Canvassers hit West Philly with stories of loved ones to spur Democratic voter turnout

On the last weekend before voter registration ended for November’s general election, about 300 canvassers, the majority from out of state, met at St. George St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Cobbs Creek and then fanned out in the community to get some of the area’s tens of thousands of disaffected voters out to the polls.

Changing the Conversation (CTC) for Progress, a get-out-the-vote (GOTV) organization, was focused on infrequent voters in the West Philadelphia wards that are 97% Black, have an average income around $30,000, and have a voter turnout record about 20% lower than other areas in the city.

“Thank you for caring enough to disrupt your life,” said Dave Fleischer, who was running the canvassing effort, in his greeting to the workers who showed up the morning of Oct. 19. “The only thing we want to do is stop Trump and elect Kamala.”

But how they were planning to get people to vote for Kamala Harris and not Donald Trump is what was different. The volunteers were about to go “deep canvassing,” a type of voter interaction that started when Proposition 8, which would ban same-sex marriage, passed in California in 2008. Fleischer, a political organizer, was frustrated by the vote and came up with a simple strategy to understand what had happened.

He decided to listen to people who voted for the ban in that liberal state. And from those conversations with opponents of marriage equality, Fleischer realized, many folks actually changed their opinion, giving birth to the deep-canvassing concept.

Now CTC for Progress canvassers are taught to establish a rapport with potential voters by sharing a meaningful story of a loved one, actively listening as conversation bubbles up, and connecting the narrative to the importance of voting.

According to CTC for Progress director Adam Barbanel-Fried, deep canvassing works better than any other method for pushing turnout. A similar GOTV effort in 2022 resulted in a 15-point increase in voting among those who spoke to a CTC for Progress canvasser compared to those who didn’t.

To prepare for their three hours of deep canvassing, volunteers received about five hours of training and practice, half before and the other half on the day of their canvass. “Why spend so much time training people?” said Barbanel-Fried. “We are dedicated to growing a universe of people trained in deep canvasing in such a way to engage folks who are difficult to engage. There is a universe of people we are not reaching.”

Fleischer also didn’t ignore the elephant in the room. “We are predominately white [people] in a neighborhood that is predominantly African American. We’re not just going to talk but to listen. Be the best version of kind. We need their help,” he explained.

“I’m trained as an advocate to argue policies and facts, and this felt touchy-feely,” said Eileen Hershenov, a lawyer and canvasser who traveled to 61st Street and Cedar Avenue from Westchester County, N.Y.

Hershenov shared a story of her daughter’s serious illness, from which she ultimately healed, which sparked conversations about residents’ family illnesses and death. “I thought that’s not going to work, but it did. People stopped, listened, and shared.”

I’m trained as an advocate to argue policies and facts and this felt touchy-feely. I thought that’s not going to work, but it did. People stopped, listened and shared.

Yoojin Lee, who traveled from Massachusetts, said she has been traditionally canvassing for over three decades, but this weekend was her fourth time deep canvassing.

“I use to leave the literature, tell people who to vote for, and hit 30 doors,” Lee said. “This is actually engaging. And it’s more effective than leaving a flyer if you do want people to take action.”

For three hours, Lee shared the story of her family’s immigration from South Korea when she was 4, the racism she encountered, and her father’s belief that immigrants like her family owed a debt of gratitude to the Black American civil rights struggle.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how likely are you to vote? That’s one of the first questions canvassers were trained to ask anyone they met. A 10 meant highly likely to vote.

Ralph Walker on Ludlow Street answered that he was a definite 10. His nephew Anthony Thomas, who stood beside him at the door, politely insisted that he was a zero. Thomas said that, as a middle-class worker, he was not poor enough to be eligible for support programs and not rich enough to take advantage of tax cuts.

Joy Park, of the canvassing team, wasn’t able to persuade him despite her story of growing up in Los Angeles’ Koreatown with a single mom who had immigrated from Korea, didn’t speak English, and struggled to provide for Joy. “That wasn’t the story I planned to tell,” Park said, but she wanted Thomas to know that she understood his perspective.

The team moved on and came across Wali Reid a few doors away who was busy unloading a truck. He said he was a definite 10.

There’s a practical side to deep canvassing. The goal for each time was to secure five to eight votes for Harris. For those leaning toward Harris, canvassers were to create a voting action plan. From story to action plan was to take no more than 15 minutes. For those not inclined to vote for Harris, CTC for Progress was not trying to change their mind.

So, when Raquem Watson, 32, opened the door to Bree Doldron, a CTC for Progress community organizer, and explained that he had already voted for Trump, little more was said. With four young children to support, Watson thought that a Trump economy would be brighter than his economic reality under Biden. “I work three jobs, and I’m looking for a fourth.”

And after the white Baptist minister who lived across the street said he was a Trump voter and blasted Harris’ position on abortion and gay marriage for “sending people to hell,” Doldron quickly moved on.

“It took a couple of runs to get into it, but it was a great experience,” Park said.