Hear me out.
You start off cautiously flirting; you an inexperienced youth, her a couple of years older (in my case). She’s on the news, flicking her hair back and laughing at your jokes, whilst making politically difficult but socially worthy manifesto promises that ultimately reinforce your crush with her. She twirls her hair as she mentions not raising tuition fees, strokes her face as she discusses scrapping the Digital Economy Act with you, and she gazes longingly into your eyes, and says “I think it’s time for us to talk about Political Reform.”
You never thought it would reach this stage. You, wildly impassioned, and in the throes of youth say “Go on” in a coquettish manner, your heart skips a beat as she says “You know what I’m talking about… Proportional Representation.”. You gasp, and look around, anxious in case anyone hears you talking about this sort of thing in public. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter and discuss this in more depth?” you whisper, “perhaps a voting booth?”
She holds your hand as you go into the empty primary school, ballot card in hand. “Do it,” she whispers, “Vote for me”. You step into the voting booth, your heart a maelstrom of emotion, pounding louder with every passing second, and you raise your pencil into the air and bring it down on the voting card, marking an X next to her name. Finally you are a man.
You think this is how it’ll always be as you walk out of the voting booth. “Me and the Liberal Democrats forever” you carve into a nearby tree that overlooks the spot where you broke that final barrier to manhood. The happiness is almost too much to bear as it rushes by. You can’t imagine life without her.
And then she meets someone. He’s just a friend at first but they get on just that bit too well for you to be really comfortable with it. As the weeks pass you realise she’s changing, she refuses to acknowledge it but she doesn’t answer any questions about what she gets up to with him “It’s just work, he’s just a friend” she mumbles, shrugging it off. This unsettles you. Driven by your jealousy you ask around about this character; Dave. It almost sickens you to say his name. He’s a popular man but he sounds worlds apart from the values you and she uphold. You don’t see how this is going to end well.
A few weeks later, she comes out with it. “This isn’t going to work” she says staring right into your soul. Had you been able to speak you would’ve whimpered “Why?” but the hurt was too much to bear at the time. Soon you see her swanning around London, arm in arm with Dave. “She used me!” you shout thunderously as you see her on the news, talking about how great it is to be with him. “She took my vote and USED me!”. You weep openly as she discusses how much to increase tuition fees by, you sob alone as she completely ignores the Digital Economy Act. “It’s like she never even cared!” you wail through muffled cries and tears.
She’s taken your heart and trampled it into the ground. You’ll never have your first vote again. You’ll vote again, sure, but will you go in with abandon into the voting, or will you feign apathy to stop yourself getting hurt?
The sole remnant you have together is the referendum on the Alternative Voting system, it’s not Proportional Representation, but it is a glimmer of hope, she’s not a hollow shell of her former self, she is still in there. This is the one thing you have that ties you together. So you go to vote one more time, and in a strange way it’s cathartic; you can share one last, perfect moment before you go your separate ways.
Maybe you’ll see her again in a few elections time, you’ll think to yourself “She looks good” and she’ll promise you the time of your life. Maybe you’ll vote for her again, maybe it’s too soon, you’ve been lied to before, can you really trust her again? Only time will tell.
By John Saunders and Mevan Babakar
[Edit: Here, as a present have an insight into AV and FPTP ]
