Precinct Committee Folks
Most positions on Wyoming ballots are not gendered. But “committeeman” and “committeewoman” are. Why is that? And what happens when a nonbinary candidate files to run?
As you filled in bubbles on the primary ballot this year, you might have noticed something odd. Past the list of candidates running for governor, representative, sheriff and council, several names appeared to be vying for “precinct committeewoman” and “precinct committeeman.”
On the rest of the ballot were mixed fields in which people of all genders and sexes ran for gender neutral positions like “councilor” — the words “councilman” and “councilwoman” appear nowhere on the ballot. But here, tucked at the end of the ballot, there are explicitly gendered positions, segregated into separate races for “women” and “men.”
Having just two binary races for men and women puts nonbinary citizens in a difficult position. Ray Kasckow identifies as trans-masc nonbinary; they ran unsuccessfully for a Ward 2 city council seat this year. But they also ran for a precinct seat and, once ballots were counted following the primary election in August, secured themself a spot on the local Democratic Central Committee.
Kasckow filed to run for precinct committeewoman. Now victorious in their bid for the role, “committeewoman” will be their official title.
“I was so excited when I was filing, because this is a big moment in my life,” Kasckow said. “Then I get to the precinct application and I have two options that I have no connection with at the moment. And so it kind of brought down my happiness and my excitement.”
No other position on the Wyoming ballot is gendered this way. The presence of such segregated committee races might raise some eyebrows; it also raises some questions:
What is the difference between a committeewoman and a committeeman when it comes to the performance of their duties?
As more people come to conceptualize gender as a spectrum, not a binary, how “masculine” must one be to run as a committeeman? How “feminine” must one be to run for committeewoman?
How should a nonbinary candidate file to run? Will their filing be challenged? Will they be excluded from democratic participation on the basis of their gender nonconformity?
And how did Wyoming even come to have two distinct races? Was it always like this? Were other offices segregated in such a way? Who brought about this current division between committeemen and committeewomen?
Frustratingly, the last of these questions has no discernible answer. The division between committeemen and committeewomen in Wyoming has existed since at least the mid-70s, because that’s when the relevant statutes defining those roles were written.
But even the longest serving state representatives and senators were not serving 50 years ago, and the wording of the law itself doesn’t shed much light on the motivations of the lawmakers who wrote it.
Neither the Albany County Clerk’s office nor the Wyoming Secretary of State’s office knew the rationale behind the law.
But even if no one can remember why the law was passed, the letter of that law will continue to dictate what gets printed on the ballot.
Laws remain laws until they are rewritten, eliminated or overturned by the courts, so they can easily outlive the memory of their origin — memes constituting the will of the state, replicated each time the statutes are written out, reproduced every time ballots are printed. The law persists. It supersedes even the will of the people running elections or those populating the races.
Albany County Democrats Chair Carrie Murthy said most members of her party would prefer different terms.
“We want to recognize and be welcoming of all gender identities,” Murthy said. “We like to use the term ‘precinct captains’ for a gender neutral term. We use that internally, but we don’t get to decide what’s on the ballot. I would say that Albany County Dems absolutely support and encourage all voices to be at the table. And it’s unfortunate that we have this kind of binary written into the law.”
What is a precinct committee?
There is no difference between what a precinct committeewoman and a precinct committeeman do once elected. Both staff the local party’s central committee. If you’ve read or heard about the “Albany County Republicans” or “Albany County Democrats” hosting events, backing candidates or bringing lawsuits — it was likely that party’s central committee calling the shots.
“The central committee is the decision-making body for the party,” Murthy said. “So, they vote on things like approving a budget for the party. And more than just having a vote, precinct committee people are often the core group of volunteers. These are going to be the Dems that are most invested in your party and who really want to be involved.”
The number of precinct committee people distributed across the county is based on the population and party affiliation of each precinct. Some precincts have more committee captains than others because they are more populous, or because they have more registered voters affiliated with one party or the other.
Each committeewoman is matched by a committeeman, so that the number of available seats can be measured in “pairs.”
In Albany County, the Republican Party has 34 pairs of committee people. The Democratic Party has 24 pairs.
That’s a total of 116 committee people across both parties, across the entirety of Albany County. Several of these seats go unfilled because too few people file to run for them. The elected members of a political party’s central committee can vote to fill those vacancies with appointments.
Committeemen and -women elections don’t garner the same interest that high-profile races do — but they are more powerful positions than most people realize.
The central committee determines a party’s activities, platform and bylaws, and helps pick replacements for sheriff, county attorney, county assessor or any other elected partisan position that experiences an unexpected vacancy. Each member of the committee has a say in the future of their local party establishment and a chance to steer that establishment toward favored policy goals.
If the needless binary of the position’s official titles discourage certain voices from filing, Kasckow said it’s really discouraging those voices from having a say in the future of Wyoming.
