Why I'm not a party girl

At midpoint last month, my town, my whole state suddenly had an aura of calm after the storm.

Phyllis Edgerly Ring

At midpoint last month, my town, my whole state suddenly had an aura of calm after the storm.

Oh, the weather had something to do with that, of course. After relentless weeks of deep freeze — and deep snow that arrived in wave after wave, we finally had ourselves a bit of a surprise thaw. For a while, it was possible to walk safely on most surfaces again, and far safer at intersections, where there was finally some sight-distance as the mountainous snow banks shrink.

Probably one of the nicest days we had that week really worked to the advantage of the other kind of whirlwind that engulfed our state last month, the one in which folks lined up in record numbers to cast their vote in New Hampshire's now internationally famous presidential primary.

Along with the change in the weather, there was another sort of calm after the storm on that Wednesday morning after the big day. We finally had our phones and our streets back. Just the day before, I had counted six calls in four minutes, four of which proceeded to leave a pre-recorded political message on our answering machine. Then not one, but three separate visitors came to my door to ask whether I had been downtown to cast my vote.

But while politics was the inevitable topic du jour wherever I seemed to turn, I wasn't one of those campaigning on the corner for my favorite candidate. It's not because I don't care about public policy, or because I don't prize my right to vote. Lord knows, too many people sacrificed too much for me to have it in the first place and I don't take this privilege — and civic duty — lightly. I've volunteered in voter-registration campaigns and offered transportation to polling places. I'm very committed to exercising my vote and to encouraging others to do so.

And, without a doubt, I'm heartened by the response I see among increasing numbers of people, especially ones under the age of 30. They are asking good questions, sometimes large and possibly unsettling ones, and they are taking a deep and personal interest in public policy. They are manifesting a bit of encouragement very close to my heart, which urges, "Be anxiously concerned with the needs of the age ye live in, and center your deliberations on its exigencies and requirements."

There was a lot of use of the word "hope" during that primary week here in New Hampshire and, as Teihard de Chardin once eloquently said, a sentiment I believe so true I've placed it on the bumper of my car: "The future belongs to those who give the next generation reason for hope." I'm encouraged by how many young hearts and minds I see willing to open to the possibility of it.

However, I don't vote in my state's primaries because it would require me, rather than simply voting my conscience in secret ballot, to have to choose a ballot from one specific political party. Every choice in my life is based upon what will foster human unity, and partisanship is, by definition, divisive. This is why, as a member of the Baha'i Faith, I don't join a political party.

Not all states have the sort of restriction my state's primary balloting does. With increasing numbers of voters registering as Independent, many states are taking steps to create primary ballots that will accommodate those of us who don't wish to take part in the potentially disunifying process of aligning ourselves with a political party, even if only for the brief span of time we spend in a voting booth.

The Baha'i Faith has an interesting electoral process of its own. With no campaigning, nominations, or electioneering, it is carried out by a most egalitarian "body politic" (if one is qualified to vote, one is eligible to be elected); by individuals voting their conscience in a choice they don't reveal or discuss. This process aims to identify servants of the community who, through their own growth and maturation, have acquired the kinds of attitudes, abilities, and qualities that can promote justice, truly serve the public, and foster a deep and lasting unity between even the most estranged and alienated of peoples. (And obviously, if elected, if they need to choose not to serve, that's an option.)

This approach to democratic process leaves no room for partisanship and thus increases the likelihood that those elected will not be bound by narrow or personal interests, but will rather seek the well-being of all, within the context of the well-being of the entire planet. In the 30 years I've been privileged to experience it, I've seen its real viability as a model of governance truly of the people, by the people, and for the people. In my perfect world, this kind of approach would help our nation's own electoral process evolve.

But for now, I'll hope that it won't be too long before I can vote in any election in my home state, because the independent and sacred nature of everyone's confidential vote will be as prized as any of the many other freedoms we have to be thankful for.

Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a parenting columnist for several publications and writes on issues of family and culture from her Exeter home. She may be reached by e-mail at info@phyllisring.com.

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