Notes from election day
Today is September 20th, and it’s an election for some reason, so I went and voted. It was as painless as it usually is. The line took about 15 minutes and the polling station was just a four-minute walk from my front door. It could have actually been easier—I waited in line because I forgot my voter card. In front of me stood an older Chinese woman, probably mid-seventies. She had a homemade mask on, wore a flower print shirt, and sported a light blue bucket hat. All in all, pretty stylish, but on-par for the elderly South Asian community that calls my neighborhood home.
Seeing an older Chinese woman is quite obviously not a weird thing. I live one major street away from Chinatown, after all. But this woman came to vote alone and, from my limited eavesdropping, didn’t speak a word of English. When an elections volunteer weaved her way through the line to gather contact tracing info, this bucket hat-wearing saint in front of me didn’t know how to react. The volunteer aptly noticed and went to retrieve a translator from inside the community center I was lining up to vote in. 45 seconds later, a younger woman emerged and the two chatted, laughing a little bit as the older one wrote down her phone number.
As we moved down the line, past the folded up ping pong tables, and into a gym where most of Canada’s democracy takes place, the woman in front of me was instructed to go to a voter registration table. She did, and again, found herself in need of a translator. So she left the gym by herself and trotted off in search of the original person who translated for her in line. She found her, and together, they signed up to vote.
All in all, a pretty innocuous experience. But when I thought about it, I began to feel in awe of this woman. I’m not going to make assumptions about her—I have no idea if she’s a new immigrant, or what her status is, or if she speaks any other languages. What I do know is she went out, alone, not knowing the native language, to vote. She went out of her way to find a translator. She made her voice heard without even speaking the national language.
And the fact there was a translator, readily available, is also not lost on me. I know.
I think little acts like this happen all the time around me, and almost always, I ignore them. Things I understand as easy or simple, are the opposite for many of my neighbors. It made me think about how hard the everyday routines in my life would be if I didn’t know the language. Or had accessibility issues. Or was not privileged with a well-paying job. Or a myriad of other things that make life tough for millions around Canada.
While I was waiting in line, I could have likely turned around and spotted a dozen more people just like this woman. People I would also be in awe of. Life is hard enough when you know the world around you—just imagine if you didn’t.