“I want to be part of the conversation of helping to make Laramie and Wyoming better,” they said. “But people don’t necessarily see nonbinary, ‘they/them’ people as part of the conversation. There’s only men and women and that’s it. And that really limits the diversity that could be present with these positions of power.”
Men, women and the bureaucratic gender binary
Despite the clear binary implied by the position titles — and the clear exclusivity of each title — no one enforces that binary when it comes to filing. Albany County Clerk Jackie Gonzales said the only qualifications one needs to run for precinct committee person are:
Being a qualified elector who resides in the precinct they’re running to represent
Not being a convicted felon, unless they have had a full restoration of rights.
Kasckow filed to run for “committeewoman” — and faced no challenge for doing so at the courthouse.
“Part of me just wanted to go back and switch to a committeeman just because I felt like I could at that moment — just to see what would happen,” they said. “But I didn’t.”
Murthy said her party won’t enforce the binary implied by the law. She encourages anyone interested in getting involved with the “big tent” Democratic party to file however they feel comfortable.
“We’re certainly not going to go and argue with anyone’s gender or identity,” she said.
The lack of enforcement by courthouse and party shields most transgender would-be candidates from invasive genital checks or birth certificate reviews — but it still doesn’t resolve the issue for those falling outside the hegemonic definitions of “man” and “woman.”
Though no one can say for sure, it’s possible the original inclusion of both “committeemen” and “committeewomen” came from a noble place. Women have historically — and are currently — severely underrepresented in Wyoming politics. Ensuring an equal number of seats for men and women at the level of local party leadership might have been some well-meaning lawmakers’ attempt to ensure gender parity.
That was likely the thought behind similar provisions in the Albany County Democrats’ bylaws, Murthy said.
“There were things in our bylaws that needed updating, things we had with good intention but weren’t right,” she said. “For example, we had gender parity language that if the chair is of one gender, the vice chair should be of ‘the opposite gender.’ It was written with good intention, because we do want diversity in our leadership, and I think the intent of that was that we don’t want our party to be dominated by the people who always hold the power. But the language wasn’t right.”
So, the central committee changed “the opposite gender” to “a different gender” — thereby eliminating the assumption and implication of a strict gender binary.
(There are other gendered elements of state law with less benign origins – snippets of state statute that refer to positions like “fireman,” and dictate that “his wife” ought to receive the state pension when “he” dies. Laramie Representative Cathy Connolly wrote a bill to clean up this language — changing, for example, phrases like “husbands and wives” to “spouses.” But it was voted down after anti-gay bigots mobilized against it and overwhelmed a committee meeting. Laramie Senator Dan Furphy and another lawmaker, who had previously supported the bill, flipped their votes and helped kill it.)
Kasckow said they can understand why laws and bylaws were originally written the way they were — and can even appreciate the good intentions behind some of that language.
“But I also see it holding us back,” they said.
The bureaucratic gender binary rears its head in plenty of other places — on most of the other forms a person has to fill out to interact with government institutions or even just to go about everyday modern life.
Sometimes Kasckow is presented with a choice of checking “male” or “female” and must choose. Occasionally, “other” is provided as a third option. But that comes with its own pitfalls.
“There are situations when I’ve had to put an x next to ‘other’ and it’s not the best feeling to identify as ‘other.’” Kasckow said. “I’d like to not identify as ‘other,’ I’d like to identify as a person.”
Queer candidates and activists face a familiar dilemma
Kasckow recognizes the power and possibility of their role as an Albany County Democrats committee captain.
“You’re a representative for your precinct and you’re part of the conversation,” they said. “You go to these meetings, you hear what’s going on in your party. You get the opportunity to add your voice and then take information back to your precinct so then other people are informed. So, I really wanted to do that.”
But getting there meant holding their nose and checking off “committeewoman.” Kasckow, like a lot of trans and nonbinary people, is no stranger to being misgendered — especially in Wyoming.
“I do get misgendered a lot, especially in political circles” they said. “But what am I supposed to do? Put myself in danger because of the unknown of how people would take me correcting their misgendering? No. I kind of have to go with the flow and see what the landscape is. And then if there’s a chance — as I’m being a ‘precinct committeewoman’ (gross!) — to change things, I’ll take it.”
Queer activists and politicians — like other marginalized people seeking to change and improve their community — must decide when to fight, when to compromise and when to bide their time.
“I am not the Lorax of the queer community,” Kasckow said, acknowledging that other queer activists will decide their own balance with the status quo. “But speaking for myself, you have to go with the flow a little bit sometimes. There are so many fights happening and you really have to choose your battles. And I’m not going to choose this battle to get all up-and-at-it.”
It’s more important, for Kasckow, to get that seat in local party leadership – even if it means taking on an uncomfortable title. After all, life in Wyoming will never get better for queer people — or any marginalized group — if they’re not helping to shape the future.
“Change isn’t always fast,” Kasckow said. “And so unfortunately, I’m just going to have to wait it out.”