Playing Politics : Computer Campaign Teaches Strategy to Women Would-Be Candidates

The campaign strategists were in a dither. The election was imminent, their candidate’s lead had evaporated and they didn’t have enough cash to send out one last mailer. The only options left to the seven women huddled around the table were to send their volunteers on a walking tour of key precincts or get them on the phones to voters.

They argued. Time was running out. A decision had to be made.

The campaign manager, a large, looming woman with a riveting stare, ended the wrangling:

“It’s too late to walk. We gotta get ‘em out to vote. Let’s do the phones.”

The election campaign existed only in a computer program, and the “strategists” were only participants in a seminar held recently at Rancho Santiago College, but everything else about this scene--tough choices under great pressure--was true to life.

“This is loads of fun and a very exciting way to develop the professional skills women need to acquire if they’re going to be elected,” said Sherry Baum, a trustee of the Coast Community College District and one of the organizers of the campaign computer game.

“This shows you everything you have to do: make strategy, raise money, make decisions under stressful conditions. It’s a microcosm of the real election world.”

Marcia Milchiker, president of the Orange County chapter of the California Elected Women’s Assn. for Education and Research, said her group sponsored the seminar as a small step toward overcoming the gap between women’s proportion of the population and their share of elected offices.

Of the 1,810 elected officials in Orange County, 599, or one-third, are women, according to the research association. The group also points out that:

- No women represent Orange County in Congress.

- Only two of the 12 members of the county’s state legislative delegation are women.

- Women do best as candidates in races for school boards and county commissions.

To give aspiring women pols a taste of what it takes to run for office, Milchiker arranged for a playing of the campaign game, designed by Atlantic Richfield Co., as a means of bolstering interest in grass-roots politics.

The game simulates a congressional race between two fictional candidates--an established Republican state senator, Richard Roper, and a Democratic lawyer and community activist, Herbert (Hook) Johnson.

About 50 participants--including seven men and a mix of elected officials and would-be officials--were divided into three sets of two opposing teams, each made up of six to eight members.

Each team had to make critical decisions about fund raising, strategy and polling, feed their decisions into the computer and wait for the report of how many votes and dollars they had racked up. Their opponent’s progress was similarly charted.

The game lasted for 16 turns--about 3 1/2 hours--representing an 18-week campaign.

The team called Johnson I was typical. The team handled its first task--choosing a campaign manager--with ease. Caroline Sobelman of Garden Grove, who has managed several lower-level Orange County campaigns, was chosen with almost no discussion.

“Three of us know her and the rest of us just know she’s the one,” explained team member Charlene Turko, an Irvine community activist.

The team chose a computerized campaign consultant, one specializing in direct-mail campaigns, and the race was on.

The game uses tight time limits on decisions as a way of simulating the real-life pressures of campaigning. The big Sony screen flashed “TIME!!!” at the end of each turn.

Intensity built quickly in the Johnson I team.

Turko, designated as the group’s finance director, shoved her chair aside, kicked off her shoes and spent most of the game on her feet, pacing or leaning on the table.

Issues, and the candidates’ stands, were never discussed. Money was the No. 1 concern of the fledgling campaign team: whom to tap and how to raise it.

The strategists argued over going for quick money or trying to build name recognition first. They went for quick money.

After each round of decisions the team received a printout of results. The team members crowded together to see how they had done on their first fund-raiser.

Bad news.

“We should have had him (the candidate) make an appearance first,” lamented Karen Krause of Dana Point. Krause is a UC Santa Barbara student who has interned on the White House staff and is working in the campaign of state Sen. John Seymour (R-Anaheim) for lieutenant governor.

While wrestling with money-raising decisions, the team also had to decide which parts of the district to target with appearances and a direct-mail campaign.

One area was wealthy but strongly Republican, with a few pockets of “limousine liberal” money that could be tapped. Should the team spend any of its precious resources campaigning in Republican territory?

Some team members argued that they should try to win over the enemy.

Campaign manager Sobelman put a quick stop to the talk. “Forget the Republicans. They’ll never swing over.”

Instead they decided to mobilize the traditional Democratic stronghold: an area with a high concentration of union workers.

They made slow but steady progress. Money seeped in, the number of volunteers inched up and the voter projection gave Johnson the edge.

Then, a blunder.

Finance director Turko said, “Let’s do a debate.” The others agreed, and the team challenged the Republican.

The rules of the game allow the challenged team to choose the location for the debate. The Republicans picked a senior citizens area of the district.

Johnson lost the debate and a big chunk of the senior vote.

As election day approached, the tide shifted against Johnson, and the team was gripped by anxiety. The pitch of constant cross-talk at the table rose.

“Our opponent hasn’t stubbed his toes yet,” fretted the campaign manager. “And we’ve only got 37 damn volunteers.”

Suddenly, as if in a telepathically shared vision, the Johnson team got it together in the waning days of the campaign. They argued less. They planned ahead. They divided the money, polling and demographic targeting duties smoothly. They began to see clearly where they were going to have to work hardest to get their candidate elected.

“Doesn’t he need to shake hands and say, ‘ Hola , senorita ‘?” asked Turko.

“Yes,” the team responded in unison, and a coherent strategy to clinch the Latino vote was put together.

In the midst of this fevered discussion, Sherry Baum’s earring clattered to the floor. A few team members moved to look for it, but Baum barked, “Worry about campaigning. Forget my earring!”

Finally, the day before the election, Johnson and Roper were in a dead heat. The Johnson war chest was nearly depleted. His opponent was running TV ads far beyond Johnson’s means. The Johnson I team chose as its final get-out-the-vote weapon a phone bank in the heavily union area of the district.

They settled back for the real agony of the campaign: waiting for the results on election night.

The results were tabulated slowly on the TV screen. The balance teetered.

Then it was official. Johnson pulled it out by 1,847 votes--a margin of less than 1%.

The triumphant strategists erupted in cheering, jumping up and down around the table.

“You’d think we won the lottery,” said a delighted Cara Carothers of Westminster, a Cal State Sacramento student who works as an intern for state Sen. Diane Watson (D-Los Angeles).

“It was wonderful,” she said in the afterglow of victory. “I love politics. It’s always exciting, always different. The game really makes you think about the nuts and bolts of campaigning. One day I’d like to run for the state Senate.”

Marcia Milchiker said she found the experience valuable even though she has already waged a successful real-life campaign for her trustee seat in the Saddleback Community College District

“I got into it. I learned to be more assertive, to say, ‘You have to listen to me.’ And it worked. I’ve loved being a trustee, but I’ve really got the bug now.”