Democrats blue over rural vote

Sunday, July 16, 2006 | 7:47 a.m.

John Murray wants to talk about getting Democrats elected in November, but all Carol Sirnes wants to talk about is her husband, Slim. He died in December. She leads Murray around her property, a collection of motor homes and ingenious use of recycled materials in Goldfield in Esmeralda County.

Sirnes, a 74-year-old Democratic activist, shows off Slim's folk art, made from aluminum he salvaged from soda cans. The opening to their greenhouse he made from a refrigerator door, for insulation. She and Slim twice went to Burning Man, the art festival in the Black Rock Desert, she recalls, longingly.

"My old man," she calls him.

Murray, one of two rural coordinators for the Nevada Democratic Party, ducks his rangy frame around the small home, listening intently. He leaves some campaign materials and they promise to talk soon. Hugs all around.

Moments later, he reflects on this stop: "You go with the army you have."

Murray and Carissa Snedeker, his Northern Nevada counterpart, are Democrats operating behind enemy lines. After Republicans pummeled them in several consecutive elections in rural America, Howard Dean promised during his campaign for party leader that he would send resources into the Democratic wilderness. The former Vermont governor is now delivering, paying for two rural coordinators in Nevada, for instance.

Murray is organizing Democrats, recruiting volunteers, ferrying candidates into places such as Lincoln County, where President Bush beat Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry by 57 percentage points in 2004.

Those margins in rural counties, where voter turnout is extraordinary, are what delivered Bush's narrow victory in Nevada in 2004, Sen. Harry Reid, D-Nev., says.

The lonely Democrats in rural Nevada are ecstatic, getting the attention and help they've craved for years, and they say the effort is paying dividends. Some political scientists say even a slight change in Democratic fortunes in rural America could end their recent slide. Others disagree, saying this effort could be a waste of precious resources in a year when a few races could determine who controls Congress.

Murray is convinced he's making a difference, despite the absurdities of his job. On a recent trek across his southern counties, he drives more than 500 miles in a single day, past the Nevada Test Site and Yucca Mountain, mines and brothels.

He will meet with a grand total of eight activists.

Murray stops first outside of Pahrump, where he's based, to meet Loyal Watkins, chairman of the Nye County Democrats.

Watkins, who's 55 and wearing a white tank top, treats the 30-year-old Murray like a nephew. Asked whether the Democrats are making headway in the county, Watkins looks stunned the question need even be asked: "Ooh, goodness yes. This is one of the best things they've done. God they're doing a good job."

At his first central committee meeting in 1998, there were three people, he says. Their biggest meeting this year drew 73.

But will it be enough to make a difference?

"The trick is not to win those counties, but not lose them so badly," says David Lublin, an American University political scientist.

Karl Agne, a national Democratic strategist who has done extensive focus groups on rural voters, says that Reid should be the model. Indeed. In Douglas County, Reid lost by 7 percentage points in 2004 - a far better showing than Kerry's 30-point humiliation to Bush.

The question is how to appeal to rural voters in an election year without the benefit of Reid's incumbency and all the federal projects he has brought to rural Nevada.

Mark Warner, the former Virginia governor who held his own in rural parts of his state and hopes to do the same nationally in his presumed presidential run, says it's not complicated: "You've got to show up."

Murray mimics that on his way to Beatty, where he stops at Revert's tire shop to see Bobby Revert, the owner's father. A sign at the shop reads, "Absolutely! No tools loaned." Murray gives Revert some campaign road signs, and they talk a bit.

These visits are important because they have a multiplier effect: Each meeting will lead to a conversation at the barber shop or grocery store about how the Democrats came to town, both Murray and Warner say.

"Don't underestimate the power of the grapevine in rural America," Murray says.

Agne says that by staying away from rural America for so long, Democrats have allowed Republicans to define and caricature them, particularly on social issues.

Murray agrees: "If you don't show up, people will only hear what Republicans say about you." He cites Kerry. Portrayed as a coastal, latte-drinking liberal, the Massachusetts senator had no presence in rural areas to refute it.

Democrats need to forcefully explain their convictions, even if they're out of step with rural voters, Agne says. He cites Virginia Gov. Tim Kaine, who repeatedly and cogently explained his opposition to the death penalty and won even though 80 percent of Virginians disagree with him on that issue.

