Every vote counts

A Floridian's moment in the sun

by Lisa Gerson

Right now, I'm one of the most important people in the country. Or so the pundits tell me. I voted with an absentee ballot from Florida - a vote which, at this very minute, is among those being counted and recounted to determine the presidency.

I grew up in Fort Myers, Florida, and have always voted there. This means that I have never actually set foot in a voting center. I have voted absentee since I was 18 and in my freshman year of college. Sure, I could have registered in Massachusetts, where I live and pay taxes. And it does bothers me that I have no say in the local issues that affect my life (hello, Question 4). But voting on a Florida ballot kept my connection with home. Plus, interesting stuff always happens in Fort Myers - and I didn't want to give up my say. Every four years, for instance, I cast a vote against Sheriff John McDougall, the guy who got in trouble for posting anti-abortion and anti-gay vitriol on the state-run sheriff's-department Web site (he finally lost in this year's primary). In 1996, I helped vote the right-wingers off the school board (a few years ago, the Fort Myers School Board okayed a Bible class in public schools; it's since been overturned). This year, when I heard Jeb Bush say that he would have a hard time going to family Christmas in Kennebunkport if he didn't deliver Florida to his brother, I considered it my civic duty to make him miserable.

I always vote, and I always feel that my vote doesn't count. Except for this year. A month ago, my brother Sam (a student here) and I requested our absentee ballots and filled them out side by side (maintaining, uh, the proper confidentiality, of course . . . ). We sent 'em back and felt we had done our part. Last night at 9 p.m., we high-fived when we saw the Sunshine State light up in blue. Then I turned off the TV.

I'm glad I wasn't awake for the roller-coaster events that occurred later. I would've been disheartened to see Florida change color again, and see the numbers pulled from Gore's tally as the vote was declared too close to call. Now, I'm going back over my ballot in my mind, trying to reassure myself that I punched out the right tab, signed my name on the envelope, and applied the proper postage. I'm thinking of all the people I know who voted absentee in Florida: younger hometown friends in college elsewhere; my grandmother, who couldn't physically make it to the polls. There are people I know from Florida who haven't voted in years, but they stood up across the country to be counted for this election.

To paraphrase Tip O'Neill, all politics isn't necessarily . . . local.