WHAT HAS CHANGED?

George Caleb Bingham (1811–1879), The County Election, 1852. 

Saint Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, MO

No people of color nor women are in line to vote in 1852. I see possibly one black man in the picture, but he's pouring more drink.  More than one man appears drunk.  (What happens today when a person arrives at the polls under the influence?  Googled a little; didn't find much.)  So now people of color and women who are citizens of the US, get to vote, except in states where less-than-honest-and-upright Republicans run the show and make it difficult for people of color to vote, because - Hey! - "those people" usually vote for Democrats.  I'm not aware that Republicans try to suppress women's votes, because, believe it or not, there are women who vote Republican.

Anyway, here in the greatest democracy in the entire world, we do not elect the president and vice-president by popular vote.  The voters in individual states elect members of the Electoral College, who then elect the president and vice-president.  All states but Nebraska and Maine have winner-take-all laws, whereby the candidates who win the majority of votes are allotted all of the states' electoral votes.  Therefore, in very close elections, it is possible that candidates who receive a majority of the popular vote could lose the electoral vote.

Each state has its own rules for elections and voting processes.  The voting systems used by the various states are a decidedly mixed bag, and, with each election, there are problems and controversy, some of which nearly always end up in in court.  If you recall the hanging chads controversy in Florida in the Bush/Gore election in 2000, you know that the US Supreme Court elected George W Bush.  It seems to me that uniform rules and processes at least for national offices, such as president, vice-president, and the members of Congress, might be a better idea, with the entire country using the same processes, voting machines or ballots, rules for early voting, etc., but that is not likely to happen any time soon, surely not in my lifetime.

So here we are in this year 2012 better off than in 1852, but with a long way to go before we the people are confident of free and fair elections.

 Painting from Picturing America.

Besides commenting on American electioneering in general, The County Election records a particular political event. As many of Bingham’s contemporaries would have known, the painting depicts Election Day 1850 in Saline County, Missouri, when the artist himself was running for a place in the State Legislature.

Note: I corrected the date of the election depicted in the painting and changed the link to a source with more accurate and detailed information. 

IN CASE YOU HADN'T NOTICED...

...we have an election coming up.  I can't think of better commentary than the poem below, once again by Marthe G. Walsh.  I guess I should name Marthe poet laureate of Wounded Bird...or something. 

                                                 Imitations of Morality

The scratch of gust blown leaves, stubborn yellows, brown

the last of reds rusted on their way to mud

            just beyond the pavement’s crown

               of civility, the thud

of campaign weary feet tracking voters down

in last gasp desperation of fanatic

            assertions of perfection

               possible in election,

    ignore the gush of faulty candidates erratic.

The patch of virtue tended, meant for harvest

by the flame of ultra-conservative torch

            is but withered interest

               in protecting those who scorch

the very fabric of the soul to invest

with new authority a male government

            not just hostile to women,

               dismissive of each human

   without a suit of cash to cover raw resentment

of all “those people” living their own way,

without permission, without the “guidance”,

            rule of oppressive patriarchs sway,

               smug and proud of their own ignorance

that in secret makes them nervous of prey

turning to stare down the profit stalker,

            challenge the right of a small elite

               to take, to hoard, to gorge on red meat

   while masses starve at the table of the slick talker.

The long, slow fall of a losing argument

turns to an early, ancient, mean, strategy

            of claiming to know God’s intent,

               noblesse oblige theology

that strips away a woman’s right to consent,

to control her own body, the intimate

            used to intimidate, shame, unhinge,

               the tactic of unholy fringe

   threshing force from rape to see sacred seed proximate.

The thatch of suspect false ideology leaks

and rots in the rain of words worth remembering:

            Truth from clouds of glory peeks,

             trails the liar dissembling,

clings like the stench of death while greed prevails and speaks

as if justice were the exclusive property

            of any self-proclaimed elect.

               Truth shines, the timid to protect,

   through fog of moneyed might to reveal equality,

       not some fleeting, fashionable stance or politic,

       just neighbor loving neighbor without fright dogmatic.