Vote

Some days there's nothing to talk about except the thing that everyone is talking about, and today definitely qualifies. I've voted in every DC election since 2001 and this morning my polling place was by far the most crowded I've seen, despite the fact that the presidential election is a foregone conclusion and the only local race of note is for at-large city councilperson. In education, we often cite voting and jury duty as reasons for the public education system's being, the rare occasions when people from all walks of life are asked to come together on equal terms and render judgment on one another and the pressing issues of the day. Like Emily Parsons, I grew up in New York where voting was always done by machine, and, like her, I find the un-private DC system of optically scanned cards to be inadequate and mildly disconcerting. Former Notre Dame president Theodore Hesburgh was right to say that "voting is a civic sacrament" -- particularly, I suspect, for people like myself who don't regularly partake of traditional sacraments or other such rituals. There's something about the quiet moment inside a voting booth with the curtain just drawn behind you, standing in front of levers waiting to be chosen. It's serious; it reminds you of citzenship and country and the gift of democracy. And there's nothing quite like the satisfying "thunk" of pulling that master lever, hearing your small, vital act of will recorded within the machine, and feeling the light of the polling place pour in from behind you as the curtain opens and you turn to leave into what always feels like a better day. 

Update: Hendrik Hertzberg says more or less the same thing at the New Yorker--except, he being Hendrik Hertzberg and it being the the New Yorker, it's about ten times better written.