Campaigning in Duluthia

STATE elections are near. Even if you didn't care about it or weren't voting, you'd certainly know because of all the TV ads--dirty or not--that disrupt one's TV viewing experience.

I'm certainly not a voter here. I'm not American. But in the last two weeks I've actually shook hands with two candidates for secretary of state and stood within tsinelas-throwing distance of the Democratic candidate for governor (not that I had any reason to throw a tsineslas, much less carried around a pair). And all these instances, I felt something was missing.

I guess I'm just used to political campaigns, Philippine-style, where each candidate down to the lowly city councilor is always, yes, always accompanied by a bouncer or body-guard type person wearing fake Rayban shades, two or more people dressed in T-shirts displaying the candidate's face and carrying lots and lots of pamphlets and sample ballots. The higher the position, the more members of the entourage and the farther you actually see the candidate. There is usually a vehicle with a large megaphone wired to its top, blaring out the candidate's jingle. There's lots of waving at imaginary supporters. Often, the candidate has a flower lei around his neck. You know, those leis made of sampaguita and ylang-ylang blossoms, weighed down by strange looking medal made of banana leaves and more flowers. The kind you usually get from godmothers during graduation, or the Rite of First Communion.

There was one exception. I saw former presidential candidate Raul Roco at the Inquirer, just a week after he lost to Tita Glo. He was alone. He was MY president, and so I shook his hand and gave him a hug, saying I really wanted him to win.

***

Back to my story. No there were no entourages here in Duluth, nor campaign T-shirts. No bouncers. If anything, it felt like student council elections in UP where candidates sometimes campaign by themselves and approached individual people rather than only groups.

Encounter No. 1

I was waiting at the Solon Lobby with a student from Nigeria, a student from Khazakstan and Taryn, the pretty International Student office assistant. We were waiting for the car that would take us grocery shopping when in comes this well-dressed woman in a dress suite and a long black coat that looked obviously expensive. I thought she was just some well-coiffed parent going on one of theose many university tours that happen on campus every weekend. She looked lost and approached us, asking where Bohannon Hall was. This was when I noticed her American flag scarf. Naks naman! Medyo over naman itong ale, I thought. Kulang nalang i-tattoo ang bandila sa noo. Yun naman pala, she was Mary Kiffmeyer, the current Secretary of State in Minnesota and a Republican candidate. She shook everyone's hand and was handing out pamphlets. When she got to me, to save her the trouble, I said, "Thank you, but I'm not a citizen."
"Oh, where are you from?" she said.
"The Philippines."
"I used to go to school with a Filipino woman called Aida and she made such good pancit and she was actually a nurse at the top of her career but had to go back to school when she came to America."
Somehow I doubted this woman ever ate or ever really liked pancit. She looked a little on the delicate side. You know, the kind that would break out in an angry red rash or bumpy hives after eating extremely salty little baby shrimps ( an important ingredient in pancit) or fish sauce (a secret ingredient in pancit and paired with calamansi, not lemon). And frankly, I didn't really care if this Ayda person thought going back to school was the pits. I love school! I should be a professor, except I don't really care to get myself a PhD right now.
I just smiled and said "Good luck on election day!"
She beamed and looked very pleased with herself. Then she semi-hugged Mr. Nigeria and said, "See you at the polls son!"
Mr. Nigeria's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. We had a good laugh until our ride came.

Encounter No. 2: Kiffmeyer's opponent, Mr. Whatshisface

Ok, so there I was at the cafeteria bent over a pile of interview transcripts and working on my thesis draft. I was in psychotic mode, a shell-shocked blend of thesis anxiety, deadline paranaoia and stress catatonia (I'm not even sure there's such a word). I saw a suit hovering and flitting from table to table, cornering hapless undergraduates in mid-chew. You know, those lost souls who have no where to go and no one to hang out with on a Friday afternoon. The suit was at the table beside mine, and so I scattered more thesis things on my table and hunched over my computer until my spine and my neck formed one elegant arch connecting my brain to my LED screen. Formidable-looking, intense creature was I. You learn a thing or two from pet cats. And still the suit sat down at my table.

He introduced himself. God, I don't even remember his name. "It's nice to meet you," I said. "But I'm not American, and so I'm not a voter."

"Yes, and you should not vote because you might go to jail!"

Ha? Ano? Saan naman galing yon? And while I searched my brain for a witty response that would leave a dent but not get me deported, he said "You know, I had a Filipino classmate once, I forgot her name."

Aarggghhhhh! What? Did they all have Filipino classmates and have had pancit or adobo? Like I cared. I almost said, I'm sure you did. But I didn't. I just said, "Well wherever she is now, I hope she's doing important things in her community, just as you are." And I meant this, because he was, anyway, a Democratic candidate and I kind of like them better than Republicans. Republicans like that Macaca-fellow.

"So what are you working on?" he said.

"Oh, my thesis."

"What's your course?"

"Environmental Education"

"That's a good one."

"Yeah, I like to think so." He seemed to relax at this point, perhaps because I wasn't a voter. Just an observer. He slumped his shoulders and leaned back. At that moment, he almost seemed like a fellow graduate student with a major deadline looming over his head. He looked too young for the dark suit he was wearing and he looked tired and just a little lost. Like he would rather be wearing a sweatshirt that moment and be hanging out at Starbucks instead of handling out pamphlets.

"Good luck on election day," I said and I smiled a sympathetic smile. He said thank you, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and moved to the next table.