What to say on election day?

I suspect that amusing myself with cute little rhymes really does sum up this day. Until, that is, Antony Green begins to break it all down for us in this evening’s coverage. He strikes me as one of the most sensible people talking when it comes to understanding big data on election day.

I mean, really, we struggle to understand small data.

I voted yesterday. I stood in a long line and accepted all material offered to me—I don’t like to give my hand away by only taking one and I don’t have the option of going it alone as I don’t understand the nuances of what has been going on (perhaps because I haven’t wanted to listen to disparaging rhetoric providing reasons not to vote for someone rather than reasons to vote for them).

So I take all of the pieces of paper, feeling sick at the dreadful waste it is, and trying not to engage anyone while not being rude. The Greens candidate is so young as to look like he’s used his Year 12 school photo. He looks older in person. I tease him about his photo; it seems only right.

Most canvassers are polite. They sense that they should talk only when someone asks. The Liberal party guy reminds us that this is Russel Broadbent’s seat. I quietly ask Hubby if Broadbent might die on the floor of parliament and imagine the truly horrifying scene it would be.

I have nearly made it through the gauntlet—lots of people are voting early so the there is a line—and am at the penultimate person. It is someone we know. She assumes our shared cultural habits indicates our voting preferences and tells me ‘you can read how people will vote’. She hands us a bundle of papers, more than anyone else is giving out, and reminds us that the “Chinese” are taking over our ports. I take the bundle, intending to open it and look, but am offended by the way she says ‘Chinese’. I tell her, ‘I’m not afraid of the Chinese or the Russians, for that matter’.

I am tired of people using fear to manipulate. She is a good person. I admire her steadfastness but I am surprised by how hard she is going after us. As she keeps talking, I decide I am not going to open the parcel after all. I will not be swayed by being made to feel afraid of race; I have friends who are Chinese. I like them. They are good people, too.

I don’t say it out loud. I would only be told that it is the Chinese government, etc, etc, that I must fear. It isn’t an argument that will land with me. We have a government who is okay for women to be raped in the house they govern from. How is that better than another government who wants to buy everything?

And so I give away my hand.

You know who I did not vote for.

And, yes, it was all about that one issue. I cannot stomach an ‘old boy’s club’ that seems to think behaviour like that is just a bit of fun. Sexual misconduct is distasteful, to say the least, but sexual abuse is abhorrent.

We, your victims, are not a warm body for you to use. The attitude of perpetrators, the inhuman view they have of others, seeps into everything they do.

You may argue that it was properly punished and dealt with.

I argue that it should never have happened in the first place and that the only reason it could happen is because of a culture of discrimination. Women being seen as bodies. People seeking refuge being seen as schemers. And men in power who behave as if they have a right to decide who is human and who isn’t.

I amuse myself with thoughts of vengeance—them as victims, them being treated as they treat others, them begging for help or for someone to stop or to be heard. But ‘them’ is part of the problem.

So, once more, the victim must be the adult in the situation, seeking appropriate retribution and reconciliation.

Yes, and what about our Indigenous brothers and sisters? They are human, too. They deserve to be protected, nurtured and celebrated, too.

I have no answers. But sometimes knowing what is not okay is enough. It’s somewhere to start.

Maybe I have learned something from the recent political campaigns, after all. That knowing who not to vote for is a start and that people do need to be held to account for what they do and say. Mind you, some of the finger pointing is no more than school-yard squabbling. Something, as a teacher, I am always glad to see an end to.

Today is also our wedding anniversary. Hubby and I will celebrate twenty-eight years by enjoying the insights and understandings of Antony Green. I am looking forward to it.

Don’t fret, Hubby took me to a favourite place last night—a stationery store—and I bought coloured flags and pens and looked at all of the nice things. It filled my tank. And today, I will take Hubby to the book store.