Ballot Box Bum
I’m one of those people who can’t sit around at home on election day. In the November 2015 election, I decided that I’d be an election observer. Voting takes place exclusively in schools in Turkey, and I picked a school in the district of Keçiören, which is one of Ankara’s larger and more conservative districts.
I also took notes throughout the day and typed them up on the day afterwards. I briefly published a version of them in a blog at the time, but took it down again. I’ve now gone through them again this week, edited them a bit, translated the bits that were still in Turkish [some original phrases remain in box brackets], and added my thoughts and comments in italics.
I remember enjoying this day. It was encouraging to observe how people of diverse political beliefs came together and cooperated in a civil, even courteous manner. This is ironic, since the “November election”, as it came to be known, boosted some of the most destructive political patterns in the country.
This post is a bit longer than my usual ones, but I made an exception because it’s mostly made up of very short paragraphs and dialogues, and thus very easy to read.
Election day notes - November 1, 2015, Ankara
6:51
I arrive at the school in Keçiören. It's a chilly fall morning, making me wish I had brought warmer clothing. There's groups of middle aged people gathering in front of the school.
I meet with the Oy ve Ötesi building supervisor, who gives me a card identifying me as an observer (müşahit) of the Liberal Democratic Party. Then a couple comes along and introduce themselves to him, presumably also to volunteer as müşahit. The building supervisor shakes hands with the husband, then extends his hand to the headscarved wife, who leaves him hanging.
Oy ve Ötesi is an NGO that was founded after the Gezi protests by a group of millennials, including a former McKinsey consultant. They got good at attracting and organizing large groups of volunteers, who, like me, had no party affiliation. People without party affiliation don’t usually get official observer status, so they used the Liberal Democratic Party, which is a tiny, but officially recognized, outfit. The government has since banned this method of election observation.
I think part of the concern was that Gülenists were signing up through the organization. I’m not sure whether there was any merit to that, but at the time, when you saw visibly conservative people engaging in opposition activity, that’s what most people thought. It’s normal now, as huge part of the conservative electorate is swinging towards the opposition.
7:12
As I'm walking past the rooms, I see one where a tall, thin man is going through a list and politely instructing the others on their duties. I like the atmosphere, see that the room remains unclaimed by other müşahit, and enter.
Every room has a ballot box, and every box has a "box committee" made up of a leader - usually a teacher who is unaffiliated - and 3-5 party representatives, who act as his deputies. In this case, there is the head teacher, three party representatives (two of whom are women) and one more teacher, who is unaffiliated and acts as a deputy.
The head teacher has a rule book in his hands. The first thing he does is to have his staff swear an oath to execute the law. There's a bit in the text that says “I swear on all that it holy to me” [bütün mukaddesatım üzerine yemin ederim] that gets my attention. There's neither god nor prophet in the oath, but whoever wrote it still felt the need to draw this group's attention to some divine power.
The staff starts counting the ballots, stamping the envelopes, and organizing their desks.
7:17
Two cops, one in plain clothes and another in a blue vest, come by and give the head teacher their cell phone number, in case they need help with security.
7:29
The head teacher is going over the rules. The team has had training and doesn't need the basics, but some of the more complicated stuff bears repeating: if someone is mentally disabled, they're not supposed to be voting. Other people can't go in with them to "help them vote." This is allowed for those with physical disabilities.
It really hits me here how important teachers are in running this whole thing. It's not just that they are the ones manning the ballot boxes, they are the ones that keep up the institutions that hosts the whole process: the school is spotless. The desks and seats have been moved precisely to accommodate the voting booths. There's no clutter, no trash on the floors. In this particular classroom, Friday's lesson is still on the board. The kids were learning about opposites - the heading is “words of opposite meaning” [zıt anlamlı kelimeler] and underneath it it says “cold-warm” “sad-happy” “down-up” and a few more. It takes me back.
7:52
Head teacher is finished organizing his desk. He is reading in his rule book.
7:59
The first voter arrives. He is a slight man, old, with short white hair and a thin mustache. His hand is shaking as the casts his ballot.
8:01
There is a line of 3-4 voters outside the door now. The second person to vote is a former muhtar, says “How’s it going Hüseyin, older brother?” [Hüseyin abi n'aber?] to the only man among the party deputies.
And then the next person recognizes Hüseyin abi. And the next. They all give him warm greetings.
I guess there’s no equivalent to “muhtar” in English - it’s a sort of elected headman of a neighborhood or village. You can read about the position here.
