The Garden City Refugee

Disgust at the Ballot Box

October 20, 2026

This morning, I went downtown to vote in the advance polls, marking the fourth time I’ve voted in a municipal election since my defection from the SPRM more than 12 years ago. Unlike the case in past elections, however, both pre- and post-defection, it wasn’t a task I was eager to fulfill. Despite how badly our incumbents across the board need to be shown the door, there was virtually no choice, and I actually considered not voting at all.

Nonetheless, possibly against my better judgment, I walked into the returning office and went through the ritual. As was I early, their systems weren’t ready yet, so I had to wait. Once everything came online, I presented my voter card and ID and was promptly given a ballot. I asked if I could get a regular ballot. One that wasn’t counted with voting machines. I was told no. “That’s the way we do it,” the woman behind the counter said. “More accurate that way.” Staff-speak for “easier to rig,” I thought.

Part of me wanted to turn around and walk out. “Whatever,” I said. “Why bother.” But I took the ballot, sat down and looked at it.

What a hot mess, I thought.

In the first column were the candidates for mayor. I wanted to throw up. I felt good about voting for Jimmy Jackson, even though I know he doesn’t stand much of a chance. And even if he did, the staff wouldn’t let him win. I’d have been OK with Anthony Adeoye. But that’s it. Mat Siscoe was completely out of the question, as was Ann-Marie Zammit, who’s really been going off the rails of late. Just recently, she posted an endorsement from outgoing regional councilor Haley Bateman. You know, the same Haley Bateman who was formally reprimanded for her tasteless comments on Charlie Kirk’s murder. I couldn’t imagine what would possess anyone to actually want and openly post Bateman’s endorsement. Let’s also not forget Henry Bosch, the last member of the list. The Invisible Man.

Next came the list of councilors. I could not vote for any of them. Not even for the two African guys as a protest vote. It was a hard no for either member of the Bill Phillips-Dawn Dodge ticket, as was Spencer DeWolfe. The way he was identified in his late mother’s obituary. But on the ballot, he was listed as Spencer Bellows-DeWolfe. I was genuinely surprised that the Bellows name wasn’t printed six times larger than the rest of his handle. Just like it is on his lawn signs. He probably asked for it. But they must have turned him down. Whatever the case, I could not reward such brazen political opportunism, even at the risk of having both ends of the Phillips-Dodge ticket back in office.

The school trustee list was equally discouraging. I pretty much played an eeny-meeny-miny-moe game to find enough other-than-Kate-Baggott names to fill my quota of four votes. Hoping that the candidates I picked were less horrible than Baggott. Though admittedly, I really don’t know. I saw no other signs around town other than a few for Baggott, and little other information was available. Less so than in any other municipal election I’ve voted in, and that includes my time going back to the Old Country in the pre-Internet era. At least then, I was able to learn who the bad ones were when I saw their signs outside homes of known NDP supporters.

Having gone through it, I handed in my ballot and it went through. I know who I voted for. But I have no idea who got credit for my selections. For all I know, Siscoe might have gotten my vote. And he probably did. Because that’s what the staff wants.

Leaving there, I felt disgusted. Dirty.

I still do.

For the first time ever, I regretted voting.