By this time, Catherine Engelbrecht, the Texas soccer mom, was preparing to take up the cause of ballot security. In the summer of 2009, she and a couple dozen fellow Tea Partiers gathered in the back room of a Houston pub to discuss ways they might channel their political energies. Having grown weary of protest rallies, they hit on various other ideas, including working the polls during that fall’s municipal elections. “We thought, ‘That’s simple enough,’ ” Engelbrecht told me recently. “ ‘We’ll work for a day and check it off our good-citizen list, then move on to something else.’ ”
What they saw in November astounded them. Part of the problem, Engelbrecht says, was simply that poll workers were ill-prepared for their jobs. But she also claims to have witnessed illicit behavior, including brazen voter-impersonation schemes. “We saw people come in with multiple registration cards,” she said. “When the first one was presented and it was determined that that vote had already been cast, they said ‘Oh, okay’ and pulled out a different card and were allowed through.” Galvanized, the Tea Partiers reconvened at the pub and decided to take up the mission of combatting voter fraud.
The King Street Patriots, as they called themselves, started by scrutinizing voter rolls, ostensibly to weed out ineligible voters, dead people, and duplicate entries. But because the activists focused on addresses with six or more registered voters, poor people and minorities tended to attract the most scrutiny. What’s more, critics charged that the group sometimes based its challenges on technicalities, and they picked up on occasional hints of racial animus. One early promotional video reportedly included a photo of an African American protester carrying a placard that had been doctored to read I only got to vote once!
Then came the 2010 midterms. Under the banner of an offshoot organization called True the Vote, the Patriots dispatched hundreds of observers to minority neighborhoods in and around Houston, where they gathered more than 800 complaints of improper voting. Their efforts made national headlines, and phone calls and e‑mails began pouring in from activists around the country who wanted to join the cause. With a presidential election looming, Engelbrecht decided that it was time to take the fight nationwide. Last year, at True the Vote’s first annual summit, she urged attendees to carry the mantle of “voter integrity” back to their home regions by forming spin-off groups.
True the Vote–inspired organizations and volunteer networks have since sprung up in 35 states. While these local groups follow True the Vote’s blueprint—their members comb voter rolls and recruit activists to work as either volunteer poll observers or paid election workers—they do so under their own names and auspices. As with the broader Tea Party movement, these groups are united in purpose but are neither controlled by nor accountable to any larger organization. Imagine John Kelly, with his cowboy boots and his caging list, arriving in New Jersey not as a paid employee of the RNC, but as a free agent.
True the Vote made its first major foray onto the national political stage this spring, in the lead-up to Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker’s recall election. Working with local Tea Party organizations, the group rallied some 17,000 volunteers to scour the recall petition for problematic signatures. It then issued a string of missives claiming that more than half the signatures were of questionable validity and warning that “the integrity of Wisconsin elections” was “on the verge of implosion.” The state’s Government Accountability Board later found that the group had been overzealous in its screening, but the charges nonetheless sowed doubt in Tea Party circles about the recall’s legitimacy. True the Vote and its Wisconsin allies also recruited hundreds of activists to work as poll watchers and hosted training sessions for them around the state. A recording of a Racine County training—taken by a skeptical resident who brought along a hidden camera—reveals close collaboration between True the Vote trainers and a local Republican official.
The session kicks off with a prayer led by Brad Zinn, a professional magician who co-founded True the Vote’s Arizona spin-off: “Heavenly Father … We ask you to bless our efforts to help us true up the polls and keep our elections fair and honest.” Zinn goes on to explain the role of poll observers, likening them to security guards patrolling casinos for subtle signs of cheating. He then touches briefly on polling-place rules and tosses out some practical Election Day tips (“Dress in layers!”).
About halfway through the training, a balding, portly man named Lou D’Abbraccio, who sits on the board of the Racine County GOP and runs its poll-watcher program, enters the room and explains that he will be assigning trainees to polling places. “We are going to focus on those that have the most history of issues,” he says. “And that may be because of the people that work at that particular polling location. It may be just because it’s a heavily skewed Democratic ward.”
After that, Zinn and D’Abbraccio reel off a litany of dangers facing poll observers.
“I don’t want to scare you,” Zinn says, “but if you’ve got your own food, water, and medicine …”
“You do want to be self-sufficient,” D’Abbraccio adds. “I’m not saying anybody has ever been poisoned, but …”
“Even watch out for things like restrooms that lock from the outside,” interjects a True the Vote trainer from California. “We’ve had poll observers locked into the restroom.” One of the trainees gasps.
“This is shocking to you as well as us, because our minds don’t work this way,” Zinn says. “But they have all these little tricks up their sleeve.”
Zinn and his California colleague urge trainees to be hyperalert. If they see anything suspicious, D’Abbraccio tells them, they are to call “headquarters.” “We’ll come there, either with attorneys or surreptitiously,” he says. “Typically, I bring video and camera equipment … to include—I’ve gotten into trouble for saying this in the past—to include a video camera, which I will bring into the polling location, that’s concealed.”
Two weeks later, on Election Day, poll watchers streamed into poor black and Latino precincts around Racine, hunting for evidence that people were cheating. They didn’t find much, though D’Abbraccio later claimed otherwise, apparently in a bid for a recount in a state-Senate race. (Racine’s sheriff investigated the allegations but found no evidence of fraud.) Reports of voter intimidation, however, abounded. Carolyn Castore, the Wisconsin election coordinator for the League of Women Voters, told me that her organization received more than 50 reports from Racine-area voters complaining that True the Vote volunteers had hovered over registration tables and aggressively challenged voters’ eligibility. (In previous years, it had fielded only half a dozen or so complaints about observers.) Other reports had poll watchers tailing vans that were transporting voters to the polls, snapping photos of voters’ license plates, even directing voters to the wrong polling places.
When a local journalist questioned D’Abbraccio about these allegations, he blamed out-of-state interlopers. “True the Vote came in and did their own training, and I was kind of upset about it,” he said. “I sat in [on] some of that training, and those people were out-of-state. It was clear that they didn’t have a full understanding of the law.”
His disavowal was reminiscent of a politician’s distancing himself from a smear campaign waged on his behalf by a super PAC. And in fact, as True the Vote was gearing up for the recall, a Texas judge ruled that its sister organization, the King Street Patriots, was not a legitimate tax-exempt nonprofit but an unregistered political-action committee that had illegally aided the Republican Party by supplying it with poll watchers. (The Patriots have appealed the decision.) But the legal reproof didn’t dampen True the Vote’s fervor. After the recall, the group issued a triumphant statement applauding the citizen activists who “put on their waders, and jumped in to defend the integrity of their elections.”
The group then began ramping up its nationwide efforts. Among other things, it partnered with a conservative legal organization to sue the state of Indiana for allegedly failing to clean up its voter rolls, and hosted summits in other battleground states. True the Vote’s trainers, meanwhile, fanned out around the country to rally troops for November, a mission they cast in apocalyptic terms.
Speaking at one Texas Tea Party gathering, Alan Vera, the Army ranger turned volunteer-trainer, cautioned that “evil” forces were about to launch “the greatest attack ever on election integrity,” and implored the crowd to prepare for a “ground war”: “In 2012, we need a patriot army to stand shoulder to shoulder on the wall of freedom and shout defiantly to those dark powers and principalities, ‘If you want to steal this election, you have to get past us. We will not yield another inch to your demonic deception … If you won’t enforce our laws, we’ll do it ourselves, so help us God.’ ”
Shaking his fist in the air, he cried, “Patriots, let’s roll!” The crowd cheered wildly.