The Phone Bank

There's something special about US Presidential Elections which I've never experienced in the UK - they may exist, but never in the levels I'm seeing here in Virginia. They usually happen once a week in neighbourhoods across the region, staffed by willing people who give up their evenings to make calls to persuade people to vote for President Obama. Someone, someone wonderful, gives up their home - laying on drinks and snacks - in order to make everyone comfortable. Phones are provided, laptops connected to the internet, sheets of people to call are printed. I'm talking about volunteer phone banks.


Here numbers of people willing to give up their time are tasked with making the telephone calls that help persuade people to vote for President Obama, make sure supporters turn out to vote, and recruit volunteers for future phone bank or canvassing sessions. These are people for whom sharing their personal stories and values with other voters is a weekly and exciting ritual. They thrive on their ability to do something for the campaign. Talking with the volunteers, each of them tells me that this is their opportunity to do something small for a man that they all truly believe in, and to prevent a return to the days of Republican presidents who care little for those who are more hard-working, more dedicated and more passionate than the rich few. They are humble, they are dedicated, but their work is not small; it is essential work that allows President Obama to overcome the money of the other side and persuade people that he is, truly, the right choice for America.


The phone bank is a key example of the Obama campaign's ability to work with its grass-roots support; organising people into neighbourhood teams who go out regularly to help garner support. Yes, a large percentage of calls will result in volunteers listening to voice mail; yes, people will spout hate-filled comments about President Obama and yes, some people will just say they don't want to vote. However, that one conversation every volunteer will have with someone who was undecided - sharing their values, their commitment and President Obama's policies - will make a difference. These voters will see that Obama is supported by real, honest, people who know how hard life is these days. These voters will come away with the knowledge that Obama's campaign listens, that it isn't taken over by millionaires, that it is run from the ground up. 


In a state as close as Virginia, their positive interaction with the campaign will mean that those 13 Electoral College votes will go Blue - propelling President Obama to a second, deserved, term.

A few things I've learnt already

Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. 

We are the ones we've been waiting for. 

We are the change that we seek
Barack Obama

And so, here I am. Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. The US of A. Fairfax, Virginia to be precise - suburban through and through. Think Desperate Housewives, but without a beautiful topless Jesse Metcalfe walking around and you'd be on the right track for my neighbourhood of Mantua. I thought I'd begin my postings with a few of the things I've learnt in my first 48 hours in the country.

1. If you want to get in to the country without a lengthy interview and bag search, remember the address you're going to. I didn't. This resulted in me having to sit in line for half an hour, have a ten minute chat with THE DULLEST HUMAN BEING ALIVE (what is it with immigration officials and a serious sense of humour failure?), proceed to watch as he emptied my wonderfully packed bag and had to call the airline to make sure I had a return flight. I'm sorry, but what is there about me that looks like I'm coming into the country illegally and not going to go home? I had my bloody Team GB wristbands on - I'm pretty likely to go home.

2. Now, I know this is a massive cliché (although, whats the problem with a cliché - if people say it a lot, then its probably good) but the people are just so friendly. I've had the standard 'welcome to America' from pretty much everyone, a lot of 'thank you for coming and giving your time', so many offers of tour guides and homes to stay in and even more. I even went for a bit of a walk today and, without fail, I got a 'how are ya' from everyone. Lovely.

3. Conversely, there's a lot of very angry people who hate President Obama. Seriously. I know, UK people, its hard to believe but wow. So much hate. From TV ads to radio shows his name is slung around in the mud by a lot of people. Telephoning people yesterday to get them to vote, a few told me things like 'Obama hates retired people', 'I should be ashamed of myself for supporting him' and that I should get a real job. Luckily, there's also a lot of love for him too...

4. Politics in this country is about real people and real issues. Campaigning, at least for Obama, is led from the ground. Never in the UK could I imagine seeing perhaps 20 people come into the office on a Thursday evening to give over some time to make calls or enter data - but this is what happened to us yesterday. I'll blog about this in more detail, but if we had half the passion in the UK that people do here you'd never hear of people being 'disengaged'.

5. 70s decor is still in fashion. The house I live in (with the ever friendly, adorable and wonderful Ann Tyson) is decorated wonderfully with floral wallpaper, green carpets and all kinds of 70s fittings. And this actually appeals to me. It feels so homely and comfortable (Ann's lived here for 46 years!!) that I just feel so at home. Its great. 

That's probably enough for now. There's plenty more (such as Supermarkets are terrifying, Stop means Stop and columns really are the in thing). Just know this, I'm going to be working at least 10 hours a day, 6 days a week to re-elect the President. So I hope it's bloody worth it. 

Time to Say Goodbye

Farewell is beautiful

A glimpse into the future

Farewell is wonderful

Is sets for Adventure.

Goodbye, Farewell by Kolabomi Adeko

As I begin to make my final preparations for a once-in a lifetime experience in the USA, working for the campaign to re-elect Barack Obama to the White House, I am taken by the differences in goodbye that I've had, or will be having, over this summer. Goodbye, Farewell, See ya, Toodles...all ways we say goodbye, but each instance is tinged with some different meaning.

The first is the proud, heartfelt, patriotic goodbye that I have said to London 2012. Having had the honour of being a spectator at both the Olympic and Paralympics games I can say, categorically, that this was the proudest I have ever been of my country and my city. The detractors have been silenced, the public have been awed and the athletes have been spectacular. As I left the stadium lit up in red, white and on Saturday night - having watching Oscar Pistorius storm to 400m Gold, it was with sadness, but with pride that I whispered goodbye to those miraculous and beautiful venues. The dramatic and moving tribute to both games, brought by Coldplay and an army of performers - plus thousands of pounds worth of fireworks - was a perfect testament to what we, the United Kingdom and London, have done for sport - able and disabled - across the world. With tears in my eyes, I joined the millions watching in thanking and saying goodbye to all those volunteers, athletes and officials who have made it such a wonderful sporting spectacle.

Next is the recent angry goodbye I have said to someone I very much cared about. We've had a bit of a tough time, meeting for the first time only a month and a half ago. But we had a good time and I really thought, through the brief moments we had, something could work. However niggling arguments, differing expectations and time pressures culminated in a bit of a bust up - meaning a proper goodbye hasn't been possible. Perhaps its not a final goodbye, but right now, it certainly feels like one. 

Third is the drunken goodbye I said to a number of people in one go last week. What better way is there to say goodbye for three months to people you love than with a shot? I certainly can't think of one. No tears, no sadness, just good old fashioned drunken haze. Perfect. And, let's be honest, three months isn't long; before we know it, I'll be back celebrating Obama's victory (and my hand in it) with even more alcohol at Christmas time. 

Finally, there's the goodbye that will happen as I leave my home. If the last time I went away for three months is anything to go by, there's going to be tears. Lots of tears. When I went to Bangladesh for three months, I spent the entirety of the security line trying to hold back the tears - having seen my Mum's dripping face as I left - and running off to the toilet for fifteen minutes to try and calm down. Not fun. 

But goodbye isn't final. There is always the promise of return, the promise of rekindling, the promise of stories to tell. It is nothing in comparison to its more beautiful cousin, Hello. A word I am getting excited about using. Hello to all those people I am going to meet. Hello to a new country; a country I, like many Brits, feel I know but am all too aware that I probably don't. And, when I return, it will be a whole new world of Hello's.