Sturm und Drang? Not Here in my Neighborhood

Today is Election Day in America, the venerable time in our history when citizens of nearly all walks of life set out to cast their votes for people and policies that will, ultimately, have an influence on life in these modern times.

In the spirit of transparency, I live in the city of San Diego, a nearly three-hour car ride north to Los Angeles, and less than an hour drive south to Tijuana, Mexico. And here in this city, I was once part of the local television coverage of election returns, pontificating on political advertising that in one way or another probably had some effect on the outcomes of the careers of politicians and adoption of policies.

This year, and without a television in my home, the election campaigning seems rather mellow and low-key. There’s little outward evidence of political lawn signs on the homes in my neighborhood. No planes flying overhead towing political messages, no corner sidewalk speeches, no skywriting.

So, by and large, there’s not much going on here that would otherwise signal a huge national cataclysmic event. In my condominium complex of some 200 units, a few of the residents, including me, have affixed to their front doors small circular stickers that proudly announce, “I voted.” These stickers were part of California’s massive mail ballot package. Mine arrived early, and although I don’t recall the exact date, my guess is that it was in my U.S. Post mailbox in September. The package, from San Diego County, seems ambitious. It contains a “Voter Information Pamphlet,” the “Official Voter Information Guide,” and the official ballot with instructions and visual diagrams as to how to vote, and how to secure and mail and the completed ballot.

Although at some point this year, I did make a nominal political contribution, my email has been flooded with campaign information. In fact, the amount of campaign literature and memos is exponentially larger than my “minimal” donation. I do receive the Associated Press morning and evening news editions, and I am a voracious reader of several electronic news sources that report on healthcare policy.

I do remember, though, sitting in the makeshift election-night television set, watching the scads of enthusiastic political volunteers mingle and spin. To me, that was a robust signal of our country’s progress. My sense of pride was heightened.

No doubt, in campaign offices throughout the country, in big states and small states and swing states, computer keyboards have been clacking, phones ringing, and hands wringing. There is little reason to doubt that the buzz in those places has been palatable. But not here in my neighborhood.

Over the years, I have walked into small polling places, typically in city libraries and churches. I remember being greeted rather perfunctorily as my name was being searched and checked against other data to confirm my legitimacy as a voter.

I remember clearly entering small cubicles and closing the privacy

curtain behind me. I remember, too, casting my ballot, folding it up in the proper fashion, and then handing it to another volunteer who ensured that it was properly placed in the ballot box. I did, often, use my voting experience as a teachable lesson for my children. Ahh. Long live democracy.