Election 2004: College Dems Hit Pivotal N.H. Towns

SALEM, N.H.—Blyss C. Cleveland ’08, her face glum, stares out at the dreary landscape of political ground zero.

“I imagined this is what hell looks like, not New Hampshire,” she remarks casually.

For college students whose weekend morning plans usually include a warm bed and a hangover, she may not be so far off. Last Saturday, over 60 students—organized by the Harvard College Democrats and advocacy group America Coming Together (ACT)—sacrificed a lazy Cambridge afternoon for a day of canvassing in their politically divided neighbor to the north, one of the most highly contested swing states in this year’s presidential election.

Knocking on doors, distributing pamphlets and chatting up Granite Staters of all stripes, the students endure a cramped van ride and overcast weather to drum up support and turnout for their candidate of choice, Democratic nominee John F. Kerry.

Salem is Saturday’s stop for 13 Harvard students. According to an ACT organizer, the town voted Republican in 2000 by two votes. For the volunteers, the figure underscores the significance of their task.

“You know you’re doing something that could decide the election. It could definitely come down to us,” says Christopher J. Crisman-Cox ’08, who had never campaigned before this fall. “There are plenty of free weekends after Nov. 2. Until then you only have so much time, you have to make the most of it.”

SCARING UP VOTES

Autumn is in full swing, and for New Hampshire that means pumpkins and politics: jack-o-lanterns and cardboard ghosts pop up on leaf-covered lawns alongside massive campaign banners and American flags.

This area of Salem is a neighborhood where trailers and decaying colonials line the same streets as well-landscaped, fenced-in homes. There’s a strange dichotomy of small houses and big cars: a truck is squeezed onto nearly every driveway, and the few sedans in sight are large, American-made models.

For Cleveland and Crisman-Cox, this is old hat. The freshmen, neighbors in Apley Court and canvassing partners on the campaign trail, have been making the weekly trek to the Granite State every week since early September. They’ve even developed a Laurel and Hardy-esque rapport, a good-natured routine of sassy Southerner and proper Pennsylvanian.

“That door’s not going to knock on itself,” Cleveland snaps at her partner, who stands idle on a house’s front steps.

“It’s already been rung!” Crisman-Cox protests. “I’m not just standing here.”

Cleveland, shivering in her crimson hoodie and jeans, shoots him a look, but she’s smiling. An army brat most recently of Waynesville, Mo., Cleveland says her father’s position in the military isn’t the most important factor for her politically.

“A lot of people say, ‘Oh my gosh Blyss, you’re a Democrat and your dad’s in the military, don’t you know Republicans throw money at defense?’” Cleveland says. “I’m like, ‘Oh my god, I’m a Democrat because I was raised right.’”

Cleveland says she worries about her father being sent to Iraq, fearing that he will die in a conflict that she deems “useless.”

“I really don’t want my dad fighting in a war that we shouldn’t be fighting,” she says.

She has other motivations for a Bush defeat this November.

“I’m going to have to drop out of Harvard because he’s going to oppress all the minorities,” Cleveland jokes.

NOBODY’S HOME

Unfortunately, Cleveland and Crisman-Cox don’t get much of a chance to argue their views. After 30 minutes, the duo have yet to change anyone’s vote. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not,” Cleveland shrugs.

Crisman-Cox attempts to explain. “Lots of people say they don’t have the time to talk to us—” he says.

“Which is weird because what the hell is there to do in New Hampshire?” Cleveland cracks back.

The cold weather isn’t the only obstacle to campaign success: the volunteers must cope with obscured house numbers, hidden street signs and the dreaded unpronounceable last name.

Despite the lack of response, the volunteers remain upbeat.

“I feel like [it gives me] even more motivation, like I have to talk to somebody before Nov. 2, like I have to convince someone,” Cleveland says. “It acts as a motivator—I didn’t get anyone this week, I’ll try to get them next week.”

In their encounters, the volunteers glimpse the elusive nature of the swing state voter. Some residents simply aren’t registered—one man, who appeared completely apathetic at first, warmed up when Jordan C. Ford ’08 offered him information on voter registration. Others are wary of the constant stream of political operatives who flood their state each year, mumbling a refusal (“I’m not interested, sorry”; “I don’t discuss my vote”) before slamming the door.

And then there are those who defy classification.

“My husband said I’m not allowed to talk to you,” one woman told Ford and Marissa L. Long ’08, according to the volunteers. One man claimed Kerry and Osama Bin Laden were working together; another said he didn’t vote “on principle.” A senior citizen in a retirement community intimated that he would call the cops if the volunteers didn’t promptly leave the property.

Salem wasn’t the only target town. ACT sends volunteers to all corners of the state, where they are dropped off with nothing but a map, a list of undecided voters, and a basic training sheet.

The weekly trips have been running since mid-September, and Dems campaigns director Gregory M. Schmidt ’06 estimates that over 200 undergraduates have participated so far, along with dozens of local residents.

Ronald K. Anguas ’08, a native Floridian who was taking his first campaign trip, says he is too young to vote in the upcoming election—so the Salem sojourn is the only way for him to make an impact.

“I’m from a swing state so this is my contribution in lieu of voting,” he says.

—Michael M. Grynbaum can be reached at grynbaum@fas.harvard.edu.