I spent my summer weekends like a door-to-door preacher. Instead of talking about religion, it was something just as likely to get a door slammed in my face— politics. I was canvassing for Chris Ahuja, a Democratic candidate for California’s 32nd Congressional District, who is running against a 30-year Democratic incumbent Brad Sherman. 

My decision to volunteer for Ahuja was reactionary. I was frustrated not only with President Trump, but the ineffective Democratic leadership that led to his win. Change needed to be made to the party— and it needed to be in Congress. I discovered Ahuja’s campaign website. He’s a small business owner in the San Fernando Valley, who held positions in various local councils. After seeing he wished to divest from ICE, I reached out to become a volunteer.

Before I was trained on canvassing, I had already made a blunder. We planned to meet at a specific address before we started. I accidentally knocked on a senior citizen’s door and asked her if it was Ahuja’s home. We were both confused. It turned out we were supposed to meet on the street by that house.

After roaming around the neighborhood, I convened with my canvassing crew down the street from her house. Once everyone arrived, we split into groups and got started. I paired up with Zulema, an experienced political canvasser who got her start in Chile.

My palms were sweaty and it was hot and my heart sank as I knocked on my first door. As an inexperienced canvasser, I often just dropped a line about our candidate’s stances before handing it off to Zulema. Other times, I would go on a long rant to someone who was clearly uninterested. One time, Zulema and I met a man who screamed at us that he didn’t speak Spanish simply because of Zulema’s accent.

Eventually, I figured out my groove. I wasn’t anxious as I approached someone’s doorstep— I was excited. The relief I once felt when someone’s home was vacant turned into disappointment. I stopped worrying about rubbing someone the wrong way; I was worried about persuading them. People weren’t convinced when we weren’t passionate. Change starts with connecting with people, asking questions and letting down our guard.

The final door I knocked on came after Zulema and I canvassed an entire building. We were exhausted. And we were going through the usual motions of explaining what the campaign stood for to our final potential voter— before she interrupted us. 

She was hesitantly supportive of Brad Sherman and thought that when politicians stay in Washington D.C for so long, they become like the trash they wallow in. After some back-and-forth with Zulema, she admitted she couldn’t name anything she disagreed with Brad Sherman on. She told us the work we were doing was necessary. Although she wasn’t ready for change, she was at least curious.

After that, I realized complacency is holding us back. We’ve accepted mediocre politicians who offer no real solutions, focusing only on opposing Republicans, rather than leading our communities.

Ahuja is prioritizing the interests of the San Fernando Valley. That’s why his donors aren’t billionaires or super PACs. When our government is influenced by donors, we lose representation for our community’s needs. Door-knocking is a path forward to a government that represents our interests. No matter what, a human connection can’t be bought.

At first, it may feel intimidating to walk up to people’s doorsteps and ask for a moment of their time. When we communicate with our neighbors and take that scary first step, we can help ensure a government that represents our interests.