My ballot's amazing 20,000 kilometer journey

I often seem to find myself thousands of miles from a polling booth during Presidential election years. In 1992 I was in Japan and cast my ballot from there by mail; I was so interested in the election results that I took an election-day vacation to the island of Saipan, an American possession, so that I could watch the returns on CNN, which wasn't available at the time in the neighborhood in Osaka where I lived.

In 2000, I voted by mail from the Emerson College campus in the Netherlands. I conducted seminars for all the students on how they could vote from abroad, but few took me up on my offers of assistance. How sad the two young Al Gore supporters from Florida were after they realized how their laziness, and the votes they never ended up casting, played a role in determining the election of George W. Bush. Never again, they vowed, would they ever fail to vote no matter where on the planet they might find themselves.

Again, I am residing far from the Spokane County, Washington election office. Here where I live, it is sometimes difficult to find basic items like a half-dozen bananas in the market, so imagine how much trouble it would take to figure out how to vote in an American election from high up in the Kyrgyz mountains. However, the election of 2016 could very well be a defining election like those of 1860 (the Civil War looming) or 1932 (the Great Depression crashing down on everyone), so I was bound and determined that I would get ahold of my ballot no matter what it would take.

My first partner in this endeavor was my mother who took possession of my ballot and put it on a DHL Express flight bound for Kyrgyzstan. Actually, make that "flights."  My intrepid little ballot traveled on airplanes from Spokane to Seattle to Cincinnati to the East Midlands Airport in the United Kingdom. Then onto a truck the ballot went, traversing hill and dale, until it arrived at London's Heathrow Airport. Once at Heathrow, it was gathered aboard a plane bound for Manas International Airport in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. End of sojourn, you think, but, no, we're just getting started.

A truck took my ballot on the 30 kilometer jaunt to the DHL office in Bishkek where it was transferred to another vehicle, eventually ending up at the UCA Central Office where it found its way into the receptionist's desk.  There is no DHL service or formal courier service from Bishkek to my home at the UCA Naryn Campus, so I had to rely on the kindness of my faithful, fellow election geek, Canadian co-worker who took custodianship of the ballot and brought it on the bumpy 300 kilometer UCA shuttle bus ride over two mountain passes, finally into my possession.

Before casting my ballot I gave a presentation on the U.S. election system and the 2016 election to the students here at UCA. I've also had chats about what's at stake in the election with co-workers from across the globe. The topic of voting even came up when I had dinner with Roza Otumbayeva, ex-President of Kyrgyzstan, who was amazed when I told her about my ballot's incredible journey. "You must tell people in Kyrgyzstan about this," she said. "This shows how important it is to vote." Yes, my tiny little ballot is being cheered on by everyone in my far corner of the world who hears about it.

The moment then arrived to formally make my vote. Anyone who has read this blog knows exactly for whom I cast my Presidential vote. There are hundreds of reasons why I voted the way I did, but this one is perhaps most important. If the worst-case scenario comes to pass, I will be able to proudly say that I stood up and made my voice heard against that which I feel could pose the greatest danger to our democracy in decades, a danger with a frightening neo-fascist voice and tone. I would ride on the back of a Kyrgyz yak to get my ballot to Bishkek and on its way to be counted, to strike even the smallest blow for this cause.

My completed ballot, safely tucked in its return envelope, ready for the journey back home

Thankfully, I didn't have to find a yak to get my ballot back to the Spokane County Auditor. Luckily, my supervisor was kind enough to allow me to take the day off to return the ballot to Bishkek--support for my ballot comes from everywhere. I hired a driver and, at 7:30 yesterday morning, he took me in his car, and off we went over the two mountain passes back to Bishkek.

Riding with my ballot in our hired car, through the Kyrgyz mountains

Once in Bishkek, it was to the DHL office where my ballot was tucked away in its brash yellow and red shipping mailer.  Right now it's on a flight to London where it will re-trace its journey to the English Midlands, Cincinnati, Seattle, and Spokane, finally to be taken to its drop-off point for sorting and counting.  When all is said and done over 20,000 kilometers will have been traveled and over $300 will have been spent in getting my ballot to where it ultimately will serve its purpose as one person's humble expression of what he thinks should be.

The person who doesn't take the time to vote, complaining that the process isn't convenient, saying it doesn't matter, while there is a kernel of truth in these sentiments, this person still gets no sympathy from me. Jumping from a leaking ship, rather than working on repairs, is the not the act of a courageous person, but is instead the coward's way. It is the same with voting, as failing to take a stand, and doing nothing, takes no skill or wisdom and contributes nothing to the common good.  In some ways I have more respect for those who vote for the candidate who fills me with such trepidation. While I may question their kindness and compassion, their judgment, their ability to assess the realities of the world with any degree of accuracy, and their understanding of what democracy and the Constitution mean, at least they are participating in this great, though certainly flawed, experiment in governing a nation.

My ballot, in and of itself, is no more significant than a grain of sand on an endless beach. Yet, as it makes its way back to the election office, I feel this small ballot has, in its journey, spurred conversation with many others and has caused me to remember why it is I care so much about it. And through its journey it has gained slightly more power because of the small attention it's received and the actions it's caused me to take to amplify the impact on the world that it will make. Let us all value our ballots and their journeys so that they motivate us to take actions big and humble, and through these actions we can multiply the strength of our ballots, so that they might serve as the beginning of a process to effect the positive changes in the world we desire.