OUTFRONT
CHUYNGETTYthe party. In 2012, black women voted at
higher rates nationally than any other
demographic group. In 2016, 94 percent
of them voted for Hillary Clinton. (Less
than half of white women did.) And in
a fiercely contested special election
in Alabama in December 2017, black
women supported the Democratic
winner, Doug Jones, by a 98-2 margin.
After Jones’ slim victory, Democratic
National Committee Chair Tom Perez
tweeted, “Black women are the back-
bone of the Democratic Party, and we
can’t take that for granted. Period.”But black women’s clout at the ballot
box has not translated into representa-
tion. Nationwide, only 12 black women
have ever been elected to statewide ex-
ecutive positions such as attorney gen-
eral or lieutenant governor. Research
shows that women candidates have to
work harder than men to raise money,
and black women who run for oi ce
face the additional burden of represent-
ing areas with less money to pull from.
Some feel their fundraising is unfairly
scrutinized because they are seen as
not raising enough cash—or raising too
much. Sarah Bryner, the research
director at the Center for Respon-
sive Politics, says black women
candidates “face the same kinds
of intersectional problems that
they face in all sorts of areas—
they have dii culty raising money
because they’re women and be-
cause they’re black.”
On the one hand, Abrams is
quick to tout the signifi cance of
being a black woman seeking
higher oi ce. But she’s also aware
she has to beat her main opponent
in the May 22 Democratic pri-
mary, Stacey Evans, a white state
Assembly member. To do that,
she’ll need white voters, and white
women in particular, to rally to her
side. “I do not disparage anyone
based on race. I do not isolate any
community based on religion. I
want everybody,” Abrams says.
“But I am going to focus on pro-
gressive voters who run the cross
section of racial and economic and
regional geography but who share
core values that I have.”
Georgia is changing, and
Abrams’ campaign is a bet on the
future. Yet it’s not clear if the rain-
bow coalition she hopes to assem-
ble is in place yet. People of color
are predicted to be a minority of
Georgia’s eligible voting popula-
tion until 2036. Trump won the
state by 5 percentage points in
2016, and it has been nearly two
decades since a Democrat has
been elected governor there.
So far, however, Abrams’ bur-
geoning national profile has
helped get her fundraising off toa good start. By mid-March, she had
brought in $2.3 million, about the same
as Evans. A Democratic donor in San
Francisco has said she’ll raise another
$2.5 million for Abrams. Yet Abrams
has already burned through $1.8 mil-
lion opening fi eld oi ces and building
her get-out-the-vote operation. “Any
business person will tell you it’s not who
has the biggest bank account when you
start a business, it’s who gets the most
customers,” she says at her campaign
headquarters. Whoever wins the pri-
mary will likely face Lt. Gov. Casey
Cagle, a Republican who made head-
lines when he got the state to revoke a
tax benefi t for Delta Air Lines, a major
employer, after it announced it would
cancel its discounts for National Rifl e
Association members. He has already
raised $6.7 million.
Back at Old Lady Gang, Abrams told
the room of supportive black women
another war story. In 2014, she recalled,
800,000 eligible Georgians weren’t regis-
tered to vote—a group equal to the pop-
ulation of South Dakota. Three-fourths
were black. Abrams took action, register-
ing 200,000 people of color in less than
three years through her $7 million New
Georgia Project. “But I’ll tell you a dirty
little secret: Some of the folks who fought
against me looked like the folks in this
room,” she said, seeming to refer to the
former Atlanta mayor and other black
politicians who questioned the need for
her project and challenged her fi nancial
transparency. But she persevered.
Abrams then pulled back to make her
broader pitch. After traveling to 155 of
Georgia’s 159 counties and talking to
voters who don’t look anything like
her—“my hair’s a little diff erent and
I’m a little taller”—Abrams said she is
more certain than ever that her job
is not politics, but service. “I grew up
working poor in Mississippi. And I’ll tell
you this: I’ve never met a poor person
who hates rich people. We hate being
poor.” The crowd erupted in cheers as
Abrams explained that Georgia needs a
governor who understands the diff er-
ence. “It’s not about begrudging anyone
else. It’s about wanting something for
yourself, and being willing to work for
it if the systems will work with you and
not against you.” —Jamilah KingMOVING
VIOLATIONS
How does Chicago make more than
$200 million a year on trai c and
parking tickets? By bankrupting
thousands of drivers.INFRACTIONS
More than 3 million tickets are issued
annually in Chicago.
Tickets brought in more than $260 million
in 2016—about 7 percent of the city’s
operating budget.
Chicagoans owe $1.45 billion in ticket debt.
Eight majority-black zip codes account for
40 percent of the city’s ticket debt but only
22 percent of tickets issued.
RESOLUTION
Pay now: If you can af ord $200 for not
having a city sticker on your car. If not, sign
up for a pricey city payment plan.
Don’t pay: And risk having your fi ne doubled,
car booted and impounded, state tax refunds
garnished, and license suspended.
Go for broke: Many ticket debtors fi le for
bankruptcy, often with help from law fi rms
that charge hefty fees. Last year, there were
more than 10,000 Chapter 13 cases involving
debt to the city of Chicago. The typical fi ler
owed $3,900.Read ProPublica Illinois’ full investigation
at motherjones.com/parking.