We
are 11 days away from the 2012 Presidential election. Everybody is pretty much sick of politics at this
point. Me included, even though
presidential election years are like Mardi Gras to me. Spectacle, tradition, ritual,
absurdity, and at base deeply important – even “religious”. I treat voting like a Sacrament.
Our state has gone to an all mail-in ballot voting system, which I really dislike. I LOVED going to the polls on Election Day. It was high school civics class come to life. My polling place was the local elementary school where my boys were students. I saw familiar kids, teachers, neighbors, and poll-workers – a true sense of community. I loved being handed my ballot and walking to the booth to cast my votes amid the hubbub of activity around me in the school cafeteria. It reminded me why I was voting at all. I loved getting my “I VOTED” sticker, which I wore proudly the rest of the day, like ashes on my forehead.
Now I have a different voting experience. My ballot arrives in the mail about 2 weeks before the election. I don’t open it until the day I set aside for voting. At that point I sit at the dining room table with my Voter’s Pamphlet and a cup of coffee. I become quiet, focused, and intent on making my final decisions. I might read once more about each initiative, the “for” and “against” arguments. I might read once more the candidates statements. And then I draw my line next to the name of the one I’ve chosen to vote for with great care, ensuring the black line is neither too thin nor too thick. I feel like the altar guild ladies preparing for communion. Everything just so. Because I want to be sure my vote will count – no errors. Then I put the ballot in the envelope and sign my name carefully where indicated and drive to the post office to mail it. I absolutely don’t trust leaving it at my door for the mail carrier to pick up. I must see it slide into the slot of the huge mail box outside the post office, left there by my own hand. Amen.
This may sound seriously neurotic. To me it feels seriously patriotic. Voting is a right, a responsibility, and above all, a privilege. I think it is the most amazing thing, this representative form of government of ours. It’s broken now, I know that. Money, lies, betrayals, “fixes”, apathy, cynicism…it’s all in stark evidence this year. That makes me sad for our country, for our democracy. But I won’t give up. I still believe my vote counts. The only way we lose this grand experiment, this model of democracy that people in other lands are literally dying to emulate, is to stop voting.
My vote is my prayer of thanks for those who fought so that I’d have this privilege – our nation’s founders, the soldiers who fought for independence and freedom, the women who marched and were jailed and tortured to win me, their sister, the right to cast a ballot alongside men, the Freedom Riders who stood shoulder to shoulder with their brothers and sisters to desegregate the south and eventually win the right to vote for all. Our history is about preserving – and serving – this big, messy, majestic United States of America.
My vote is also my prayer for hope for the future. It really does matter who is in the White House and what that person’s vision and leadership will manifest. It really does matter who is in the Legislature and whether their positions on issues (that will become the laws we must all obey) are those which will benefit all Americans. It really does matter who sits on the Supreme Court and is the final arbiter of dispute, interpretation, and enactment of those laws.
How can we do anything less than to cast a vote for those who are most likely to embrace the inherent humanity of every American and set policy that will respect, uplift, and benefit every citizen? How can we do anything less than to take this right seriously, cast our vote joyfully, and shout “Halleluja!” on Election Day?
Our state has gone to an all mail-in ballot voting system, which I really dislike. I LOVED going to the polls on Election Day. It was high school civics class come to life. My polling place was the local elementary school where my boys were students. I saw familiar kids, teachers, neighbors, and poll-workers – a true sense of community. I loved being handed my ballot and walking to the booth to cast my votes amid the hubbub of activity around me in the school cafeteria. It reminded me why I was voting at all. I loved getting my “I VOTED” sticker, which I wore proudly the rest of the day, like ashes on my forehead.
Now I have a different voting experience. My ballot arrives in the mail about 2 weeks before the election. I don’t open it until the day I set aside for voting. At that point I sit at the dining room table with my Voter’s Pamphlet and a cup of coffee. I become quiet, focused, and intent on making my final decisions. I might read once more about each initiative, the “for” and “against” arguments. I might read once more the candidates statements. And then I draw my line next to the name of the one I’ve chosen to vote for with great care, ensuring the black line is neither too thin nor too thick. I feel like the altar guild ladies preparing for communion. Everything just so. Because I want to be sure my vote will count – no errors. Then I put the ballot in the envelope and sign my name carefully where indicated and drive to the post office to mail it. I absolutely don’t trust leaving it at my door for the mail carrier to pick up. I must see it slide into the slot of the huge mail box outside the post office, left there by my own hand. Amen.
This may sound seriously neurotic. To me it feels seriously patriotic. Voting is a right, a responsibility, and above all, a privilege. I think it is the most amazing thing, this representative form of government of ours. It’s broken now, I know that. Money, lies, betrayals, “fixes”, apathy, cynicism…it’s all in stark evidence this year. That makes me sad for our country, for our democracy. But I won’t give up. I still believe my vote counts. The only way we lose this grand experiment, this model of democracy that people in other lands are literally dying to emulate, is to stop voting.
My vote is my prayer of thanks for those who fought so that I’d have this privilege – our nation’s founders, the soldiers who fought for independence and freedom, the women who marched and were jailed and tortured to win me, their sister, the right to cast a ballot alongside men, the Freedom Riders who stood shoulder to shoulder with their brothers and sisters to desegregate the south and eventually win the right to vote for all. Our history is about preserving – and serving – this big, messy, majestic United States of America.
My vote is also my prayer for hope for the future. It really does matter who is in the White House and what that person’s vision and leadership will manifest. It really does matter who is in the Legislature and whether their positions on issues (that will become the laws we must all obey) are those which will benefit all Americans. It really does matter who sits on the Supreme Court and is the final arbiter of dispute, interpretation, and enactment of those laws.
How can we do anything less than to cast a vote for those who are most likely to embrace the inherent humanity of every American and set policy that will respect, uplift, and benefit every citizen? How can we do anything less than to take this right seriously, cast our vote joyfully, and shout “Halleluja!” on Election Day?
At
least, that’s the view from here…©
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