It's been a tough week to remember that there are good people in this world. But a surprise visit, even on the worst of Election Days, was a reminder that there are lights in the darkness.
Last Tuesday I volunteered as a poll challenger along with the staff and volunteer teams at Rising Voices. In addition to campaigning for months for Harris and a slate of statewide candidates, we signed up to work election protection, and so under the guidance of Promote the Vote our people and partners were spread out over 75 polling locations to monitor and make sure votes got cast and counted.
The night before I was nervous, as there had been a lot of worried discussions about possible violence at the polls. The staff had undergone de-escalation exercises in addition to our certification training and a network of on-call legal experts and support staff would be on hand, but it was still nerve-wracking to say the least. Though already exhausted from the campaign it was hard to force myself to sleep to make the 5am call and I ended up doomscrolling on my phone for distraction.
A memory on Facebook popped up: a photo of me and my cousin Yolanda, at dinner at SheWolf Pasticio restaurant in Detroit. And with us at the table behind a mound of pistachio gelato in the foreground, Bishop Gumbleton. The date was November 5, 2023.
I didn't realize that Election Day 2024 would be exactly one year to the day since I last spent time with Tom.
Tears started to come down. The fears and anxiety and exhaustion of the election combined with grief were too much for the moment. It was one thing to miss a friend; it was entirely another thing to miss a friend whose life and presence was an example of good people of conscience doing the work of justice in the world. The ugly rhetoric, violence and sheer despair that hung around the election made the absence of the Jedi Master acutely painful.
I missed Tom terribly. There was nothing to do but curl up under the blanket and cry myself to sleep.
Just a few hours later, David and I reported to Precincts 12 and 15 in St. Clair Shores, where we had been randomly assigned. Both polling locations were in one building, the VFW Hall. After introducing ourselves to the precinct chairs and running through our checklists I set myself to walking back and forth across the large room between the two precincts to observe while David stationed himself at the public viewing area and occasionally walked outside to estimate waiting times for each line. Though apprehensive, we found that the poll workers had set up an efficient operation and voting commenced promptly without major delays.
No major issues cropped up, and certainly nothing as violent as we feared. For the most part, the poll workers were genial and accommodating and the voters were respectful and polite. I chatted pleasantly with the precinct chairs, who were kind and patient. But as the morning wore on I began to notice from a growing number of voters and a couple poll workers a palpable discomfort beneath the polite interactions.
It was an experience that would no doubt be familiar to most people of color in an all-white space: a feeling of strained tolerance for one’s presence, the discomfort of being stared at and having one’s credibility evaluated, glances of suspicion, and beneath it all a palpable undercurrent of resentment and anger. A few voters came in with MAGA hats and shirts on, though they were promptly told by poll workers to remove them. Another man stared me down, then whispered angrily to his wife. An older blonde woman in a sweater decorated with an American flag glared at me with defiance, as if to say “I belong here, you don’t, and we are going to teach you people a lesson.” There was no doubt that many of the voters coming in with absolute determination to support Trump and everything he promised them: a white, Christian nation with people like me put back into place at the bottom of the heap where we belong.
It felt pretty damn lonely.
I started to feel depressed.
I missed Tom more than ever.
But then—across the room, a voice called out: “Jasmine! David! IT’S ME, BISHOP GUMBLETON!”
And there, standing in line to vote at one of the precincts was Jonathan Stewart, the actor who had played Tom in my short film American Prophet. It had been nearly ten years since we had last seen each other in New York City, but Jonathan was the same: tall, lanky and sweet, only sporting a beard and the more tired stance of a father of three young children. He was waving wildly with a huge smile on his face, and I stared at him, dumbfounded.
“JONATHAN!”
I ran up to hug the guy. Poll challengers are not allowed to talk to voters unless first approached, but to hell with the protocols. Out of the thousands of polling precincts in the United States Jonathan had walked into the one that I was assigned to, during my shift, and exactly when I needed something or someone to lift my heart out of its loneliness.
David and I chatted with Jonathan as the line moved along, then left him to do his civic duty and cast his ballot. When he finished I walked out with him and we talked more outside on the porch, catching up on family news and film careers and life in general. We talked about moving back home to family from LA and NYC. We talked about missing Tom. Jonathan talked about missing his beloved grandfather. And we promised to reach out and make sure we stayed connected, not just on film sets but as people who had once shared an incredible experience of making art and had no excuse to not remain friends.
Jonathan left, and David and I finished out our shift. Later I commented on the incredible odds of Jonathan walking into our precinct and we agreed that if this meeting was a nudge from Tom in Heaven, it was definitely right on the nose.
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In the wake of the election results, I like so many others am heartbroken and exhausted. I don’t know what to make of the state of our country and the people who decided to support a person who stands against everything I have been taught to be good. I don’t know what to make of the future, and as a leader for my organization I don’t have answers or strategy or a clear path forward for the enormous work we have to do. Like so many I feel stymied, wounded and lost.
Election Day in 2024 will forever be a dark day of reckoning with the reality of our national character and the people around us we thought we could trust, including loved ones and family who seem to have thrown us under the bus. The utterly baffling choice they made to thrown their lot in with a rapist and white supremacist is a decision set to haunt us for years to come.
But I think about Jonathan’s miraculous appearance that morning, and wonder what the universe meant by it. It could simply be coincidental, to be sure. It could also be an opportunity to remember that even in the midst of loneliness, fear and hate there are people in the world who are loving, kind and good.
When Jonathan was cast as Tom for the film, he was faced with the daunting task of playing a person who was known and beloved by many people worldwide. The sheer pressure of having to fill those shoes as an actor was no doubt terrifying. But instead of being left to struggle alone, Jonathan was supported by a vast community of people who wished him well and wanted him to succeed—friends of Tom who had known him for decades, his secretaries who took Jonathan under their wing, the priests and hockey coaches and family who came out to give Jonathan the knowledge and support he needed to do the work he had to do.
It is amazing what a beloved community can achieve when called together to create something beautiful.
I also think about that last dinner with Tom. I think about how Yolanda and I waited for him to say grace when our food arrived, but instead of praying he gave us a linguistics lesson: “In the Bible there is a saying in one of the scriptures, ‘estote eucharisteo’. Do you know what that means? It means ‘be gratitude’. Some people translate it incorrectly as ‘give thanks’. That’s not it. It’s like my bishop’s motto, ‘Estote Factores Verbi’, which means ‘Be Doers of the Word’. The phrase ‘estote eucharisteo’ really means ‘BE gratitude.’ EMBODY gratitude. Let that be your very being, every part of you.”
And so even in the midst of the pain and bewilderment of these past days and the inevitable grief that is to come, I hold that memory close. I try to remember and practice estote eucharisteo despite the onslaught of fear and sadness this coming administration brings. I try to be gratitude, not just for myself, but for the beloved community we need to build in order to survive the coming years. I hold gratitude for the example of Tom's life and the fight for justice he never abandoned despite countless heartbreaks and setbacks. I hold gratitude for Jonathan, not just his hard work on the film but also for his calling out my name across the polling station, and the light he brought in the midst of that difficult day. I thank him for doing his civic duty, and I thank the universe for sending me a reminder of loving kindness when I most needed it.
There are good people in this world.
There are lights in the darkness if we reach out.
We can get through this together. And for that, I remember to be gratitude itself.
