Below are selected submissions to a series of assignments in Claudia Dreifus’s class, “Narrative Journalism Across the Platforms.” The assignment asked students to describe an aspect of their 2020 election experience. Please enjoy!

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She’s Been Turned: A 2020 Elections Blog Post

By: Danielle Neftin

It’s November 2nd, the day before the elections. Papa just called, told me to be careful, and to anticipate riots.

Since I moved back to the USA in June, after living in Copenhagen and Paris for the last 3 years, my parents have been hounding me to find out where my allegiance truly lies.

“She’s been turned,” they’d say to each other, before I could even begin to describe my political standing.

“My friends warned me about this,” my mom would panic when I showed slight affinity towards Bernie Sanders earlier in the primaries, “that if I let you stay in Europe for more than a year, you’d become a socialist.”

I am a 29 year old woman, I had to remind her, I didn’t need her permission to live anywhere or support any candidate. It was in Paris when I discovered that “socialism” wasn’t actually a dirty word. I was going to the doctor in Paris’s posh 16th arrondisement and was surprised to only pay 40 Euros for my visit as an uninsured patient. I still use this example all the time in political debates to both sound worldly as well as to make a point about universal heath care. "40 Euros, and they played Chopin in the waiting lounge!" 

My parents’ threats didn’t stop. Now that we are closer to the election, the calls have become more frequent, my parents' panic more fervent. “Don’t do this to us, we escaped the Soviet Union to give you opportunities. You don’t know what it’s actually like,” my mother cried. Papa chimed in after her, “democrats want to control your life!”

The day before the elections, Papa called with a calmer tone that signaled a secret military command. “Stay home tomorrow if you can, there will be riots.” He is predicting a Biden victory. “If not for COVID, I’d say Trump is the clear winner,” Papa spoke softly, admitting an anticipated defeat for his beloved president. “Unfortunately in the world there are more stupid people than smart people,” Papa continued, “majority vote doesn’t mean it’s a smart people vote. But we still vote by majority, so even if Biden wins it doesn’t mean smart people voted for him.”

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Elections

By: Toumai Kafri

For months, my conversations with friends have been filled with mentions of anxiety and preparation that I could not fully comprehend. And complete strangers have reminded to go vote countless times, but all in vain since I do not vote in the US. Personally, I’ve been bothered by references to the elections, like there’s no other elections but here. Especially on days where important ones were taking place elsewhere, like the critical Bolivian elections or the controversial Ivorian ones.

I’ve lived in the US for 3 years, and the notion that I am here temporarily has allowed me to keep a safe and sane distant from the politics of this country, even if a merely artificial one. When I hear about corruption in Israel my whole body is filled with anger, and when I get updates from Haiti my heart is shattered. Occasionally, I even get emotional about Quebec politics. So, I figured I’ve got enough broken homes to worry about. And that approach offered me the privilege of following American politics without having an American identity, and without the level of caring that makes me react physically. But today my bubble burst.

I found myself at a voting poll, tasked with dropping off a ballot for a friend traveling out of town. I arrived at a school that had been empty for months, greeted by young volunteers and a lot of excitement. With the poll crew overwhelmingly outnumbering its few visitors, I was out before I knew it, but not without a sticker to show for it. I filled my non-citizen civic duty! Unexpectedly, I sensed a glimpse of pride for helping deliver one vote for change.

Next on my schedule was driving to New Jersey with my partner to shop for rugs. It was a random and perhaps even terrible choice of day, but out we went. Like true aspiring New Yorkers, we rarely leave Manhattan unless we go to another country altogether, so we particularly enjoyed seeing the skyline from across the river and even pulled over to admire the foliage. But as we drove into Closter, we began noticing A LOT of “Trump 2020” signs. When driving by a “support our police” sign, I thought to myself that we better be back home before numbers start flowing in.

With the rugs in the car and the wind blowing through the biggest Trump flag I’ve ever seen in person, I realized that I was terrified. Of what might happen in these elections, but mostly of what might not happen. I understood my cool had to do with an unfounded confidence that there will be change, simply because there has to. But as the day unfolded, I grasped the possibility that so many around me, Americans, and non-Americans alike, have been preparing for - more of the same.

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Voting and the Lack of Lines on Election Day

By: Elizabeth Powell

As a first-time volunteer, I worked at a poll site on November 3. I wanted a closer view of the process. While the pandemic encouraged voting by mail and Trump sewed fear of fraud in our democratic system, I felt able and willing to support those who wanted to vote in-person. 

The day was long, but not the lines. New York City had already processed 1.1 million early votes in nine days leading up to the election. 

From 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., poll site PS 59 is where I stood in the esteemed role of ‘line manager,’ a new staffing position in anticipation of record turnouts. No doubt, there was a need for it when the lines were 4+ hours long. When I voted early, the line manager holding the ‘End of Line’ sign provided clarity and comfort, as if this was nothing more daunting than waiting to checkout at Trader Joe’s.

Voters traveled down two flights of stairs before entering the gymnasium. I was posted at the bottom of the stairs and directed people to keep left and snake around the hallway before entering the gym. I also communicated when to hold and release the line with my fellow line managers on the street. Between 6:00 and 7:00 a.m., our cause was worthy. But then the line disappeared. 

The remaining fourteen hours of the day devolved into me repeating, “Straight ahead. No line!” As voters reached the end of the stairs, the gym was in clear view and straight ahead. Yet still, they acted as if they were lost. Voters looked left. Voters looked right. Without a line, New Yorkers were very confused. So I would emphasize the straight ahead motion with my arms. Only when told, would they march on confidently.  

Due to the city’s magnificent effort to get out the early vote, poll sites were quite calm on November 3. Democracy felt alive and well as voters gleefully left the voting booths wondering what to do with the time they had devoted to standing in line. 

One day later, the whole country is in line again as we await a final tally. I have no direction for where to go from here, but can only hope and pray that every vote is counted and that no time in line, short or long, will be wasted.