ABOUT
THIS
WEBSITE
In mid-October, after the census count was cut short for the final time by Trump, I came across groups on social media sites that seemed to serve somewhat as therapy for thousands of enumerators. Combing through the posts was like reading my own experiences. The posts asked for guidance for certain situations and awkward interactions; there were lots of stories and anecdotes, good and bad, and many valid complaints about supervisors and incorrect paychecks and the totally insane duo of inept Bureau software and equipment, see A Well-Deserved Martini.
I had come away from the census work with a changed perspective about what constitutes real life--that sounds a little dramatic, I know--and I realized by reading other enumerators' stories that most of them had unique experiences also. No matter how much we
complained or struggled through covid, storms,
wildfires and triple-digit heat, and frequently
dealt in dangerous interactions of an angry political
divide-- stoked further by the cries for social justice--
nearly all enumerators said they wouldn't hesitate
to do it again.
That's why I began compiling these stories.
Those of us who worked the census did our best,
but the havoc caused by the Trump Administration made for
constant uncertainty and undermined the Bureau. We never knew when our job
would end; we had planned to work from August until
the end of October, but that seemed to change daily. We worried that many people would go uncounted, see The Homeless Night; and worse, that the personal information collected would stay private, see How Can I be Sure?
With Trump gone, the Bureau regrouped and in April announced a final population count of just under 331.5 million. Most everyone anticipated the Bureau's struggle to finalize the count, but it is America's slowest rate of growth since the Great Depression, which makes it somewhat surprising that the count's accuracy hasn't been more scrutinized.
This count affects every person in the country. It determines for the next ten years how many congressional representatives and electoral votes each state gets and how much of the trillions in government funding a state receives for essential needs, such as schools, hospitals, public transportation and infrastructure--which can even include fixing potholes.
Other demographic data collected by the census is used by states for congressional and legislative redistricting, an exercise often fraught with controversy when officials manipulate it to redraw maps that benefit their political parties and disenfranchise voters. This data won't be released until late summer or fall, and some states have filed lawsuits against the Bureau claiming the delay will jeopardize their elections. The ramifications of the Trump Administration's plundering the humanity of the 2020 decennial census continue.
So it is because of all this, because we saw the neighborhoods and met the people who desperately need government assistance, and who deserve the right to equal representation, all politics aside, that we took the job seriously. And sometimes, though infrequent, someone would thank us for serving our country...just a small gesture of cordiality, but it helped keep us going.
ABOUT ME
By Maryann Hudson
I have lived in Southern California most of my life, grew up in the city of Pomona and one day fled to the next town over because the Blacks were moving in and it scared my parents. I played outside my house during the Watts riots and saw hazy images on TV, or maybe it was photos in the newspaper, but it all seemed so far away, like in another country. Not just 45 minutes down the highway.
I was a reporter for the L.A. Times for 10 years, worked for the Dodgers before that, and thought I knew the city. I lived in downtown L.A. before it was trendy DTLA. I put myself through USC and worked full time so my classes were at night. I couldn’t afford the parking fee, so I parked and walked to campus through what some called seedy neighborhoods, but I was never afraid.
I did some journalism mentoring in South
Central at an elementary school, and took two
10-year-old boys to their first Dodger game.
They lived in the shadow of the stadium but had
never been there. When I dropped one of them
off at home, about 9:30 p.m., and it was
dark, and his parents weren’t there, I was like,
What? Nobody’s home? Who does that? The boy
knew where to find the key and said he’d be fine, but I wouldn’t leave him. He said he would go in and wait for his parents. He thought they might be at a street carnival. I took him to the carnival.
Being a child of tireless providers who saved for years before they could buy a house, put potatoes in hamburger meat so it made more and could never afford a color TV, I always thought I knew real life. But I had no idea.
That is, until I became a census taker...see my story
