So, like, I'm having an emotional moment about democracy. This morning my roommates (Steph and Vinit) and I went to vote together at around 8:30 a.m. We walked up the block to our polling place, Vinit clutching a voting guide as I cultivated guilt about not having adequately researched the state-wide propositions and (count them) TWELVE local Berkeley ballot measures, including one about prostitution enforcement and another that would create a "public tree act." I didn't know who to vote for on the rent stabililzation board, and I didn't even realize that I was supposed to have an opinion on medical marijuana.
(The Berkeley Daily Planet commented that, "If ballot measures are the true measure of citizen voter participation, and citizen voter participation is the true measure of democracy, then the Nov. 2 election would seem to confirm the City of Berkeley as the democratic (small “d”) capital of the East Bay." The Planet also comments that, "With 12 municipal ballot measures, Berkeley will have only one less by itself than all of the cities in Contra Costa County put together." To this I say, is there ever a moment, maybe, when democracy can go too far? Jesus Christ, people--where's the benevolent dictatorship when you need it?)
But I digress. Back to the polling station, where three 70+-year-old poll workers sat at a folding table, one asking people to sign their names, another checking people off a list of registered voters, and another reprogramming the electronic ballot cards in a little machine that he wore around his neck.
Vinit went before me and caused problems right away.
"What's your name?" asked the attendance taker, who wore a white turtleneck sweater with lipstick stains on the collar.
"Vinit Desai."
"Sorry?"
"Vinit Desai."
"Vinnie?"
"No, Vinit."
"Vinnie Desai . . . let me see." She scrolled through the names, finally landing on his. "Vin . . . how do you pronounce that?"
"Vinit."
She checked his name off and almost forgot to give him an "I Voted!" sticker, clearly one of the main incentives for participating in the democratic process. Vinit protested, got the sticker, and soon it was my turn.
I walked up to the table, clutching my voter registration card and state-issued ID in hand--despite my previous voting experience, I still harbored hopes that maybe, just maybe, I would be required to show the same proof of identification that I would if I were trying to order a beer.
Not so! I offered my driver's license but the lipstick collar woman looked right past it and asked for my name. I repeated it three times, before the second attendance taker found my last name--Price--on the list and asked, I'm not kidding, "How do you pronounce that?"
I signed my name, waved my driver's license again just for good measure, and got in the voter's line, where I small-talked with a poll worker with a lazy eye and then picked up my electronic voter card from another poll worker, a man with thick, coke-bottle glasses, whose (lack of) dexterity with the reprogramming machine suggested that if faced with something like the internet, he would be quite confused. Nonetheless, he handed me my ticket to democracy, and I walked up to an electronic voting booth.
For anyone who's used an ATM, it wasn't too difficult to follow--pick your language, then touch the screen next to the candidates that you want. But then I started thinking about people like my grandmother or, for that matter, my dad, who responds to my suggestions that he cut and paste things into email by joking about having lost his pot of glue. This does not bode well!
But still. As I stood there waiting for my roommates, watching a line of voters begin to snake out the door, I felt my cynicism start to melt away. Suddenly, it seemed beautiful. The lack of identification requirements, the twenty-something ballot measures, the geriatric poll workers--this was America! I was exercising my rights! I was playing some small part (if you ignore the electoral college) in making my voice heard!
I was reminded of the first time I watched the Daily Show with my father, when they did some segment that he didn't agree with politically, and he turned to me and said, "This is great. If you did this in some other countries, you'd get shot."
And you know what, it's true. I'm sure that this election won't be decided tonight, that there are going to be lawsuits (don't even get me started about how screwed up I think it is to reinforce the 2000 precedent of settling elections in court), that there are going to be uncounted ballots and records of dead people voting, but for all the system's faults, it's still pretty cool that we the people do get (in theory, at least) to pick our leaders. I mean, come on! That's pretty amazing! You can't see it, but I'm giving the founding fathers a hug.
this isn't from me but this angry little genius shares my sentiments precisly. enjoy. from www.fuckthesouth.com
Fuck the South. Fuck 'em. We should have let them go when they wanted to leave. But no, we had to kill half a million people so they'd stay part of our special Union. Fighting for the right to keep slaves - yeah, those are states we want to keep.
