When I’m not knocking on exam-room doors as a pediatrician in New York City, I’m knocking on voters’ doors in Northampton, Pennsylvania—a small county that could determine the outcome of this year’s nail-biting presidential election.
Each time I walk up to a voter’s front door, my heartbeat quickens. You would think a doctor who talks to total strangers every day would be immune to such jitters. But even with a door-knocking or “canvas buddy” that the campaign pairs me with—I’m nervous.
On a picture-perfect fall day, we’re in an apartment complex. The canvassing app says this is the home of a 26-year-old male independent voter. Just before knocking, I scan for signage. I don’t see Trump flags or “no soliciting” posters nearby. I can’t help but look between the vertical window blinds to make sure I’m not staring down the barrel of a shotgun aimed at a “pet-eating criminal migrant,” albeit an Indian American woman physician born in NJ.
After we wait for about 30 seconds, I’m both relieved and disappointed that no one answers. I haven’t been shot at, but I haven’t secured any votes either. I slide the campaign flyer halfway beneath the door while my buddy marks “did not make contact” in the app. As we move a few steps away, onto the next apartment, we hear a rustling noise. We see the flyer disappear and the 26-year-old’s door open halfway.
A healthy-appearing young Black man leans out and glances our way.
“Hi, my name is Nina. We are volunteers with the Harris campaign,” I say. Since he doesn’t outright slam the door, I take it as an opening and ask, “Will you be voting?”
“No,” he replies. I freeze for a moment. Then I ask, “Is there a reason?”
“I’m experiencing financial difficulty,” he says as he looks at the campaign flyer in his hand.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I say, and then awkwardly add, “Kamala Harris is advocating for the middle class.”
“I’ve got financial difficulty, and no, I’m not voting,” he says flatly, still looking at the flyer.
“No problem. Thank you,” I say as he shuts his door.
We pause for a moment before continuing onward. What just happened? What could I have done better? My goal was to get this young man’s vote, but at that moment, I felt his frustration. He was the exact type of voter we need to get to the polls this November: undecided or feeling that he and his vote don’t matter.
After having spent nearly 30 years in underserved communities, the physician in me wanted to go back and knock on his door again. I would get a complete history, screen for depression, connect him with resources, and check on him in a week.
Maybe I’d learn he’s a father, and I could tell him that Kamala Harris plans to offer subsidized childcare and expand the child tax credit. Maybe I’d learn he’s struggling to afford rent, and I could tell him about her plans to build more affordable housing. Maybe I’d learn he feels unsafe in his community, and I’d tell him that violent crime has come down with the passage of the Bipartisan Safer Communities Act, led by Kamala Harris. Or maybe I’d learn that he has an ailing mother, and I could highlight Kamala’s plan to support home health care.
As I knock on more doors, I’m learning that canvassing is more than political campaigning. It makes me a better doctor. Getting outside of my New York City bubble, I get to speak with people, for as long as they’ll keep their door open, about issues that are important to them. I’ve gained more understanding about vaccine refusal and how to combat medical misinformation.
Above all else, campaigning reminds me of what I enjoy most about being a pediatrician —listening to my patients and enabling them to feel that they matter. Knowing that many Americans still trust physicians makes me feel hopeful. But we, as physicians, need to do our part beyond the exam room.
On October 26, I’m excited to lead health professionals for a National Canvas Day. We’ll talk with swing state voters across the country about why we support Kamala Harris for president. While we may not change any minds, we’ll get a tiny glimpse into our patients’ lives that we would never see in our clinics. And, hopefully, we’ll learn how to be better listeners—the key to crossing the aisle of life.
Nina Agrawal is a pediatrician.
