The Can't-Voters

by Tom Namako

Tuesday marks Javier Arce's second year as an election watcher. He's brushed back electioneers who hang posters too close to polling booths, and he's told partisans that no, they may not help the little old lady cast a ballot. You'd think that with Philadelphia's sometimes-rough Election Day tactics, he'd already be jaded by the process.

Not so. It took Arce 38 years to finally vote in Bolivia, his native country, which has generally been ruled by dictators. And it will take him at least another two years to do the same here, once his status changes (he hopes) from permanent resident to legalized citizen.

"When you come from a country where democracy is a luxury, you really value voting," he says.

Arce is one of millions of people who will be greatly affected by the outcome of next week's election, but won't be able to cast a vote in it. And yet, some of these same people — those who don't meet citizenship requirements, the incarcerated and the underaged — are more invested in the political process than many eligible Americans.

Take, for example, Chris Carroll and Jeanette Bavwidinsi, two seniors at Julia R. Masterman High School. The students have become archrivals, playing John McCain and Barack Obama in the school's two-week-old mock election (although students have been following the real-world campaign since the beginning of the academic year).

This isn't some hodgepodge assignment. History teacher Steve Gilligan requires the "candidates" to craft a message that appeals to their constituencies, using information from firsthand polling data, public rallies (featuring attendance-boosting free snacks) and video advertising. Each candidate has an entire staff at his or her disposal to develop tactics.

The students are getting into it — the cost of college, and by extension, the economy, have become points of awareness for many students in the school. But even among Gilligan's two classes, only about five can vote in the actual presidential election.

"I feel like, after all the research and planning, that we're even more informed or are at least doing more than the average voter our there," says Jordan Gifford, a senior who is an event organizer for the school's Obama campaign.

Similarly disenfranchised — though because they forfeited their right to vote, rather than because they're waiting for it — are the people in Pennsylvania who have been convicted of a felony and are currently in jail, or have been convicted of a felony and are in halfway houses or alternative correctional facilities on pre-release status. (Prisoners convicted of lesser crimes and ex-felons can all vote, says the Pennsylvania Board of Probation and Parole.)

During heated, high-interest elections like Obama vs. McCain, some inmates become suddenly engaged in the political process, says Malissa Gamble, whose group, The Time is Now to Make a Change, conducts voter-education sessions and registration drives in prisons and half-way houses.

"Sometimes, all there is to watch is the news, and that gets people interested," says Gamble, herself an ex-convict. "That was especially true during the primaries when inmates got involved in the debates that involved between Hillary Clinton and Obama. I think they liked Hillary's fire and refusal to quit. It made it pretty interesting."

Gamble has registered between 50 and 55 people per month, but her contract with the county prison system was recently cut. She worries that some people, when they are eventually released, won't be educated about the myths and realities of who can and cannot vote. "Some people," she said, "think they forfeit their right to vote for life."

Edith Gongloe-Weh, a Liberian national who has permanent residency in the United States, is right now worse off, in terms of voting rights, than the ex-cons.

Gongloe-Weh was a reporter in Liberia until civil wars erupted in her Nimba County. She hid in friends' houses for months and was eventually granted political asylum in America.

Gongloe-Weh hopes to become a legalized citizen in three years. Until then, she's contributing to the political process any other way she can. Last week, she participated in a phone bank with the Pennsylvania Immigration and Citizen Coalition, calling registered voters around the state and reminding them to make sure their names are on the rolls. "Like anyone else in this country, I have a vast interest in this election," she says. "I'm aware that there are global issues at stake. Even though I can't vote, I can impact people who have the right to do so."

Gongloe-Weh says her commitment to democracy was cultivated during long periods in Liberia when there were either no elections or elections that were widely believed to be rigged. "Believe it or not, that's how many people became politically aware in their formative years," she says, noting that she doesn't see Americans having a similar interest in their country's political issues. "It shocks me so much how ignorant Americans are to the issues in this country of wealth and abundance," she says. "Everything seems to be cut between these two political parties."

Only about 55 percent of Americans who are of voting age (18) actually cast ballots, according to a 2004 George Mason University study. Those votes shape policies that affect the lives of millions of people, both here and abroad, who have no say in them. Lydia Pappas, a 17-year-old freshman at Drexel University who has canvassed for Obama, says this gives voters a heavy responsibility.

"This [election] really matters to me," she says. "With situations like the economy and the wars ... I'm looking for change." She does what she can without voting.

Of course, people should feel free not to vote, if they so choose. But they should remember those people who'd cherish the opportunity to influence an election, but don't have it — the under 18-year-olds, the prisoners, the immigrants. And, of course, that most disenfranchised group of all: the millions of Americans who don't live in swing states.

(tom.namako@citypaper.net)