THE DAY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 261, 4 November 1925, Page 6

THE DAY.

There are features of our political system that might strike a visitor from another world as incomprehensible. He would observe, if he moved about New Zealand in the week or so before a General Election, that most voters did not go to hear candidates express their opinions, and that of those who did the majority made audiences for candidates of their own persuasion. It is a curious trait iv human nature that so many men and women like to be told what they believe. So Reformers flock to Reform meetings, and Labour supporters sit under Labour candidates. The effect on candidates is sometimes cruel and comical. They are so apt to think that because they are applauded by meetings of the already converted, they are making splendid headway. They ignore the fact that the other man is also receiving enthusiastic support from audiences of his colour, and that the issue is decided on the day by the silent voter, who prefers his fireside to political meetings. The optimism of candidates is wonderful. There seems to be something in politics that puts sand in the bearings of the judgment. High hopes have been dashed before, but they are again raised in the face of experience. So our friend from Mars might be astonished to find that all the candidates in to-day's election were confident of success. This is the voter's great day. He is lord of democracy; at his nod Governments rise and fall. The act of marking a piece of paper and putting it into a wooden box may seem highly prosaic, but really it is rich in romance. The very equality of the polling booth is a huge arresting fact. Rich and poor, stupid and brilliant, ignorant and welleducated—all are on the same level. The intelligent man who knows something of political science and has followed all the candidates may have his vote neutralised by somebody whose choice is decided 'by the shape of a candidate's face or a drive to the booth in a motor car. Thoughtful democrats know this well enough, but they 6ee no alternative. Democracy involves giving everybody a note. It is the ideal of the participation of all in the share of government and the distribution of responsibility over all. The voter can exercise this duty—and it is really quite a thrilling duty when you come to think of it—in secrecy. Who he votes for his own business. It is worth while recalling—especially for the benefit of pessimists—that this was not always so. The old system of open voting lasted in Britain and New Zealand until nearly fifty years ago. Secrecy was one of the things demanded by reformers at the beginning of the 19th century, and it was in the original draft of the Reform Bill of 1832, but English opinion was slow to move in such a matter. It is almost incredible, but there were able men who sincerely believed that the change would be bad. John Stuart Mill was one of these, and his attitude called forth the comment of John Bright that the worst of great thinkers is they so often think wrong. We get this old view in Rusden's comments on the introduction of the reform in New Zealand. "Though *no ground of expediency in practice can justify the conversion of a public trust to a private act, the opponents of the ballot in New Zealand, as in other countries, were constrained to admit that it tended to peace and order." It did. It also prevented the tenant from being penalised by his landlord, the shopkeeper by his customer, the worker by his employer. The democracy of today has a good deal to be thankful for on election day. Everybody has a vote; voting is secret; and the proceedings are quiet and orderly, yet there are some lunatics who would sweep the whole system away.