Duty Calls

People love to complain about things, but in a democracy the responsibility for change sits squarely on our shoulders. You may not get the candidate you vote for, but the act of voting itself is a show of respect for those who fought (and died) to ensure you have a say at all. On this Remembrance Day weekend, it’s more important than ever to honour their sacrifice at every opportunity.

BC is currently conducting a mail-in referendum on electoral reform. We have been given a chance to change a system that many of us have griped about for-seeming-ever. I won’t try to describe the options here because the details are irrelevant for anyone outside of BC, and anyone inside BC has until November 30 to mail your ballot to Elections BC—only you’d better mail it in well before the 30^th because postal service is hiccupping on Canada Post’s rotating strike. And it’s important that your ballot is counted. This is what democracy is all about, Charlie Brown.

There’s been a buzz about something in the wind for the past few weeks, but not much in the media besides advertisements for and against electoral reform, neither of which did much to unravel the mystery of the alternatives to the system we have now.

The system that’s literally been in place for centuries. The system that, with some alteration, is why Hillary Clinton won the popular vote in the States, but lost the presidential election. That’s why I’ve paid attention to this referendum. I don’t want something similar to happen here.

I know, I know. It’s confusing. I dislike recommendations to visit anyone’s website for more information because I don’t spend a lot of time on the Internet. Government websites aren’t always easy to navigate, and the 1-800 toll free phone number generally advises me that “our call volume has exceeded our capacity, so please try again later.” Information can been spotty and not very well explained. In truth, I was so befuddled by the options to “first past the post” that I almost declined to vote at all. Then I thought, No, I have to vote; it’s a privilege and my responsibility, but figured I’d stay with the status quo. But then I realized I’m unhappy with the status quo, and maybe I should consider the options—or at least watch the news blurb wherein the options were, as it turned out, sorta kinda outlined and didn’t impress me into changing my mind.

Ter and I watched the televised debate between the Premier and the Leader of the Opposition a couple of days ago. That was where the three alternatives being offered were explained in a way that chimed. It helped me make up my mind not only to vote at all, but to think about the choices and consciously decide which one aligns with my sense of how government should look.

It didn’t take that long. Sure, it took some effort because I had to use my brain, but when I gave myself five minutes to focus, some things became clear. Better yet, when I finally opened the referendum package that came in the mail, I understood what I was reading. I almost messed up the ballot, but I caught myself and got it safely in the mail this afternoon. “Look at us,” I said to Ter, “participating in the democratic process!” Considering that women weren’t allowed to vote a hundred years ago, it’s more precious to me than ever.

Truly, BC reader, you didn’t have to have watched the debate to comprehend the write up in the package you received; just give yourself five minutes to focus. Think about whether or not you’re okay with where we’re at. If you are, say so. If you’re not, do the work, then make it count.

From now on, complaining is not an option.

Public Service Week

I’ve never been a fan of scheduled recognition. I prefer to be recognized for my professional efforts as they happen, i.e., more often than during one week per year. However, I appreciate the gesture put forth by the employer to celebrate all public servants during a few days in June. We civil servants continue with daily operations, of course, but sprinkled among budget meetings and Sharepoint headaches are “fun” events like casual Friday and the branch Chili Cookoff.

Though I accept the sentiment behind such events, I don’t usually attend them. Big groups intimidate me even if I know everyone in them. Heck, even if I’m related to everyone in a group larger than six, I’m inclined to decline. So on the day of the Public Service Week potluck some years ago, I stayed at my desk while everyone else went down to the second floor boardroom.

In due course, one of my colleagues returned. “Ruthie, you missed the presentation!”

I thought nothing of it; just shrugged and replied that someone has to mind the phones.

Colleague #2 appeared after a few minutes. “Where were you? You missed the presentation!”

This happened a couple more times. Finally, I asked, “What presentation?” and someone answered, “The years-of-service awards. Your name was called, but you weren’t there.”

Blanch. “I don’t even know how many years of service I have!”

Just then the division Director rounded the corner. “There you are! You’d better get downstairs. The ADM is waiting for you.”

Great; just great. The Assistant Deputy Minister, who always happened upon me at the precise moment when I was either saying or doing something utterly moronic, had been stood up because of my aversion to office gatherings.

So, I hustled down to the second floor, where our volunteer staff photographer heralded my arrival with, “Ruthie! You missed the presentation!”

Yeah, yeah yeah, I’m here now, let’s get this over with. Aloud, I apologized to the ADM, who then presented me with my ten-plus-five years of service pins and a letter of gratitude/congratulation. “Fifteen years,” he observed as he handed me the letter. “You started at the same time I did.”

“Really?” I asked, panicked into making small talk with a man who doubtless considered me a bit of a goof. “You mean if I’d tried harder, I could have been you?”

Career-limiting comment, right? Nah. That was two ADMs ago ... and I’m still here!

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.