Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Governments Derive Their Power From The Consent of the Governed.
Two things happened to me lately. One explains the frustration and the other one explains the fear I have this Fourth of July.
The other day the local news covered another child caught in the crossfire. Nine-year-old Sherdavia was playing in her front yard when one man chased another man down her street with a high powered weapon. Sherdavia took the hit. Her father gave an emotional plea to the public about stopping the violence on the streets. It was a news bit about the senseless death of a cute little black kid that I've seen countless times. Then something struck home. The father looked into the camera and said, "You won't understand until it happens to you."
My story cannot compare to the loss of a loved one. However, something happened to me almost exactly six years ago that allowed me to truly understand the frustration of this young father. It started on a blustery November night in Miami. I went to hear Al Gore speak at Bayfront Park on the eve of the election. He was so hoarse he could hardly speak, but his speech was electrifying. The following day I went to my precinct polling location and used one of those infamous punch card machines like I had done for the last decade to vote for Vice President Gore. I never bothered to check my ballot carefully. After all, I always checked for hanging chads and punched the card with force. I read about many African Americans being blocked from polling places in northern Florida. I believed that the ACLU and public opinion would take care of the problem. I believed that suppressing the votes of minorities could never happen here in South Florida.
When public law mandated a recount, and later a judge ruled in favor of a hand count, I signed up as a Democratic volunteer. I thought it was important. Because I am a long time party member and belong to a union, I was chosen. I took the day off from work, explaining to my students the importance of civic duty. I had never been more than a voting spectator of the political process. I remember standing in line that morning. It was a typical hot, sunny Florida day. My neighbor, the token Republican on my lower middle class street, stood in the other, much shorter line that ran parallel to ours leading into the Broward County Emergency Operations Center.
After waiting in a comfortable lounge area which had been modestly stocked with refreshments presumably by the Democratic Party, I was ushered into a large room. It was tiresome work. I sat next to a Republican volunteer, a clean cut young man. Across the table sat a poll worker. We went through a huge pile of ballots. The poll worker held up each ballot, one by one. I was instructed to keep my hands in my lap. After careful inspection I stated, "no vote," "vote for Gore," or "vote for Bush." Then my Republican opponent stated his interpretation.
The votes were placed in their respective piles (over/under/disputed votes, Gore, Bush.) Another set of volunteers decided the unclear, disputed votes. It was not very exciting. It was stressful and difficult to stay focused with so much going on around me. There was literally no sound in the room, but there were cameras everywhere and people constantly looking over my shoulder. If I needed help, I could raise my hand and a lawyer for the Democrats would quickly and quietly answer my question. I interpreted every vote I could for Gore. My opponent was just as firm in interpreting a Bush vote.
What I vividly remember was not the hanging chads, but the dimpled and pregnant ones and how many of them that I had observed during my hour of hand counting. There were chads literally all over the floor under my table. Many ballots were probably cast when the chad catchers were not properly emptied. If a chad catcher was completely full, a punched chad had no where to go. I swore to myself that I would carefully check my ballot during the next election.
In 2002 I voted for Buddy McKay for governor of Florida. The punch card machines were replaced by electronic machines. I really didn't worry about them until my daughter told me that she had pressed the "review" button and saw that her McKay vote was in fact a Jeb Bush vote. I didn't remember the review button. Using it was optional. I swore to myself that I would make sure to review my ballot before submitting it to the machine next time.
By now I was beginning to worry. Were voting outcomes inherently unverifiable or was something else more nefarious taking place? When 2004 rolled around I was ready. I donated, volunteered, and canvassed for John Kerry. My daughter was even more ready. She had requested an absentee ballot. This time the machines had the review feature programmed into the computer. As I stood in line I witnessed three different black voters with letters directing them to the wrong polling place. Did they get to vote? Probably. A lawyer was present at my polling place to take care of these issues. Did my vote get counted properly? No one can assure me that it was.
It is very frustrating that two years have passed and very few people feel the urgency much less the need to check out these machines. It's as if voting in America is beyond reproach. I had that kind of faith at one time. However, when I realized a punch card machine could be manipulated by not sharpening the stylus or emptying the chad catcher, it wasn't a stretch to realize that electronic machines could be even more easily manipulated. I recently finished a book about the building of one of the first computers. The Soul of a New Machine, by Tracy Kidder, just reinforced my fears about electronic voting. A huge project like building one of the first computers took many different teams working together. Then, after the machine was built, all the bugs had to be fixed, one by one. A bad design was called a "kludge."
Lately I've been wondering how these voting machines were designed. After reading this book, I have become convinced that these electronic machines are kludges. The number of precincts that are experiencing significant malfunctions are increasing, not decreasing. I believe that paper trails are not going to fix the problem.
I will end this with a simple demonstration. Go to the official Ohio Voter Education Page. Follow the directions to the end, but instead of casting your ballot, go back and change your mind about who's the best vocal artist. If you decide not to vote for one or both of them, you can't erase the original selection. This bug occurs if you change your choice and only vote for one candidate.
My point is not that fraud takes place. My point is that the Ohio government cannot even debug a little java. With the present electoral system, our government cannot say that it has the consent of the governed anymore than Elvis can come back from the grave and say he is the favorite vocal artist in Ohio's simulation.
