VOTING IN THE FEDERAL ELECTION
As an Australian, I am legally required to vote.
That’s how important my voice is.
So I have a little to say in regards to my recent experience at the polling booth.
Sure. I did my research. I righteously strolled past the placards and ‘how to vote for us’ crusaders with my head held high, feeling relatively informed and comfortable(ish) with my vote. When I was faced with that queue that stretched beyond the Church Hall gates, I stood patiently and proudly, reminding myself of so many people around our world who could not even begin to comprehend this incredible privilege I am given as a citizen. I grabbed this thought and I tried to hold on tight; tried to be proud; tried to feel empowered, but it just kept slipping away as the minutes ticked by.
I waited. I inched forward. And then I waited some more. Finally the bouncer granted my entrance to this exclusive club.
I had entered the zone of ‘grown-upness’.
The place where we all cloaked up in cleverness and knowledge, and tried to ooze a calm swagger of, ‘I’m all over this’, (despite doing a quick google search that very morning on what this ‘tampon tax’ was all about).
A big line was struck through my name.
And so it began.
I waited for the Royal trumpets to blow as she dutifully unfurled my parchment; my metre long Senate ballot paper. I clutched it tightly to me and tried not to trip over it as I found my place at a secret booth. Except…the paper was crammed with so many ‘parties’, I had to roll it up the sides and slide it along for closer examination. My eyes skimmed sideways for the ‘pranked’ camera. But everyone still had their game faces on.
And I bloody lost all cred as I laughed out loud in that room of ‘grave seriousness’.
And then that laughter morphed into disbelief.
This? This was…well…it? Our version of democracy that people have fought for so valiantly all around the world?
Who and what were all these parties and how on earth had they snuck in here?
It seems I was not actually prepared at all.
Because please tell me I am not the only one with visions of a dark tavern crowded with men, drinking rum, and wearing eye patches, whilst the Pirate Party awaited a secret cannon ball explosion signalling their success or failure?
Or a white tiled room, full of red leather couches with semi naked ‘politicians’ from The Australian Sex Party draped about, smoking cigarettes, awaiting the result?
Or how about the Health Australia Party stationed about a circuit, knocking back kale smoothies, plating their daily serve of 2 and 5? No screens in here; no siree. Their result would be hand delivered by a member who would jog all the way from Canberra.
The Shooters, Fishers and Farmers Party would be lounging about a mate’s dairy in their gum boots listening to the wireless, and the Marijuana Party were, well, MIA; presumably having just made a quick run to the 7/11.
Oh please. Democracy gone wild.
Is this our Australia whom we all love so passionately?
Is this passion a good enough reason to try and squish through the random views of possibly everyone? Though we strongly uphold this value of freedom, what about basic common sense?
Laughable.
Embarrassing even.
As I folded up my parchment to wedge into the relevant voting box, I noticed the lady actually employed to stand by this said box, holding an official looking pokey stick, and pushing these forms down. I wanted to laugh again, but then felt swamped with the knowledge that she would actually be doing this ALL day long.
So in a stance of wild rebellion, I gave a two fingered salute to the bloody sausage sizzle. You see, there were chocolate crackles instead, so, you know, I backed the underdog in true Aussie fashion. Just to support a cause and all.
Election night saw me settling in for some takeaway Chinese, a couple of glasses of wine and a new book. I completely rocked my very own results party. And it would seem a wise decision to cap the vino at two glasses – at least I wasn’t the one waking up possibly ‘hung’; unlike our Australian Parliament.
