The weather was auspicious: at barely 75 degrees, the temperature was unusually low for Arizona in late May. The day should have been a perfect one for buttonholing strangers. But the Democratic political canvassers trying to sign up first-time voters at a bus stop outside Desert Sky, a shopping mall in Phoenix’s Maryvale district, were having little luck.
Maryvale, which was built in the 1950s, during the beginning of the aerospace boom, looks like a run-down southwestern Levittown. As in many original inner-ring suburban neighborhoods throughout the West, the white families who once filled its phalanxes of starter homes have left for bigger houses in newer suburbs. Latino families have taken their place, and department stores with names like La Curacoa and Mercado de Los Cielos have moved into Desert Sky alongside Sears and Dillard’s. When Democratic strategists say the road to the White House “runs through the barrio,” they are talking about places like Maryvale.
Earlier this year, the Obama campaign put two full-time staffers on the ground in Arizona in an effort to rouse what many call the state’s “sleeping giant”: Latino voters. In hopes of further boosting Latino turnout, the president personally recruited a Spanish-speaking moderate named Richard Carmona to run for the Senate seat being vacated by Republican Jon Kyl. Carmona already has a résumé worthy of The Avengers: Vietnam vet with two Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts, homicide detective, SWAT-team leader, trauma surgeon, onetime George W. Bush–administration surgeon general turned principled dissenter. If he wins his race, he’ll add to his résumé Arizona’s first Latino senator. But if he doesn’t, his campaign may be remembered as a symbol of how Democrats misjudged what should be a natural constituency.
After an hour’s work, the four canvassers at the Desert Sky bus stop had succeeded in registering fewer than a dozen new voters. Beatriz Cisneros, a 72-year-old with silver tennis shoes and a determined expression, summoned all her rhetorical powers to persuade one morning shopper to miss the bus and add her name to the rolls. But while Cisneros and the other volunteers energetically talked up health care, education, and jobs with prospective voters, two other topics remained oddly untouched: immigration policy and Richard Carmona. One of the canvassers, a 48-year-old named Hector Acuña, said that Carmona, who was born in Harlem to Puerto Rican parents, hadn’t yet managed to establish much kinship with Arizona’s Latinos. “The name sounds Hispanic,” he said. “But if you talk to folks, they don’t even know he was surgeon general.” Acuña said that Democrats’ past efforts to mobilize Latinos had been “lazy” and “dismissive.” “They have a tendency to think of us as a monolith,” he said, “like all of us are from the same neighborhood.”
Carmona likes to suggest that he is, in some crucial sense, from the same spiritual neighborhood as the voters here. He told me that he can relate to Arizona’s many Mexican Americans precisely because they have shared a hard climb upward. “I’m not seen as Puerto Rican,” he told me. “I’m seen as another Latino. They know, most importantly, that they have lived my experience.”
But many longtime Arizona political observers are doubtful. One former Democratic congressional staffer was blunt about what he sees as his party’s inept outreach to Latinos here, calling the president’s drafting of Carmona a “ham-fisted move.” “They speak Spanish in Mexico, they speak Spanish in Puerto Rico. Really?” he asked incredulously. “It’s painting with a broad brush.” Of course, the broad brush is hardly the Democrats’ alone: similar logic recently led Time to conclude that Marco Rubio, the Cuban-American Republican senator from Florida, is “the man best positioned to improve his party’s standing among Latinos.” (Nationally, the Latino population is just 4 percent Cuban American.)
Bruce Merrill, a professor emeritus at Arizona State University who has worked as an Arizona pollster for four decades, is skeptical that the Latino “sleeping giant” will wake anytime soon. While Latinos make up about a third of Arizona’s population, they routinely cast little more than a tenth of the total votes in statewide elections. “Every single election, I’m told by the Hispanic leadership that this year is different and they’re going to go out and vote, and it’s never happened,” he said. Part of the problem, he observed, is that political leaders fail to understand that Latinos, like other voters, are motivated far more by bread-and-butter issues than by Spanish names or immigration rhetoric. While some Democrats assume that conservative immigration policies will prompt an anti-Republican backlash among Latinos, Merrill estimates that a sizable chunk of likely Latino voters in Arizona—about 25 percent—are “flag wavers” who actually favor tough immigration-enforcement measures.