Twenty-six percent of Idaho’s registered voters participated in our state's recent primary election. I was one of them. Until this primary, I've honored the secrecy of the voting booth (which is a small, flimsy shelf in Idaho).
While I was dashing to the polls on foot (passers-by might have used the verb "lumbering"), I passed one of the candidates I planned to vote for. When I greeted him, he asked if he had my support. As in, would I vote for him?
Rain splattered the candidate and his sign. His ironed shirt was wrinkling and his hair was matting. A chilly breeze swept in from northern Idaho and tried to send his cardboard sign sailing to Owyhee County. I was cold, despite my raincoat and umbrella. I should have offered the man a piece of my rain gear. But, my support?
He didn't know who I was; could I break my rule? Should I lecture him on the sanctity of our secret ballot? Bore him with my story of visiting the U.S. Voting Rights Museum?
He hadn't asked me if I was going to vote for him, only if I would support him.
"You bet," I said, and hurried on. I was relieved when the rain stopped by the time I'd walked/dashed/lumbered another couple of blocks.
When I told the poll worker my name, she knew my party affiliation: Idaho now has closed primaries. Knowing my party doubles the odds of someone knowing how I voted. That must at least halve the secrecy of my ballot.