Fired-Up! Minnesoo-tah Politics

Who isn’t excited about this year’s election cycle? Truly? We – at the house formerly called Pandemonium – are very jazzed.

Since Air America came on the scene in 2005—restoring my sanity and belief in journalistic truthfulness—I’ve been spouting the idea of having a dream ticket: Clinton/Obama 08. Not many takers in my house. Grumblings about he’s too young, he’s black, and he’s too smart … we’re not ready for three in one. Friends were appalled to learn that I thought Hillary should lead the ticket based solely on name recognition.

Didn’t I know that I’m African American?
Did I forget that I was from Illinois?
Where’s my friend who was a Jackson delegate in 88?

I’m not ashamed to admit that I get it wrong sometimes. (Shhh, don’t tell my husband I said this, okay? As far as he’s concerned, I’m ALWAYS right.) It’s based on fear, caution, hedging of bets. I didn’t think Keith Ellison had a chance. I really didn’t. But my husband did and he supported him. And shut my mouth, Ellison is perhaps the most prolific, progressive congressman I’ve ever known.

So keeping my milk-toastiness at bay, I started paying attention far earlier than my political biological clock said I should, and began handicapping the candidates. I found, I liked most of them. Edwards, Kucinich, Richardson and Obama, in that order, were the candidates who addressed my highest ideals for a mo’ betta’ republic. With Senator Obama’s victory in Iowa, my weak-kneed support found solidity, and I committed to his candidacy 100 percent. I made phone calls, worked events and canvassed my community.

I became an Obama delegate to our Senate District convention on February fifth. Minnesota is a caucus state. Think of it like a conversationalist’s soiree, which is held over several months. It can give neighbors of voting age a chance to digest information about the candidates running, and discuss issues that matter most to the community.

It is also the time when volunteer democrats line-up for positions within the Democratic Farm Labor Party— Minnesota’s version of the Democratic Party. I applied and interviewed to become a member of the DFL’s (state) senate district executive committee. I am the future that I’ve been waiting for was my new mantra.

Not knowing that my interview had been successful and I was being offered a position to our (national) Congressional District five to represent SD61, I chose the hard way, to run from the convention floor for an officer position. I gave a two-minute speech, using sign language, Spanglish and hyperbolic buzzwords—and won.

Delighting in winning, I chose to further my meteoric climb to DFL greatness and ran for state delegate status. And got an alternate spot. Not what I hoped for, but at least I’m invited to attend without voting. It’s like being brought to the cool kids’ party, but asked to remain in the kitchen so the drinks and snacks keep flowing.

Yes I can … a bastardization of my presidential candidate’s motto was the new mantra. He needed people like me in Denver … winners who cheer loudly. I didn’t need to work at, learn more or campaign for the big show: it was destined because I can. I’m all that and a bag of bull.

People, I couldn’t have been more deluded. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

At the endorsement convention for my beloved Keith Ellison, CD-5 had eight Obama and two Clinton delegates to vote on and send to the national convention. My last experience with this kind of delegate convention was twenty years ago. Youthful inexperience and undeniable poverty kept me from pursuing the trip to Atlanta then. Not that I didn’t think I could win it, but stalwart, cash-infused ‘middle-aged’ Dems convinced me I couldn’t. This year, I thought: I’m still broke, but I’m mature enough, and dog-gone-it, I’m a winner.

Some one hundred people submitted their interest to represent our congressional district in Denver. One hundred! And many of those running had GAME. Bottled water with their pictures pasted on ‘em. Posters. Buttons. Fortune Cookies. YouTube videos and, to my horror, personalized Obama t-shirts, showing the prospective delegate with the Senator.

Reality showed its ugly head, and I felt the stress of my feckless venture into political gamesmanship, with the realization that the campaigns to which I’d given my support with time and interest had no support for this self- aggrandized, average Jane.