As anyone who knows me could tell you, I'm a bit fanatical about citizenship duties. I vote (absentee, no less) in every election I can: city council, school board, school bonds, sewer boards; it doesn't matter to me.

Why stop at elections?

I pay dues to an interest group that sends me newsletters about the legislative session. My computer's address file has the home and business phone numbers for all my representatives from the school board to the state legislature. And, of course, I'm not without the phone numbers of their actual legislative offices.

Despite my diligence, I've never had any real evidence that my participation made any difference.

Even in my town of 7,000 (or so), we have a little more than 1,000 citizens turn out for the mayor's election. A few hundred will even turn out for the sewer board. My vote doesn't actually impact things too greatly.

Even phone calls may not make that big a difference when I'm competing with organized phone trees who turn in hundreds of calls in a single day.

Last week, however I received proof that democracy works.

Occasionally, our representatives pull out the stops and actually represent us, despite what some may think or what the media may lead us to believe.

The bolstering of my faith began when my interest group, the Idaho Women's Network, alerted me to a bill introduced in the State Senate. Senate Bill 1407 would require the State Board of Education to draft gender equity guidelines for local school boards to follow.

As visions of sexual harassment guidelines, equal funding of men's and women's sports (Title IX, anyone?), and constitutionality in general whirled through my head, I reminded myself not to celebrate just yet.

Idaho, after all, has the most conservative legislature in the country. Spousal rape is still legal in the state and the secretary of state was reelected after making some outrageous statements about rape victims.

Idaho is the definition of "religious right."

As a veteran Statehouse watcher, I knew the bill was probably dead.

I didn't want it to die too quietly, however, so I called and left a message for my state senator, Hal Bunderson. Then I called and left a message for the chair of the Education Committee. When I called to leave message for the entire Education Committee, the woman asked if I knew the e-mail address.

With that, my crusade began in earnest. I e-mailed that address to every Idahoan I had in my address book. I e-mailed the address to my mother, who e-mailed it to everyone she knew. I begged my father to e-mail and call.