Voting in America feels like a Banana Republic

From hybrid voting machines to drive-up democracy, my early voting experience left me questioning the integrity of the system.

Early voting in Edinburg, Texas, on Monday, Oct. 21. (Delcia Lopez/The Monitor)

Early voting began in Texas yesterday, and I went to cast my ballot, despite being intimately familiar with the recent Collapse Life article on the virtues of avoiding direct participation in a farcical rodeo sideshow… er, election. Why, oh why, did I not heed that advice?

To vote or not to vote? That is the question.

After casting my ballot, I expected to leave feeling proud, or at the very least, satisfied at having participated in the sacrosanct ‘democratic’ process. Instead, I walked away feeling both angry and bewildered by what has become a flawed and easily corruptible process.

I could not shake the feeling that we’ve skipped the ‘hollowed-out developing country’ stage of demise, and gone straight to Banana Republic — no relation at all to the popular clothing retailer at the mall.

Paper ballots that aren’t quite paper ballots

My county uses a hybrid voting system that combines both electronic touch screens and paper ballots. After signing in, you're given a sticker, which a clerk uses to print a blank paper ballot with a barcode. You then go to a machine with an electronic touch screen to make your selections.

Once you're finished, the machine prints out your choices on the paper ballot. Finally, you take that printed ballot to another machine where it is scanned. The scanned votes are what gets tallied. The paper ballots are stored in a locked box underneath the scanner.

I asked the poll officer if the scanning machines were internet-connected, and she assured me they were not. She explained that she physically takes the machine with the scanned ballots to the Board of Elections at the end of each day, where the votes are transferred to a portable drive.

My skeptical mind couldn’t help but wonder how easy it might be for someone to swap out these drives for tampered ones. So I asked if it was possible to cast a proper paper ballot? You know, old school pen-to-paper style.

The clerk explained this would classify my electoral participation as a ‘provisional’ ballot, meaning I’d have to visit the county registrar’s office within six days to verify my ID. After that, the Board of Elections would have the discretion to determine if my provisional ballot would be counted. It’s highly like that had I opted for this, I would be disenfranchised.

At the poll

My ballot included 33 open seats plus two local propositions. Of the 33, 10 were for state district judges and 3 were county court judges. All 13 of those were basically uncontested — the candidates were all from one party (Democrat) and were without challengers. Is it common to see so many uncontested races? Feels fishy to me, though in a state traditionally red, the Rio Grande Valley might as well be California or New York. It’s deep blue, through and through.

Outside the polling station

Campaign signs outside a polling station in McAllen, Texas. (Delcia Lopez/The Monitor)

At the entrance to the community center serving as a polling place, I was surprised to see lawn signs and tables with volunteers supporting particular candidates. States have various prohibitions on electioneering at polling places. Here in Texas, campaign signs and materials are prohibited within 100 feet of the entrance to the polling place.

While the same rule applied when I last voted in New York, 100 feet on a Manhattan city block feels like an entirely different situation from what I saw today. The in-your-face nature of campaigning so close to the polling location felt coercive, even if it is technically legal.

Curbside voting confusion

Curbside voting during the 2016 election. (MyRGV.com)

Even more surprising was seeing someone take advantage of the curbside voting option — apparently without any clear reason. Texas state law allows curbside voting for individuals who are “physically unable to enter the polling place without personal assistance or likelihood of injuring the voter's health.” While I can’t speak to the specific physical condition of the person in question, she appeared well enough to exit the passenger seat of a tall pickup truck, walk around the back of it, and flag down a polling officer, albeit slowly due to the ravages of time.

Nothing says ‘American democracy’ quite like casting your ballot from the front seat of your vehicle. What’s next — polling officers on roller skates?

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton addressed this issue in a 2020 letter, clarifying: "Curbside voting is not, as some have asserted contrary to Texas law, an option for any and all voters who simply wish to vote from the comfort of their cars when they are physically able to enter the polling place."

When it comes to voting these days, why bother following rules or building a system that’s trustworthy? The electoral process is supposed to make us feel confident that our votes are secure and counted fairly, but instead, we end up with drive-up democracy, dubious USB drives, and a patchwork of unchecked procedures.

Voting should be built on trust, not skepticism — but when you're left wondering if your ballot will ever see the light of day, that trust quickly erodes. At this point, I have more confidence in the staff filling my curbside order at H-E-B. And, at least that pint of ice cream brings a little joy, which is more than can be said of this year’s election.

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