8:22
I notice that people have forgotten how to seal envelopes. Pretty much nobody licks it shut. The cover sort of flaps open as they cast it into the transparent box, or they try to stick it into the envelope, and that seldom works.
This makes it easier to open them later, but it's an unintentional convenience to the ballot staff.
8:31
One of the female deputies sits right in front of the ballot box and says “hayırlı olsun” [literally, “may it be auspicious”] whenever someone casts their ballot. She doesn't miss a single one. I think it's for the same reason we often say “inşallah” [God willing]. They both reflect a very deep caution against taking the future for granted. You don’t want to assume that good things will happen.
Hayırlı olsun lady is wearing a thick red sweater and a headscarf. Her pale white skin, hallow cheekbones and roman nose make me think she's from the Black Sea region.
8:35
A young couple walks in. The woman is wearing stylish jeans, a brown leather jacket, Ugg boots, and has a giant stone on her finger. The net worth of her clothes must be ten times that of other women voting here.
The guy is wearing blue trainers and has a strong Ankara accent.
8:47
Head teacher goes over some more rules.
8:59
One of the voters has a few spots of white paint on his black pants and shoes. While talking to Hüseyin abi, I hear him say “I’m goin’, I’m goin’ to the construction site.”
When he's gone, the hayırlı olsun lady asks Hüseyin abi how he knows everyone. He says he was a bakkal (grocer) for 16 years on one of the two streets where we're taking votes from. We all have an “aha” moment.
We also find out that he's from Kars (“Gars.” He's got the accent to prove it) and that there's many people from his home village in the neighborhood.
9:04
There's a short, bespectacled, woman who can't figure out how to use the stamp. This is common among older people. Her husband shows her how to do it and sends her back into the booth.
9:10
I'm joined by a fellow müşahit. She's a short, heavy-set, headscarved woman about the age of 40. First we sit next to each other, then I switch to a seat on the opposite side of the room, next to the head teacher's desk. I now face my new colleague from across the room.
9:27
I go out into the courtyard for some tea. There's clusters of people. It's still very cold. I don't stay out long.
9:40
More people are starting to come in. It's a visibly conservative crowd.
Hayırlı oslun lady is still going strong.
9:43
A big man in a three-piece suit says “god willing it will be auspicious” (“inşallah hayırlısı olur,”) as he casts his ballot, but then goes, “then again, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be, what what can you do?” [“gerçi öyle gözükmüyor ama, n'apalım?”] I'm not sure which way he's voting.
9:45
There's a pretty girl in tight green pants, nose piercing, with long black hair. She stands out.
9:51
A giant of a man walks in. He has ashy dark skin, a thick black mustache, and a military haircut. His outfit though, is what really sets him - a black leather coat over a black suit and dark-red tie. There's a gold crescent and star pinned on his collar. It's The Matrix meets Eşkiya.
He picks up his ballot papers and walks towards the booth.
10:07
It's real busy now.
An older woman is illiterate, and her family says they want to accompany her to the booth. The staff doesn't allow it, so she goes in on her own. She's in there for a while though, and we hear her trying to fold the ballot. Her son in law says she hasn't managed, could he please go in? She comes out eventually though, and the rules remain unbroken.
10:19
I venture into the courtyard for some more tea, and this time, some very good spinach börek made by the Oy ve Ötesi building supervisor's wife, who I think is also a müşahit.
There's a lot more people outside now. I recognize three men, one of whom voted at our booth, talking. The guy who voted in our room is swinging his prayer beads, and I hear bits of conversation “these guys laid down on America’s door just to get air strikes” [“adamlar Amerika'nın kapısına yattı, hava saldırısı diye.”]
10:29
We're talking during a relative lull, and find out that the hayırlı olsun lady (who, it is becoming obvious, is the AK Party representative) newly opened up a tailor shop. “Of course, I never stay idle!” she says.
She's worried about her older son, who she says won't study. She says it's hard to motivate him. Her younger son and daughter are doing well though.
She's an imam hatip graduate but couldn't go to college when she was younger. Now she's studying divinity [ilahiyat] long distance as many conservative women are these days. [It's how you're certified to be a Quran teacher, among other things] “I never stay idle!” she says again and again.
