The art of getting attention

Natalie Sugira usually reserves Friday nights for family. But recently, she abandoned her husband and three children for the evening and drove 120 miles to spend less than two minutes with presidential hopeful John Edwards.

She wanted to discuss world hunger and Africa and its miseries, subjects that Sugira -- a political refugee from Rwanda -- knows well. “It’s simple,” Sugira said, her eyes steady on Route 150. “I speak out because I can.”

In August, she quit her job at the University of Northern Iowa and took a pay cut to join the One campaign, a group co-founded by U2 rock star Bono to press lawmakers to fight poverty, and promote education and healthcare around the world. In doing so, Sugira joined a small army of activists swarming Iowa and New Hampshire this election season, representing causes as varied as the White House contenders they court: taxation, education, Darfur, gay rights, global warming, defense spending, chronic illness.

They share a common goal -- pushing their issue to the top of the nation’s political agenda -- and they target the early-voting states for a reason: Those are where the presidential candidates devote most of their time.

Beyond that, Iowa and New Hampshire have a long tradition of up-close, one-on-one campaigning, which creates a dialogue between those running and those voting that is impossible to match just about anyplace else.

“That style of retail politics gives more of an opportunity not just to individuals but also interest groups to get to the candidates,” said Dennis Goldford, a political scientist at Drake University in Des Moines.

Holding placards and wearing T-shirts promoting their cause, issue advocates are easy to spot as they trail the White House hopefuls from one event to the next. They scour the crowds for recruits, and compete to quiz the candidates or encourage their supporters to do so: “How would your administration work to reduce the number of people without adequate food and water?” “How would your administration make children’s health a priority?”

The causes are serious, but their champions aren’t always so. In 2000, people in fuzzy pink pig suits chased Steve Forbes, Gary Bauer and other presidential candidates across New Hampshire, protesting fur coats, factory farming and other animal-rights issues. The pigs are gone this year, but there is a walking snowman who campaigns against global warming and a woman in a bright-red apple suit stumping for education.

The aim is to get attention, build a public following and have candidates promise action, so that whoever wins the race feels obliged to follow through once in the White House. “When candidates go to events and people everywhere are asking about global poverty, they understand it’s not just the same five people who care,” said Libby Crimmings, Iowa director of the One campaign.

Though interest groups converge on the contenders every presidential election, political veterans say they have never been as numerous as this year. In August, nearly 20 issue groups had booths at the GOP straw poll in Ames, Iowa; there were only a handful eight years ago. In September, more than a dozen organizations were present at Iowa Sen. Tom Harkin’s annual Democratic steak fry in Indianola.

Critics say the proliferation of these groups has made government grow as candidates offer expensive promises to pander to special interests. Jason Hamann, a family farmer from Correctionville, co-founded Everyday America to fight the influence of single-issue groups and promote limited government. “It’s just a big money grab,” Hamann said.

Others disagree, among them Terry Branstad, Iowa’s Republican former governor, who has lent his name to several causes this election season, including education reform, disease prevention and the One campaign. “With Iraq and the international war on terrorism dominating so much attention, it is helpful to have organized groups asking candidates to focus on these issues,” Branstad said.

For Sugira, 42, involvement in the One campaign is a way to repay her good fortune and help those she left behind -- including two brothers and two sisters.

Driving to Edwards’ appearance in tiny Fayette, past mile after mile of withered cornstalks, she took a hand off the wheel and pantomimed a chopping motion to show how her father was hacked to death by a neighbor. Sugira’s mother and three other siblings also died in 1994 in the Rwandan genocide.

“This country is a country of possibilities,” she said of America and her work for the One campaign. “I feel I should take that opportunity to do good and try to help others. . . . My job is to tell people how it is back home.”

Sugira seems impossibly upbeat, given the horror she knows. She wears a gold bracelet consisting of six interlocking words: “love,” “hope,” “joy,” “truth,” “faith” and “grace.” If there is something absurdly epic about her mission, something akin to bailing the ocean with a teacup, she isn’t daunted.

“I’m not naive,” Sugira said. “I don’t think tomorrow millions of poor children are suddenly going to be able to go to school. But if even five children can get an education because of our efforts, then it’s worth it.”

