It’s been a rough few years for election workers. Ever since former President Donald Trump called the 2020 presidential election “rigged,” spreading false claims of voting fraud echoed by his supporters, the once low-profile citizens who tally votes have found themselves under an unexpected spotlight—and the targets of vitriol.
Per a 2023 survey of local election officials by the Brennan Center for Justice, 30% of respondents reported being “abused, harassed, or threatened” because of their work. Seventy-three percent said they felt threats to election officials had increased in recent years.
These threats have ranged from disgruntled constituents storming election workers’ offices to sending them letters containing fentanyl. For Natalie Adona, who moved from private philanthropy at the Democracy Fund in Washington, DC to serve as Assistant Registrar of Voters in Nevada County in her home state of California in 2018, harassment has focused on her identity as an Asian American, her “outsider” status, and her county’s COVID-19 protocols.
Elected as Clerk-Recorder/Registrar of Voters in 2022, Adona shared with Fast Company how the harassment has affected her and her employees’ mental health, ability to do their jobs, and her outlook on democracy in the United States.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
‘I didn’t know what “it’ll be bad for you” meant.’
Elections have been part of my being for a long time. When I first caught the bug in 2008, I helped administer the election in San Francisco and trained poll workers. I expected something familiar when I took the job in Nevada County in 2018, but with more leadership responsibilities.
I didn’t know there would be COVID-19, which led to an incident in our office [in mid-January 2022]. We had quite a few people here upset about protocols. [Some constituents] announced an effort to recall our entire Board of Supervisors, who were doing everything they thought best to keep the county safe. A small group of people did not agree with their actions, like the rule on masks.
We were in the middle of accepting paperwork for that recall effort when my staff approached me: “These guys are coming into our office unmasked. It’s the height of Delta. They’ve got crowds of people with them, filming us.”
My staff had people at home who were at-risk. One had just completed chemo with her husband, who had an aggressive form of cancer. We came up with a plan to initiate stricter COVID protocols. This group, who wanted to recall our supervisors because of COVID protocols, didn’t like that. We locked the door to control the number of people coming in, and they became extremely angry with us. A group busted in and shoved the door into one of my staff. One person told me, “Don’t close the door again, because if you do, it’ll be bad for you.” We decided to shut down lobby service until further notice. I didn’t know what “it’ll be bad for you” meant.
The next day, about fifteen people came into the hallway where our office is. They had huge flags with messages like, “Don’t tread on me” and were pounding on doors, shouting. They stood at every entrance to our office for about an hour. I felt trapped, as did my employees. We were wondering, is it okay to go to the bathroom? Are they going to push their way through the door again?
‘You wouldn’t think running for County Clerk-Recorder would be high profile.’
When I then ran for Clerk-Recorder/Registrar of Voters [position], it was a constant barrage of being publicly lambasted by this small but vocal group. It stressed everybody in this office, on top of the other tasks elections officials have dealt with post-2020. I was still fielding criticism about voting machines and how Donald Trump won the election. It was hard.
You wouldn’t think someone running for County Clerk-Recorder would be high profile. But it was in the news all the time, largely because some of my opponents wanted to make sure everyone knew what a terrible person I was. Maybe a month and a half before election day, one of my staff came into the office with this flyer she’d found in a supermarket parking lot. A bunch of teenagers were passing them out. It was a picture of me yanked off Twitter that was already dark. They darkened [my skin tone] a whole lot and said vote no on Natalie.
[It made it seem like] I’m some political operative looking to rig the election. On the back of that flyer—which was sent to the entire county—were things like, “She’s a carpetbagger. She hates Nevada County.”
About a week before my election, someone was outside of my house, lurking. I called the police. Eventually the guy left, but he was looking at my door. He parked in my neighbor’s driveway and sat there, waiting. It was really creepy.
My staff were also visibly upset. They had to sit and listen to people trash talk me. Some of that has reverberated as we’re moving into 2024. For example, the same group of people who went after me are always requesting documents [related to past votes] from the county. My staff are nervous talking to them because of that history. I was thinking, please don’t let my candidacy be why someone says, “I’m going to work for a department where this drama isn’t happening.” Thankfully, they all stuck around.
‘I still sometimes feel a little retraumatized.’
There weren’t processes in place to protect people in my situation. Because you’re not getting extreme [harassment], the cops don’t know what to do. The state didn’t have a good solution. The FBI and Department of Justice have a task force for threats to election workers, but they could only take a report. I felt very alone. Sometimes I would get home and not be able to pull myself together. The feeling of being scrutinized was so intense, it makes me tear up just thinking about it.
In 2022, a law passed in California allowing any election worker who felt threatened or stalked to participate in the Safe at Home Program. Run out of the Secretary of State’s office in California, it’s designed primarily for victims of domestic violence to keep their name off commercial lists and voter rolls.
I still sometimes feel a little retraumatized. What’s it going to be this time? I’ve had [election worker] friends tell me it was helpful to put a go-bag together, because you might have to leave home right away. They’re speaking from experience. The FBI told some that they needed to move away from their houses for a bit, or people showed up at their homes to protest. I can’t even wrap my mind around putting together a go-bag—how am I going to put my cat in there?
I’m lucky I haven’t had to think too hard about that. Still, when I hear about people I respect and care about enduring that level of harassment, it makes me mad. A lot of people in my profession are women, and many threats include nasty, sexualized language.
What’s frustrating is we take an oath to act professionally. This is not your regular road rage—you flipped me off, I flipped you off. A lot of us feel we have to let citizens unload on us. You’ve got to keep a cool head. It must be frustrating for my colleagues who never get confronted in person, but on social media or by anonymous callers. You never know who’s looking at you. At least the person who threatened me said it to my face.
It’s scary. It creates this atmosphere where we might see political violence in American elections. We are the oldest surviving democracy. This should not be happening in the United States. I don’t know how to solve for that. I’m just here, trying to be good at my job.
