After two years of far-right rule in a Michigan county, one chance to change it
#Rachel #Atwood corralled voters outside her polling place.
She was part of the slate of hard-line Republicans trying to keep control of the board.
Her group,
#Ottawa #Impact, dominated the county GOP.
“Do you need a Republican voter guide?” she asked as people passed by.
Atwood, 43, got involved in county politics because she believed that
mask requirements were hurting her autistic son
at a critical moment in his development.
The mandates were over,
but Atwood thought that the threats to her children’s well-being
from the government and pro-LGBTQ+ liberals
remained as real as ever.
“What makes me a little different in this race is that my experience is much more geared toward the current #culture #war,”
she told a local television station.
She was running in the Republican primary against #John #Teeples,
a retired attorney, who described himself as a “#fiscal #conservative”
intent on restoring
“#kindness” to the county’s politics.
The night before the primary, Atwood and the other Ottawa Impact candidates
each occupied one of the four geographic corners of the county
and prayed for the protection of their community.
Her skin was deeply tanned, the product of knocking on more than 2,000 doors
— an experience that she described as transformative.
“God has been sending people to me through door-knocking
to say things to me that are supernatural,
that are God-briefed,”
Atwood said in a recent Facebook live video from the campaign trail.
She prayed with dozens of people who had autistic children
or close relatives with the condition,
she said,
and promised them she would fight for more county services for their loved ones.
On their first day in office, the Ottawa Impact commissioners had fired the county’s administrator,
canned its lawyer of 40 years,
closed its diversity office
and dumped its motto “Where you Belong” in favor of
“Where Freedom Rings.”
More change
— which Ottawa Impact opponents called chaos
— followed.
The new commissioners forced the county’s longtime sex educator,
who had developed successful programs to lower teen pregnancy and curb the spread of sexually transmitted infections,
into an administrative job.
When their efforts to remove the county’s public health director were blocked by the courts,
they cut the health department’s budget,
eliminating a program that helped feed 22,000 low-income residents each year.
They turned down millions of dollars in federal and state grants
because they came with conditions that the commissioners said
were unconstitutional or immoral,
and they became embroiled in a spate of lawsuits alleging discrimination.
Joe Moss,
who co-founded Ottawa Impact and chairs the county board,
didn’t respond to a request for comment.
In an interview with a local television station, he described the new board members as regular people
— teachers, entrepreneurs, nurses, social workers
— who were acting as “guardrails”
to defend the county’s children from
“dangerous and harmful” forces.
Atwood disagreed with those who insisted that Ottawa Impact had hurt the community
by introducing anger and division into the otherwise mundane world of county government.
“I’m happy people have become so engaged,” she said.
Outside her polling place a couple of supporters approached her
and asked for a selfie.
Atwood smiled and posed alongside them.
“We’re praying for you,” they told her.
That evening, candidates and their backers gathered at election night parties
where they compulsively checked the county’s website for early returns.
Barry waited for the results with Rep. Bill Huizenga (R),
the local congressman and his half brother,
who had rented an event space at an upscale waterfront restaurant.
The siblings stood together near the restaurant’s deck as the sun set over Lake Michigan,
smartphones in hand.
Just after 9:30 p.m. the county clerk sent a text alert that early results were in,
prompting nearly 4,000 people to ping the county’s website
within 30 seconds.
The flood of traffic crashed the site.
“We are aware of the website issues,” the county clerk posted on his social media pages.
“A lot of folks interested in our results!”
The primary’s unusually high stakes made for unusual alliances.
An older man in a red
“Make America Great Again” hat
sat with friends at an election night pizza party
for Mark Northrup, a small-town mayor
challenging Moss in the Republican primary.
A few feet away, Jacqui Poehlman,
one of Northrup’s volunteers,
hunched over a computer with a
“Bans off our bodies” sticker on it.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2024/08/11/michigan-county-far-right-commission-election/