Lessons from Berlin's electoral do-over

It's election time in Berlin, again.

Why so soon?

Last time around, it didn't go so well.

For starters, election day was the same day as the Berlin Marathon. So, half the city's streets were closed for the runners, snarling up traffic.

Some voting stations ran out of paper ballots, forcing people to wait hours to vote. When new ballots didn't arrive, some stations photocopied blank ballots.

If the ballots did arrive, they were often meant for other districts. But they were used anyway, meaning people voted for politicians who weren't running in their district.

Some voting stations closed early, which is not so good.

Other voting stations stayed open far longer than allowed, which might seem good, but isn't.

The courts threw the election results out, and ordered a prompt do-over. Although some argued they should stand. I haven't heard a good reason why. 

Germany may be a country with a reputation for efficiency, but Berlin is not like the rest of Germany. The same things that make it interesting—it's urban wildness, chaotic energy, warped history—also make it hard to run.

But, while the rest of Germany shakes its head at the hijinks of its capital, I'd like to call a time-out and point out that this whole fiasco is a good thing. Let me break it down:

• We know something went wrong with the election.
• It went to court.
• The courts overturned the election results 
• The city is now rerunning the election.

In places far less democratic, if something like this electoral flop occurred, things might've looked different. There might've been a cover-up, or the problems would've been ignored, or labeled as "fake news."

What makes a democracy truly democratic isn't a well-running machine — although it helps — but when mistakes happen, we know about them from a free press. We're able to demand change through an eco-system of civic groups and respect for freedom of assembly. Independent courts uphold the law, even if it runs against the interests of our elected leaders, and institutions implement the court's ruling and correct the mistake.

An autocracy needs the appearance of being well-run, even if it isn't. So, there's no free press to point out mistakes, no civic groups or freedom of assembly to demand change, and no courts to uphold the law.

The best sign that you're living in a working democracy country is that you know when it isn't working, you're allowed to say it doesn't work, and you can try to get it fixed.

There's a lot of people out there who don't have that luxury.

What brings out our best

 

Europe is edging toward an energy crisis.

Everyone is getting letters from their gas and electricity providers about price hikes.

By law, my office must limit the temperature to 19 degrees. They're offering blankets and everyone is layering up.

A war rages nearby. Europe boycotts Russian oil and gas. Underwater pipelines explode. Everything costs more, far more.

During the warmer summer months, I told a friend that aside from the news reports and refugees, the war in Ukraine feels distant from Berlin.

It feels closer now.

The upside is that we're finally noticing where our cheap gas and electricity came from, and what it's funded.

If you still don't know, google Bucha.

It's a chilling, helpful reminder of why we stopped buying gas from them. And why it might be worthwhile to feel a little colder this winter if they get less of our money.

As a Canadian, winter always seemed to bring out the best in people. A stranger's car won't start? We give them a boost. We'll shovel a neighbour's driveway, or buy cup of hot chocolate for the panhandler in front of Tim Horton's.

I'd like to think this energy crisis could bring out the best of all us. That we wouldn't sacrifice our principles to pay less for heating and electricity and everything else.

Principles aren't easy, convenient, or painless. And that's the point. It's the toughest winters that bring out the best in people, if we let it.

Child-like Enthusiasm

 

Just a few days into my sick child's leave, I felt the rush of anticipation for the day's first hot cup of coffee and our morning dose of Ninjago.

For the uninitiated, Ninjago is a cartoon featuring a few Lego ninjas with special powers and their own primary colour. They fight all sorts of magicians, stone Samurai, robo-ninjas, and anthropomorphic snakes with their signature martial art: Spinjitsu.

We're into the fifth season, and it's fair to say I'm just as hooked as my nearly 4-year-old son. 

The level of enthusiasm for Ninjago in the household has been slowly building. First, it was the occasional reference after a day at the Kita. Then, there were the drawings and the priced pages of a colouring book. Then we started watching the show on Netlfix.

But, the tipping point into Ninjago fan-boy-dad-territory was the savage virus that knocked out almost all the kids, and parents, at our Kita. We've now been marathon-watching these Lego martial artists between naps, pleas to nap, matchbox car races, book-reading, and other activities meant to tire out a child that refuses to act like he's sick.

I've gone from a white belt to a black belt in Ninjago knowledge. How serious is it? I've moved beyond merely mastering the ninjas' names, colours, and powers, to thinking, "He's acting like a Cole..."

 

I've also had some deeply serious conversations about what the Green Ninja's superpower is. The answer? "The Green Ninja's power is Boom-boom."

There's so much about fatherhood you're not prepared for. At best, you think you're prepared for something, but find out you're not. 

 

But here is a situation I didn't know I should be prepared for: This powerful, unabashed enthusiasm for something — dinosaurs, cars, Ninjago, whatever — that's so strong that you happily get pulled into it. It's like getting sucked into the Darkness (season 2 for the Ninjago noobs), but far less ominous.