The first time I canvassed in an election was in 2002, as a freshman at the University of Chicago. I didn’t know much about the candidate, but I was 19, it was a year into George W. Bush’s first term, and I was eager to get involved however I could. The College Democrats assigned me a street corner and gave me a stack of flyers, and I caught the El. I’d never talked to strangers on the street about politics, and at first it was nerve-wracking to ask intrusive questions, but it was also thrilling to get a feel for a neighborhood and an election from the sidewalk. There’s nothing like it.
Since then, I’ve canvassed whenever I could. In 2004, I was in Ohio for Kerry, and came away in high spirts even though we lost. After spending hours talking with people in diners and in driveways, I could feel that we had something to build from—and four years later, we did. In 2008, I canvassed for Obama in the primaries—New Hampshire, South Carolina, Ohio, Connecticut. The excitement that year was incredible: people came to the door, interrupting their dinners, wanting to talk and to tell us why they were already supporters. They’d spoken to canvassers a handful of times by the time I got there, but they weren’t done talking about the race. I can still remember some of those conversations.
2024 could not have felt more different. In Milwaukee and Pittsburgh for Harris, I walked through entire neighborhoods and saw nobody. I could hear people moving around inside or see them peek through their blinds, but nobody was opening the door. On the rare occasions when someone did, there was none of that enthusiasm. Even before I knew the outcome, the difference was unmistakable.
Somehow, what I’m hearing this year is even worse.
Some of it is fear and intimidation. People worry that associating publicly with a Democratic campaign could invite retaliation from the administration—against their companies, their organizations, even themselves. That climate of fear is a tragedy, and one of the most important reasons we have to win.
Even more troubling, Democrats are checking out. Over and over, I hear people say they don’t think Democrats can win and that they’re tired of giving their time, their money, and their energy with nothing to show for it. I know the sting of losing, and the doubts that follow, but this is something else. This is giving up. The fight against repression and intimidation is hard enough; apathy is even worse.
The data bears this feeling out. Since 2018, the share of American voters registering as Democrats has dropped by about ten percentage points. People don’t change a party registration overnight; a loss of ten points means the reality is likely worse.
Source: New York Times
I understand the temptation to check out, and I felt it in November and December too.
But checking out is a luxury. The people whose lives depend on the sanity, integrity, and decency of government don’t have that option. They may be skeptical that something better is coming, but they have no choice but to hope nonetheless. To disengage is to leave them exposed to the ravages of this administration and the ones like it that could follow.
That is why this moment is different, and why it’s no longer good enough to put reliable, familiar Democrats to office. The task before is not just winning a primary, or even clawing our way to 51% in a general. The leaders we choose now have to reignite the fire, and draw new people to it.
I know that’s possible. In this race, I’ve been going to candidate forums and community events and county picnics, and people are showing up, ready to go. Even as so many Democrats pull back, the ones who understand the stakes are leaning in more than ever.
So, I have two requests:
First, keep showing up. Bring your time, your ideas, your energy, your belief that the future can be better. This administration’s greatest victory is when one of us checks out.
Second, vote for leaders who are working to energize and expand the whole party, not just speaking to the diminishing set who are already on board. Demand from your candidates a hopeful, expansive vision that will inspire Americans to believe again—the ones we’ve lost and the ones we’ve never reached before. In my Congressional district, there’s a clear choice, but we need stronger leadership everywhere.
This is the turning point. In 2026, we can show that we are growing and ready to lead, and carry that energy to victory in 2028. Or, we can show that we’ve given up. I’m in this race because I know which one I want.