While writing to a sympathetic audience about the fait accompli, the rag gloated in its latest cover-story that a California-based labor union had been deployed to help “cure” ballots—and that the outcome in at least two crucial swing states, Arizona and Georgia, “was no accident.”
The admission, first flagged by RedState, followed in the footsteps of Time—which admitted, shortly after Democrat Joe Biden was installed in the White House, that a cabalistic klatch of conspirators had engaged in censorship, suppression and disinformation campaigns to sway public sentiment, often exploiting crises such as the coronavirus pandemic to achieve their overtly political ends.
On Monday, however, The Nation appeared to go a step farther by finally acknowledging activist interference in the Nov. 3 voting effort, which involved using secretive tactics and legal loopholes to wage a Teamsters-like voter-intimidation campaign.
Unite Here, an international union largely representing workers in the hospitality industry, “was on a mission: to knock on as many doors as possible and help flip Arizona blue for Joe Biden,” wrote The Nation.
The article spent considerable ink setting up the above-board “canvassing” efforts of the labor union, framing its strategy as something akin to any grassroots get-out-the-vote initiative.
“They played a key role in unseating Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio in 2016, after narrowly failing to defeat him four years earlier,” it wrote, referencing the victory of radical-leftist lawman Paul Penzone, who was heavily funded by billionaire oligarch George Soros.
“They returned again to help Kyrsten Sinema win her US Senate seat in 2018,” it continued. And “[i]n the summer of 2020 … they had their sights set on the biggest prize of all: Arizona’s 11 Electoral College votes, which they knew could prove pivotal in the presidential race.”
Despite the lingering threat of the coronavirus, the union activists determined that door-to-door canvassing was worth the health risk to them—and to potential Democrat voters—since so much was at stake.
“[O]ur secret weapon has always been low-turnout voters,” Joseph Silva, the deputy operations director, told The Nation. “And there was no other way to get to them than at their doors.”
The union dispatched more than 300 activists from the Los Angeles area to join hundreds more in Arizona, receiving “about $17 per hour plus benefits, paid for by the union’s 504(c)(4) wing, CASE (Central Arizonans for a Sustainable Economy) Action, and its federal super PAC, the Worker Power PAC.”
Those canvassing efforts also gave way to voter-registration pushes, in which the union boasted its efforts had helped to sign up tens of thousands of voters in Maricopa County alone.
Here, however, the activism appeared to become less transparent.
“Done largely out of the spotlight, their work was as crucial to turning Arizona blue in 2020 as the work of Stacey Abrams and Fair Fight was in Georgia,” The Nation explained.
The magazine went on to invoke specious “Jim Crow” talking points to justify these surreptitious methods.
“Given how the GOP, in one state after another, has worked since the election to make it harder for poor and minority residents to vote in future contests, the intensive, in-person methods that Unite Here perfected in Arizona under the most trying of circumstances will be vital in upcoming elections if progressives are to succeed in the face of the GOP’s increasingly antidemocratic machinations,” The Nation claimed.
With GOP-led legislatures—including Georgia’s—now scrambling to close the loopholes exploited during the 2020 race, some tactics used by the union have since been construed as bordering on bribery.
“When people said they were too hot to walk or drive to the mailbox to send in their ballots, some of the canvassers would offer them bottles of water, fans, even hand-held misters,” The Nation crowed.
Yet, nearly 4,000 words into the think-piece, the magazine outlines an even more nefarious effort in the immediate aftermath of the election.
“[W]ith most of the networks declaring the result still too close to call, [the union] worked on vital vote-curing efforts, following up with people whose ballots were at risk of being discarded because they had filled out a line incorrectly or had a signature on the form that didn’t quite match the one in the county’s files,” The Nation wrote.
“… With hundreds of Unite Here canvassers helping to cure several ballots each, a whole heap of votes ended up being counted that would have been discarded otherwise, in a state ultimately decided by 10,457 votes,” it added.
The union activists then shifted their sights to Georgia, conducting the same sort of operation for the state’s Jan. 5 Senate runoff, which helped to deliver control of Congress to Democrats.
“Largely under the radar, courting a minimum of publicity, they had helped craft one of 2020’s most extraordinary political stories,” The Nation wrote. “They had developed a template for how, with the right kind of organizing and outreach, solidly red states around the country—even those with a long history of voter suppression efforts—could be turned blue.”
Despite the deeply suspicious circumstances that the article brazenly confesses to—such as exploiting an IRS designation for “social welfare” organizations to access a vast endowment fund subsidized by hotel union fees—the Left is now expressing outrage over efforts by both Arizona and Georgia to audit and verify the votes by relying on similar methods.
Activist groups—supported by high-powered Democrat lawyers and even the Biden Justice Department—have suggested that auditors’ efforts to go door-to-door to confirm voter residences would be tantamount to voter intimidation, in violation of archaic rules such as the so-called Ku Klux Klan Act of 1871.
Yet, as The Nation described, some of the union-backed Democrat canvassers, who relished in their determination not to take “no” for an answer, may have engaged in their own intimidation tactics.
“We were going to very heavily Republican, conservative areas,” said Josh Wells, one of the campaign’s field directors, whom The Nation described as “a tall, skinny man with a Che Guevara–style beard and a penchant for black berets.”
“We have to talk to the folks that may not think they’re our people, but they’re experiencing the same problems,” Wells said. “Getting them to think that things can be different.”