Some political scientists believe Americans can live with candidates with whom they disagree on some issues.

Morris Fiorina, a Stanford political scientist and author of "Culture War?" argues that the nation is not polarized in the way media hype has led everyone to believe. The country is not two warring tribes. Although Americans at the outer edges of politics are more polarized, the broad middle, Fiorina says, remains moderate and persuadable: "Most people are fairly moderate and ambivalent."

If true, this is welcome news for Nevada Democrats trying to persuade rural voters to cross over. The standard Democratic strategy has been to find unregistered people likely to vote Democrat, such as minorities and the poor, and drag them to the polls. But there are fewer unregistered voters in rural America, which means they often have to persuade people to stop voting Republican.

Snedeker, the Democratic coordinator based in Fernley, has what she calls her "friends and family plan." She encourages her volunteers to talk to friends, family and neighbors, even if they're afraid to because voting Democratic in rural Nevada has become almost socially unacceptable.

"People are more and more reticent about saying, 'I'm a Democrat,' " she says.

Just why is no mystery to the Republican National Committee.

"We share the values and interests of people in rural America. Howard Dean is taking fish out of water with no way to swim. The Democrats have no issues in rural America," says Tucker Bounds, an RNC spokesman.

James Gimpel, a University of Maryland political scientist, says there are perfectly good reasons Democrats are in crisis in rural America.

"It might be tempting for Democrats to think they can win this population, but they might be fooling themselves," he says.

There's consensus among political scientists that the gun control issue alone cost the Democrats any hope in rural America in 1994 and 2000.

One line of thinking has it that if Democrats can neutralize social issues - as they've done on gun control by giving up on it - they can win on bread-and-butter economic issues.

Gimpel disagrees. Many people in rural areas are homeowners and view themselves as entrepreneurs, he says. As such, they like Republican economic policies of low taxes and no government regulation.

Moreover, if rural voters who work in Nevada's mines associate the Democrats with the environmental movement, that's another strike against them.

"You're asking them to turn aside from their religious convictions, their economic view of themselves, and asking them to turn to a party that embraces the environmental movement. I'm skeptical," Gimpel says.

If anyone can make headway, it's Murray. He seems perfectly at home in the Nevada outback. He grew up in rural Virginia and graduated from the University of Virginia. He has since worked as a baggage handler in Wyoming, led fly-fishing tours and worked as a deckhand on a rich Republican's yacht. He has sold cars, worked in a convenience store and answered phones for H&R Block during tax season.

He has an easy, folksy manner and the women clearly love him.

Murray drives into Manhattan, population 50 and resting in the geographic center of the state. It's a town of tin shacks, trailers, small homes, outbuildings and two bars. Murray meets with two local activists, Tony Grimes and Judy Yates. They say the Democrats are better organized in their area than ever before, and that Republicans are being punished by gasoline prices.

In rural Nevada, gasoline prices are a big issue because people have to drive great distances to go to the dentist or even fetch groceries. A couple of weeks ago, gasoline was $3.35 a gallon, about 35 cents more than in Las Vegas.

Moreover, people connect the nation's energy crisis and the ongoing war in Iraq, Grimes and Yates say.

Murray and Grimes drive to Hadley to put up signs in the shadow of a gold mine. Grimes is happy to pitch in, perhaps in part because Murray has brought rebar to put up the signs. Everyone can use a little extra rebar.

In Goldfield, Murray stops to see Dick Champ, a Democrat who owns a bar with a sign on the wall: "Goldfield is so small the only hooker is a virgin."

Champ has a bulbous nose and smokes one cigarette after another. He's a single-issue voter this fall. No more immigrants, he says, so he won't be voting Democrat.

Murray is clearly frustrated when he gets back in his truck, only slightly relieved that Republicans are having no easier time on the issue.

Although he spends most days organizing and recruiting by phone, his journey shows how expensive this venture is for Democrats.

Agne says he admires Dean's long-term commitment, but he's afraid this effort, which has cost the Democrats millions, will inhibit their efforts in the fall:

"The DNC is in real danger of being overwhelmed in the later stages. That's something that concerns me, that they don't have the money on hand for the end. That's a huge concern for me."