March and November often bring icy winds to favor those power brokers who pray for low turnouts. In this presidential election, our ward and precinct took advantage of mild pre-winter weather. We turned out in record numbers hoping to beat back the icy hate of an odious billionaire.

The 12th ward Independent Political Organization watchwords were visibility and conviviality. More than ever we find ourselves in step with the majority. Our palm cards advertised progressive local candidates. The DUMP TRUMP badges made it a winning hand. The IPO’s job was to create an atmosphere of neighborhood solidarity at each of the 23 polling places in the ward. By seven that evening, we would claim various levels of success in bonding with the populace. Not demonstrations in the traditional sense, but 23 chances to demonstrate unity.
Who are the individuals who joined in the quadrennial day of political expression? Who roused themselves to vote at our postage stamp sized baseball field called Hoyne Park? The kids who guided cane wielding grandparents. The moms and dads who encouraged their young adult children?
Our precinct is a majority Mexican-American. Interspersed are dozens of Chinese immigrants. A good bunch live in new lookalike bungalows just a short walk from Hoyne Park. There are many white retirees as well as younger pioneers.

First thing in the morning, my son and I dragged over a four by eight foot plywood sign emblazoned with DUMP TRUMP. It wasn’t long before voters were clustering around it to get photos. The tone was set. The civic alienation was punctured. It was our day, not a routine drill for the traditional machine. Gone were many of the old captains, a bunch of whom have relocated to the suburbs.
We warmly greeted the committeeman’s worker. She returned our fist bumps . Today we all would all be pulling the same wagon. We had no need to puff up chests as in “we’re the real captains around here.” The party’s palm card simply showed the face of our committeeman and a list of judges to vote for. We had the edge because of our anti-Trump verve and our endorsement of the popular Chinese-American newcomer, Ms Theresa Mah.
I kept it quiet about the woman, who had been announced as our new Democratic captain in March. Trolling in Facebook, I discovered that she had been heaping praise on Donald Trump. A ball of fire organizer, she would be a great precinct leader — if she lived in the ward and had any appreciation for progressive politics.
The early voters were shift workers and early risers. We pushed a Term Limits petition for the office of mayor. We stoked jokes and stories. Made mental notes of where each voter came from. Traded names with voters we don’t know. We asked them if they had received our anti-trump leaflet that related our precinct’s problems with the national picture.
“Hey I haven’t voted since 72 because I had a felony conviction,” asked a guy dressed in workman’s blues. “Go right ahead. I might have been in the cell next to yours,” I joked.
Then at about ten am, I just happened to be looking in the direction of our DUMP TRUMP monument on the corner. A blue van pulled a “U” and drove right through it. Ricky had shored it up with two by fours and four by fours so it got stuck under the van. He dragged it three blocks, trying to evade police before they cornered him at 33rd and Hoyne.

Adrenaline spurted in my veins. “Who the hell?” I followed the chase all the while wondering if it was a skinhead or one of the handful of Trump supporters in the ward. He was already cuffed and in the backseat of the squad when I got there. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see the offender.
When they let him out to look for his driver’s license in the van, I snapped a photo. He was a Mexican! I couldn’t put it into any context that made sense. I posted his image on Facebook with my next guess, “He had a hairnet. Looks like a gangbanger.”
Back at the polling place our team had grown to a half dozen. Antonio helped Ricky repair the sign. Calls went out to our other precincts. My other son, Billy, who was precinct coordinator for the day, drove by to check out the situation. He volunteered, “Hey, maybe the guy thought the sign was saying to vote for Trump.”
Meanwhile my Facebook thread blew up with criticisms that I was a racist for assuming that he was a gang banger. A neighbor messaged me that she recognized the sign breaker as a family man who lives in an apartment 3 doors from my own home. I took down the photo and made apologies for prejudging the guy in the hairnet.

The arresting officer called from the station to let me know that the man would not be charged for damage to property because the sign was on a city parkway. I said, “Could you please ask him what his motivation was?” He said, “He’s just leaving now.” Then, I could hear him ask, “Man to man, why did you do it?” Back on the phone he told me, “He thought it was a pro-Trump sign.” In the maelstrom of social upheaval, all manner emotions and hasty judgements prevail.
As the day wore on, dozens of our neighbors came and went. Those who hung out with us understood. In effect, we were taking the place of patronage workers. In prior years, they wore yellow windbreakers as they stood around a 55 gallon blaze. These were not guys with bad intentions, family guys, tree trimmers, parks recreation supervisors. The Hispanic Democratic Organization, like the 11th ward machine before them, worked for a cynical breed that, in many ways, was skimming off the top at the expense of the majority.
Our team consisted of pure volunteers: moms of dreamers, husband and wife with political experience with the left many years ago in Mexico, a garrulous jokester and former union millwright, young men who had scuffed their knees along with my kids on that very ballfield, and — dramatically for us — a Chinese community leader from down the block. Together we enjoyed champurrado and tamales compliments of neighborhood women.
How far did we advance to our goal of becoming the leaven in the 12th ward loaf? Despite the widespread and intense hate for Trump, especially in Latino wards, no other ward teams took up Dump Trump wholeheartedly as we did. Even in the 12th ward, the coverage was uneven. Some polling places only had a single IPO passer and some voting hours were uncovered. Some passers were not the ideal captains because they did not live in the precinct. We did not buy the conventional wisdom that our E-Day work doesn’t make any difference because we are in a blue state.
We jumped on this crusade to flex our muscles, deepen our ties, and stand in leadership of a deeply and urgently felt popular sentiment. It is natural that we have different levels of ties in different precincts. In some our captains have been integral to the community for 25 or more years. In others, younger members are learning the techniques and patience that is necessary.

The key was our group’s compromise decision to focus on defeating Trump. In our endorsement meeting, a few members had passionately pushed for the Green Party candidate. Others favored placing Clinton at the top of our palm card as a practical, political move. To preserve unity we made no presidential endorsement but in the preparation for E day, we produced the Dump Trump stickers. Secondarily, we emphasized “The Year of The Woman in Politics” because our three endorsed candidates were female.
In effect, we were practicing the united front both within the group and externally with all the forces in the field of play – particularly the immigrant Mexican American and Chinese communities. We were explicitly in tandem with the democratic committeeman, though not working with our nemesis, the local alderman, who didn’t even field a street crew.
Now begins the cold winter of Trump revanchism. Fears of deportation raids, even steeper service cutbacks, curtailment of union power, bullying, xenophobia, even rape abound.
We will be employing the two outlooks that served us so well on Election Day: 1) immersion among the constituencies in our neighborhoods, learning and championing their interests and 2) uniting all who can be united against Trump and his policies. The upcoming united fronts will require a welcoming outstretched hand to nationalities we have not yet succeeded in uniting, to politicians who are willing to take positions in the interest of our people, to other organizations both political and not for profit who have different approaches to organizing.
There is a human heart in the forgotten neighborhoods of Chicago. Our potential is causing the right wing racists to crawl out from their lairs. Strategies that can move millions are what we need. Resolve to awaken this mighty force.