Voz de la Gente
(Voice of the People)
Juan looked up at the sky. The sun was rising, and a few kids had already shown up to play on the park’s tower, with its jungle gym and two slides. Inside his bag were more than twenty signed mail-in ballots. A good day’s haul. He figured he’d just finish with this last vagrant and head for home.
A particularly distressed young man stood before him. At least I think he’s young, Juan thought. It’s hard to tell. The man’s coat reeked of body odor, his teeth were pitted with cavities, and his eyes flicked from side to side compulsively.
“Hola señor,” the destitute man mumbled. Then he followed with something else Juan couldn’t understand because his accent was so thick and unfamiliar.
Juan flinched. He’s not Mexican. That was easy enough to tell. But that didn’t matter to Juan. He’d met Arabs, Africans, and even a few Chinese people at these voter registration sites. It didn’t matter to him in the least. “Hola, amigo. How can I help you today?”
The man shifted nervously from foot to foot. He spoke slowly and haltingly until Juan could grasp the essence of his request, “They told me you could help me vote. I want to vote.”
“Certainly, brother, I’m your man!” Juan gushed enthusiastically. He didn’t really feel the words he was projecting, but like a carnival barker, he had a script and followed it. “My organization, Voz de la Gente, is a new 501(c)(3) nonprofit newly founded to give our people a voice in the issues that matter most today. Our people have been silent for too long. Your vote matters. You can make a difference today!”
The man returned only a blank stare.
Juan sighed. “You got ID?” he asked.
The man shook his head. No, he didn’t have any form of identification, utility bill, or anything proving he existed. Juan looked at his watch. He shook his head, “I need either the last four digits of a social security number or a driver’s license number. I can’t help you. Get out of here.”
The look of desperation that flashed across the man’s face was startling in its intensity. It scared Juan a little.
“They said you could help me,” he pleaded.
Juan looked up and down the street again. No one was nearby. Then, he returned his gaze to the man standing before him, sizing him up. He sucked a tooth, considering. “Yeah, maybe I can help you. But it’s gonna take a little time, OK?”
“What do I have to do?” The man asked.
Juan pulled a tablet from his satchel and started pulling up a website. “Well, the first thing, we gotta get you an ID. You can’t do nothing without an ID.”
The man slumped, defeated.
“I got you covered,” Juan said. “What’s your name and address?”
“Fernando…” the man pronounced his own name as if it was unfamiliar to him. “Fernando Perez… but I don’t got no street address.”
Juan nodded and kept typing. That’s what he’d expected. “Well, you’re in luck, Fernando. I’ve got a street address for you today. We’re going to use the Voz de la Gente headquarters as your address. OK, now step over here and let me get your picture.”
It took a few minutes for Fernando to smooth his matted hair and straighten his coat, but soon Juan had all the information he needed.
“OK, let me tell you how this works,” Juan began to explain. “I’m going to send this information to a website I know. In about ten days, your new Arizona driver’s license will arrive at my headquarters. You need to meet me back here. I come out every Tuesday and Thursday in the morning. Early, yeah? I can’t stay too long.”
Fernando nodded, “Then I get money?”
Juan’s face twisted into a scowl. “No. Listen, I told you this was going to take some time. You’ve got nothing I can use. You are a lot of trouble for me, OK? You can leave right now if you don’t want to do what I say.”
Fernando shook his head frantically and lowered his gaze to the ground.
Juan cast a sidelong glance at Fernando. Then he said, “OK. You come back here and pick up your driver’s license, and then we’ll register you to vote. After that absentee ballot comes in…”
“Then I get money?” Fernando interrupted.
“No!” Juan barked, “Listen to me, OK? After I get the ballot, and you sign it, then you get the driver’s license.”
Fernando rolled his eyes, swaying back and forth as if he was about to fall over. This guy is loco, Juan thought fearfully. I hope he doesn’t try to jump me.
“What am I going to do with a driver’s license?” A tear escaped the deep creases of Fernando’s weathered eye. “I need money!”
Juan held his hands up, partly to appear sympathetic, partly to protect himself if Fernando tried to jump over the table. “Take it easy, man! Listen to me. Once you get a real license, you can vote a lot of times. Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you out.”
Fernando wiped his eye and sniffed. “Yeah, OK.” He said dejectedly, apparently resigning himself to his pitiful fate.
Against his better judgment, Juan felt sorry for him. “Hey, tell you what. While you’re waiting, what do you think about running a few deliveries for me? It doesn’t pay much, but it might tide you over.”
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