The Election Problem

It was 6.30 a.m. when I was woken by a hammering on my back door.

I quickly dressed and shouted for Alun to come in. He was clearly agitated and refused to sit while I made us both coffee.

“I’ve just got a letter from the council,” he said.

“The council?” I said, “what on earth can they want with us?”

“They’re forcing us to wear cycle helmets, Jed.”
“What, all the time?”

“Of course not Jed, only when we’re on a bike. Here, read the letter.”

He handed me the letter which was written in the usual council gibberish.

‘Due to a series of recent cycle-related accidents, the council has decided to declare the wearing of cycle helmets as mandatory in all council-controlled areas.’

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” I said, “neither of us owns a bike, so it’s not going to affect our lives.”

“That’s not the point Jed. It’s the principle of the thing. Some distant council official telling us how to manage our business. It’s up to me whether or not I wear a cycle helmet.”

“You’d have to buy a bike first.”

“I can buy a bike if I like. That’s what freedom’s all about. I’m just sick of the council telling me what I can and cannot do. That’s why I’ve asked for a referendum on independence.”

“A referendum?”

“Yes Jed. A referendum on whether our island should become independent from mainland council control.”

xxx

“Good afternoon gentleman, I’m Councillor Hardiman. I’m here to explain the process for the referendum. The entire population of the island …”

“You mean me and Jed,”

“That’s right, Dr Davies, the entire population will be polled. Both of you! If over half vote in favour then you will become independent of the mainland council.”

“We’ll run ourselves, without the constant interference of your meddling officials.”

“Thank you, Dr Davies. You have one month for both sides to canvas …”

“Both sides?”

“That’s the democratic process.”

“But the entire population supports independence. There is only one side.”

“Maybe, but after due consultation that may no longer be the case.”

“Where do we vote?” I asked, “you aren’t expecting us to come to the mainland.”

“No, the nearest suitable building will be taken over for the day. In this case the empty house. A staff of four electoral officials will be present from 7.00 a.m. to 10 p.m.”

“Four officials?” I said, but there are only two voters.”

“That’s the official requirement for elections.”
“That’s why we’ll be well shot of this mainland council, Jed. This nonsense bureaucracy, two officials to every voter. I can’t wait for independence.”

xxx

The next morning I was woken at just after 6.00 a.m. by a hammering on my back door. It was Alun, brandishing leaflets with the words ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ for them. I was slightly confused.

“Sorry to interrupt you sir,” he said, “but are you aware there’s a referendum next month?”

“Of course I am Alun. I was there with you, remember?”

“Are you going to vote sir? We really need your support?”

“Of course I will. I’ve already told you, you don’t need to wake me at six a.m. to ask me to do something I was going to do anyway. Just a minute, what are those leaflets, some say ‘Yes’ and some say ‘No’? Are you campaigning on both sides?”

“No, I’m campaigning in favour of independence.”
“So what are those ‘no’ leaflets?”

“They say ‘Say No to mainland control’.”

What are the other leaflets?”

“They say ‘vote Yes to independence’”.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just have one message? You could confuse people if you’re saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

“Just take some leaflets, Jed, it’ll all be clear once you’ve read them.”

Alun left me with a pile of leaflets to read through. I hoped I’d seen the last of him for the duration of the campaign, but he was back that afternoon, carrying a clipboard.

“Can I ask how you’re planning to vote, sir?”
“You’ve already asked me,”

“Yes, that was while I was campaigning. This is an opinion poll. I’m hoping that with a scientific approach I can predict the result of the independence vote with 100% accuracy.”

“You don’t need polling to do that,” I said, “There are only two voters, you and me, and we’re both voting for independence. Why do you have to make everything so complicated.”

“I’m planning to write a book on my scientific polling technique. I’m asking every single voter how they intend to vote every single day over the course of the campaign. If I can be 100% accurate I can make my fortune as pollster.”

I really did hope I’d seen the last of Alun for the day, but early that evening I was again interrupted by a hammering on my back door.
“What is it this time?” I asked, “I’ve told you how I’m voting. Twice.”

“We need to prepare for independence,” he said.

“With no mainland council to make decisions for us we need to work out our own policies. For example, do we want our own independent nuclear deterrent?”

“Of course we don’t. We’ve nowhere to put nuclear weapons.”

“The empty house?”

“Oh for goodness sake Alun, no we do not want nukes. Can you imagine what would happen if Rival Island got wind of what we were doing. They’d build more and bigger nukes and we’d end up in a cold war situation.”

“Fine, I’ll cross that one out Jed. Do we want to be part of the EU?

“The EU? Why would we want to be in the EU, we’d get nothing out of it. We’re not French.”
“Right, that’s another policy decided. Do we want to legalise gay marriage?”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Making it a crime for gay people to get married.”

“That seems rather a waste of the island’s police recourses, constantly checking up that gay people aren’t secretly happily married.”

The policy evening went on in similar mode for a long, long time, and it was in a tired and exhausted state that I finally collapsed in bed. I was looking forward to a nice lay-in, but I was woken at just after six a.m. the next morning by a hammering on my back door.

It was Alun, carrying a new batch of his ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ leaflets.

“Are you going to be doing this every day?” I asked.

“Of course I am Jed, momentum is important in these elections.”

And so it went on. Every day Alun would wake me early asking for my vote, then he would be back in the afternoon for his ‘scientific’ poll on my voting intentions, then in the evening we’d discuss important areas of policy which we would be taking on responsibility for.

“I’ll be glad when it’s all over,” Alun said on that final day before voting, “I feel like I’ve single-handedly canvassed every voter 1,000 times.”

“You have,” I said, with feeling.

Eventually it was the day of the referendum itself. I was woken early by Alun hammering on my door and we walked down to the empty house to wait for the polling station to open. By 7.01 a.m. we had both voted and all we had to do was wait for the polling station to close in 15 hours time. Alun did a quick ‘exit-poll’, but otherwise there was nothing to do but wait.

Finally it was time for the big count. Councillor Hardiman opened the boxes and took out the two votes.

There was a tense atmosphere around the empty house as we waited for the result.

“Ladies and gentlemen, voters, I hereby give the result of the Happy Island independence vote. Total votes cast – 2. Votes against independence – nil. Votes in support of independence – 1. Spoilt ballots – 1.”

There was a gasp from Alun.

“I hereby declare that the vote for independence has been unsuccessful, having failed to achieve majority support.”

Alun was already on his feet. “Recount,” he shouted, “we demand a recount.”

In total there were 379 recounts that night, but each one achieved the same result. There was one vote in support, but the other cross appeared exactly halfway between the ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ boxes.

“I can’t believe you spoilt your ballot, Jed,” he said, “it’s cowardly behaviour, refusing to make a decision.”

“It wasn’t me,” I said, “you were probably over-excited about the vote and got confused.”

The row was to continue for many months. Alun took to avoiding me, which is difficult to do on an island of two people.

Alun’s ‘scientific’ polling technique was lambasted in the mainland press, it having failed to predict the outcome. “The science was accurate,” he said, “but the people I polled were unreliable. Next time I won’t bother asking the voters, they just get in the way of science.”