A start to a post-modern, 2.0 election...
After the California primary earlier this year where my touchscreen voting machine literally rebooted in mid-vote, this time around I was wondering what California and/or San Francisco election officials would do. Sure, my buggy e-voting machine did have a paper receipt behind glass next to the machine that looked to have captured my choices accurately, but the whole experience was not particularly reassuring. What about those folks in states that do NOT have a paper record next to the machine?
This election, with all the hype, all the California propositions that really matter, is one where an independent record could be vital. (Of course, this is San Francisco, so it may be a bit of overkill) This is, after all, one of the most important elections in recent times. At least those of us under 35 seems to think so.
The Provisional Ballot Box is readied in San Francisco
(Credit: Kevin Ho)
A record of my vote...
(Credit: Kevin Ho)
A Sequoia voting machine rebooting, and rebooting...
(Credit: Kevin Ho)With all things touch-screen in an increasingly touch-screen centric world, I was given the "plastic or paper" option for casting my vote in the California primary on this most super of Super Tuesdays. So, not liking the marker fumes and being used to touching everything on the iPhone anyway, I opted to vote "plastic."
The polling place had 10 conventional optical-scan voting stations with real paper ballots, but only 1 digital voting machine. San Francisco uses the Sequoia voting machine and, well, here's my story:
The clerk handed me a plastic card to insert into the machine. The idea is that you insert the card to activate the ballot and machine. Easy, right? Umm, no, not so in my case. Instead of the black screen of death, Sequoia's red screen of death (irony that the Communists would laugh at) popped up when I inserted my card into the machine's slot. Nothing moved--neither touching nor talking to the machine worked. What's worse, the card was now stuck in the machine as there was no eject button or function. The clerk who handed me the card was confounded. I was having flashbacks to that movie, Man of the Year, with Robin Williams being elected on a computer glitch. I had a thought that I'd have to cast a dreaded "provisional ballot"--at least my name isn't Chad and I'm not pregnant.
Not to be deterred, however, another clerk came over and explained something about hitting "yes" to the other clerk who handled the plastic cards that had been processed on another machine. The clerk then proceeded to lift the back of my voting machine up, slapping it hard so that it must have told it to reboot itself. (What is it about me and having to reboot things? Voting machines, airline seats, iPhones?)
After the two-minute reboot, voting was simple. After a language choice, you were presented with various screens containing all the would-be presidents, ballot measures, and attempts to turn Alcatraz into a Global Peace Park. (I voted no on that bright idea.)
The font was large and not as elegant as the voter guide, nor was it sexy like any Apple-based user interface, but it was functional. I clicked my choices (maybe you can see who I voted for on the pictures I took on my iPhone to document the event) and, at the end, was asked to review my choices. What's best, is that the screen then directed me to look at the paper (yes, paper) receipt that scrolled up on the left of the machine, providing the reassuring paper record of my vote. And it was, indeed, accurate.
So in the end, it's an anachronistic notion that in a plastic world, paper is still the default method that gives us reassurance that our vote still counts. What's more interesting is that while my plastic voting method was expected to be faster, it wasn't, as some of the paper people in line behind me moved past.
Casting my vote on Sequoia: A vote for me and a vote for you.
(Credit: Kevin Ho)
Receipt with you or in the bag? Sequoia's paper receipt.
(Credit: Kevin Ho)
- prev
- 1
- next
