By David Fortier

The ballot was right there in the mailbox.

I realize not everyone will be receiving one this time around. But that will change this coming November when everyone in the state will have the option to vote my mail.

So, Friday afternoon when I stuck my hand in the box and pulled out the junk mail and some bills, there it was.

By this time, I had forgotten that I even requested it—meaning that I had received an absentee ballot application in the mail, completed the form, and stuck it back in the mail.

The marvelous thing about our postal system—despite the ill-tempered perennial campaign against it under the guise of sound fiscal policy—is that it works. Put something in the mail, it gets to where it is going.

It’s funny or maybe not, but this summer during our global pandemic, I have started sending letters to friends, first one, then two.

In my barely legible handwriting, I scratch out a letter, address an envelope, affix a stamp, and either clamp it to the mailbox by the front door or drop it in a collection box nearby. And a few days later, there in my mailbox is a response—not all the time, but sometimes.

And it is a thrill.

Receiving my ballot via the mail was a thrill, too.

It’s like a love letter from the people, of the people, for the people—or our government—the one that works for us. That’s good government.

And it’s interesting that some people want to destroy the parts of government that work for us—mostly by claiming that those parts are inefficient, wasteful, old-fashioned.

It’s a shame that we have trouble seeing through these diversions—that we can’t see how inefficient and wasteful some enterprises we the people fund under the direction of some politicos really are.

Get this right, I am not against a few dollars going to pet projects. And I am not against some waste. There is always going to be some waste because as human beings waste is something we do.

What I am against is deliberate engineered campaigns against the public good under the guise of good for everybody, such as the one raising its ugly head once more against the post office.

The post office is ours, together, communally.

It works—and campaigns against it, claiming that it is bankrupt, miss the point and also place on it tricky unrealistic financial burdens that would bankrupt most businesses. Not fair, not fair at all. But that is another story.

The story here is about the ballot I received in the mail this past Friday.

Exciting.

A love letter from our government, trusting me with that wonderful conception that fuels our democracy—a vote.

I was so taken that I just set the ballot on the kitchen table.

Just let it breathe for a moment, while I caught my breath.

I needed a moment. I took about an hour. I just needed to let this new development settle in.

Granted, this is me. I take things personally. I get involved. I get wound up. I recognize the symptoms. I back off. I come back refreshed, and I come back ready to do the work.

Receiving this ballot was no different.

The ballot, itself, was easily recognizable, larger than a more typical envelope, some heft to it. I understood why when I slid my finger under the flap and ran it along the top edge to open it.

Inside were a couple of items—one an attractive bumper sticker, which I set aside. Also inside were the ballot, and two envelopes. I studied them.

I found the little bubble to be filed in with black or blue ink or pencil by the name of the candidate of my choice. I found the envelope to deposit the ballot in, and I saw where I was to sign and date that envelope (or the vote would be invalidated).

I studied the seal of this envelope and then saw how the ballot was to be inserted into a this envelope and then how this envelope had to be inserted in a second return envelope and sealed prior to dropping it in the mail.

I saw how if I hurried, I might mistakenly insert the envelope with the ballot into the return envelope with the wrong address showing through the window in the return envelope.

I went over the instructions a few times, because I wanted to get this right.

Then I grabbed a pen with black ink and filled in the bubble, slipped the ballot into the appropriate envelope, which I signed and dated and sealed, and slipped that envelope with the correct address showing through the window into the return envelope and sealed it.

Beautiful.

Only then did it occur to me that this method of voting is pretty convenient. Why not do this all the time?

If anything, I figured it will allow more people to vote—how many people find getting to polls almost impossible?

• Those who work several jobs?
• Who have odd schedules?
• Inflexible work arrangements?
• Those who struggle with transportation?
• Those who have to shuffle kids around or attend to elderly and infirm relatives, which often mean unforeseen emergences?
• How about people who are homebound and voters?

This is exciting, despite what the naysayers have to say about voter fraud—which by all accounts both conservative and liberal—have been deemed unfounded.

I will admit no system is perfect, including the current one, and there can always be instances where fraud has been committed or misidentified as such.

But we are human—and nothing we do, no system we create, is perfect. We do, however, aspire to the notion that our efforts might be more perfect, that we aim to improve each and every day.

This is exciting, and it is challenging, too.

For one, we are going to have to understand that our elections may not be decided in one day of voting. This may rattle some people. They might even believe that there is something wrong. No, there isn’t. It is just that we are doing something different and getting all the pieces to fit means that it will take time for them to come together.

And we are going to have to fill out the ballot in a timely fashion—can’t let it sit with the other mail too long.

We can make this work. And we will need to once again trust each other, meaning we will have to trust the system that we put in place.

Let me say that again: We need to trust each other again—over and above those divisive voices that use social disarray to advance their own personal agendas—this is not solely the province of the current president.

This disarray is an effective device used to subvert democracy and government of the people, by the people and for the people—often to turn the people against their best interests by undermining their own experiences and personal wisdom by floating claims and promises that at first appear attractive but upon second look lack substance.

That ballot in that envelope has substance—ours, as voters, as members of a democracy.