Getting Off the Double-D Bus….
Yesterday, my household received 17 pieces of U.S. mail. Fifteen were campaign mailers.
Fifteen.
Having been part of a few campaigns myself, I know exactly why we get them. We’re what the voter files call “Double-D’s” — voters who have pulled a Democratic ballot in the last two primaries. When a candidate wants to do a mailing, they don’t just blanket the city. They buy a voter list and target likely supporters: people who are registered, who actually vote, and who have voted in their party’s primaries before.
In Chicago, that’s the play.
There are no Republican primaries that matter here. If there are Republicans on the ballot, they’re often token candidates with no realistic path in a one-party town. Countywide judicial races? Zero Republicans. Why would I pull an R ballot when there’s literally no one to vote for?
So everyone — regardless of their actual politics — pulls a Democratic ballot. It’s the only place where the election is decided.
And because I’ve voted in every primary and general election since 1984, I’m prime real estate. Reliable. Predictable. Engaged. A campaign consultant’s dream.
Which is why my recycling bin is a campaign graveyard every two years.
The irony is that I mostly vote in primaries for judges. They’re often unopposed in the general election, so the primary is the only meaningful vote. If you care about who ends up on the bench, that’s the moment. Sometimes I’ve had friends on the ballot. Sometimes former colleagues. It’s hard not to show up.
But this year?
No election in my sub-circuit.
No meaningful countywide vacancies.
A crowded congressional field where the candidates seem to be competing to prove who can run the furthest left, the fastest.
My choices aren’t moderate vs. progressive. They’re progressive vs. more progressive vs. most progressive. There’s nobody even pretending to occupy the middle.
And so I find myself contemplating something I’ve never done in 42 years of voting: skipping a primary.
Not switching teams. I’m not taking a Republican ballot — that’s equally futile here, and it doesn’t solve the “no moderates” issue. Just… stepping off the bus for a cycle. Removing myself from the “Double-D” category. Quietly slipping off the mailing lists.
It feels oddly disloyal, even though it’s not. Voting is something I’ve always taken seriously. I’ve never missed. Ever. Through law school, through young kids, through brutal work schedules. Snowstorms. Busy seasons. I showed up.
But voting only matters when there’s something meaningful to decide.
If there isn’t — if the ballot doesn’t offer a real choice, if there’s no competitive race that affects my district — is showing up a civic virtue or just muscle memory?
I don’t know.
Part of me thinks I’ll cave. Some acquaintance will pop up on the ballot, and I’ll think, well, I should support them. Or I’ll tell myself that consistent participation matters, even when the choices are thin.
But part of me is tired of the performative mailers. The glossy cardstock promises. The environmental waste. The constant nudges from campaigns that already know exactly how I’ve voted for four decades.
Maybe for one cycle, I let them wonder.
Maybe I’ll retire my Double-D status.
After 42 straight years, I’ve probably earned a sabbatical.