I Voted

I have been a writer since I was a teenager. I’ve been a photographer for even longer. My parents gave me a Brownie camera for my birthday one year, I think I was twelve. I think that camera was my first true love. I’ve been taking pictures of my world ever since. So I have a lot of photos of Canada. The photos in this post are all old, taken before digital cameras.

I voted yesterday. I have always voted. In every election, since I turned eighteen. Back then, I was a teenager voting because my grandfather told me that voting was both a right and a responsibility. In my family, when my grandfather said something, we listened. As the years passed and my experience as a voter grew, I would hear more of my grandfather’s words. He had told us not to vote blindly, but to be informed, to know what I was voting for.

Yesterday, I voted for Canada. And once again, I was struck by the peaceful organic process that is voting in a Canadian federal election. It is still a joyful wonder to me that this most important of all national rites remains a manual process. In a room with at least four different polling stations, there was not a machine in sight. We - and there were a lot of us in line at 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning - Canadians quietly followed the familiar procedure. It wasn’t a stern quiet, but rather one of comfortable shuffling and murmurs as people waited their turn.

I watched the man behind the table at the head of our line as he gestured for the next voter to take a seat. The voter handed over their voting card and their identification. The polling officer found the voter’s name on a list - a paper list, not an electronic list - and drew a line through the name, by hand, with a ruler and a pen. Then he transferred the name, also by hand, to two other lists. Then he reached for his booklet of ballots and carefully removed one. After folding it twice, he handed it to the voter. The voter then went behind a screen where they used one of the pencils to mark their choice as we all waited. Then the voter returned and handed their ballot back to the polling officer, who removed a tab before handing it back to the voter, who then pushed their vote through the slot in the ballot box and left. Only then did the next voter in line take their place in the chair in front of the polling officer, who repeated his process exactly the same way every single time.

The quiet respectful dignified orderliness of this tactile procedure left me profoundly moved. It was so peaceful, so satisfying, so unhackable. For the rest of the day and still this morning, I feel such deep gratitude that I live in a country that honours this beautiful right and ritual for each and every citizen. Democracy. Surely one of the greatest of all human creations.