"She asked me three times, but I was busy working and going to school," he says. Her persistence paid off, and Gonzalez finally agreed to attend a group meeting.
"They were talking about how bad Latino voter turnout was, and I thought it was just ridiculous. It blew my mind," he says. "But then something clicked. Until people come out to vote, though, nothing is going to change."
Jamie Peachey
Viri Hernandez
Jamie Peachey
Tony Valdovinos
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And he believes change is long overdue.
In 2011, aside from community colleges hiking tuition rates for undocumented students, Sheriff Joe Arpaio proudly continued his racial-profiling raids and roundups of illegal immigrants.
Latino and civil rights activists continued their fight in court to overturn SB 1070, a measure that essentially makes local cops enforce federal immigration laws. Parts of the measure, which is still being challenged in court, also criminalizes anyone who drives with an undocumented immigrant in his car.
Former state Senate president Russell Pearce was pushing several other laws to ban undocumented immigrants from attending Arizona schools, going to hospitals, or obtaining birth certificates for their U.S.-born children.
The anti-immigrant views that initially brought him rabid and nationwide popularity became too extreme even for Arizona, and Pearce was booted from office in a November recall election.
DREAM Act students in Mesa, including some who left the West Phoenix campaign to lend their muscle to the Pearce recall, also played a significant behind-the-scenes role in booting the once-powerful Senate president.
De Berge says that the ousting of Pearce in Mesa has demonstrated to Latino leaders that the Latino vote can be mobilized and "even in a hardcore Republican district, they can make a difference."
Valenzuela hired Larios to lend experience on grassroots outreach to his campaign.
Larios started organizing community groups for the AFL-CIO and CASE, a nonprofit that advocates economic equality for working families. Larios now works as a field coordinator for the Maricopa County Democratic Party.
The first step in any successful "ground game" is finding people who care about and have a stake in the community, like students. The next step is teaching them how to harness and focus their passion to yield effective results.
Getting disenfranchised Latinos to vote en masse is what will get politicians' attention.
"What started with six people turned into a group of 96 volunteers," Hernandez says. "We were very strategic about how we did things."
As Nowakowski figured out in 2007, the key to reaching Latino voters is repeatedly and personally reaching out to them. While political fundraising, direct mail, websites, and phone calls are important, nothing comes close to a personal visit from a candidate, one of his family members, or a passionate campaign volunteer.
Traditionally, politicians go after the tried-and-true voters. In the West Phoenix race, the idea was to create new voters.
After analyzing post-election data, political operatives found that 70 percent of first-time Latino voters in the 2011 election were contacted at least twice. Some, many more times. Most of the remaining Latino voters — 90 percent — who did not show up at the polls had been contacted only once.
Student organizers started by breaking up the west side into sections, each taking responsibility for an area. They recruited friends, family, and students from area colleges, high schools, and middle schools.
They persuaded casual volunteers to become members of the group, members to recruit their own teams and become team leaders, and team leaders to become neighborhood organizers by inspiring their recruits to create their own teams.
"Our core team was not made up of casual volunteers," Larios tells New Times. "These guys were hardcore. They took full ownership and responsibility of their areas and of bringing in more people."
Although they were short on cars and drivers with licenses, they crammed into the few cars they did have, sweating in those without air conditioning, sipping on bottles of warm water, and toting clipboards and backpacks stuffed with voting-related forms that residents could fill out on the spot.
"These guys were ready," says Gonzalez of his fellow organizers, especially those without legal status. "They're dying to get out there and make a change. They've been empowered."
It wasn't an easy task they agreed to undertake. Some residents slammed doors in their faces, and angry homeowners yelled at them for their frequent visits.
The resistance they encountered wasn't at every door. Some friends and family members criticized their efforts, saying they were wasting their time or that opportunistic politicians were taking advantage of them.
"Some people said, 'Oh, it's just a council seat or one mayor. It's not a big deal.' We understood that what we were building was power from the bottom up," says Valdovinos, adding that when Stanton's opponent, Wes Gullett, started talking about his support for SB 1070, the teams kicked it into high gear for Stanton.
"We were, like, no! That's why we fought even harder for the mayor's seat," he says. "We were begging for those damn ballots."
As the November election drew close, their days grew longer.
"We went from meeting two times a week to six times a week, working from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m." Hernandez says. "My mom started having a real problem with that."