Voting can be a dangerous right

Eileen Padberg

* EDITOR’S NOTE: Eileen Padberg is a local political consultant, who

has worked on Newport-Mesa campaigns, though lately she has focused

more on nonpartisan political efforts. For the past eight months, she

has been among those helping set up the elections that took place

last month in Iraq. Her emphasis has been on getting women involved

in the process. Her letter was passed to the Pilot by Costa Mesa City

Councilwoman Katrina Foley.

The first elections in Iraq since 1958 were a huge success!

Since we now have cable television in our trailer, I was able to

watch CNN, BBC and Fox News all day. It was so exciting. I was really

moved by the many women who risked their lives to vote. It is always

worse for them. I know that you were watching the same coverage --

those smiling faces.

It brought back memories of when I was in Guatemala for its

first-ever democratic elections. They didn’t have as many choices as

the Iraqis had, and their candidates were rumored to be military coup

candidates. When I asked them why they were voting, they would always

smile and say, “Because we can.”

I was reminded by my friend Ladonna Lee this morning that she was

in Haiti for the first democratic elections. The guerrillas there

machined-gunned the place where the elections were taking place,

killing many U.S. Agency for International Development workers. But

the people were determined to vote. The voters were hiding behind

huge concrete barriers, and one at a time they would run in, all

crouched down, vote and run back behind the barriers, while the

guerrillas were shooting at them. I only wish our own citizens

thought voting was as important.

No matter what the turnout is here -- and some say it is 70% --

the elections will have been a success. Just like in the United

States, large numbers of voters chose not to vote -- that is also

their right. Those who choose to sit it out here, have little say in

the construction of their first constitution.

The insurgents threw everything at us in the last few days, trying

to scare the Iraqis away from voting. On Saturday night -- the night

before the election -- there must have been 40 mortars, explosions

and lots of gunfire. I kept trying to decide whether to put on my

vest and helmet. One mortar round hit the palace and embassy. Two

people were killed -- two people I knew, although not very well --

and many others were injured. If the mortar round had exploded, a lot

more people would have died, but it did not explode.

We were not allowed to come to the office. We closed at 4 p.m. on

Saturday and were not allowed back until today, Monday. Everyone in

charge of security here was worried that mortar fire or even a

suicide bomber would attack our building, which is a prime target.

We won’t know for another 10 to 15 days whether the mother of one

woman I’ve been working with, Esra, will win a seat. I am very

excited for her. She says it isn’t about winning -- but about running

and putting yourself out there as a candidate.

Regardless of our reasons for being here in Iraq, I want all of

you back there to know how proud I was when I watched the many people

risking their lives to vote here -- and knowing that many of the

voters were women. I was also proud when I watched as the cars took

our own Iraqi expattiates to the convention center to vote. I was not

allowed to go because of security, but I was there in spirit, as I

sent Esra off. They all came back and held up their index fingers

covered in purple ink.

I believe that yesterday’s elections brought a new sense of pride

to the Iraqis. I don’t think that the insurgents will go quietly

away, but I do think we will begin to see more Iraqis standing up for

themselves in the coming months.

Esra and I are busy working on our next conference in Kirkurk. The

travel and accommodations are incredibly challenging. No one is in

charge. I’ve already lost my temper three times this morning. We

started the process a week ago and we are not closer to securing a

place or what they call around here life support -- accommodations,

security and food.

Yet, all is well.