Dance With a Stranger

Phone Banking for Kamala and Feeling the Love

Have you ever had the experience of being asked to choose between two options and saying, “Either is fine,” only to feel disappointed when you receive the one you didn’t really want? As in, “Pizza or burritos tonight?” or “Do you want to play ad or deuce?”

I thought I was fine with Joe Biden as our nominee for president, at least until the debate. I knew he was slowing down, eschewing press conferences and avoiding unscripted appearances (even ones as innocuous as the traditional Super Bowl interview), but I comforted myself with his impressive first term accomplishments and the strong team he had built. I figured his administration would be just fine, even if he wasn’t in top form himself, and certainly way better than the shit-on-a-shingle alternative Tr*mp represents.

But then, suddenly, just when I was resigning myself to a warmed over burrito, Joe stepped down, Kamala danced in, and I was stomping up and down in my Chuck Taylors, rattling my pearls, and screaming, “PIZZA!!! YESSS!!!”

My lack of enthusiasm for a second Biden term (and the nation’s) had serious consequences. Even though I would have kicked myself if I hadn’t done everything in my power to keep Tr*mp from a second term, I felt paralyzed to work on Biden’s behalf. I kept holding off on making a campaign contribution until “things shook out.” But the moment Kamala’s website rolled out, so did my credit card - my modest contribution was a drop in the $200 million tsunami of cash she raised in her first week. It turns out that having a leader we’re excited about matters a lot.

I also promised myself months ago that I would volunteer to make calls for the Democrats up and down the ticket, but I didn’t join SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice) until three days after Joe resigned, and my first phone bank was to muster support for Kamala in Georgia on Friday, just five days after Joe stepped down.

Last night, ten days into Harris’s campaign, I participated in my second phone bank, in Georgia again, for three hours. The calls I’m making aren’t to raise money. SURJ is working to build grassroots support, for Harris’s campaign and beyond, by listening to and empathizing with people all over the country.

It’s an exercise in empathy for me just to hear the background noise on the phone before the caller says hello. I heard the clink of dinner plates, babies crying, a harried dad pulling his sleeping child out of a car seat, Fox News on the TV, the silence of an old gentleman’s living room, what sounded like a horse barn, and, I’m pretty sure, a monster truck rally. It’s astonishing to me that I can click a button on a screen and suddenly be listening in on another person’s life.

Most calls end there, when the caller realizes he’s talking to “a goddamn spammer,” as someone called me last night. But on the rare occasion that someone agrees to chat, we quickly reach whole different level of connection.

Not all interactions are wholly positive, at least on the surface. One guy announced that he was, “Planning to make America great again” and hung up the phone. Another one said he was “voting Republican, but thank you kindly for the call,” which I appreciated. A third guy spent 20 minutes on the phone with me, sharing what matters to him, voicing his reservations about the Democratic and Republican parties. He said he didn’t know much about Harris yet but didn’t really trust her, and I was able to share why I think she would be a great president. At the end of the call, he told me that he has voted third party in the last three elections, and that he was probably going to vote for Kennedy. He said, “I’m the guy who pretty much throws my vote away every time.” I told him about the year I voted for Ralph Nader instead of Al Gore, and how much I regretted it, and how lucky he is to live in a state that could well determine the outcome of the election. I have no idea if what I said will change his mind, but it was so wonderful to talk to an engaged, caring member of the electorate who's willing to share his perspective and listen to mine.

Phone banking requires me to be polite and cheerful with everyone I speak to, both because I understand what an imposition it is to bother them at home and because I am committed to engage only in civil discourse, which means never taking the bait. I suppose I’m free to tell people to eff off if they call me (though I never would), but when I’m the caller, I take people as they are and thank them for their time, no matter what abuse they throw at me.

My theme song for phone banking (and for this election season as a whole) is “Dance With a Stranger” a joyful new song by Lake Street Dive. Here are some of the lyrics:

Look around the room
Find someone's eyes that are new to you
Might be a child's or a grandfather's
Anyone will do
Go say, "Hello, how do you do?"
Listen to their answer, commiserate

Say, "I feel that way sometimes too"
And, "Would you like to dance?"
And if they say, "No," that's okay
But if they say, "Yes," take their hand
Lead them out on the dance floor
Listen to the music play
Open up your whole heart

And dance, dance with a stranger
'Til they're not a stranger anymore
You just dance, dance with a stranger
'Til they're not a stranger, not a stranger anymore

I find it much easier to connect over the phone than I ever would on a dance floor. (I joke that I’m in a band mostly so I don’t have to dance.) Nonetheless, it’s vulnerable to engage for hours at a time with random strangers who live thousands of miles away. But the rewards are huge.

I spoke to a young dad who said he’s planning to vote for Kamala, largely because he “feels a strong connection with her.” When I asked him what the connection was, he said he didn’t feel comfortable sharing, and I said, “that’s okay.” We had a beautiful conversation. He is really struggling financially, and he feels hopeful that she will take action to improve his situation. He has been getting weird text messages telling him his voter registration may have been flagged (something Georgians will have to be extra vigilant about this election season), and I was able to share a resource to help him check and correct the error, if there is one.

Though I have no idea what he looks like or where he lives, I have such a vivid sense of his humanity. He cradled his phone against his head and spoke to me while he carried plastic bags of melting groceries from his hot car into his home. I heard the catch in his voice when he mentioned the price of gas. I don’t know him, but I care for him.

Last week, I spoke to a librarian who was giddy with excitement about Harris. She would have volunteered with me, but she’s subject to the Hatch Act, which prohibits federal employees from engaging in political work. I told her I would canvass on her behalf, as well as mine, and I thought she would would cry. She told me about her friends and family members who share her excitement about Harris, and I told her about mine. For both of us, the world got a little bigger and a lot friendlier that night.

An older gentleman I spoke to yesterday said he tries to share his enthusiasm for Harris, but he has to be careful, because some of his neighbors are pro-MAGA and quite uncivil about it. “Georgia’s a pretty red state,” he said, to which I said, “Yes, but Georgia is also the home of Jimmy Carter.” That made him smile. He said, “Yes, and of Raphael Warnock, and Jon Ossoff, too.” We agreed there’s a lot to be hopeful about.

There has been a push lately in the Democratic party to point out how weird the Republicans are. As someone who has always felt a little weird myself, I’ve been ambivalent about labeling them that way. Creepy feels closer to me, especially because it captures the awkward, voyeuristic aspects of MAGA’s morality policing of everything from our doctor’s appointments to our bedrooms to our bookshelves.

On the other hand, I totally embrace the notion that being hateful and vengeful is “weird” behavior that we don’t tolerate. That’s reframing diversity as normal. It’s a way of saying, “Hey, no matter who you are, what group you belong to, what you look like, or how you move, or how much you have, or what you believe, come on out to the dance floor! We all belong.”

Calling out people for not having kids, or for liking cats, or for their race or class or immigration status or sexuality, that’s what’s weird.

Harris’s campaign has made me feel like calling people up, not calling them out. Dancing with strangers, connecting through the telephone lines, sharing our stories, and committing to show up on November 5, is the vibe shift we all needed. Hallelujah!

If you would like to volunteer with SURJ, you can sign up here.