On the Eve of Election Day: Present & Past
Views on the impending 2022 Midterm Election and those written the night before the 2016 vote
THE EVE OF ELECTION DAY 2022
Here in Michigan, like other parts of the nation, Election Day will begin in the still dark hours of the morning when hundreds of workers—ordinary citizens who have volunteered for this civic duty—arrive at their assigned locations. These locales include township halls, school gyms, banquet halls, fire stations, and churches that, for this day, will be serve as polling places.
At 7 o’clock, with the dawn breaking over the eastern sky, the doors will open and the first voters will walk in, sign the cards, have their names and addresses checked against a master list, and then, if all is OK, be given their ballot. From there they’ll be directed to one of the portable booths that are scattered about the room. In that modest privacy, they will mark the ovals that indicate which candidates they prefer for an assortment of offices and their ‘yes’ or ‘not’ on whatever propositions or millage requests have been put forth.
As each voter completes that task—some in a haste that suggests their having already known their decision beforehand, with others tarrying either because they are uncertain on certain races or proposals or do not wish to make a mistake. Whatever reason, once finished, they turn in their ballot and, as has become a recent custom, get a small sticker that says “I voted.”
Depending on the locale, time of day, and level of voter interest, these polling places will busy places, with a line of voters stretched out the door and into the parking lot, or nearly empty caverns. With these midterms, with all of the ‘sound and fury’ of the campaign, a number of close races, and a couple of contentious statewide ballot proposals to be decided, the expectation is the long-line turnout.
Tempering those numbers is the fact that many voters chose to go the absentee-ballot route.
At eight in the evening, the doors will officially close (although any voters in line will generally be accommodated) and then, with the final ballot cast, the counting begins, precinct by precinct across the state.
It is a two-part process--the act of voting and the tallying of results—which are the heart and soul of our system of self-government. The task is seemingly mundane, but the purpose inspirational. Together they comprise the first step in the peaceful transfer (or continuance) of governmental power. Through it we, as citizens, decide on everything from the president of the nation to the governors of our 50 states, members of Congress and the state Legislatures to judges, county commissioners, school board members, and town councils. It is also the means through which we decide on such weighty matters as school bond issues, road improvement levies, funding libraries, and even constitutional amendments.
It is the culmination of a long season where would-be office-seekers, incumbents, supporters of these candidates or of a particular ballot issue have done their best (in most cases, but not all) to persuade voters to support their side. It is not always a pretty process, but ‘it is what it is.’
The reality is that elections—who the majority of voters support and ‘why’—is not, in and of itself, inherently good, with good admittedly being in the eye of the beholder.
Hitler and the Nazi Party, for example were voted into power and then, through a referendum, given additional authority that was then used to dismantle Germany’s self-government, imprison political opponents, curtail civil liberties, and eventually launch a reign of terror.
In ancient Athens, the cradle of democracy, citizens used a process of ostracism where a fellow citizen, including political leaders, could be expelled from the city-state for 10 years. The way it worked was that once a year Athenians would nominate people they felt threatened democracy—because of political differences, dishonesty, or just general dislike—and, if approved, send them packing. And it was, as a democracy, that Athens executed Socrates on charges of ‘impiety” and “corrupting the young.”
In the history of the United States, and of Michigan, a fair number of office-seekers espousing racial supremacy, scapegoating minorities, and stoking fears and resentments of one segment of Americans towards another have gained favor from time to time with the majority. As have candidates who portray political and policy differences as a threat to the republic.
Those campaigns of fear and perceived threat have been employed both major political parties and across the ideological spectrum. But, it should be added, the causes and reasons that underlie that strategy and ‘why’ they find favor within parts of the electorate are not necessarily ‘six of one, half-a-dozen of the other.’
There can be, and are, moral and ethical differences . A campaign that would, if followed to a logical conclusion, result in a policy of discrimination against a targeted group, is not on the same plane as a warning against that policy.
