Violence

On Sunday I engaged in that hallowed and hoary American political tradition of canvassing, for State Senator Jennifer Wexton who is running to unseat incumbent Republican Congresswoman Barbara Comstock next month in Virginia's 10th Congressional District.  I knocked on 40 doors specified by a dedicated list handed to me by Wexton's campaign HQ in Sterling, and spoke with at least one passerby on the sidewalk and obtained a pledge card from him to vote in next month's election.

It was interesting in at least three ways, demonstrated by the response I received at three different doors, the first door I knocked on, at the most affluent-looking house in the middle of my three hour stint canvassing alone in that particular subdivision, and the very last door I knocked on after searching through the labyrinth of winding roads and culture-de-sacs for ten minutes at the end of my shift to find it.  The first door was the most memorable, bringing forth what's increasingly been wrong in America in the last two years as encouraged by the paramount rhetoric of the times using terms like "mob rule," "enemies of the people," and "evil democrats"--violence.

At the end of Falling Rock Terrace, for my first contact I walked up the driveway and walkway to a townhouse in a short row of cookie-cutter such residences, and knocked.  The door opened and a whisker-stubbled male face and torso protruded out.

"Hi, my name is . . .  ."  The door closed.  I continued, "I'll leave this card of information behind for you then."  The door exploded open and the man boiled out of the house and advanced on me

"What did you say, motherfucker?" he said in an elevated tone.  Before I could answer he said, his poking fingers jabbing to within a half-inch of my eyes, "Get off my property before I shoot you."

"I'm leaving, but watch your hands," I said.  I didn't want to get jabbed in my eyes or face or anywhere as I turned to leave.

"Bitch!" he called me as I turned away.  He punched me in the shoulder.

"You just assaulted me," I said, meaning of course that he had also committed battery upon me, but many people use the term assault to describe both the threat and the physical attack.

"Call the cops then!" he said as I walked away.  I didn't, because I had at least three hours of political work ahead of me that I was more energized than ever to complete and I didn't want to get bogged down in a he-said he-said matter for hours or weeks.  Later, at campaign HQ, I made sure to bring this particular address to the attention of the persons there and pointedly told them to remove the address from all of their lists because it was a dangerous, potentially lethal place to approach.

My heart racing, I walked across the parking square and continued my canvassing.  I got a better reaction at the townhouse across the square, where the man who answered chatted with me for a minute or two.  I thanked him for speaking with me and said that his was a better reception than the townhouse across the way, where the occupant had threatened to shoot me.  He asked, "You mean over there where the white van is in the driveway?"  "Yes, over there," I answered.

"It's good to know," he said.  "I always knew those were strange people."  My dedicated list had indicated that there was a female at that address, in addition to the man who assaulted me. " I've never been able to get a handle on them," he added.

I finished approaching my other 38 listed addresses on this hot and humid day, drove back to HQ and turned in my notes, which closely detailed especially my first contact.  Next post: A kindly encounter, like the way it used to be.