A Privilege, Right and Opportunity to Stop the Madness!
It was a hot and humid day in Keaau Hawaii, yet I was bound and determined to see it through. After all, it is our legacy. Our Grandmother’s and Great-grandmother’s marched in the streets for the right. A suffragette legacy that began in 1840, the legal right of women to vote in the US, was established over the course of several decades, first in various states and localities, sometimes on a limited basis, and then nationally in 1920.
So what our great grandmother’s took to the streets with a vengeance was being played out in a rural town on the Big Island. Being from California and not used to the caucus style, I searched the internet to learn the difference between a caucus and a primary. Figured I should know what I was doing besides voting for the party and person I think will be the best choice for the next four years of governing the United States through some pretty murky waters.
A primary is a state-level election where party members vote to choose a candidate affiliated with their political party. Party candidates selected in a primary then run against each other in a general election. Thirty-four U.S. states conduct primary elections.
A caucus is a local meeting where registered members of a political party in a city, town or county gather to vote for their preferred party candidate. Caucuses typically are used in combination with a state convention to elect delegates to the national nominating convention for presidential elections.
The caucus is the oldest method of choosing delegates in the U.S., widely acknowledged as originating in the English colonies before the American Revolution. Sixteen states hold caucuses to determine political party candidates.
The differences are clear as mud, right? Oh well, I knew I was going to vote and that was the bottom line!
Two to three hundred people deep, 80 + degrees, muggy and a disabled husband that detests sweating and standing in lines. He really cannot stand too long and there seemed no hope of or even an existing handicapped line. I bravely marched to a volunteer being verbally hassled by a goliath of a man who had been standing in line much too long for the length of his patience.
“Where is the line if you are registered? I ‘ve been standing here for an hour and nobody has an answer!” the six foot five plus behemoth in front of me bellowed.
He was, at least, that tall! I had visions of anarchy at the voting space and starting plotting out the nearest exit.
The volunteer mentioned I am sure for the umpteenth time, “I am only a volunteer sir and trying to help you. I am sorry you are having a problem.”
Hawaiian for, “Hey Brah, chill out and light one, dude. Surf’s up and I want to be out of here too!”
I politely waited my turn and said to the volunteer, “My husband is handicapped. He cannot stand very long. Where should we go?”
Just as sweet as a coconut pie, she turned to me and said, “Well, I would go to the front of the line!” and pointed past the sea of Sanders supporters.
Now, for my husband, it is no picnic to be actually handicapped, yet at moments like this, it helps to have a cane and a real problem. We were escorted to the appropriate line, for the moment, and he took a seat. Now you think it was hot outside, imagine if you will, two hundred people in a 100 person capacity room, snaking with lines to God knows where trying to see the ONE precinct map for the entire county on a wall 50 feet away with a sea of voters standing directly in front of it! Everyone is relatively calm and cannabis isn’t even legal in Hawaii.
Can you find the map?
The volunteers were incredibly calm, helpful and informational. I had asked my husband repeatedly before the big day, if he had remembered we were registered to vote. “Of course, we are,” he told me repeatedly and each time with somewhat of a more irritated tone.
They couldn’t find our names on the list of registered voters. Off to another line to register.
Lines, lines everywhere a line!
Another sighting of the behemoth. Now I had to figure out the distance out the door should he really blow a fuse! I couldn’t change lines either. It was a breath holding experiment!
Next line and a light at the end of the tunnel with great conversation to while away the moments with two guys, recently from Maine, attempting to vote as well after the recent move. I was really interested in the one fellows tats so we had an engaging conversation all the while moving left of center to not make eye contact with Mr. Goliath.
Then, unexpectedly, the last and final table. The voting space! Now I am from California where we have proper, though portable, voting booths. Ah, the joys of laid-back Hawaii. A table with four ladies sitting on the other side. Voter hands lady number one a torn sheet of purple post it and gets a ballot in return. It has the names of the hopefuls printed and voter’s hand checks the name beside your candidate. This can be done in full sight of the four ladies in front of you, watching like hawks with Bernie pins adorning their island wear, or, like I did, turn my back and make the mark with the paper pressed firmly against my other hand. Lady number two is holding a manila folder in which to insert said paper for hand counting later in the day. I think lady number three and four were there for moral support or bodyguards.
We high-tailed it out the door exactly one hour from entrance, sans Mr. Behemoth Goliath.
I did see him the next morning at the Farmer’s Market in Volcano. No eye contact.
Caucus!
How great thou art!!!