Women with headscarves were denied most public jobs and positions, as well as entry into university campuses after the 1980 coup. Much of this lasted until 2008, when the AK Party government changed regulations. Imam Hatip graduates also had a difficult time getting into university, and this too was changed in the early years of the AK Party. People who were denied these rights in the 1990s tend to be especially angry at the Kemalist establishment of the past and loyal to successive AK Party governments.
10:34
I'm next to Hüseyin abi, whose knowledge of the neighborhood continues to impress me. He's standing next to me, so I hazard a question “you know everyone. Surely you have a good idea of what the vote is going to be in our box” [“Abi sen herkesi tanıyosun. Ne çıkacağını üç aşşa beş yukarı tahmin edersin heralde”]
As I say this, I realize it's the most political thing anyone's said in the room all day. But there's no going back now.
He shrugs. “nah, people don’t even know whom to give [wed] their daughters to, how’re they supposed to know how to vote” [‘Yok ya, millet gızını kime vereceğini bilmiyo, oyunu ne bilsin”]
“You say people are confused” [“Milletin kafası karışık diyosun”]
“‘Course they’re confused” [“garışık tabi ya”]
I also confirm my earlier guess that he's representing the MHP.
10:45
Most of the voters are old. I'm wondering whether that because the neighborhood is old, or whether the younger people just prefer to vote late.
10:50
The head teacher calls over a kid as he's passing by the corridor. He must be 9 or 10, is chubby.
“How are you then?’ [“Nassın bakalım?”]
“I’m well my teacher” [“İyiyim örtmenim.”]
“Who’re you here with?” [“Kiminle geldin?”]
“With my older sister’s bunch” [“Ablamlarla.”]
After the kid is gone, someone says that he looked shy. The teacher says that he was just nervous around them, says he's a real bully in the yard, likes to pick fights and show the other kids how strong he is.
10:55
There's a big guy with red hair looking into the room. He has a kid in his arms and his wife is holding the hand of another one. He asks us where his street's polling box is. We think it's the next door.
11:05
The AK Party müşahit says there's been a fight in one of the other rooms. A woman (they think CHP rep) was talking too much and being political, so they had to ask security to escort her out.
11:21
I bring up my point about the absence of younger people to the room. It sparks a discussion about appropriate voting age. “We didn’t know what’s what until we were 25, how’s a 16-year old kid supposed to know?” [“Biz 25'imize kadar neyin n'olduğunu bilmiyoduk, 16 yaşındaki çocuk ne bilsin?”]
We also talk about people not knowing how to lick envelopes.
It’s nice sitting around and chatting with this group of people. I realize it's a particular kind of peacefulness brought about by the pronouncement of political identities. It's counterintuitive, but people are more cordial when their political preferences are out on the table. The last time I felt like this was when I visited an old family friend at his office in parliament. He was an AK Party MP then, and we went to eat at the cafeteria together. It must have been before 2010. As we entered, he was greeted by an MHP MP whose name I can't remember. Either way, I was cordially introduced to the gentleman from the opposition, and we sat and ate together.
I'm not sure MPs still talk to each other in parliament, but we certainly did in that little room.
This kind of basic cross-partisan courtesy is breaking down in democracies across the world. In Turkey, the results of this election broke it down even further. I’m a little surprised at how optimistic I sound here.
11:24
A young guy in blue trainers and an Ankaragücü scarf walks in. He's followed by a girl, and both are just around voting age.
The girl is wearing tight pants, high heels and tasteful makeup. She takes her papers, walks into the booth, and makes an unusually strong "ka-chunk" sound with the stamp. I can smell her perfume well after she's left the room.
11:29
I leave to vote in my own neighborhood. I'll have lunch first, though.
12:50
I am waiting at the door to cast my vote. Trying to guess who's representing which party in this room is like looking into a parallel universe.
12:52
I fold my ballot into the envelope walk up to the transparent box. Sitting in front of it is a thin man with thick glasses and a stubble mustache. As my envelope hits the bottom of the box, I hear a “hayırlı olsun.”
Are they casting a spell?
14:17
I am back in Keçiören. It's very sunny now, and the whole neighborhood is out, making a day of it. It's hard to find a parking spot.
There's a lot of people standing around the school and chatting, having tea, smoking. There's also lots of vendors, selling anything from hazelnuts to bags of potatoes. One guy has a big metal cart - the kind you hitch behind trucks - and it’s filled with sunflower seeds. He scoops some out and weighs it for a buyer.
I see Turkish Morpheus again. He's standing in the courtyard, talking to a bunch of other men. People are too excited to leave after they vote. They want to feel close to the day's main event.
