Reflections on Democracy

Al Hanners is a retired oil geologist who worked worldwide for a major U.S. oil company for nearly four decades, and who was a Middle East geologist for the company in the early 1970s.

I had been opposed to choosing a candidate by a caucus system because caucuses are so poorly attended; but the one on Feb. 7 was different. As it turned out, my precinct. for example, had 10 times the usual attendance. I arrived early, but the parking lot at the Shuksan Middle School, and the block down the street, were already full of cars.

The caucus room itself was bedlam. People were milling about looking for the right place to go because the directions in The Bellingham Herald were incorrect, and because nobody yet seemed to be in charge. I used my New York City technique: I asked several people, and when I got two answers that agreed, I went to my precinct table. People kept coming and I was elated. There were not enough seats, but those who had to stand never complained. Everyone came with an overriding common purpose—to oust George W. Bush. These were my fellow Americans, and I was especially proud to be one of them. This was democracy in progress!

That crowd of fellow Americans had special meaning to me. After World War II, I needed a job. Just married and still saddled with debts for money borrowed to attend college, I took a job as a geologist in Venezuela because it offered me the most money. It was good professional experience, but I was not happy. I never adapted to Latin culture, and I was barred from participation in politics. I could not vote in the USA, and in those days, I would have lost my U.S. citizenship if I had voted abroad.

After a visit to the USA, while on a night flight back to Venezuela, I would choose a window seat and watch the lights behind until the last light disappeared. Who am I? I am a man without a country; a man with no roots anywhere. But then one time when I returned to the USA, I looked at the people in the airport. They were my countrymen. I am an American. No matter where I touch U.S. soil, I am home. Eventually on returning from a trip to the States, I told my boss I was quitting. The New York office didn’t want to lose me and transferred me to the head office in New York. I had followed Shakespeare’s advice, “To thine ownself be true.” I had made peace with myself.

As I walked down the corridor on the way out of the caucus, I met a friend who had programmed computer software for years. She lost no time in dousing my elation. Yes, we will get a lot of votes, but in effect, she asked, “Who will do the counting?”

She struck a responsive chord. I had lived under a dictator and been through a fraudulent election. I recalled Bobby Sutton, the bank robber. When asked why he robbed banks, he replied, “Because that is where the money is.” Why would there be election fraud if there is no way to verify computerized voting? Because that’s where the votes are. If a self taught computer hacker can hack into private files and can poison thousands of computers with a virus, what can a skilled professional computer programmer do? I went home from the caucus somewhat deflated. §