VOP Front Porch Diaries

Naomi Huntingdon

Roanoke Team

At the very beginning of the summer, a fellow intern remarked that you never know what’s going to happen on someone’s front porch. “Every door is different,” she said, and I’ve remembered that refrain with remarkable frequency. I can’t count the number of times I’ve turned away from a conversation on someone’s steps, stinging by the harshness of their rejection or aching because of their lack of empathy for others. And as I walk away from the door, I force myself to remember that every door is different, and that the next conversation I have may cause someone to register to vote for the first time, may be the reason Senator Warner takes a stand in favor of a public health care option, may even change my life. Every door is different, and so I have learned that I must channel my frustration with the startling lack of concern for others exhibitted by so many people into an energy that can be used to advance our cause of social justice.

And so the cold, harsh anger that is always induced by callous statements such as, “I have health insurance; the system must be working–it’s the people who aren’t,” becomes a tool. I am able to use it as I imagine what it would be like to worry about my family getting the medications that they need. I am able to use it as I remember the hundreds of people I’ve spoken with who are living day to day, making tough choices between food, medicine, and electricity. And I am able to use it as I envision a future in which the idea of being unable to obtain a lifesaving surgery will be as foreign as a the idea as being denied the right to vote because of your gender or race, being barred from the freedoms of speech and religion, or being refused the guarantee of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

On some days, it is hard not to become discouraged. On bad days, the refusals tend to wear you down at a much faster rate; the doors seem to slam louder, and the glares seem to be just a bit more mean. But the vision of a country in which nobody stays up at night, wondering whether or not they’ll be able to pay for both their medications and their groceries, or worrying that they’ll have to choose between their child’s visit to the doctor and her school clothes, is far stronger than those bad days. So I knock on a door that I hope will yield a better result–every door is different. And I pick up the phone, calling Senator Warner’s office again to remind him that my name is Naomi Huntington, I am from Christiansburg, and yes, I am still in favor of a public health care option.