I vote in person for three reasons:
I want to see the civic spectacle firsthand. It’s a Norman Rockwell moment with a hint of Frank Capra.
I want to see the turnout at my polling place for myself.
And I want that fantastic sticker.
I got stickers when I got shots. The nurse would peel off as many as it took to get me to stop whimpering. Then they moved onto lollipops. The only time I get a sticker now is when I vote. I wear it like a chest-thumping God Bless America badge of honor. Counted and soon to be tabulated.
The other day I heard an interview with an Australian talking about voting Down Under. He said every citizen has to vote. It’s the law. Because there are way more moderate, practical-thinking centrists than there are fools on the far right and left, and middle-of-the road politicians who compromise and work together tend to get elected. And the radicals on either end of the spectrum can go eat eucalyptus leaves with koalas in the Outback for all they care, mate.
Here, voting is voluntary. (We elected a band of Tasmanian devils.) And for voting, dear patriot, what is your reward? Enormous civic pride.
And a magnificent sticker.
I’d really like to be handed a big fat roll of giant “I DIDN’T VOTE” stickers, with a permanent adhesive that I could press over the mouths of gasbags who complain endlessly about our country but can’t seem to find the time to cast a vote. Every time one of these wide-mouthed gripers raises a finger, signaling the start of a rant, I’d reach for my roll and peel and seal that joker’s mouth shut with a giant “I DIDN’T VOTE” sticker.
Don’t vote? Don’t carp.
This year, I don’t need the promise of a sticker to persuade me to vote.
Next Tuesday I’ll wake to NPR. There’ll be a mandatory report on whatever bizarre tweet our unhinged president sent out at 3 a.m., followed by a report about the first votes cast on the East Coast “in this historic election.” Then I’ll reach for my laptop, check Nate Silver’s FiveThirtyEight site one more time to see who’s ahead, check the exit polls from Pennsylvania and Georgia and Florida, start the coffee, read the Star over a hot cup, post Old Glory by our mailbox in honor of the revolutionaries who made this day possible and head down the street to vote, crib notes in hand, wishing I knew how to play “Yankee Doodle” on the fife.
I will vote for decency, for health care and for public education. I will vote for science, for confronting climate change, and for economic justice. And I’ll vote for meaningful immigration reform.
And I’ll remember the man who ridiculed and mocked a sexual assault victim to amuse his followers at a rally. It’s Democracy’s fire sale. Every craven trembling lickspittle has to go. Our democratic, constitutional republic is in the grip of a petty tyrant and l’enfant terrible needs adult supervision.
Then I’ll hand my ballot to the nice poll worker, get my “I VOTED” sticker, high five all the poll workers, press the sticker to my forehead, and whistle “Born in the USA” all the way home. I’ll shoo the cats off the sofa, pop some popcorn and watch until every last vote is in. Could be weeks. I have plenty of food, and if coverage gets light, between recounts and court battles, I can always watch “Idiocracy, a remarkably prescient documentary about present-day America, on a loop until I can’t distinguish fiction from reality.
Politics is a blood sport, and I love it. This season, our souls were battered by the brutal combat. At long last, on Tuesday, 1,000 revolutions will be won, by decent people, district by district, ward by ward, and state by state. And not with bullets but with ballots.
For that blessing, let us remember those who risked their fortunes, their honor and their lives over two centuries ago so that we might make our mark next to a name or a proposal on a ballot and be counted. Thanks to the benevolent genius of our revolutionaries, on a beautiful autumn day in November, we, the people, shall change the course of a great vast nation without bloodshed. We do it every election.
On that beautiful day, let us secure democracy’s promise.
And in the days that follow, let us set ourselves to the task of binding up our nation’s wounded soul.
