■ 03 November 2009 | 11:29 AM
Today is Election Day in Virginia. We're voting for governor, some statewide legislative offices and, in my city, sheriff.
I remembered it was Election Day with a shrug a few moments after I woke up. Gotta go vote. My duty, yada, yada, yada.
It was a coincidence that, before I did, I happened to be reading Maggie Steber's book of photographs from Haiti, "Dancing on Fire." The images are largely from the 1980s and early 1990s, just after Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier was overthrown and the hope of that time was fused with violence.
I sat there, sipping my strawberry green tea with a "hint of lemongrass," looking over images of corpses left in the street as threats to the living against voting. The anguish of mourners.
A colorful bus driving through a line of flame as a young boy looks on, a kid who would be the age of some of my Haitian friends now, if he's alive, and it makes me think, what have their eyes seen?
All of that wasn't just about elections, but enough was and it made me think that all I had to overcome to vote was the inertia of a cushy couch, a hot cup of tea and fair amount of apathy that I feel guilty about.
In Haiti, there is and always has been a lot more to overcome -- so much that courage is common, is a necessity.
For me, not so much. I decided to make voting part of my morning run. I was passed at the outset on a crisp clear morning by a woman on roller blades. Ran past the grocery store with abundant food I can afford. Smiled awkwardly at the kid hawking votes outside my polling place for a candidate I wasn't going to vote for.
It took me five minutes to run to my polling place. Once inside, no line. In and out in three minutes and I got my sticker. I don't know what you get in Haiti if you vote. The next time to find out is next year, when they have their presidential elections.
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