Change! (Voting in LA Today) A Humiliating Kick In the Crotch Sort of Day
First of all it was another TERRIBLE day at work. Everything I did was wrong, even if I did the opposite of the thing I was wrong about only moment ago. I ended the day in an exchange with my boss that made my stomach cringe. Made me think, as I was walking out of the building, about The Police's Synchronicity. The line that goes something like, "Where every (exchange) with his so-called superior was a humiliating kick in the crotch." Makes one think about choices. Choices made in the past. "There but for the grace of capitalism go I....."
To vote, perchance to dream?
I read online earlier today, at salon.com and elsewhere, that LA voters were having certain difficulties, causing a bit of disenfranchisement. This worried me all day. I lived in the same place for ten years here in LA, until I moved about a year and 3 months ago. I registered to vote at that time, but when I tried to vote in last February's election, I wasn't registered. It was several local races and a ballot measure. I let it go because truth be told I wasn't terribly informed on several issues.
But this made me worry all year long, after registering again, that I wouldn't be able to cast a ballot this year in the Presidential election of a lifetime. But I received my information in the mail, and so I felt like I would be okay this year.
Then today I hear several rumors online. Machines not delivered to parts of LA. (That may have turned out to be rumors only.) Poll workers telling voters they can't vote in the Democratic primary, only the American Liberty party. Voters names not showing up on the registries. Non-partisan voters (like me) finding out later their vote in the Democratic primary won't count unless they fill in an oval at the top of their ballot. On and on.
So after ending the day being cringed at by my temporary boss for speaking to her about something I shouldn't speak to her about, after having been cringed at for not speaking about other things ...
I wanted to vote. I wasn't in the mood for disenfranchisement. I'm not sure The Police even have a song for that, after all. How would I cope?
I get home to discover that my friend, landlord, roommate was not allowed to vote in the Democratic primary. He was only given the choices for American Liberty and Green. Now I was hopping with anxiety.
So I walked the block and a half to my polling place. On the way another friend called. I joked, "I'm on my way to be disenfranchised." Turns out he was disenfranchised. His name didn't appear on the register of voters, although his wife did, and they had each registered to vote in California at the same time. Her's went through, his did not.
I got in line. I didn't want to raise a stink here. But I knew it was my right to have a Democratic ballot. I had my California presidential primary guide with me to prove it. But I didn't want to raise a stink. For one thing, I'm the only white voter in the room. (I live in a neighborhood that is 99% Latino.) But as I got to the front of the line I began to realize that the problems other people were having weren't happening now.
A non-partisan voter just a few people ahead of me in line was asked by the adorable elderly lady, shouting, "Non-partisan or Democrat?" He said, "Independent," and she shouted, "Non-partisan!"
The person behind him was asked the same thing. "Non-partisan or Democrat?" The woman shouted, piercingly loud, "Democrat!" The woman in front of me, who was obviously registered as a Republican, said her name, and the woman shouted, "Republican!" (Everyone in the room looked at her for a moment. Whaaaaa?)
Anyway, I wasn't disenfranchised. (After all that!) I was handed a Democratic ballot and I went to one of the three Democratic machines.
And I voted. The rest I'll keep a secret.
But as I was leaving the young man next to me, probably just turned 18, was helped out by his friend, or just older brother. Abashedly he accepted his help: "I've never voted before. Shiiit. I don't know how to do it."
As we were all walking out together, those young men joined their family. Their father was sticking his "I Voted" sticker on the little girl's coat. About three years old, she walked out, holding her mother's hand, looking down at her sticker the whole time.
And as we got outside the elementary school auditorium, the young man who had just voted for the first time said, "Change! Obama! Fuck that other bitch!"
Change indeed.
To vote, perchance to dream?
I read online earlier today, at salon.com and elsewhere, that LA voters were having certain difficulties, causing a bit of disenfranchisement. This worried me all day. I lived in the same place for ten years here in LA, until I moved about a year and 3 months ago. I registered to vote at that time, but when I tried to vote in last February's election, I wasn't registered. It was several local races and a ballot measure. I let it go because truth be told I wasn't terribly informed on several issues.
But this made me worry all year long, after registering again, that I wouldn't be able to cast a ballot this year in the Presidential election of a lifetime. But I received my information in the mail, and so I felt like I would be okay this year.
Then today I hear several rumors online. Machines not delivered to parts of LA. (That may have turned out to be rumors only.) Poll workers telling voters they can't vote in the Democratic primary, only the American Liberty party. Voters names not showing up on the registries. Non-partisan voters (like me) finding out later their vote in the Democratic primary won't count unless they fill in an oval at the top of their ballot. On and on.
So after ending the day being cringed at by my temporary boss for speaking to her about something I shouldn't speak to her about, after having been cringed at for not speaking about other things ...
I wanted to vote. I wasn't in the mood for disenfranchisement. I'm not sure The Police even have a song for that, after all. How would I cope?
I get home to discover that my friend, landlord, roommate was not allowed to vote in the Democratic primary. He was only given the choices for American Liberty and Green. Now I was hopping with anxiety.
So I walked the block and a half to my polling place. On the way another friend called. I joked, "I'm on my way to be disenfranchised." Turns out he was disenfranchised. His name didn't appear on the register of voters, although his wife did, and they had each registered to vote in California at the same time. Her's went through, his did not.
I got in line. I didn't want to raise a stink here. But I knew it was my right to have a Democratic ballot. I had my California presidential primary guide with me to prove it. But I didn't want to raise a stink. For one thing, I'm the only white voter in the room. (I live in a neighborhood that is 99% Latino.) But as I got to the front of the line I began to realize that the problems other people were having weren't happening now.
A non-partisan voter just a few people ahead of me in line was asked by the adorable elderly lady, shouting, "Non-partisan or Democrat?" He said, "Independent," and she shouted, "Non-partisan!"
The person behind him was asked the same thing. "Non-partisan or Democrat?" The woman shouted, piercingly loud, "Democrat!" The woman in front of me, who was obviously registered as a Republican, said her name, and the woman shouted, "Republican!" (Everyone in the room looked at her for a moment. Whaaaaa?)
Anyway, I wasn't disenfranchised. (After all that!) I was handed a Democratic ballot and I went to one of the three Democratic machines.
And I voted. The rest I'll keep a secret.
But as I was leaving the young man next to me, probably just turned 18, was helped out by his friend, or just older brother. Abashedly he accepted his help: "I've never voted before. Shiiit. I don't know how to do it."
As we were all walking out together, those young men joined their family. Their father was sticking his "I Voted" sticker on the little girl's coat. About three years old, she walked out, holding her mother's hand, looking down at her sticker the whole time.
And as we got outside the elementary school auditorium, the young man who had just voted for the first time said, "Change! Obama! Fuck that other bitch!"
Change indeed.