Yesterday was local council elections day, and my oh my do I get a buzz from voting. It pleases me in a tingly, pleasuresome way. Despite standing in every ward the BNP failed to win any seats, and in my ward the Lib Dems retained their place which is good as they have made many investments in the local area already. Sadly many people seem to be migrating from Labour to Tory but that’s a rant for another day (or not at all, seeing as the parties are essentially the same apart from slimy little David Cameron having some media savvy).
The sad thing is that around 25% of people voted. More people in my ward will go on to develop cancer than voted in that election. Three quarters of the people who made the effort to register (so there may be even more non-voters) weren’t arsed to go down to their local polling station and draw a cross on a little slip of paper. It’s funny that in the west we benefit from so many human rights not afforded to those in other places, and yet when it comes down to it we are too complacent to make any use of them. People fought for centuries for this right. And I don’t just mean women: most men didn’t the vote either for a long time. Our democratic system, although riddled with thoughts, was hard won and cannot be appreciated enough.
In a Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf addresses a lecture hall of young women, stating that they’ve had the vote for ten years – what are they going to do next? Apparently the answer is ‘decend into a well of apathy, barely kept afloat by the desire to consume’