Making the world unsafe for democracy

As yesterday's recount in Florida took a tiny step toward settling the issue over who will be the 43rd president of the United States, many pundits heralded the incredible value of each vote. And while that may be true for senior citizens in Palm Beach with five all-news channels asking how confused you were by the ballot, it doesn't go very far in explaining the value of a vote for Bush in Massachusetts, where a winner-takes-all Electoral College stifles your voice. But regardless of volume, an American's voice at the voting booth is of superlative importance; our system depends on an honest, efficient and fair gauge of the people's choice. When I changed my voter registration to my college address, I did so in order to make my voice heard immediately on Election Day (as well as postpone what ended up being a gut decision from a menu of disheartening choices). I'll probably reconsider that choice in the future as a result of the gross display of incompetence I viewed in DRL Tuesday afternoon. I arrived at 1:30 p.m. and cast my vote 90 minutes later. After waiting in a laughably long line because I left my voter registration card at home -- an unnecessary document, the authorities say -- I reached the democracy's first line of defense: Table 1. Table 1's role was to take all the ignoramuses who didn't bring their registration cards and tell them where to go based on their street address. When I gave my address, the worker there looked at the book and then back toward me like I was crazy. That's understandable -- after all, I'm sure not many people voting that day were coming from the Quad. She huffed and puffed and sent me over to Table 2. Table 2 was even better. The staffer there was busy trying to get help from the woman at Table 1 on how to do her job, while the woman at Table 1 was busy sending people over to her. Circular logic to say the least, but common sense that afternoon. As I made my way down the tables to see which book, if any, listed my name, my good luck kicked in -- I found my name at the last table in the hallway. At no point, however, did any polling attendant show any concern for the hundreds of other frustrated students. With our civic duty in mind, we waited for help that rarely came. The student next to me in line went so far as to go to a city court to get his vote counted on an absentee ballot -- all because his name was missing from the list at DRL. If we as college students are expected to cut an entire day of classes to perform our civic duty, the least our retired compatriots in Palm Beach can do is follow an arrow to a hole. Tuesday was a sad day for a person interested in increasing voter turnout -- the barriers to voting are still ridiculously high when they should be outrageously low. In retrospect, I'm convinced the officials were unaware of the importance of their position -- their ambivalence to whether or not I voted, just as long as I kept my mouth shut in line, was shocking under the circumstances. This summer, a census official pounded my parents' door to get a "long form" filled out. From his persistence in July, it's clear the government can hire competent help when it values a task. Why this same sense of duty could not be found at my polling station sends a different message. Regardless of your views on this past (and current) election -- and whether you notice that based on the county's mortality rate, 2,000 voters in Palm Beach won't live to see the next president inaugurated but will decide who wins -- the fact remains that voting should be a smoother process. This is especially true for younger voters, who are just getting accustomed to voting. I know that in the future, when I pass by students voting at DRL, their experience will be a bit smoother. I'll be doing my part to lighten the workers' load. I'll be voting absentee.

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