ALLISON PARK, Pa. (AP) — I stood with my mother behind the curtain in the Hampton Township municipal building north of Pittsburgh, watching her pull actual metal levers in an actual voting booth. It was 1976, and she was deciding between Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter for president. I remember the way the curtain shot open with a loud SCRUNCH when she toggled the “I'm done” lever. I remember how small I felt and how big the event felt.
And, being 8 years old, I remember the sticker. They gave it to her as she left; she turned around and gave it to me.
In the intervening years, the voting sticker has become an emblem of participation and power, a little talisman of democracy. In an era of splintered opinions and a polarized populace, it is one of the few things that unite us on a day when so much divides us. Put a sticker on yourself as you come out of the polls and you send two messages — not just “I voted,” but “I am an American and I have done what needs to be done.”
My grandfather, whom I never knew, collected political buttons — an item that well predates the "I voted" sticker. I have his entire collection, passed down by my father, going back to the Grover Cleveland-Benjamin Harrison race of 1888. It's intriguing to watch the buttons become more graphically appealing, more direct and, eventually, quite pointed ("Goldwater '64: In your heart, you know he's right").
Not so the sticker. Though the graphics vary and the riot of colors can veer in any direction — predictably, red, white and blue are the overwhelming favorites — the text is always the same. “I voted.” No party affiliation. No advocacy. No scorn. Simply a statement that lies at the heart of the American democratic republic. It is virtue signaling that everyone can identify with, that no one can challenge.
I had a friend some years back who collected them — and not just in a box. Each year, she'd put ‘em ALL on her lapels and chest like medals, all the ones she’d accumulated, reapplying adhesive as necessary. She'd emerge from the polling place looking like a five-star general of the ballot box. She was proud.
Flipping a lever has become tapping a touch screen or, in some cases, going back to filling out empty dots on a paper. But the practice remains the same. You emerge with a sense of victory in miniature, knowing — even amid the cynicism — that maybe, just maybe your voice has been heard.
I voted. Did you?
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Part of a recurring series, “American Objects,” marking the 250th anniversary of the United States. For more American objects, click here. For more stories on the anniversary, click here.
