Civic Duty

The first signs sprouted some weeks ago: Elect John Doe or Re-Elect Average Joe.

I asked Ter: “Is there an election coming?”

“Must be,” she replied.

“When is it?”

She shrugged, as unsure as I was. Being BC government employees, our level of awareness starts at the provincial level and works up toward the federal. Since neither of us owns property, we had assumed—wrongly, as it happens—that we couldn’t vote in a civic election.

This round was different for many reasons. The campaigning was more evident, for one thing. Candidates were all over the place, going door-to-door, handing out pamphlets on street corners, telephoning folks to ask for support or, at the very least, to encourage people to get out and vote on November 15. The mayoral incumbent was the one who told me that anyone who’s lived in town for six months is eligible to vote. Armed with that information, I resolved to pay more attention.

Even if I hadn’t bothered, I still took a couple of phone calls from one candidate’s campaign office, and encountered a wannabe city councilor on a street corner during a lunch break last week. I sussed out the signs in the ’hood, getting a sense of which way my neighbours would go. I didn’t go to any debates or meetings, and I didn’t look at any websites, but the proximity to Remembrance Day compelled me to show up on the day. I can vote because people have fought and died to make it my right. There are yet pockets in the world where people are still fighting and dying for the same right. Next time, I’ll be more involved in the process, I’ll look at the issues and decide who best aligns with my own, but this round was strictly a learning experience.

When completely ignorant, I generally rely on the advice of people I know. The MLA for whom I usually vote was advocating for a few candidates, so I decided to go with them. On Election Day, I presented myself at the polling station and was mildly boggled at the number of council seats available. Up to eight names here, three there, another three here—oh, and just one for mayor, thank you very much. Phew. That one I could handle, ’cause I’d already made up my mind.

But I looked very hard at another name on the ballot. Pick that one, something said.

I balked, suddenly uncertain. My pen actually hovered over the other name and I almost, almost, heeded the small voice. In the end, I went with my original decision and went away wondering if I had made the right choice after all. As the results came in later that night, I felt the niggling tug of regret, that I had goofed and should have gone with my gut rather than my head.

Fortunately, the election was won by the candidate for whom I did not vote. I’m happier about that than I would have been had my guy won. But here’s the really weird thing:

This morning, I told Ter what happened to me at the critical moment. She didn’t even blink as she said that the exact same thing had happened to her—only she followed her little voice and voted against her original decision. The final result was determined by fewer than 100 votes. Mine was not one of them, but that’s okay. Ter’s was. She and a handful of others tipped the scale, and for whatever reason, someone new has the top job at City Hall.

Each one of us makes a difference. Every one of us matters. We are all connected. Nothing happens to one that does not affect others, be it a family, a neighbourhood, a town, a country, or the whole big blue planet. You think you don’t matter? Think again. Think beyond yourself and you’ll see.