Moderator, select board, clerk — these are not the common titles in big cities. But in my little town of Mount Washington, those are the titles that count. I’m not a Massachusetts voter, but I attended a recent town meeting. An important vote was being held.
The town had appointed an ad hoc committee that would make recommendations about moving the one remaining old (1868) one-room schoolhouse from its present location to town center. The decision involves an enormous amount of work: moving the building, bringing it up to code (ramps and the like), and determining its position near the church and the town hall, the two buildings that constitute “town center.” None of these things would be done at the cost of the town; a large grant from the state of Massachusetts, and generous donations, would pay for it.
The decision is not what I’m interested in here. What was so fascinating about the special town meeting, so tension-replete and humor-filled, was the meeting itself. The ad-hoc committee presented its recommendations (they’re in favor of the move) and then discussion commenced.
The moderator, the one who sets the rules, said that each person would have three minutes to speak, with a 30-second warning before time was up. There were no debates per se, but one speaker could refer to the points made by another. The speakers were all to be town voters, but there would be time at the end for non-voters, too.
Each speaker had a different style. Some were prepared with a written speech, some were spur-of-the-moment one-liners. Some relied on professional expertise, and some spoke with the weight of personal history. Some in the audience were attentive, some sat with arms folded, and the little children cried in boredom.
The mountain has lots of summer people and part-time residents (like me), but it also has large families that are intermarried. Even some of those families, a few of which are now down to the fourth generation, were split on the issue. That made the working out of the question even more interesting.
The discussion went on a while—almost an hour. Finally the question was called, and voters were instructed to tear their ballots in half, with “yes” on one side and “no” on the other, and put the half with their vote into the wooden box that has served this purpose for years. The room became quieter as townspeople filed up and dropped their ballots in, and everyone sat down again to await the result.
The vote was announced, and there was some jubilation, members of the committee congratulating each other, but absolutely no one gloating or incensed. Out in the parking lot, people talked about what would happen next, where we go from here. The discussion had been heard, the decision had been made, the vote had been taken. Democracy, enacted.
