Knock-knock is hard for introverts

Iowa Democratic Party Chair Rita Hart came to Storm Lake on October 3 to inspire volunteers who are working to get out the vote. Canvassing strategies in the past have focused on visiting the party faithful, making sure they know when and where to vote.

This time around, they are visiting Independents and Republicans who might be ready for change.

I arrived a few minutes early at local headquarters and offered to write some postcards. I’m happy to write postcards. Two years ago, I spent weeks of free time and my own money writing Wisconsin voters, reminding them to vote, vote, vote.

I can write postcards. But don’t ask me to talk to people.

I know that Democrats are in the minority in Iowa. I know that we don’t have enough volunteers to bolster our cause and our candidates. Even if every Democrat turned out, it wouldn’t be enough to ensure success. So, Hart explained why the canvassing net is being cast more widely, and it’s a good strategy.

Hart served in public office, and she is a veteran door knocker. She recalled some past challenging conversations with people at their doors. She has probably seen and heard it all.

But I’m an introvert, Rita. A big introvert. I still remember the middle school distress of door-to-door magazine sales in a town of tightwads.

Some of us take doorstep rejection too personally, especially if it means we’re letting down our team. The stakes in Iowa are much, much higher than magazine sales, and the team needs really good players. But, some of us are not cut out for sales.

Political canvassing requires many of the same skills as sales; you need to be at ease meeting and talking to strangers. Nope, not me. I don’t like large gatherings because I don’t like small talk. Going face-to-face with someone on their turf? Even worse.

I’m better with written words. Let me write the brochures. Let me write postcards, but do not make me go out there.

Going “cold” to someone’s residence is for me what public speaking is for most others. Oddly, I’m not afraid of public speaking, but it’s because I’ve had practice. Participating in high school speech and drama gave me the confidence to stand in front of an audience and talk.

But it’s akin to performance. You adopt a persona. There may be costuming or a podium. You memorize lines. To canvass, there is no mask. You are you and they are they, and that is terrifying. You can boo or heckle my speech, and yes, it will hurt, but I can shrug it off more easily than if you shout and slam the door in my face.

“Joan, Joan,” you say. “It just takes practice.”  Maybe. I concede that it is a skill, but there aren’t enough weeks left in this election cycle to get the requisite practice to lift me over the fear-fence of canvassing.

So, I offered to drive the canvassers instead. I ferried a couple of door knockers around town. I plotted the addresses on my phone and dropped them at the curb or around the corner. Why did I feel like I was a gangster driving a get-away car? Because it felt dangerous.

This is a silly reaction, I grant you.

This is a small town. I knew some of the people whose houses I drove to. They are not mean or rude or vile. In small towns, there is still a large measure of civility. We have to get along because we see each other at church or the grocery store or at work. But in the abstract (or online), we — all of us — can fall into the trap of vilifying “the other.”

It’s what our current president is expert at. It’s how he whips up the base. He says that Democrats are socialist-communist-Marxist demons, and people buy it. Your Republican neighbor might scoop your sidewalk if you, a Democrat, wrenches your back, but once inside his house, he might sit back down to the Fox network and rage against “those Dumocrats.”

That’s how it works, this othering. Hart talked about the value of meeting people on their doorsteps in order to melt corrosive myth-making. But it takes a lot of skill to meet opposition on someone else’s turf.

One of the canvassers in my car told how, years ago, she and a friend arrived at the door of a person who wasn’t civil. Being yelled at can scar and scare one away from volunteering again. That’s what I’m afraid of. Old wounds make me afraid of yelling and negative emotions.

This is one reason I am fascinated by former Special Prosecutor Jack Smith who endured the onslaughts of Republican legislators again on Sept. 29.* That man is the epitome of self-control. I don’t know if he plays poker, but it’s safe to say he doesn’t have a tell. He endured the worst kind of buffoonery and verbal abuse without cracking.

Keeping one’s head in the face of opposition, especially not losing the point or your composure, is a special skill. Rita Hart may not quite be in the ranks of Jack Smith, but it was easy to see that she could listen and reflect without her emotions getting tangled in a tense conversation.

There’s a need for many more volunteers. If you’re people-phobic, too, you can still help. Offer to write postcards or become a driver. Take a shift in the local headquarters to prepare handouts for canvassers.

And tell everyone you know — no matter their political stripe — to vote NO on Amendment 1 on Nov. 3.

* For those keeping score, Smith has testified three times: twice to the House Judiciary Committee (first, a private deposition in December 2025 and second, public testimony a month later) and most recently to the Senate Judiciary.

Joan Zwagerman writes (and drives canvassers) from Storm Lake.