Let’s Kill Democracy to Save It


 
She laughed. The Tennessee state worker laughed. She had never heard of anyone willing to go through all that just to vote.

The elderly African-American woman, Dorothy Cooper, had been told she needed a photo ID to vote. She had a photo ID issued by the city, but now she found it wouldn’t count. Local IDs would not be accepted. This was the first time she had heard of needing a photo ID to vote. She was 96 years old, and she didn’t have a driver’s license. She had never had a license. She had never driven a car.

But, Mrs. Cooper was told, she could easily get a non-driver’s ID. All she needed to do was to visit one of Tennessee’s Driver Service Centers.

Mrs. Cooper went back and gathered up an envelope full of documents to prove who she was. She had a rent receipt, a copy of her lease, her voter registration card, and her birth certificate. Then she called around for a ride. You see, she didn’t drive.

She eventually found a volunteer who would take her to the right location, where she figured out how to fill out the form, then showed her documents. The clerk looked over the birth certificate, and the other documents, thanked Mrs. Cooper, and told her she could not register to vote. She did not have her marriage certificate.

Marriage certificate? Mr. Cooper, rest in peace, had died many years before. She did not have the marriage license.

She and her friend started calling around for help. They found another state worker who explained things.

According to the new Tennessee law, if her primary identification contradicted another ID that she was presenting, then she would need a third ID that would explain the discrepancy. Her existing voter ID, the one without a picture, showed her married name. Her birth certificate, for some reason, did not: possibly because she was not married when she was born.

A photo ID was turning out to be a problem. A big problem.
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Dying to Vote


 
As voting controversies multiply I think back to origins. I think of a Senator from Missouri and a lady who recently celebrated her 97th birthday in North Carolina.

Her name is Rosanell Eaton. As folks gathered in North Carolina to march to the polls, she stood, worn and feisty, and talked about the days when the poll tax, the tax on those showing up to register, was occasionally death. She and her mother rode in a mule drawn wagon for two hours to the courthouse in 1939, where she was determined to exercise her right to vote. She was confronted by the traditional test, the one given to black folks.

One man, as they were looking at each other again, told me: Stand up straight, against that wall, with your eyes looking directly toward me, and repeat the Preamble of the United States of America.

To everyone’s surprise, she looked the man in the eyes and repeated, word for word, the entire preamble to the Constitution of the United States.

Without missing a word, I did it.

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