The Washoe Vote Roundup

There are few spectacles in modern civilization more entertaining than watching government officials congratulate themselves on a problem getting smaller while carefully avoiding the subject of why the problem exists at all. It reminds me of a man who proudly announces that his barn only burned halfway down this year, as though the fire itself deserves a commendation from the county commission.

Tomorrow morning, the Washoe County Commission is scheduled to discuss canvassing the vote, which is one of those official phrases that sounds important enough to require a necktie but vague enough to leave a fellow wondering whether they are counting ballots or whitewashing a fence. Having spent a lifetime observing public affairs, and occasionally misunderstanding them with great confidence, I intend to watch with the same cautious optimism I reserve for used-car peddlers and weather forecasts.

The matter at hand concerns roughly 1,000 votes that, for one reason or another, apparently will not be counted. Now, I am no election expert, as my qualifications consist chiefly of getting lost in my own thoughts and occasionally misplacing my reading glasses while wearing them. Even I recognize that in an election decided by 399 votes, those 1,000 votes raise eyebrows.

Of course, that was not the only surprise delivered by the democratic machinery. It was also discovered that approximately 15,000 ballots mailed to voters came wandering back marked undeliverable. County officials reportedly view this as a victory because the previous election had more than 42,000 ballots returned.

It struck me as an unusual definition of success. It is rather like celebrating that only three wheels fell off the stagecoach instead of eight. Progress is certainly progress, but the passengers still have a right to ask why the horses are passing them on foot.

The government has always possessed a remarkable talent for lowering expectations until almost any outcome appears triumphant. If 42,000 undeliverable ballots were a problem yesterday, then 15,000 undeliverable ballots are still a problem today. A smaller headache is still a headache, especially when the fellow holding his head is a taxpayer.

Now, the explanation offered is that the numbers have improved, and perhaps they have. Yet every returned ballot raises the same uncomfortable question: Why was it sent there in the first place? If voter rolls are accurate, one would expect fewer ghosts, fewer missing residents, and fewer envelopes making a round trip across the county than a traveling salesman with a gambling problem.

I confess I have sympathy for election officials. Their task is difficult, and no matter what they do, half the public suspects them of incompetence while the other half suspects them of conspiracy.

Sometimes, both halves are the same people before lunch. Nevertheless, transparency becomes especially important when margins are narrow enough that a few hundred votes can change the outcome.

That is why many citizens are asking questions. They are not necessarily demanding miracles, nor are they asking that mathematics be suspended. They want to understand how votes are counted, why some are not counted, and why thousands of ballots continue to be returned to sender like unwanted fruitcakes after Christmas.

A republic survives not because everyone agrees on the outcome, but because everyone understands the process. Confidence is built by sunlight, not by secrecy. The closer the election, the brighter that sunlight ought to be.

As for me, I shall watch tomorrow’s meeting with interest, confusion, and perhaps a second cup of coffee. Experience has taught me that government meetings rarely answer questions. More often, they produce new questions, several committees, and enough paperwork to stun a mule.

Still, with only 399 votes separating the outcome and thousands of ballots raising eyebrows across Washoe County, it seems reasonable for citizens to ask for a clear accounting. After all, if democracy is going to ask us for our trust, it ought to be willing to show its math.