‘The Sovietization of Federal Elections’

 

Traditional community life is nearly non-existent in the modern United States, the natural effect of the venomous ideologies that have been imbibed in copious quantities over the decades by both Left and Right, progressives and conservatives.  Voting days are one of the few remaining vestiges of those earlier times, one of the few communal gatherings left to us – when folks at the polling places might run into old neighbors or friends and catch up with one another, or meet new people and strike up a conversation while waiting in line to vote.

It was with pleasant thoughts like these that I set out to the polling station to cast my ballot during Louisiana’s early voting season.  The building in which the polling station itself is located is rather new, a health clinic surrounded by some nice greenery and built in an architectural style that is reminiscent of Dixie’s antebellum Greco-Roman designs, thankfully eschewing the ugly brutalism of many modern buildings.  But the dark clouds would soon overshadow all this sunniness.

In 2020, early voting was a madhouse.  It took the better part of an hour to be able to reach the actual voting machine.  This year there was no line.  So I happily stepped into the room prepared for the election occasion.  Things quickly went downhill.  There were at least three big burly police officers in the room, all decked out in formidable gear.  I tried to greet the one who approached me with a smile and a ‘How are you doin’?’, but he cut me off, giving me a gruff order to move on up to the table.

This I did.  Once again, I tried to engage the person I was directed toward, a rotund, graying woman, with pleasantries.

‘Driver’s license?’, I asked with a smile – which was met with a sour scowl and a nod.

She handed me back my license, and, wasting no time at all, the Amazonian police woman to my left (who thankfully had retained some of her natural femininity despite her very unfeminine career choice) asked me to move down to the next woman seated at the table, who kept the book we had to sign to verify our identity and to show that we had voted.  It is worth noting that there was only one other woman behind me at the time in the line, and there were two other workers at the other end of the table who were available to tend to her and any others.  There was no reason for this sort of hurried hustling of us along.

Ah well, at the least the lady with the book, a wiry, older, Oriental woman wearing a face mask, exuded some joyfulness when I approached to sign.

With the key card in hand given me by the scowling woman, which was necessary to activate the voting machine, another big barking police man directed me in how to use the voting machine.  The deed done, I was swept toward the exit by the same fellow, to whom I gave the precious card.

What a travesty.  No warmth.  No pauses for conversations.  Just a cold, efficient, businesslike transaction.  Very Yankee.

Traditionally, elections in the South were festive, mirthful occasions.  Southern folklore is full of colorful stories about them.  Local and State elections still retain some of this flavor, but it is all but gone in federal elections.  The latter are now mostly grim, angry, loveless affairs.

And worse still, with the militarized police presence, very Soviet/Stalinist.  ‘Well done comrade.  You have executed your most important duty as a citizen.  With your vote, you have strengthened the People’s Republic of America.’

. . .

The rest is at https://www.abbevilleinstitute.org/the-sovietization-of-federal-elections/.

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Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!

Anathema to the Union!