SPARKS, Nev. — By the end of Day Two in San Antonio, my brain was fried, but the good kind of fried.
My task at the "Stand for Change" rally was to supervise the ticket-takers. They never tell you about the logistics of a candidate event in campaign school; it's more along the lines of on-the-job training. Estimates put the crowd of people expected to hear Sen. Barack Obama (D - Ill.) speak anywhere from 5,000 to 7,000. That meant two things: a long line of people and various personality types with which, to deal.
While most attendees were happy just to get a chance to hear Obama speak, a very small number of line-skippers and place-holders earned my ire. Thankfully, there was more than my small contingent of volunteers and I to do crowd control.
By the time everyone was inside the amphitheater and the gates were closed, I caught the first few moments of Obama's speech. As always, the Illinois senator created an electricity when he spoke; there was the overwhelming sense that history was being made.
Before I could stand around for too long, my boss charged me with several post-speech duties. Among them: Get ready to sign attendees up to volunteer and pass out information on the "Texas Two-Step," a primary and caucus voting method. By the end of the rally, I found myself channeling some long-dead Coney Island carnival barker.
As a matter of respect, I was raised in traditional Lakota way to not shout or draw attention to myself in a crowd. It was hard to break old traditions, but with the Democratic presidential nomination at stake and our grassroots movement depending on every volunteer hour, I made the sacrifice willingly.
"Every hour, every phone call, every door knock counts!"
"Volunteer for the next president of the United States!"
"Be a part of a movement!"
"Learn about the Texas Two-Step!"
These were my shouts and screams to passers-by who either kindly ignored me or ran up in enthusiastic support to sign up as a volunteer. The scary thing is, with every entreaty for volunteers, I found myself getting even more fired up about the campaign with the worst case of "true believerism" I've ever had in my life so far. If you're a fan of political satire, I see myself as the Henry Burton character in the 1998 movie, "Primary Colors," when it comes to anything political.
It was 10 p.m. by the time my boss and I left the parking lot and with a trip to the campaign headquarters for a late meeting, bedtime wasn't until 2 a.m. Even so, had I been asked to go another four or five hours, I would have gladly done it, fried brain or not.
My involvement in this campaign began and was sustained by my personal need to shout. I needed to shout that this candidate, this senator, this proven leader is the best that the country has to offer. The grassroots movement he builds, state by state, precinct by precinct, speaks to me and brings out the need to shout for and believe in change as a Native who's used to being disappointed.