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Published: February 6, 2008
I voted in Florida's presidential primary, and I voted angry.
I was angry at the move by both parties to devalue the input of Florida's voters. But I was - and still am - even angrier at the candidates running for office who made public statements to the effect that Florida has no role to play in the selection process.
I stood in front of the voting machine and scanned the choices before me. I had thought things through carefully over several weeks, making well-reasoned decisions long before going in. In that moment, though, I let my feelings dictate my actions. I switched my choice.
I voted against my previously No. 1 selection. I did it because my No. 1 selection told America that my vote had no meaning at all.
I cast my ballot and walked outside into the lovely Florida afternoon. I breathed in the clear 65-degree air, and I hoped earnestly that the candidates for president were all campaigning in upstate New York or Minnesota or somewhere else the sun seldom shines.
And there, in front of my neighborhood polling station, I ran into some very passionate folks who were taking an exit poll for Project Vote Count. Their purpose, they told me, was to compare "hard" exit data to the results generated by the voting machines.
In a nutshell, Project Vote Count is concerned that computer voting is analogous to counting ballots in secret with no reliable oversight. It's a Ron Paul initiative, but the concept is nonpartisan.
My initial reaction - having just voted angry - was negative. I didn't want anyone suggesting that my vote was worthless. I am, however, interested in research, and it was apparent that Project Vote Count's methodology is solid and its work calculated to improve the process.
So, I filled out the affidavit and signed my name. I'm well-aware that exit polls are simply surveys and that they carry significant margins of error; I plan to check the organization's results with a healthy dose of skepticism. But the essential premise of "vote counting in secret" is working on my brain.
It's not that I'm suspicious of computers; it's more that I am wary of people, especially the more I appreciate what is at stake. The less I understand how something works, the more opportunity the unscrupulous have to pull the wool over my eyes.
I may not understand how microprocessors operate, but I can count pieces of paper; I know that I could go into a polling station and - laboriously - check ballots. It's not that I'm unimpressed with the security measures, but I'd be willing to bet very few of the fine volunteers at my precinct have the vaguest idea how to know for sure that what they do adds up to an accurate tally.
The goal of computer voting is fair and manageable elections; I don't question the motive. But - and the caucus of raised hands in a meeting hall is the rawest example of this - the act of voting is, at heart, an uncomplicated gesture that any American can follow. Computer voting adds another degree of separation from the visceral, the primitive, the hands-on, the connection to the gut.
In our laudable quest for efficiency, we may well have inadvertently stabbed the act of casting a ballot directly in the heart.
Reading this aloud, I recognize I likely sound reactionary or out of touch. But I'm not a dinosaur, just a philosopher. "Virtuality" may well become a contributing factor in low voter turnout. It stands to reason: The more disconnected citizens feel, the less they are inclined to participate.
I had to will myself to my Valrico precinct because I had started to doubt that my vote would count. We have to try harder to make sure that no citizen feels that way again.
Columnist Derek Maul can be reached through www.derekmaul.net.
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