In elementary school, I was taught that an election for public office is, ideally, the greatest emblem of a functioning democratic system – maybe not in that exact phrasing, but still, the sentiment's there. The consummate election, vis-à-vis the spirit of democracy, will neglect superficial appeals (read: popularity contest) and place the most competent and viable candidate in office. A successful election relies on the art of the campaign, through which a candidate can actively prove said competency and said viability, without the unfair disadvantage of inane restrictions thereof.
Doing so at Hopkins, however, is unfortunately and unnecessarily difficult.
Those unacquainted firsthand with the electoral process at Hopkins are likely unfamiliar with the Committee for Student Elections (CSE), the organization that directs, oversees and regulates undergraduate elections. It is comprised entirely of students, as a group responsible for dictating the tenor of elections should be. The intrinsic irony of the CSE – a group structured to, according to its official description "increase the awareness of Student Government [at Hopkins]" – lies in its campaign policies, which obscure and obstruct the democratic process of elections through stringent regulations on when, where and how candidates for the Johns Hopkins University Student Government Association can endorse themselves for office.
I refer to the CSE Constitution to delineate the basics. "Campaigning," it tells us, "is defined as the indirect or direct utilization of personal or public services to assist in getting votes." Conveniently vague. The when: campaigning – or rather, the actions pursuant to the ambiguous definition of it – can occur strictly during the impractically narrow four-day period prior to the opening of polls. Though polls remain open for seventy-two hours, campaigning during this period is a punishable no-no. The where: posters, which must conform to pithy sizes (a sheet of printer paper), must receive a literal stamp of approval from housing authorities to earn wall space, an inconvenience by virtue of sheer quantity. Gone is the collegiate maxim of a flyer-pasted lamppost on a quad – for whatever reason, such public venues are strictly prohibited. And the how: or rather, the how not. There is to be, according to the CSE constitution, no "dormstorming," no door-to-door petitioning, no use of mass text messages or online communications and no posting to the university Facebook group of the class one seeks to represent.
As for disobedience? Disqualification.
Largely on a whim – or, specifically, a gust of baseless audacity – I made the decision to run for freshman class senator around halfway through my first month at Hopkins. I pride myself on my networking, and relished the prospect of connecting with the twelve hundred members of the Class of 2015 with the prospect of representing their interests.
To say that I found campaigning to be an arduous procedure would be laughably insufficient. My ideas fell deferred; my efforts were largely quashed. I eagerly submitted my poster – a parody of The Social Network film poster, a subtle nod to my aforementioned adroit networking – to the AMR II Housing Office on my first day of the campaign trail.
The stipulation of the CSE Constitution that states that campaign posters must be "approved," not stamped; perhaps naively, I interpreted one stamp of approval to apply to all and happily posted them to the bulletin boards of the AMRs and Wolman Hall. In printing these posters, I fell just short of the CSE's campaign expenditure cap of fifty dollars. Within a day, they were gone, torn down by the RAs who had been instructed to trash all stamp-less flyers in dormitories.
So, I turned to more trite methods of self-promotion, like reminding my hallmates to vote while walking to my pre-bed shower. And yet, neuroses plagued. With every bathroom-bound reminder, I found the word "dormstorming" – note: not a word – ringing in my ears. When polls opened that Thursday night, I deleted the poster from my computer desktop – its sole home – and was silent on the walk to the bathroom, assumingly defeated.
The nebulous definition of "campaigning" leaves little room for indulgence. It is inherently incongruous to the tenets of democratic function to inhibit the voices of its proponents. The CSE's restrictions squash the spirit of elections and, moreover, foster a spirit of ruthless competition: oftentimes candidates will attempt to sabotage competitors by informing the CSE of their "violations," generally innocent acts of self-promotion that are easily morphed to the absurdity of Hopkins election policies.
The CSE constitution needs clearer restrictions and, more importantly, fewer of them. Preventing candidates from presenting themselves in a transparent forum diminishes the virtue of voting procedure, reducing it to a superficial representation of, likely, who knows more people (read: popularity contest).
Of course, some hurdles are logically necessary, and I will gladly concede that administrative agencies can offer a crucial mediator in maintaining a clean election. A freshman whose poster promises celebratory SoCo Lime shots invites obvious legal technicalities. Clean, though, does not always equate to fair.
And yeah, I won freshman senator – a fact that either refutes my argument or exemplifies the messy ambiguity of the system, depending on what you think of me. As for my reelection campaign, though, I think I'll stick to handing out candy. Dormstorming is too passé.
