Chapter 1
Sidewalk Democracy in Hoyne Park
Unusually balmy late March breezes greeted the earliest voters. Otherwise there was no indication that a perfect storm was brewing. The brick two-flats on Leavitt stared across the street at the sunken 1890s-era workers cottages. Predawn intermodal truck traffic rumbled above on the Stevenson. Commuter trains shuttled suburbanites toward the gleaming neo-liberal city center.
Drywall hangers, lunch room workers, and day laborers rubbed sleepy eyes. Practitioners of Tai Chi did their ritual exercises. Retirees, except for me, were still in the Land of Nod. The bike messengers, who inhabit a house on Hoyne, showed no signs of unlocking their fixed gear steeds from the front fence. Somewhere in the precinct a dozen confused or mean-spirited individuals were itching to vote for Trump.
I wondered who had already staked out the corner over by Lupita’s with yard signs for Theresa Mah. I pushed a couple of Bernie signs into the unfrozen soil. The frantic contention for ward committeeman was evident as Tony Munoz yard signs sparred with Cardenas placards. It was as if someone had placed them in man-to-man defense.
My son, Billy, was already manning the 12th ward Independent Political Organization staging office just a couple of blocks away. When I picked up our IPO palm cards, he let me know who would be by my side at the Hoyne Park polling place. I’d be working with Antonia, my most reliable neighborhood canvasser, and with Evelyn, a high school senior from the Social Justice Club at Kelly High. I was pleasantly surprised when another member of our group, Sanjay, showed up on his way to work.
We had our own slick palm cards. A year earlier we had not even formed the IPO. At that time, we were well supplied with Chuy signs, buttons and literature. Our largely Latino population had recorded the best percentage for Chuy of the 50 Chicago wards. This year our IPO palm cards pushed Bernie Sanders, Theresa Mah for Illinois state representative and Kim Foxx for county prosecutor.
I pushed my chest out every time I emphasized the first word of our organization’s name. Fiercely independent, we had voted democratically on those candidates at our endorsement meeting. We are not part of any bigger top-down network, nor automatically beholden to any candidate, union, or elected official.
We had fingers crossed for Bernie, especially since pundits were declaring that Latinos would shun the Vermont populist. And we hoped to eat into prosecutor Anita Alvarez’ expected majority. Our ward demographics were not expected to favor an African American reformer against a candidate whose name ends in “ez”. But Alvarez had recently tarred her own reputation. She withheld the video of a blatant police shooting of an African American teen not far from the western boundaries of the ward. We had hopes that Latino voters would blame her for helping Rahm defeat Chuy Garcia. She covered up the murder. Most of all, we pushed for a victory for Theresa.
As the day wore on, it became obvious that we were in for a record turnout. Random conversations revealed several sentiments. The Chinese, who make up a growing 20% of the ward, felt intense pride in Dr. Mah. Their desire to finally have a representative of their own rivaled the earlier African American fervor for Harold Washington. Her candidacy was an Asian American version of Chuy’s pioneering roles as first Mexican American alderman, state senator, and mayoral candidate.
From the most numerous group, the Latinos, there was a tone of alarm at the calls for deportations and at the racist rhetoric of Trump. In the wake of Chuy’s challenge to Rahm, Mexican residents were coming alive politically. Those who had benefited from amnesty 30 years earlier were feeling solidarity with disenfranchised neighbors who are not yet citizens. The more recent arrivals were at least able spread the vibe in their extensive family networks. Irrespective of race, there was concern about Governor Rauner’s squeeze on education, unions and services. Ninety-four percent of 12th ward residents would request Democratic ballots.
As far as I was concerned, there were two critical matchups. Our IPO’s favorite daughter, Dr. Theresa Mah, was running against Alex Acevedo, a thirty year old son of a retiring machine legislator. The other important question was whether or not our neo-liberal alderman, George Cardenas, would be able to consolidate his power. He proposed to unseat his former ally, Antonio Muñoz, for the little understood position of Democratic Party ward committeeman.
On the main card, Dr. Mah versus young Acevedo, there was no comparison: a clearly superior progressive candidate versus machine nepotism. Theresa had been deeply involved in community advocacy in the Chinatown, Bridgeport, and McKinley Park sections of the legislative district. Smart as a whip, the former college professor had served as a policy advisor to former governor Pat Quinn. She had been his ambassador to the various Asian populations of Illinois.
She was one of us. She had toiled alongside us in several previous campaigns. She had shown exemplary leadership as an elected community representative of the Kelly High Local School Council.
Would a sufficient number of white and Latino voters understand that we had a chance for a progressive legislative leader, a thoughtful female who is not beholden to any vested political interests? Would the Acevedo political base in Pilsen show loyalty to an increasingly ineffective machine? Would the Asian voters, who have been expanding beyond the old boundaries of Chinatown, break their pattern of low turnout?
