Voting Day, 2008
came a day early for me, as I am registered in Massachusetts. Plans to cast my vote earlier than yesterday were thwarted by work - too much of it - which has kept me away from the Berkshires.
I drove up on Sunday so I could vote Monday morning and turn right around to get back to a work commitment in the city. The journey felt, not to be too grand about it, momentous. As important as Joseph and Mary making the trek to Bethlehem to pay their taxes.
The Stockbridge town clerk is named Linda Hunt, a truly nasty piece of work who makes her Hollywood namesake seem like a pussycat by comparison. She did everything in her power to keep me from voting. Why didn’t I come with proof I resided in my house? Why hadn’t I participated in the town census for the last two years? I was preparing to whip out my tape recorder when the census form I had just filled out did the job for me. She backed off when she saw I had entered my occupation as “journalist.” But the unremitting nastiness remained.
And then, this morning, redemption on the streets of New York, where lines to vote in the West Village snaked once ...
twice ...
three times around the block, past the excellent hippies handing out FREE COFFEE from the Mud truck ...
completely, totally, all the way around all four sides of the block.
There had NEVER been a line like this one. And being late for work was okay. People were awe-struck and teary-eyed. Because it was momentous.
I drove up on Sunday so I could vote Monday morning and turn right around to get back to a work commitment in the city. The journey felt, not to be too grand about it, momentous. As important as Joseph and Mary making the trek to Bethlehem to pay their taxes.
The Stockbridge town clerk is named Linda Hunt, a truly nasty piece of work who makes her Hollywood namesake seem like a pussycat by comparison. She did everything in her power to keep me from voting. Why didn’t I come with proof I resided in my house? Why hadn’t I participated in the town census for the last two years? I was preparing to whip out my tape recorder when the census form I had just filled out did the job for me. She backed off when she saw I had entered my occupation as “journalist.” But the unremitting nastiness remained.
And then, this morning, redemption on the streets of New York, where lines to vote in the West Village snaked once ...
twice ...
three times around the block, past the excellent hippies handing out FREE COFFEE from the Mud truck ...
completely, totally, all the way around all four sides of the block.
There had NEVER been a line like this one. And being late for work was okay. People were awe-struck and teary-eyed. Because it was momentous.
posted by DO at 9:14 AM
1 Comments:
I'm not familiar with Massachusetts laws regarding voter registration and identification. Depending on the details, Ms. Hunt's questions may have been inappropriate or even illegal. I can't imagine anyplace where the town clerk has the right to unilaterally disenfranchise a voter. At this point, it doesn't much matter, but if I were you, I would have called over one of the poll watchers from my party. The Obama campaign was doing its best to document suppression efforts which is what your experience sounds like and you also could have alerted them.
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