A few weeks ago, Jenn and I hosted Sounding Board, KNOM’s weekly call-in show, on the Permanent Fund Dividend checks coming out.
For any non-Alaskans out there, the PFD is money every person who has lived in the 49th state for at least a year can apply for and receive just for being a resident, to put it very simply.
During our show, one man called in to say he didn’t think it was fair that someone who had lived in the state for a year got the same amount of money, which comes from the state’s oil production revenue, as someone who has lived in the state his entire life, whose family has lived here for their entire lives. And I thought that was a fair complaint to make.
I work and sleep and socialize and eat in Alaska, but do I consider myself Alaskan after two months? Not really. I still feel like a visitor. I’m grateful for the friends I’ve made, in part because they’ve invested their time in me even though I might only be around for a year before I move on. I’m not sure I can claim membership when I have an exit date so clearly in mind.
Which is why I’m wondering today — Tuesday, November 4 — why did I register to vote in Nome? What right do I have as a brand new resident, and a temporary one at that, to cast my vote?
In college, I filed absentee ballots every year for my hometown, my parents’ address, because I considered that my permanent address. But this summer, my parents moved, and then I moved myself here.
It is partly a sense of civic duty: if I have the ability and privilege to participate in my government, I should do it. It’s just filling in a few bubbles, and my voice counts. Before you think too well of me, however, peer pressure also got me in the voting booth. One night, about a month ago, a mutual friend started talking energetically about some of the issues on the ballot. Then she turned, stared me down, and said, “You’re registered to vote, aren’t you?” I promise you, the only right response to that was, “No… not yet.”
And I realized that working in a radio station has its benefits. I paid attention during the newscasts Jenn and Francesca read each day. I sat in on Sounding Boards that tackled ballot measures. I asked questions when the newsies started talking about the candidates, and I listened to the longer Profiles our news director ran during the last hour of my evening shift. And I kept listening when the issues came up in conversations elsewhere around town.
Sometimes, it seems strange to me that my job has so much to do with talking — and I spend so much time sitting quietly and listening. Communication goes both ways, and I feel like the weak link most of the time. But I keep playing the part, hoping I’ll understand everything around me just a little bit better. I can tell you the name of that song, and maybe the year it came out. I can tell you what someone who knows better told me. If I’m wrong, please correct me. It doesn’t hurt me to know how much I don’t know.
As with most things, I’m putting my trust in what I can learn from the people and information available to me. I’m not sure I can do better than that anywhere else, though, so why not? Today, I’ll use my voice.