The warm winds contributed to a festive, circus-like atmosphere outside our tiny Hoyne Park fieldhouse. With eye contact I had set the tone with the head judge and the partisans for each side. “No drama? Everybody cool today?” In the early days when the HDO was flexing muscle, the machine teams would out number us, destroy our signs, and box us out from talking to voters.
This time around our palm card featured a smiling Chuy Garcia with his arm around Theresa. Contrast that with the machine guys who could muster no compelling sound bites. A year earlier, Juan’s wife from across the street had ripped a machine passer’s Emanuel palm card into a dozen pieces. She had been a direct victim of school food service privatization. From then on, he passed the reminder cards upside down.
Tony’s uncle Joe was good for gossip and jokes. We’d been friendly rivals for that past 5 years. Like me, he is a wounded warrior – me with the cancer; him with diabetes. Neither one of us lets facts get in the way of a good story.
The Cardenas people consisted of a couple of high ranking city employees and some low paid passers who had no understanding of the issues. One of his people was a young Chinese student who had only been in the US for 9 months. I was dumbfounded when he explained why he wanted Trump to win. “It will make American weak and China strong.” Of George’s former Chinese precinct captains, only Frank showed up. He stopped by briefly to announce that he wouldn’t take sides between George and Tony.
Antonia was intrepid as usual. She made friends with George’s Latino passers. She turned them on to lunches from the chuck wagon that Theresa had set up at her HQ on 35th. No campaign should forget that an army marches on its stomach. Tasty carnitas, beans, salsa and rice from Tio Luis did a good job of neutralizing George’s people.
Friends and neighbors came and went. Miguel, our passer from the Everett school voting location, came by to chat. He remarked that voters respond to our IPO’s brand because of the word, “Independent”.
Mauro spelled me around one. My energy was low because I had been disconnected from chemo a few days earlier. I was energized by all of the politics but I knew from past elections that an unbroken 13 hour day would drain me.
Billy showed up with another volunteer to “run” some of Theresa’s pluses. I was just as glad to go in for a nap. I’ve never had much luck finding voters at home and willing to vote in the final hours of the campaign.
Around two pm a crew came by with hastily printed yard signs – “Sanders and Acevedo”. Obviously desperate, Alex had done a last minute Bernie endorsement hoping to coat-tail on the surging white haired populist.
The same van returned a couple of hours later. Alex emerged in a grey suit looking like a chambelan surrounded by 4 similarly dressed body guards. Typical of machine pols, he couldn’t really get down with the people. Flanked by his body guards, he conferred with his captains and was quickly off to visit the next precinct. His dad showed up with a similarly serious complement about a half hour later –Napoleon inspecting his troops.
When Theresa made her obligatory stop, she radiated her characteristic affection – hugs and smiles. Though she did have a pretty big Mexican as her driver.
I made sure to show my credentials and be on the inside when the doors locked at 7 pm. Voters were still queued up. The place was packed. I found a folding chair in a corner near a registration table. Theresa’s team had taken full advantage of the liberalized, same-day registration procedures. As the final minutes ticked down, Chinese women were inhabiting Alex’s worst nightmare. Through interpreters they showed two forms of ID and punched 121.
Of course I was disappointed when I got the tape showing our results. We had won for Sanders, Theresa, and Muñoz but only by small margins. Bragging rights are a big deal for campaigners like me. I was trying to prove an approach that I call “the precinct committee strategy”. But overall the people had shown the common sense to make the right picks. Confusion is rampant as so many types of people vie for their own perceived interest. Complexity demands that we keep working to resolve different outlooks in the neighborhood.
At our staging area, Steve Caxton was there to give Antonia and me a lift to the victory party at the Zhou Be art center. Irrepressible Steve was still high from a recent popular electoral victory in his native Nigeria. He had outfitted his van with a speaker system and huge Theresa posters mounted on top.
At the party we got hugs from tired campaigners. We posed for a photo of the IPO contingent who shared accounts of precinct activity in other parts of the ward. The crowd’s excitement gave me a true appreciation for just how big a victory we had won. Teams were from Chinatown, Naperville, Pilsen, Bridgeport, and McKinley traded stories and high fives. An old school crew laughed about how they had rigged up Acevedo/Trump signs in the Back of the Yards.
I told Theresa, “A year ago none of us would have imagined this.” Then, seeing a look in her eye, I added, “Except you.” It is no accident that the nationality path breakers like Chuy, Harold Washington, and Theresa Mah are the brave ones, the unashamed progressives. We expect Dr. Mah to hold strong to multi-national unity. It was an historic day for progress on the Southwest Side. There will be more to come.