The One campaign was founded in May 2004, with splashy celebrity endorsements and strong support from Democrats and Republicans alike. No one favors poverty, hunger or disease. The problem, said Jessica Vanden Berg, a strategist at the group’s Washington, D.C., headquarters, is that most people -- and most political candidates -- don’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about the issue.

So the organization has sought to build awareness by promoting the United Nations Millennium Development Goals, which aim, among other things, to halve the rate of extreme poverty, reduce child mortality and stop the spread of HIV/AIDS by 2015. The One campaign claims more than 2.4 million supporters nationwide, including 24,000 in Iowa.

All the major presidential candidates have endorsed its goals; One campaign staffers have even been invited onstage to promote their cause. “They do wonderful things all over the world,” Republican Sen. John McCain of Arizona told a Waterloo audience before handing the microphone to Sugira. “Thank you for being here.”

The group’s Iowa headquarters is near the state Capitol in Des Moines’ East Village, a trendy neighborhood of lofts, upscale boutiques and a small grocery that sells microbrews and organic chocolates.

Despite an abundance of youth, the 1,100-square-foot office has a decidedly corporate feel. The walls are bare, save for One signs and a small black-and-white gallery of celebrities wearing the group’s white wristbands.

Part of an opposite wall is decorated with T-shirts autographed by presidential hopefuls Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee, Christopher J. Dodd and others, as well as photos of candidates -- Democratic and Republican -- posing with One staffers. Mostly, the office is quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the sound of fingers clacking on keyboards.

When they’re not busy questioning and trying to “band” the presidential contenders -- the term for slipping a wristband over a candidate’s fist to promote the group’s efforts -- Crimmings and her team of half a dozen staffers plot other ways to get attention. “Put on a clown suit,” Crimmings, 24, suggested at a recent staff meeting. “Put on a Bono suit and jump around. Brainstorm. I don’t care how crazy.”

Most of the staff arrived with skills honed in other campaigns. Crimmings, who comes from a family of staunch Democrats, began planting yard signs as a girl. A Democratic colleague worked for the state party. Two 20-something Republicans were hired after cash-strapped McCain cut back his Iowa office, and a third volunteered on President Bush’s 2004 reelection effort.

Several were attracted by the chance to set aside party labels and “fight jointly for a cause that everyone should care about,” as Michele Meyer, a 21-year-old Republican staffer, put it. “The work is political, but it’s not just about politics.”

The hours are long and the pay doesn’t go far, especially with an aggressive parking monitor writing $15 tickets outside headquarters. Staffers are reimbursed only for gas and meals -- $10 a day, provided they travel during lunch or dinner. When they’re not chasing candidates, they reach out to religious groups, college campuses and political activists across the state, seeking volunteers and scouting for concerts, church services, sporting events and other activities to attend.

“There are only so many pictures you can take with the candidates,” Crimmings said as she drove to Ames for a political action week rally put on by Iowa State University, her alma mater.

On campus, Crimmings handed out brochures: “Ever hear of the One campaign? Want a quick and dirty version?”

Sugira clutched a microphone and spoke over the caroling bells of the nearby campanile. She told how her husband arrived from Rwanda in 1989 as a Fulbright scholar, allowing her to join him a year later. How their relatives were killed and the couple received political asylum. How they settled in Cedar Falls, where Sugira’s husband, Pierre-Damien Mvuyekure, teaches literature at the University of Northern Iowa. Sugira earned a master’s in community health education and worked in the admissions office before joining the One campaign.

“I’m living proof that U.S. generosity works,” she concluded, as about two dozen students ate pizza on the grassy quad, paying little mind.

Edwards proved more attentive a few days later.

Sugira waited until after he had finished speaking -- and a student supporting the One campaign asked about world hunger -- before she approached the former North Carolina senator during his stop at Upper Iowa University.

“Do you feel poverty is a national security issue?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” the Democrat replied.

For about 90 seconds, the two discussed poverty in Africa, the work of the One campaign and efforts to bypass corrupt governments by delivering aid directly to the poor. Edwards accepted a white wristband and posed for pictures with two students in black-and-white One T-shirts.

In all, the round trip took about 6 1/2 hours. Sugira returned home to cold chicken and a chilly reception. Her husband and children don’t appreciate her time away. But Sugira said missing family night was worth it.

“Sometimes,” she said, “you have to sacrifice.”

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mark.barabak@latimes.com