As northeastern Pennsylvania once again turns bright fall reds and oranges, workers recently planted rocks around a government building in downtown Wilkes-Barre to combat the season’s ugliness. But this wasn’t a beautification project.
Luzerne County is gearing up for Election Day.
The suspicion and anger sparked across the country by former President Donald J. Trump’s false claims of election fraud have destabilized the once mundane civic task of collecting and counting votes. Amid fears of political violence, the Department of Homeland Security advised hundreds of concerned communities about election security.
At the center of this maelstrom of mistrust is Luzerne County, which for some is Exhibit A in election conspiracy theories. Shaken by local chatter, county officials took some unusual security measures, including building a primitive fortification of large boulders around the county courthouse in Wilkes-Barre, where the election office is located.
The installation of the boulder in this battleground state city of 45,000 people could serve as a metaphor for the United States in 2024, where plans for sacred democratic practices may include preparing car bombs.
“We are a microcosm,” said Romilda Crocamo, the county’s mayor, who has received repeated threats. The latest message, serious enough for her to alert law enforcement, was delivered via text to a close family member who is very private and apolitical.
“Someone had to make a huge effort to make that connection,” Kurokamo said.
County elections director Emily Cook has also received threats both on social media and in person. “People say I deserve to be executed,” she said.
Luzerne County has endured a lot over the years. From the stately courthouse to the distinctive Market Street Bridge, the city’s once prosperous coal-mining fortunes are long gone. And those who were around in 1972 will never forget the Susquehanna River floods that destroyed or damaged thousands of homes and businesses.
All the while, local politics became as volatile as the waters of the Susquehanna River. Last month, for the first time since 1968, registered Republican voters outnumbered registered Democrats, culminating a decade-long trend.
In 2016, after 20 consecutive years of supporting Democratic presidential candidates, the county overwhelmingly supported Trump. His opponent and eventual winner, President Biden, dominated the local vote again in 2020, even though he spent his childhood in nearby Scranton.
Several relatively minor election gaffes have stirred up local political debate. In September 2020, a seasonal employee at the Department of Elections mistakenly threw away nine military absentee ballots. They were all collected and counted, with seven votes cast for Trump and two others’ votes unknown.
The Trump-appointed U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Pennsylvania quickly announced a criminal investigation, and a highly critical review released this year by the Justice Department’s inspector general found that the workers’ actions were “intentional. It shared “select details” suggesting that “this is likely”. be held criminally responsible. ” Internal watchdogs said the office did so even though it already knew the employee — who is mentally ill and has not been charged — simply made a mistake.
Still, the incident provided a convenient reference point for Trump’s false claims about a stolen election, raising doubts among his supporters about the election process and the integrity of its officials, including those in Luzerne County.
As the county’s chief attorney, Crocamo said he has worked to improve election procedures to ensure a smooth 2021 election day. However, after serving as acting county mayor for several months, she resigned from government in 2022 after divisive politics blocked her candidacy. To be appointed full-time. “There was a group protesting against me,” said Kurokamo, a Democrat. “People said I should be thrown off a bridge.”
But early on Election Day that year, Kurokamo started receiving panicked text messages. More than a dozen polling places were running out of paper to print completed ballots, and election officials wanted to know where the paper was being stored.
“I hadn’t been there in months,” she recalled.
Newspapers were eventually delivered, affected precincts remained open until late, and all votes were counted. The fallout included delays in certifying results and the resignation of the county chief. It also fueled further conspiracy theories about fraud by election officials.
Since being appointed county manager last year, Kurokamo has made election security a top priority. The decision was prompted, of course, by the county’s election-related stumbles, but also by her belief that “there are groups of people who are willing to resort to violence.”
She hired consultants to improve election procedures and contingency plans. And at the request of new elections director Cook, the county joins a long list of localities that have asked the Department of Homeland Security to assess election security.
