining and educational, but I never thought I would meet him or spend a lot of my 2019 trying to help him become president.

But then, I heard him in person.

I didn’t know it then, but the unfamiliar cadence of his speech and the background players of his campaign were about to become familiar, predictable parts of my life. Shortly I, too, would be in the background; I would first mimic and then assume an air of engaged detachment at events. I would both pay attention to his words, and search the crowd to be sure that I had signed everyone in, that I could identify anyone who looked particularly eager, ready with what I now know is ‘the ask’: Are you ready to help Beto become president? said all while I point with a pen to the particular checkbox on sign-in sheets labeled Volunteer.

After volunteering at all but a handful of Beto’s NH campaign events. I would come to know his speeches by heart. I could almost predict when he would say “No me importa,” or later, when he would ask, “Are you with me?”

The answer for me was yes. I was with him. And I would soon find out that I was also with his team, running events when I was asked, letting campaign staff live at my house, and, I hope, being that dependable person who would show up more often than not, despite never feeling able to match their seemingly endless source of energy and focus.

That night after hearing his speech at UNH, I went home and started the ‘New Hampshire for Beto’ twitter account. I had never had a twitter account, so I have absolutely no idea why I did this other than post-event inspiration and two glasses of red wine. But what I saw at UNH was a person not a politician. This was different, especially for a Granite Stater, so accustomed to the whirlwind of candidates that visit every national election.

Beto was willing to answer tough questions, he allowed himself to not know all the answers (which, I believe, later allowed him to build a coalition of American voices in his policies), and was unafraid to be confronted by people who would challenge him — he seemed to learn from it, respect it. It was Beto’s humanity that made me believe in him.

I wanted to be part of this campaign right from the beginning, so I invited myself along. I thought maybe I’d reach a few dozen people, but the next thing I knew, I was meeting with what would become the NH Leadership team, chatting with Beto’s advance team and within two months, I would be running volunteers for Beto’s May events. And then, there I was standing next to Cynthia Cano taking notes for Beto on what voters said to him in the photo line. If you ever want to feel terror, try taking legible notes as fast as you can while people speak quietly in a crowded and loud hall. I now wish there was a particular career for ‘photo-line note-takers’ as that kind of rush was unmatched.

A lot was changing. I was changing.

One quiet and simple moment in particular stays with me; it is stronger than most others. We had just finished an event in May in Salem, NH. It was a house party by the lake and the photo line was long. Beto stood at the lake and met with each and every person who wanted to meet him. By now I had volunteered at several campaign events and had already run my own, albeit small, event. But at the end of this night, there was a moment before I left when we were leaving the lake shore. Beto was walking back up to the press gaggle inside the house. The water was behind us and the sun was gone and the lights of the house darkened the springtime gloaming outside. He and Cynthia chatted and Robin, a member of the advance team, and I walked behind them with the photo line clipboards. In that minute, I remember thinking “I am two feet behind the future president of the United States. How the hell did this happen?” They were turning into the house and I was headed to my car, done until tomorrow’s events. I said goodbye to Robin and Beto turned around and said, “Hey, thank you so much. See you tomorrow, Kaitlyn.” It was a gesture I would see him give over and over again — taking a small second to thank someone, use their name, make them feel seen and appreciated. And then I understood how it all happened. Team Beto had a place for everyone and I was welcome here.

Over the course of the next 8 months, I would learn more about myself, about politics local and national, about work ethic and dreams than I could have ever imagined. I’d learn more political acronyms than I ever knew or wanted to know existed. I read all the local and national gun reform legislation I could find. I started attending meetings with local candidates, attended my first Moms Demand meeting. I found time and space that I did not know I had. I thought I was in the part of life where new opportunities are finite. By volunteering for Beto O’Rourke, I saw that was not true. I started to see how much was possible. I imagine a lot of people dedicated to campaigns have similar feelings. I hope that they do.

And like so many people, I was not prepared for it to end as abruptly as it did.

I spent the weekend reflecting on what an incredible experience it was and what I learned. And while I am no expert, I want to share some practical tips from my time volunteering for the campaign:

1. If you want to be involved, get involved. Don’t wait to be asked. It seems that the beginnings of all campaigns are grassroots, whether they stay that way or not.

2. Organizers and campaign staff shaped my commitment. Yes, I was there to support Beto, but it was his team for whom I felt responsibility to do well as a volunteer. If I signed up to help, I did not want to let them down.

3. There wasn’t a single Team Beto staffer that ever made me feel insignificant. Admittedly, at first I thought the gratitude was hollow, that it was political folk dismissing me with a thanks and a smile. Until I really started seeing how hard it is to get anyone to commit to anything. So organizers, how you engage your early volunteers will predict how they will answer your call in the future.

4. If you are volunteering at an event, know the following things:

a. Where the bathroom is located.

b. Where media is supposed to set up.

c. A kind, but non-committal answer for when the candidate will arrive. I always loved, “We hope to see Beto really soon, but wow, traffic can be so challenging!” or “See that woman over there, and that guy in the plaid shirt — once they start moving towards the entrance, you will know he is on his way.”

d. Know whom the person is who is running each particular event. It isn’t always obvious.

e. Know that no matter what, there will be someone unhappy in a crowd.

f. Carry some extra paper and pens. This is handy if you run out of sign-in sheets and it is also handy if you see kids getting fidgety as they wait for the candidate.

5. Know if you are super committed to a campaign that you might become a little annoying. I pretty much forgot that there was anything else to talk about except Beto and the 2020 election.

6. You can work full-time (I do) and volunteer on campaigns. It isn’t easy, but it is worth it.

7. Read the damn policies. Now that I am looking for another candidate, their supporters and volunteers will only convince me if they have actually read what the candidate proposes. (Side note: Beto O’Rourke had some incredibly detailed policies and if you did not read them and still thought “it wasn’t his time,” well you really lost out on some great work.)

8. Get ready for the possibility of pain. The last few weeks, it started to feel like things would not go our way. I still did not see the end coming when it did and to be honest, it hurts way more than I expected. It isn’t just the loss of the candidate, it’s the loss of the people around the candidate, the team of supporters I have gotten to know, the rush of anticipation with events, the doing something that feels so important. We were trying to elect a president. Now we aren’t and it is something so close to grief, I don’t really know what to call it.

I am going to keep volunteering. Local and state elections for now. I am grateful to be represented by people I have long believed in. I hope to become even more active in my local Moms Demand chapter. Maybe get involved in something else, but probably not another primary campaign this election cycle, though I am all in for whichever Democrat heads to the general.

For now, I have to send gratitude to everyone I met along the way. Beto was the inspiration and catalyst to my activism, but all of the Team Beto staff and supporters were the reason I continued to show up. Thank you, and for one last time…

Hell, yes.

Kaitlyn MacDonald

Written by

Educator. Kind of a Writer. Burgeoning Activist. You can find me with tea and opinions.

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