“The coal miner of the Blue Ridge and the cotton picker were of the same plight; both overworked and underpaid,” Jackson said.
After calling on students that aren’t registered to vote to stand up, Jackson and Rasoul brought those students to the front and actually registered them to vote right there, handing out pens and registration forms.
Junior Sabrina Utz expressed satisfaction in the event, but also confusion as to why such a large figure would visit a small college in a small town, in the less populated side of a state without any major cities.
“We’re a pretty white college and there’s not a ton of diversity here,” said Utz. “So, I really wonder why the [college] was interested in him coming.”
Jackson, when prompted about the nature of the area, pointed to the contentious elections in the commonwealth, both at the state and local level, pivoting back to his strong belief in the value of voting.
“People respond,” said Jackson with a chuckle.
“Every vote counts, every vote matters and all the small schools have brilliant students who deserve atten- tion. Sometimes they can’t afford to have a certain caliber of speakers, so we don’t charge to come here.”
Jackson seemed to center much of his rhetoric on connecting with
all types of voters, something he’s been able to do since the 1980s when he came in third place in the Democratic primary. That success has been at least partly attributed to his religious appeal. Jackson, an ordained minister, has been consistently able to do something many Democrats struggle to do: connect with the religious. Jackson often uses references to religious teachings to justify his policy proposals.
“Those who don’t want health care for the poor, they have a problem with religion and the Bible,” Jackson said. “It’s our job to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to defend the poor. That’s the best of religion.”
