Electioneering (English)

Versão portuguesa aqui.

Tuesday, May 31st, 2011

13:15
A few minutes ago, I’ve jumped on the train to London. I cut from work, got a lift to the train station from a co-worker and got on my way. The likely result is that I will spend some hours in a waiting room until I speak to a clerk who will tell me that it’s not possible, that I am too late, that I didn’t fill in the right form, and so on and on.

Which what objective do I get myself into this pleasant situation? Simple: to vote. Or rather: to register to vote. With admirable simplicity, the Portuguese State changed my social security, tax and other records to my current address in Cambridge. At the same time, last summer in Oeiras, I was also informed that “everything was taken care of” regarding registration in the electoral records. Simple.

Simple until I actually tried to vote. On the day of the presidential elections I went to the consulate to exercise my voting right. The first time I vote abroad. No queue at all, only the consulate workers are there. Big smiles: a young man is here to vote! The usual formalities take place, I show my Citizen’s Card. No more smiles: “you are not registered here.” It seems that “everything taken care of” really means “we will take you off the records from Oeiras and you will have to go to London register at the consulate, until then you can’t vote.”

And, some months later, the opposition decides to bring down the government at the first available change. Or first available credible chance, the no-confidence vote proposed by the Left Bloc doesn’t count. No problem (for me, not the country), I will register next Saturday. The President disagrees. He wants to announce the date for the election this evening or tomorrow. As soon as he does so, the electoral close. And so, I am running against time.

I am not particularly excited about any party or candidate. But damn it! This time I will have the right to vote!

15:30
I have arrived to the consulate a little less than an hour ago. At the entrance, a woman tries to explain, in Spanish, that she is Portuguese but doesn’t have her documents. The security guard asks what brings me there and tells me to go to “the counter with the man full of hair.” After finding the counter with a bald man, I explain that I am here to register to vote and I hand in my Citizen’s Card. Remember when I said that I updated my records in Oeiras? That’s when I got the Citizen’s Card, which, among other things, serves as a proof of my address. So I was surprised when the honorable bald man asks me for a proof of address. Fantastic. I have one letter addressed to my work place and another addressed to my College, where I used to live. No can do, it’s no good, he says, until he remembers to ask me whether I am registered at the consulate. No, I am not, I don’t want to register in the consulate, a useless thing, I want to register to vote. Ah, but for that you have to register in the consulate first, go talk to my colleague in that counter. Ok.

Second counter. There is a queue that mover forward at snail pace. In the corner by the entrance, a young child has thrown up. The building next door is being worked on, or maybe there’s someone there who has their fun by pounding at cement. But just after a few people it’s my turn. This will end well. Unless the security guy shows up, ask those who are there what they want and tells them that for that they need a number, which he will give out. And this is how I am here for the last thirty minutes with the number 95, and in this half-an-hour the numbers 80 to 84 were called. When the number 85 is called, I won’t yet register in the consulate, I won’t yet register to vote. I will be received at the reception!

I think it would take less time to ask for a foreign nationality. A good side: the works next door have stopped!

16:30
Success is at hand!

A little while after the last update, and with 84 still the last number called, the bald man makes me a sign to go to the other counter and speak with the receptionist. It seems I have an ally in here. The woman is admired with my number: “there is still an 85?” She glances at her watch, sighs and gives me the honour of listening to me. Now I need more than a proof of address, also I need a passport photo. There is a shop nearby that does this, so I go there. On the way, I decide to give the College address as my current address. After all, I still receive letter in there. I come back with the photos, I hand in everything and the lady tells me that that’s it, they have my data and they will process it as soon as possible. Wait a minute, but then how can I register to vote today? The bald man says I could do everything today. “Then please wait a minute that I will insert your data.” And, surprising enough, this time a minute actually takes only one minute!

Two minutes later, with my consulate registration number in hand, I go back to the bald guy. The sme to how, an hour or so ago I was telling that that the letter I had were sent to an address that my current one. And the same to whom I have to present that same address as my current one. He looks at me and asks: “But this address is yours or not?”

“I receive letter there.”

“So you live there?”

“I used to, not now. But I get letters there.”

By now the consulate was closed, I was the only one inside. He asks for the Citizen’s Card again and notes that the address in its chip is from the United Kindgom. And that it’s not the same I have just presented. That is to say, he notices that I’ve been trying to say all along, that the Citizen’s Card has my current and correct address! Anyway…

Finally, I am registered to vote and the bald guy asks me to wait that he’s going to get a signature from his boss so I don’t have to return later to the consulate to pick up the registration’s confirmation.

17:00

While I waited, the security guard asked me to go to the entrance lobby, because he was starting to close the place. He notices the laptop and we talk a little about Macs. He’s not a fan. I ask whether a lot of people have been registering to vote, just to make chit-chat. Oh yes, he says, it’s been a flurry. “But anyway, with the way things are, things won’t be solved with elections. Jail with them is what’s needed. Thieves? Off to jail. Corrupt politicians? Off to jail. This will only get better with a revolution. We need to go back to a dictatorship.

And it’s with a worker for the Portuguese State telling me that the Portuguese State should be a dictatorship that my ordeal to be able to register to vote ends. I’m going to check if I can still get into the British Museum and rescue the afternoon.