And now what do we get? We're the fucking Arrogant Northeast Liberal Elite? How about this for arrogant: the South is the Real America? The Authentic America. Really?
Cause we fucking founded this country, assholes. Those Founding Fathers you keep going on and on about? All that bullshit about what you think they meant by the Second Amendment giving you the right to keep your assault weapons in the glove compartment because you didn't bother to read the first half of the fucking sentence? Who do you think those wig-wearing lacy-shirt sporting revolutionaries were? They were fucking blue-staters, dickhead. Boston? Philadelphia? New York? Hello? Think there might be a reason all the fucking monuments are up here in our backyard?
No, No. Get the fuck out. We're not letting you visit the Liberty Bell and fucking Plymouth Rock anymore until you get over your real American selves and start respecting those other nine amendments. Who do you think those fucking stripes on the flag are for? Nine are for fucking blue states. And it would be 10 if those Vermonters had gotten their fucking Subarus together and broken off from New York a little earlier. Get it? We started this shit, so don't get all uppity about how real you are you Johnny-come-lately "Oooooh I've been a state for almost a hundred years" dickheads. Fuck off.
Arrogant? You wanna talk about us Northeasterners being fucking arrogant? What's more American than arrogance? Hmmm? Maybe horsies? I don't think so. Arrogance is the fucking cornerstone of what it means to be American. And I wouldn't be so fucking arrogant if I wasn't paying for your fucking bridges, bitch.
All those Federal taxes you love to hate? It all comes from us and goes to you, so shut up and enjoy your fucking Tennessee Valley Authority electricity and your fancy highways that we paid for. And the next time Florida gets hit by a hurricane you can come crying to us if you want to, but you're the ones who built on a fucking swamp. "Let the Spanish keep it, it’s a shithole," we said, but you had to have your fucking orange juice.
The next dickwad who says, "It’s your money, not the government's money" is gonna get their ass kicked. Nine of the ten states that get the most federal fucking dollars and pay the least... can you guess? Go on, guess. That’s right, motherfucker, they're red states. And eight of the ten states that receive the least and pay the most? It’s too easy, asshole, they’re blue states. It’s not your money, assholes, it’s fucking our money. What was that Real American Value you were spouting a minute ago? Self reliance? Try this for self reliance: buy your own fucking stop signs, assholes.
Let’s talk about those values for a fucking minute. You and your Southern values can bite my ass because the blue states got the values over you fucking Real Americans every day of the goddamn week. Which state do you think has the lowest divorce rate you marriage-hyping dickwads? Well? Can you guess? It’s fucking Massachusetts, the fucking center of the gay marriage universe. Yes, that’s right, the state you love to tie around the neck of anyone to the left of Strom Thurmond has the lowest divorce rate in the fucking nation. Think that’s just some aberration? How about this: 9 of the 10 lowest divorce rates are fucking blue states, asshole, and most are in the Northeast, where our values suck so bad. And where are the highest divorce rates? Care to fucking guess? 10 of the top 10 are fucking red-ass we're-so-fucking-moral states. And while Nevada is the worst, the Bible Belt is doing its fucking part.
But two guys making out is going to fucking ruin marriage for you? Yeah? Seems like you're ruining it pretty well on your own, you little bastards. Oh, but that's ok because you go to church, right? I mean you do, right? Cause we fucking get to hear about it every goddamn year at election time. Yes, we're fascinated by how you get up every Sunday morning and sing, and then you're fucking towers of moral superiority. Yeah, that's a workable formula. Maybe us fucking Northerners don't talk about religion as much as you because we're not so busy sinning, hmmm? Ever think of that, you self-righteous assholes? No, you're too busy erecting giant stone tablets of the Ten Commandments in buildings paid for by the fucking Northeast Liberal Elite. And who has the highest murder rates in the nation? It ain't us up here in the North, assholes.
Well this gravy train is fucking over. Take your liberal-bashing, federal-tax-leaching, confederate-flag-waving, holier-than-thou, hypocritical bullshit and shove it up your ass.
And no, you can't have your fucking convention in New York next time. Fuck off.
Posted by: nazli | 2004.11.09 at 11:55 AM