When I was a child I wore the neckerchief with aplomb – the same one that made a rash line on my neck – I stood at attention next to the ballot box and saluted the flag. I was a proud pioneer guarding the vote to ensure the exercise of democracy.
Little by little things were changing: I came to hate that martyr-making scarf that I couldn’t take off without losing my revolutionary honor; I doubted a democracy that did not include abstentions; I understood the farce of guarding a ballot box that just served to perpetuate the voters’ fear.
I turned sixteen and the first ballot on which I drew an X felt to me like the first step on the infinite ladder of paranoia: I didn’t even have the courage to leave it blank. Until today – as I write these lines – I have managed to annul the majority, but I have not had the strength to abstain from the elections.
Sunday is approaching and I have decided: it will be the first time. Probably it could turn out to be a little absurd that I’m afraid to “abstain,” unfortunately fear has its dark ways and to stand in front of the president of the electoral college and say, “Don’t wait for me, I am not coming to vote,” is exactly what I have never dared to do.
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