Eeny, Meeny, Miny Moe
This Sunday there are regional elections here in Galicia and in Euskadi (also known as the Basque Country). As usual, the official campaign lasts two weeks, as opposed to two years in the U.S., though the unofficial lasts almost as long. Sometime during those two weeks, the major parties send out flyers to all registered voters. Since everyone eighteen and over is automatically registered, every adult in every household gets them. Pity the poor mail carriers.
In Galicia, the major parties are PSOE (Socialists), PP (conservatives), BNG (nationalists), En Marea (a coalition of leftist Galician parties and Podemos), and Ciudadanos (someone once called them a "decaffeinated PP"). When you open up the envelopes, you weep for the fallen trees. In each there is a message, a ballot, and an envelope. The ballot and envelope are there so when you go to the polling station, you don't have to wait in line. You can just walk up to the ballot box, present your national ID or driver's license, and drop in your choice. I prefer not to take advantage of such niceties and I wait in line. I've noticed over the years that there are slight differences between the envelopes. They're very small, but if you look carefully, they're there. My vote is secret unless I choose to tell someone who I've voted for. At the table, not only do the official ballot box keepers check your name, but there is also a representative of at least the Socialist and the conservative parties, each with their lists of registered voters, making sure no fraud is committed. So, call me suspicious, but I bet they know very well the differences in envelopes and take notice. I prefer the universal envelopes stacked in the booth.
The message included varies. All of them are in Galego (Galician), except the PP, which has one side of the letter in Galego, and the other side in Castilian. The PP and the PSOE have a letter, the PSOE's addressed personally to the voter. En Marea has a stiff card. BNG has a letter that folds over into an envelope and can be pulled open. Ciudadanos is the most deceiving. It's an orange envelope with the face of the national party leader on the front (I don't know why, he's not running for the regional legislature.), and when you open it and go to throw out the envelope, all you can find is the ballot and envelope. If you check the envelope again, you'll see a short message on the inside with only seven short reasons to vote for them, none of them with examples. It's almost as if they've given up on the Galician people voting for them. Except for Ciudadanos, all the messages and letters explain that they love us, they are looking out for our best interests, and don't we have a beautiful love story together? Why don't we keep it that way till death do us part? Some of them send me screaming into laughter and startling my sleeping cats. They really believe we're stupid. Unfortunately, too many voters are, because they fall head over heels in love with beautiful love letters that no more explain policy than an instruction sheet explains how to put something together without ending up baying at the moon in frustration.
To find out what these office-seekers plan to do to us, you have to search for their website. Even then, it's not very clear. Sometimes their website has to be searched with great care to find anything resembling campaign promises. When you do find something, it's a pdf file sometimes running to over a hundred pages you have to download to see. Or various files. Sometimes, the promises are vague, other times they're firm, but nowhere do you find how they are to be implemented. Fairyland has materialized. Reading some of them I am reminded of a conservative candidate that once ran for mayor of Santiago. He promised fireworks every night all summer long to attract more tourists. He never did explain just how the city would pay the millions of euros they would cost. It did help cost him his bid for mayor, though.
The worst thing about a democracy? Having to intelligently figure out which jokers not to let anywhere near public office. And waiting for the cold weather to light the fire with the tinder we received in the mail.
In Galicia, the major parties are PSOE (Socialists), PP (conservatives), BNG (nationalists), En Marea (a coalition of leftist Galician parties and Podemos), and Ciudadanos (someone once called them a "decaffeinated PP"). When you open up the envelopes, you weep for the fallen trees. In each there is a message, a ballot, and an envelope. The ballot and envelope are there so when you go to the polling station, you don't have to wait in line. You can just walk up to the ballot box, present your national ID or driver's license, and drop in your choice. I prefer not to take advantage of such niceties and I wait in line. I've noticed over the years that there are slight differences between the envelopes. They're very small, but if you look carefully, they're there. My vote is secret unless I choose to tell someone who I've voted for. At the table, not only do the official ballot box keepers check your name, but there is also a representative of at least the Socialist and the conservative parties, each with their lists of registered voters, making sure no fraud is committed. So, call me suspicious, but I bet they know very well the differences in envelopes and take notice. I prefer the universal envelopes stacked in the booth.
The message included varies. All of them are in Galego (Galician), except the PP, which has one side of the letter in Galego, and the other side in Castilian. The PP and the PSOE have a letter, the PSOE's addressed personally to the voter. En Marea has a stiff card. BNG has a letter that folds over into an envelope and can be pulled open. Ciudadanos is the most deceiving. It's an orange envelope with the face of the national party leader on the front (I don't know why, he's not running for the regional legislature.), and when you open it and go to throw out the envelope, all you can find is the ballot and envelope. If you check the envelope again, you'll see a short message on the inside with only seven short reasons to vote for them, none of them with examples. It's almost as if they've given up on the Galician people voting for them. Except for Ciudadanos, all the messages and letters explain that they love us, they are looking out for our best interests, and don't we have a beautiful love story together? Why don't we keep it that way till death do us part? Some of them send me screaming into laughter and startling my sleeping cats. They really believe we're stupid. Unfortunately, too many voters are, because they fall head over heels in love with beautiful love letters that no more explain policy than an instruction sheet explains how to put something together without ending up baying at the moon in frustration.
To find out what these office-seekers plan to do to us, you have to search for their website. Even then, it's not very clear. Sometimes their website has to be searched with great care to find anything resembling campaign promises. When you do find something, it's a pdf file sometimes running to over a hundred pages you have to download to see. Or various files. Sometimes, the promises are vague, other times they're firm, but nowhere do you find how they are to be implemented. Fairyland has materialized. Reading some of them I am reminded of a conservative candidate that once ran for mayor of Santiago. He promised fireworks every night all summer long to attract more tourists. He never did explain just how the city would pay the millions of euros they would cost. It did help cost him his bid for mayor, though.
The worst thing about a democracy? Having to intelligently figure out which jokers not to let anywhere near public office. And waiting for the cold weather to light the fire with the tinder we received in the mail.
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