Quintessential Americana: Overheard at the Polls

The guy was big, very big; probably tipping the scales at 280-300 pounds with sufficient girth to block my view of and access to people, early voters streaming into the Fairfax County Government Center to vote for Virginia’s next governor – either Terry McAuliffe or Glenn Youngkin – and the House of Delegates. He had walked across the plaza from his station under the red tent over to our blue tent, a tent with more action – discussion with voters, some guidance, clarifications regarding process, and even fun.

He got up into my face, blocking my view of voters entering from the parking lot, and began to ask me questions, seemingly plucked from the ozone, including, ‘Do you think I need a booster shot?’ (This from a guy I’d never seen in my life, a guy not wearing a mask.)  I politely asked him to take a step back.  He did.  Then I said, “I think you’d better take a bigger step back.”  “Why?” he asked.  Moving closer I said forcefully, “Because I have Covid.” (I confess to a lie here, using the present tense.  I’d had Covid and been Covid-free for six weeks).  But it worked.  He beat a dignified, but fast-paced, retreat to his red tent.

My wife and I had been passing out sample ballots at Fairfax County’s Government Center since early voting had begun.  We helped to provide guidance, clarifications when needed, and we had fun; but it was also worrisome as the Trump forces have deemed Virginia a “must-win” to keep the South solid.

Mostly it was civil and deeply heartening to see voters of all stripes, young and old, along with first-time voters whom we awarded with big “I voted stickers.”

Sometimes it was easy, the questions not hard, the frequent comments memorable, and throughout, the atmosphere was suffused with a manifest pride in voting:

• “Love your Red Sox hat.  I’m voting Dem, too”
• “Need a Democratic ballot?”  “No.  I know it cold.  I’m voting today to save Democracy.”
• “I’m a Republican telling all my friends to vote for you guys.”
• “I’m Cuban.  This is my best day of the year.  I get to vote where in Cuba I couldn’t.”
• “I’m voting today to keep the country intact!”
• “Mom, you’ve got to get registered and vote.”  (This from an 8^th or 9^th grader)
• Big grins and thumbs up after voting.  People were proud of themselves.  I gave “I voted” stickers to all who wanted them, whether R or D.

And, yes, there were a few of these:

• “Never!  You can burn your ballots or I’ll do it for you.”
• The vindictive, a torrent.  “You’re all traitors. You’re Communists!”  I opined: “Communist?  That’s so passé.  You need to use a better term.”  She did and it’s unprintable.  (My mistake.  We had been told by the election monitors not to engage in political debates.  They were right.  Passions were high.)
• “You’re ruining this country: Afghanistan, refugees, the pandemic!  How can you stand there and help people with their Democratic ballot?  You’re all hateful.  Remember January 6^th!”
• “I was an election official in my town for 20 years.  No longer.  Too much anger, hate –and even threats.”

And then this from a woman wearing a wondrously bright, African dress:

• “I believe in His Kingdom.  That’s the only one that’s not divisive.”

I have no idea the percentage of eligible voters who voted over the last two weeks, nor do I know how many actually voted and which way.  But I was deeply humbled, no, awed by people’s pride in voting, their belief in the legitimacy of the process, and I admired those who took time away from work and family, fighting traffic…to vote.

It was quintessential Americana.  May we keep it.