Will my vote count in November? I am somewhat like the grieving father on the evening news who says, "unless it happens to you, you will not understand." ¶ 5:19 PM
The other day the local news covered another child caught in the crossfire. Nine-year-old Sherdavia was playing in her front yard when one man chased another man down her street with a high powered weapon. Sherdavia took the hit. Her father gave an emotional plea to the public about stopping the violence on the streets. It was a news bit about the senseless death of a cute little black kid that I've seen countless times. Then something struck home. The father looked into the camera and said, "You won't understand until it happens to you."
My story cannot compare to the loss of a loved one. However, something happened to me almost exactly six years ago that allowed me to truly understand the frustration of this young father. It started on a blustery November night in Miami. I went to hear Al Gore speak at Bayfront Park on the eve of the election. He was so hoarse he could hardly speak, but his speech was electrifying. The following day I went to my precinct polling location and used one of those infamous punch card machines like I had done for the last decade to vote for Vice President Gore. I never bothered to check my ballot carefully. After all, I always checked for hanging chads and punched the card with force. I read about many African Americans being blocked from polling places in northern Florida. I believed that the ACLU and public opinion would take care of the problem. I believed that suppressing the votes of minorities could never happen here in South Florida.
When public law mandated a recount, and later a judge ruled in favor of a hand count, I signed up as a Democratic volunteer. I thought it was important. Because I am a long time party member and belong to a union, I was chosen. I took the day off from work, explaining to my students the importance of civic duty. I had never been more than a voting spectator of the political process. I remember standing in line that morning. It was a typical hot, sunny Florida day. My neighbor, the token Republican on my lower middle class street, stood in the other, much shorter line that ran parallel to ours leading into the Broward County Emergency Operations Center.
After waiting in a comfortable lounge area which had been modestly stocked with refreshments presumably by the Democratic Party, I was ushered into a large room. It was tiresome work. I sat next to a Republican volunteer, a clean cut young man. Across the table sat a poll worker. We went through a huge pile of ballots. The poll worker held up each ballot, one by one. I was instructed to keep my hands in my lap. After careful inspection I stated, "no vote," "vote for Gore," or "vote for Bush." Then my Republican opponent stated his interpretation.
The votes were placed in their respective piles (over/under/disputed votes, Gore, Bush.) Another set of volunteers decided the unclear, disputed votes. It was not very exciting. It was stressful and difficult to stay focused with so much going on around me. There was literally no sound in the room, but there were cameras everywhere and people constantly looking over my shoulder. If I needed help, I could raise my hand and a lawyer for the Democrats would quickly and quietly answer my question. I interpreted every vote I could for Gore. My opponent was just as firm in interpreting a Bush vote.
What I vividly remember was not the hanging chads, but the dimpled and pregnant ones and how many of them that I had observed during my hour of hand counting. There were chads literally all over the floor under my table. Many ballots were probably cast when the chad catchers were not properly emptied. If a chad catcher was completely full, a punched chad had no where to go. I swore to myself that I would carefully check my ballot during the next election.
In 2002 I voted for Buddy McKay for governor of Florida. The punch card machines were replaced by electronic machines. I really didn't worry about them until my daughter told me that she had pressed the "review" button and saw that her McKay vote was in fact a Jeb Bush vote. I didn't remember the review button. Using it was optional. I swore to myself that I would make sure to review my ballot before submitting it to the machine next time.
By now I was beginning to worry. Were voting outcomes inherently unverifiable or was something else more nefarious taking place? When 2004 rolled around I was ready. I donated, volunteered, and canvassed for John Kerry. My daughter was even more ready. She had requested an absentee ballot. This time the machines had the review feature programmed into the computer. As I stood in line I witnessed three different black voters with letters directing them to the wrong polling place. Did they get to vote? Probably. A lawyer was present at my polling place to take care of these issues. Did my vote get counted properly? No one can assure me that it was.
It is very frustrating that two years have passed and very few people feel the urgency much less the need to check out these machines. It's as if voting in America is beyond reproach. I had that kind of faith at one time. However, when I realized a punch card machine could be manipulated by not sharpening the stylus or emptying the chad catcher, it wasn't a stretch to realize that electronic machines could be even more easily manipulated. I recently finished a book about the building of one of the first computers. The Soul of a New Machine, by Tracy Kidder, just reinforced my fears about electronic voting. A huge project like building one of the first computers took many different teams working together. Then, after the machine was built, all the bugs had to be fixed, one by one. A bad design was called a "kludge."
Lately I've been wondering how these voting machines were designed. After reading this book, I have become convinced that these electronic machines are kludges. The number of precincts that are experiencing significant malfunctions are increasing, not decreasing. I believe that paper trails are not going to fix the problem.
I will end this with a simple demonstration. Go to the official Ohio Voter Education Page. Follow the directions to the end, but instead of casting your ballot, go back and change your mind about who's the best vocal artist. If you decide not to vote for one or both of them, you can't erase the original selection. This bug occurs if you change your choice and only vote for one candidate.
My point is not that fraud takes place. My point is that the Ohio government cannot even debug a little java. With the present electoral system, our government cannot say that it has the consent of the governed anymore than Elvis can come back from the grave and say he is the favorite vocal artist in Ohio's simulation.
Will my vote count in November? I am somewhat like the grieving father on the evening news who says, "unless it happens to you, you will not understand." ¶ 5:19 PM