14:51
I'm back in the room. The head teacher says 2/3 of voters already showed up, and guesses that only 1/6 were young. It makes us wonder.
Did I just leave my post for hours? Yes I did. It’s a pretty typical thing for observers to do. What’s most important is that you get a sense of the people presiding over your particular box and that you’re there for the final count.
14:58
In comes a lady with loose clothes and headscarf. She looks a bit like she came in from the countryside. She's on the older side of the room and is breathing heavily. She takes a seat.
She wants to vote but doesn't have her ID. The staff asks her whether she lives close by, but she doesn't: “by god I’m coming in from the depths of hell” [“valla cehennemin dibinden geliyom."] It makes us all smile.
She sparks up a conversation in the way that city people have forgotten to. Isn't it strange, she says, that doctors will treat you without ID but you can't vote without one? “Can’t I vote as a guest?” ['“Misafir olarak atamaz mıyım?”] she wonders.
The staff say she can’t, she needs to go get her ID. She says she she might be able to go get it before 17.00, but it's just one vote and it's not worth it. The staff is appalled to hear her say that. The deputy teacher says “how would that be appropriate auntie? Everyone has to exercise their right.” [“olur mu öyle teyze?! Herkesin hakkını kullanması lazım.”]
The head teacher even says that they'll extend voting time just for her, but I'm not sure he means it.
15:11
The AK Party müşahit is now sitting next to me, and asks “I’m really curious, what are you taking notes on little brother?” [“yahu çok merak ettim, sen neyi not alıyon ablam?”]
I'm prepared for this question, and say that I'm writing a novel. That’s why I take notes everywhere I go.
Do I already have books published? No, I say.
“God willing, it will happen” [“İnşallah olur,”] she says.
“God willing,” I say.
There’s no novel folks. It’s Substack posts all the way down.
15:23
Hayırlı olsun lady is by now sitting with her back against the ballot box because it makes it easier to face the others. She still does her duty with every vote, but it's slower and less methodical.
15:25
My friend from Kayseri arrives. We drop off his luggage in my car, and go out to the neighborhood to have some tea.
I don't feel too bad about it because my ballot team is doing a good job, and I'll be back for the final count anyways.
I think he voted in the morning back home.
17:00
I’m back just in time. There's now a few more müşahit, all men, save the AK Party representative. One of them happens to be Turkish Morpheus. He's talking to the AK müşahit, and their conversation suggests that he's AK Party as well.
We're sitting in a row of benches along the wall opposite to the head teacher. Him and his staff are counting the envelopes to check against the records they’ve been keeping throughout the day.
I'm at the edge of the row, with the müşahit from the AK Party next to me, Turkish Morpheus next to her, and two new guys next to him. I'm guessing at least one of them is MHP.
We have papers in hand and are ready to count votes.
Everyone knows the party affiliations of ballot box staff, but it’s a constant guessing game for everyone else. On election day, nobody around the ballot box is allowed to wear party symbols. Well-organized outfits like the AK Party usually get around this by agreeing on a discreet sign that only their local group knows about - like a pin or an arm band. I guess I didn’t know about that in this election, but have since gotten much better at looking for these little signs.
17:17
A few of the envelopes turn out to be invalid. That's because every envelope is supposed to arrive at the school with two official stamps on them. The ballot staff then puts their own stamp on a third corner. If an envelope doesn't have that third stamp, it could have been brought in from the outside and is therefore disqualified from the count. There's 7 that are missing a third stamp.
There's now tension in the room. The woman next to me goes,
“My god. They have no honor. Who could do something like this?” [“Allahım yarabbim. Namussuzlar. Kim yapar ki böyle bi şey?”]
Turkish Morpheus says, “never mind sister. You never know with these things. It could have been a mistake.” [“Boş ver abla ya. Belli olmaz bu işler, hata olmuştur belki.”]
He has a thin, muffled voice that’s quite a contrast to his enormous frame.
I like how Turkish Morpheus is the voice of reason here. In my experience, things seldom add up perfectly at the end of the day. There’s always a mistake here and there, but I doubt it’s significant.
17:24
We are counting votes. The staff takes out the ballots from their envelopes, calls out the name of the party voted for, and shows us the stamp. My eyes aren't good enough to quite see the stamp on the ballot, but there’s a lot of people around us now, so someone’s bound to catch mistakes. I make marks on the paper in front of me for each count. It's tedious work, requiring just enough attention not to let me read email on my phone while I do it.