Kate Conley, senior adviser for the department’s Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, said in a statement that the department has conducted nearly 1,200 assessments and trained more than 30,000 election workers and staff since 2023, and this year has He said his focus is on security.
“In particular, we are aware of an unacceptable increase in harassment and threats of violence for election officials,” Conley said.
In Luzerne County, a recommendation was issued to remove mail-in ballot drop boxes at four locations, including the county courthouse. Dropboxes have become a flashpoint, with many Republicans saying they can be easily tampered with and many Democrats saying they can help people exercise their voting rights.
When Mr. Crocamo followed the agency’s recommendations, he was applauded by Republicans but criticized by his fellow Democrats for suppressing the vote. She was sued by the American Civil Liberties Union on behalf of several constituents, entered into a stipulation agreement, and restored Dropbox.
But Kurokamo still had “serious concerns” about the safety of county employees. “Life comes first,” she said.
Another recommendation focused on the unusual design of the courthouse, which is mostly built on stilts and has staff stationed directly below the elections office on the second floor, because the area is prone to flooding. There is a parking lot.
The county was unable to provide aesthetically pleasing safety measures or install concrete planters. Instead, we spent $2,196 this month to have Black Creek Excavation deliver and plant 30 rocks from a local quarry.
Other precautions are also being taken. Training in de-escalation tactics. The mobile phone has been updated with panic button software. Bulletproof glass has been installed at the Elections Bureau office. The first-floor windows are covered with bulletproof film so, in Kurokamo’s words, “people can’t see in, but you can see out.”
She acknowledged some disturbing optics, such as the use of rocks to protect government buildings in modern-day America, but said safety measures are essential.
“We have a very hard-working people here in Luzerne County, and we have historically supported each other,” Crocamo said. “But now there’s a big divide, people are so angry, and it’s out of control. It’s just out of control.”
She pointed to contentious county election board meetings, for example. At one meeting earlier this month, some members of the public offered their reasonable opinions, for example for or against dropboxes. But others did not hold back, accusing Democrats of being Marxists, accusing Republicans of being racist, refusing to provide proper identification, and demanding that election workers submit to polygraph tests.
“There is a faction in the Democratic Party that wants to cheat,” one man declared. “Let’s just face it.”
Mr. Kurokamo, 61, grew up in Hazleton, 30 miles south of Wilkes-Barre. She said she comes from a politically divided but loving Italian family. She follows tennis. I wear a Marvel superhero lanyard around my neck. And endure threats.
Does it bother her?
“When I told my partner, yes,” she said.
But does it bother her?
“That’s right,” she said. “But I have to get up and I have to work. And I’m going to do my job.”
On the second floor of the county courthouse, Cook, 27, echoed similar sentiments. The office is undergoing security renovations in preparation for election night, and precinct staff and deputy sheriffs prepare for election night, when they will unload ballots for counting.
Mr. Cook grew up in Wilkes-Barre and studied for a career in early childhood education, but continued to pursue his passion for the civic wonder of the right to vote. She started working as an administrative assistant at the elections office, weathered internal turmoil, and now oversees operations that cover 1,200 poll workers in 186 precincts on election day.
And, yes, Ms Cooke says she has been threatened repeatedly enough times to start to wear off, including being told she deserved to be dragged out and quartered. I did. “That’s a word you don’t hear very often,” she said. “That’s why he stands out.”
Cook said despite the caveats, he accepts his First Amendment right to free speech. “You have the right to stand up in a public meeting and say you think I’m messing up the department,” she said. “But what shouldn’t be tolerated is that I think you’re messing up the department and I think you should die because of it.”
So Mr. Cook, Mr. Crocamo, and their colleagues are hunkered down in what was once a once-a-day civic celebration, an opportunity for Americans to vote and help shape the future of their communities, states, and countries. I saved it for.
Now, in places like Luzerne County, anxiety is tempering joy. Those who work in good faith that day will remain at their posts, behind bulletproof glass and with a panic button within easy reach.
Sealag McNeil contributed to the research.
