We The People

“Nick! It’s time for dinner! Hurry up please!”

Nick ignored his mother and turned the volume up on the TV. There was no need to go yet - she’d call again in a few minutes. He was in no rush for a family dinner this evening.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, the second call came, this time several angry pitches higher.

“Nick! Come on! We need to be quick tonight. We need to get to the election hall before it closes.”

Nick flicked off the TV, rolled himself off the bed and into a standing position, then shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. His father was already seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. His mother was flustering with plates and pans as she dished up the dinner, a stained apron tied tightly around her office clothes.

“Oh, here you are,” she said, when she saw Nick. “Can you sit down please? We’re in a rush tonight.”

Nick slumped into a seat opposite his father. His mother slammed plates down on the table in front of her family, then sat down herself and began to eat, rhythmically pushing forkfuls of food into her mouth.

“So the big day is finally here,” Nick said, after several minutes of silence. “Hopefully that means things can go back to normal around here.”

His father looked up. “Things will only go back to normal if everyone votes the right bloody way.”

Nick’s mother thumped her fist on the table. “Your way is not the right way David! And who the hell wants things to go back to normal – we need things to change!”

And, like that, they were off – looping the track that had been carved by months of repeating the same arguments. Their conflict had become as familiar to Nick as a well-watched movie, where he could almost lip-sync the lines as they were spoken. They reminded him of Pavlov’s dogs, responding to each other’s words by automatically blurting out their set responses.

“My way is the only way Julie!” David cried. “How can you possibly think otherwise? What kind of life will we have if we vote in favour of this? We’ll be cut off from the rest of the world, isolated….”

“At least we’ll be safe!” Julie’s words sliced the end off his sentence. “At least we won’t worry that our children are going to get bombed on their way to school.”

“There’s no guarantee of that,” David insisted. “Some of those fanatics are already here, some of them are citizens of this country.”

“Maybe, but at least we can stop more of them flooding in. Blowing things up, taking our jobs, stealing from us…”

“Not all of them are doing that! What about the ones that helped to build this country!”

Nick listened as they tossed the ball of contention between them, each pass more aggressive than the last. What had started six months ago as a lively discussion had accelerated, gaining poisonous momentum, until it was now a ferocious and bitter dispute between a couple who had previously had a happy marriage. It was the same across the whole country - families cleaved in half by opposing opinions, colleagues pitted against each other, friendships disintegrating into ashes of animosity. A divisive line had zigzagged its way through the nation like a crack in the ice and the two blocks were floating further and further away from each other on a sea of resentment.

“Nick,” his father said, turning to face him. “You have to listen to me. Your mother is wrong. She is scared, but she is wrong. We have already gone too far. We have to vote against this. Our future will be very, very dark if we don’t.”

“The future will be darker if this doesn’t happen, Nick” his mother said. “You have to believe me. We will be at constant risk of attack, our social services will be drained, it will be impossible to get a job…”

Off they went again, following the script they had co-written, digging the grave of their marriage.

Nick ate in silence. He had heard each of their opinions so often that both had been bleached of meaning for him. His parents’ arguments tumbled through his mind like two gamboling puppies, not stopping for long enough for him to get a clear look at them. He wished this stupid vote had never been announced. Or that it had happened last year, when he was still seventeen and had not yet been kidnapped from childhood and dragged into the frenzy of adult politics.

He glanced up at the clock. “We should probably leave now if you want to get there before the polling station closes,” he said.

His parents stopped shouting, as abruptly as a gunshot, and leapt to their feet.

“You’re right, let’s go, hurry up.”

The three of them hurried out of the house and marched down the road towards the town hall, where the polling station had been set up. For once, his parents were silent. They had finished their lines, the movie was nearly over.

The hall was quiet when they arrived, only a few people milling around. They gave their names to one of the staff members, a friendly middle-aged lady, and were each handed a slip of paper.

“Please tick either “yes” or “no” on the ballot paper and then place it in the box over there,” the lady instructed them.

Nick moved away from his parents to the back of the room. He placed his paper on a table in front of him and stared down at the question printed across the middle, dividing the paper as it had divided his family, his community, his country.

SHOULD A WALL BE BUILT AROUND THE BORDERS OF THIS COUNTRY TO PREVENT THE ENTRY OF FOREIGNERS?

Nick looked at the words for a long time. Finally, he reached for a pen.