The AK Party has a very comfortable lead, as expected.
17:45
Every once in a while, the staff notices an envelope missing a third stamp. They don't open those and put them aside.
Some of the new observers are upset that possibly genuine votes might be discounted. They suggest that the envelopes be opened anyways.
The head teacher shoots down the idea straight away. He's bound by the rules, he says, and the rules say not to open envelopes that don't have three stamps on them.
One müşahit says “alright, we’ll talk about it later” [“tamam, sonra konuşuruz."]
Head teacher says “there’s nothing to talk about” [“konuşulcak bir şey yok.”]
Turkish Morpheus says softly “sir it wouldn’t be us talking about it, it would be the Supreme Election Council” [“Hocam biz konuşmayız, Yüksek Seçim Kurulu konuşur zaten.”] He's pointing his enormous finger at the teacher, “you just do what’s required, that’ll be enough” [“Siz gereğini yapın, yeter.”]
They agree on that. The procedure is to maintain invalid envelopes and pass them on to the YSK, along with a short report. It's what the teacher was going to do anyways.
I can see how this sort of thing would be a much bigger problem now. The opposition couldn’t trust the YSK in the way that even then, they could.
18:24
The count is finally done.
There's now more than 20 invalid envelopes, which is a problem. A man in a shiny grey suit and tie comes in, followed by maybe ten other people, presumably representing different parties. They crowd the head teacher and want to know what's happening. (I later find out that this is the only ballot box in the school where a problem occurred).
The teacher is insisting on upholding the rules. He ties the envelopes together with a string and seals it with wax, as prescribed in his rule book. I hear one of the müşahit mutter “these are secret files of state. Preserve them well” [“devletin gizli evrakları, aman iyi saklayın.”]
Hüseyin abi asks us all to leave. They're going to write the final report and give us all copies when they’re done.
18:33
My friend from Kayseri and I are talking to Turkish Morpheus. He's explaining to us why the envelopes shouldn't be opened and why the head teacher is doing a good job.
“If he opens them and it’s all HDP, I won’t have it counted,” [“Şimdi açsa, hepsi HDP çıksa, ben saydırmam,”] he says in that thin voice, “now, if they’re all AK Party then he won’t have them counted. That’s why it’s best this way. Our elders can decide.” [“ha, ama hepsi AK Parti çıksa da o saydırmaz. Ondan böylesi daha iyi. Büyüklerimiz karar versin.”]
I'm not sure how we got into this conversation, because we already understand all that. It's just a bit surreal to be talking to this guy.
18:43
We're waiting around the classroom. The man in the tie, who we think is the principal, is still there, and on the phone, speed talking, “brother I don’t know why there wouldn’t be a stamp. It’s a failure of the people here I guess!” [“Bilmiyorum abi, neden damga olmasın? Buradakilerin eksikliği işe!”]
Hayırlı olsun lady was the one responsible for stamping and double-checking the envelopes in the morning. She's now sitting in a corner of her own, face cupped in her hands.
Later she's talking to the AK Parti müşahit, her friend, about her kids.
It’s perfectly possible that hayırlı olsun lady stamped some envelopes more lightly than others, or that the stamp ran dry and she didn’t pay attention for a few envelopes.
18:51
The other müşahit and I are waiting for copies of the report, signed by all five members of the ballot staff. I was the first müşahit to show up, and everyone knows me by now, so I'm the first one to get a copy.
I see a kid with a beard and earrings who also wants a copy. The card in his hand has the purple-green colors of the HDP on it.
That’s where my notes end.
It’s a little ominous considering how awful things have been for the HDP since that night. In the June 2015 election, the HDP did amazingly well, and tried to form a coalition government with the opposition or the AK Party. The nationalist government that rose to power after the November election, jailed their leaders and systematically suppressed their activities. It then went on to enact a hyper-centralized presidential regime (my report on that here.)
The question that I kept coming back to while editing this is: if we had elections now, would it be like this again? Elections are a sort of bundle of collective memory and habit - the way the rooms are kept clean, the way that local representatives of different parties talk to each other, the way everyone waits in line in front of the classrooms, it’s all a pattern that goes back generations. People know it to be precious and treat it with reverence.
Turkey’s next election is scheduled in a year from now, but people can already feel it in their bones. When it comes, I think those schools are going to be squeaky clean.