The last electoral experience I had was during the 2007 referendum, when I was serving my mandatory military service.
I was on the verge of being discharged when I received a phone call from my company commander ordering me to come immediately to cast my “very important vote” at that time.
When I arrived at the brigade’s courtyard, the referendum festival was in full swing — filled with chanting, dancing, and singing. Lines of soldiers were standing as if they were sheep in a crowded marketplace.
When my turn came, I reached a tent set up in the middle of the courtyard. At its entrance stood a sergeant in his fifties, holding a small pin. His moustache was white with a bluish tint, and near his nostrils was a yellowish stain, as if from henna, caused by years of smoking.
We were required to give him our left thumb so he could prick it and shout in his hoarse voice: “Press until the blood comes out, you idiot!”
Then we would take two steps forward to a table where a brigadier general sat surrounded by two colonels.
I tried to avoid the pin’s prick, looking for some piece of metal or anything hard to prick myself with before my turn came, but I failed — and I fell captive to that pin. The incident left me with obsessive-compulsive anxiety that lasted an entire year, fearing that I might have caught some disease or infection from the 1,700 soldiers who had all been pricked with the same pin.
You had to be very careful carrying that drop of blood on your thumb so it wouldn’t fall in the wrong place on the ballot, lest it be drowned in your own blood and send you straight into the darkness of the prisons.
It all went “well,” and I voted with my blood for the president — may God curse him — just like the rest of the Syrian Arab Army. Then the drums started beating again, the flutes played, the dancing resumed, and everyone rejoiced at the “victory” of the president in a general referendum without a rival and sealed with precious blood.
Meanwhile, I crossed the sand barrier to continue my leave and finish the last month of two long years of oppression and misery.
That was the last election I witnessed before we turned the world upside down and overthrew that fool, and here I stand today, taking part in the first election in the new Syria.
Perhaps today’s experience might not please everyone. It certainly has many flaws and issues, and personally, I agree with much of what is being said.
But without a doubt, it will be recorded in the history of the new Syria as the first small-scale, hybrid democratic experiment — within what was possible, and the best we could achieve, no matter what critics say.
I felt immense pride as I entered the secret voting room to write down the names of the candidates. I felt the ecstasy of victory over the tyrant as I dropped my ballot into the box. I truly felt the value of my vote when the counting neared its end and my candidate led by a narrow margin in a fair and fierce competition.
No matter what is said about this experience, the truth remains: This is the first small but real step on Syria’s long road to democracy.
As the saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step — and perhaps Syria’s democratic journey has begun here, God willing.
Majed AbdelNour is a Syrian researcher in International Affairs.
This article was translated and edited by The Syrian Observer. The Syrian Observer has not verified the content of this story. Responsibility for the information and views set out in this article lies entirely with the author.
