by NOEMI LOPINTO

The name of the game, in politics, is advertising. People tend to vote from the gut or from habit. As a Green Party candidate for Bourassa, I can't possibly do worse than the Green candidate in the previous federal election, because there wasn't one. So I'm going to have to introduce myself to people. When I signed up to become a candidate, party organizers promised me a detailed list of all the party members in my riding. As it turns out, in a riding of 99,826 people, there are exactly two registered Green Party members. So in terms of calling upon the armies of loyal volunteers, I am pretty much lost in the wilderness without a paddle.

Any activist will tell you the best source of free advertising is the press. There are various ways of getting the press to pay attention to you: the first is to write your own press release and send it to a variety of media and hope for a call. Personally, I think describing yourself in the third person in glowing and inspirational terms is second to none on the cringe-o-meter. The temptation towards sarcasm is virtually irresistible. Something like: "Noemi LoPinto is a thirty-nothing hack with a demonstrated appetite for humiliation. The issues closest to her heart are the wealthy homeless, drug-addicted flowers and environmental illness."

The best idea would be to play my striving-artist-idealist-and-single-mother card, but I would be sending this letter to some of my current colleagues, who would probably paste it on their office dartboards for years to come. The second trick to get media attention is to organize an event - a barbecue, a protest or a public hanging - and send out a press release. The third is to show up where an activity is already in the works, the press is already notified and try to suck in some attention.

Money and the ethnic vote

At the very, very edge of my riding is a park called Parc des Hirondelles. It's an enormous space, with three soccer fields, two kids' play areas and a clubhouse. This past weekend, there was an all-weekend party held in the clubhouse, sponsored by the local Italian Catholic Church, Madonna di Pompei. It's an annual event called Festa di Sant'Antonio, where Italian folk music is played, people dance and eat, the kids run around and the old guys play cards. I figured I could use my half-Sicilian heritage as a platform with which to schmooze voters (I also brought my cleats).

But before I went to the party, I had to get rid of two boxes of Green Party pamphlets. Party headquarters deluge candidates with paper pamphlets, newsletters and buttons. You're also encouraged to have your own poster made, with your face plastered over your own cloying slogan. At the last election, I actually walked door to door and stuffed them in individual mailboxes all over Rosemont. This time I emptied an entire box into a newsstand at the local drugstore, figuring people can help themselves if they're really interested. As I was sneaking away I saw the NDP candidate, Stefano Saykaly, stapling his to trees.

I finally made it to the party, where I was faced with a major obstacle to my ethnic-baiting, vote-gathering techniques: I don't speak Italian. The best I can do is say a mish-mash of Spanish-sounding words that add up to "I'm Sicilian, but I don't speak Italian." The old guys playing cards were not impressed, although from the frequent stares I got I gathered they loved my "Vote Noemi" T-shirt.

Down by the clubhouse, men in starched white shirts and pressed silk pants were lugging giant brown bags of white bread into a makeshift kitchen. A man named Biogio approached me with lottery tickets and asked me if I would buy one. He was raising money for the church. For $10 I could win up to six prizes, including a trip to Italy. He knew he had me. There I was, asking for votes, and claiming to be a paesana. If I bought the ticket, I would have his vote - but more importantly, I would be living up to a politician's duty to grease a few palms. We agreed I had an obligation, and I told him I would go to the bank and get the money. Then I played a round of soccer, forgot all about it and went home. Later it occurred to me: I had just broken my first electoral promise.