Conversely, the ballot box has given us representative leaders who seek to broaden the democratic franchise, fashion a more equal and just society, feed the hungry and help the downtrodden, and champion our national motto: E pluribus unum… “Out of many, one.”
And the voters have, time and again, either approved ballot initiatives that support this overarching cause or kicked open the door to laws and policies designed to shut off such social progress and fairness.
The 2022 midterm campaign—in Michigan and elsewhere—has certainly been contentious, full of dire warnings from both sides, and further polarizing. The gaps between us seem to be ever widening, the existing bridges that connect us more and more wobbly, and civil discourse increasingly becoming a fool’s errand.
Every election is important, with some (in hindsight) more important. What’s decided has impact, often determining future direction. Whether this one, when the final tallies are counted and the dust settles, lives up to that measure remains to be seen.
Given all that’s been said and—amid the dark atmosphere of threats, fears, concerns, and a possible irreversible damage—perhaps the greatest task is to protect the process itself: the act of voting and the counting of ballots. And afterwards the peaceful transfer (or continuance) of governmental power.
Without that, there is no government “of, by and for the people”
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ON THE EVE OF ELECTION DAY 20016
Note: I wrote this as a Facebook post in the evening prior to the 2016 Election. Polls were showing that Hillary Clinton, the Democratic presidential candidate, would prevail over Donald Trump, the Republican standard-bearer. As we know, that did not happen based on the final Electoral College count. A lot has transpired since then. I thought the juxtaposition between my thoughts then and now worth sharing. The writer’s conceit.
I’ve come inside after spending an hour or so, outside, enjoying the absolutely tranquil and balmy autumn twilight on this unseasonably warm day here in Michigan. I started things out this morning by walking six times around the quarter-mile track at the nearby football field and then doing some push-ups against the fence and finishing off with 15 leg squats (I use the chained-linked fence for balance). I’m told such exercise, done on a regular basis, will extend my lifespan…How much? Maybe, if I’m lucky, an hour or two.
I put in my normal day at the newspaper office and now, with the day nearly finished, I sip on a beer, look upwards at the darkening sky, and enjoy the sight of the bright half-moon that dominates the view on the southern horizon.
The calm is pervasive, so very welcome at the end of the work day…and, may I add, at the eve (and end) of this election cycle. It seems hard to believe in this quiet setting—as I stand in my yard seemingly at the center of the universe, all alone with my thoughts—that surrounding me are a multitude of neighbors who might agree or disagree with my political, social, and cultural views.
After all of the vitriol and animosity, after all of the name calling and strained friendships resulting from this presidential campaign, at this moment, in this steadily darkening yard, on the Eve of the Election Day, I have this thought—which I wish to share with you.
I have no doubt that many of my friends, including those of you on Facebook, differ with my views. So be it. I worry that the election won’t settle much. No one likes to lose; no one likes to cry “Uncle.” I’m guessing that the noise and hoopla, the harsh words and partisan feelings, will continue on, albeit a bit abated from the recent high pitch. But continue they, no doubt, will.
My hope is the strains of this campaign will not break the ties that otherwise bind us. Differences are not what define the friendships that I have—or at least I hope not. These ties of affection have been knitted by shared experiences and close proximity that occurred at some time or other in our lives. They are the tapestry of family, church, school, work, or neighborhood that we are part of. Comprised of those near and dear. But the connecting weave includes others now residing far away; who are also still held in warm regard.
This tapestry, I hope, is not so easily unraveled.
I do not like to lose or cry “Uncle” any more than anyone else. I’m hopeful my various votes, cast for assorted candidates, will be in the majority. But on this evening I wish to also remember –and hopefully remind others—that we, as Americans, share a heritage and common cause that transcends those differences of opinion, those partisan causes, which at this moment seem so paramount.
It seems to me that if we, as one nation, but more importantly as friends, do not embrace that vision, then it won’t matter who wins—for divided and at odds, we all lose.
Steve Horton is a mid-Michigan journalist and editor-publisher of the Fowlerville News & Views.