inner democratic turmoil

Yesterday was the federal elections. I pondered long and hard about this particular vote, something I hadn't done often before. I live in a town that is fairly split along linguistic and federalist/separatist lines, with a slowly growing franco side as the city develops. However, we are but a drop in the bucket in a riding that is overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the neighbouring town. A town who has historically voted yes/Parti Québécois/Bloc Québécois. But also a town whose mayor, incidentally, was running for office as a member of the Conservative party.

Which is what got me thinking. Would their healthy support for their longtime mayor mean enough of a shift that we would be represented by a Conservative? Hmm, hard to say for someone who tends to hold her nose in the general arena that is politics. A coworker of mine was/is a diehard supporter of said mayor was convinced that victory was not only within reach, but almost a given.

So, what to do? I considered taking part in that vote-swapping facebook group, but then my unhealthy levels of cynicism wondered whether that was putting too much faith in the honesty of fellow participants. Then, I did what I thought I would never do: for a moment, and I can't even say it was a brief moment, for it took up part of election day, I considered, I mean gave serious thought, to the idea of voting for the Bloc representative. If that isn't a significant indicator of just how terrifying I find the prospect of a majority Conservative government, I don't know what is. And yet, there it was, a singular prospect for my perusal.

Then, my cynical side took a nap, and I had a moment of glorious honesty, if somewhat tinged by merciless optimism. I figured that voting negatively or preemptively was disgracing the honor and duty it was as a member of a democratic society. That, in fact, voting for the candidate whose ideals I admire and who I would truly want to see lead the country was the only honourable thing to do. So, as I crossed the lawn of a local grade school I once attended, I resolved to actually put an X next to the person who best represented my admittedly limited political views.

After having been dutifully carded by the two ladies at my polling booth (it really was like being carded at a bar. Notwithstanding the fact you just handed over a voter card and your driver's license, can you actually recite your address by heart? Really, just like old times. But I digress.), I walked to the gloriously unceremonious foldout cardboard “booth” meant to afford me some level of privacy as I performed by basic civic duty. Same old #2 pencils like you find at golf courses. My hand trembled for a second, as paranoia from the last referendum meant an X could never be quite perfectly centered or even. Nonetheless, I marked by ballot as cleanly as I could, folded it back, and proudly marched back to the two ladies at the table. Alea jacta est. The die, or in this case the vote, was cast. I could no more add or subtract from it without spoiling the ballot, which would have been for naught. Instead, my federally-allocated amount of (oh, I forget how much it is) will be allotted to the party of my choice. The elder of the two, the one with graying roots, cleanly ripped off the tear-off numbered portion of my ballot and ceremoniously removed the sheet of paper covering the ballot box slot before solemnly proclaiming I could officially deposit my ballot in the box.

After completing the ritual, I turned on my heels and walked out into the autumn air, heavy with smokers who crowded the door, even on a warm sunny afternoon. On my way home, looking up at the coroplast signs lining the streets, I wondered whether I had made the right decision. Time would tell.

Time did, in fact, tell. Early in the evening, the CBC announced that the Bloc candidate in our riding was elected. Looking at the number of polls returning, I wondered whether they hadn't gotten ahead of themselves. After all, even with an early commanding lead, did they know whether any of those results were coming from his home turf? If not, a massive groundswell of support could easily shift numbers back to the Conservatives' advantage. In the end, though, the trend was maintained and ou neighbouring mayor was soundly defeated, much to my coworker's chagrin, I would assume. I actually cheered when I saw the numbers. So mark the date of October 14, 2008 on your calendars, because such things, I hope, will not occur again. Although, if yesterday's elections are any indication, history will be repeating itself.

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