Lee Nichols

Slicing Up The Pie

The sun is just coming up over the East Texas horizon as our aging, beat-up sedan cruises down U.S. 290 East toward the Travis County line. At that point, we will leave the boundaries of the 10th U.S. Congressional District, currently represented by Austinite Lloyd Doggett. Yet on another, less familiar map, we are not really leaving the 10th at all – we are simply heading into territory inside the new 10th, which will come into full existence on Nov. 2, 2004.

This July morning we are traveling from one end of the new District 10 to the other. Before U.S. House Majority Leader Tom DeLay (R-Sugar Land) applied the Calvinist doctrine of predestination to Austin's voters, such a trip simply involved a direct, 30-mile drive down Interstate 35, from the southern border of Williamson County to the northern one of Hays. But post-re-redistricting, we have barely begun our journey. When we reach our turnaround point, we will be about 140 miles from home, in the northwestern suburbs of Houston.

Tomball, to be specific. When we get there, we will have dropped 387 feet in altitude, from the edge of the Central Texas Hill Country to the East Texas coastal plains. But make no mistake – for one of our fellow passengers, Lorenzo Sadun, the trip is uphill the entire way.

This daunting journey is precisely what Tom DeLay calculated when he split the old 10th into three different districts. The new 10th represents what the arch-partisan DeLay fantasized about – a centralized bastion of liberalism destroyed, sprawled into a completely different landscape, and one in which Democrats became, if not extinct, at least as docile and hard to find as the horned toads once ubiquitous in Central Texas. The district was drawn to be such a sure electoral bet for Republicans that – following a brief early flirtation by Austin Mayor Emeritus Gus Garcia – no Democrat even bothered to file for the seat.

So in the new 10th, there is now only one thorn remaining in DeLay's side – Sadun, a 43-year-old married father of three, an unpretentious mathematics professor at UT-Austin, and an earnest liberal Democrat who simply couldn't stand to see his congressional voice vanish without a fight. Professor Sadun is now mounting a diligent, quixotic write-in candidacy for Congress against former U.S. attorney Michael McCaul, winner of the GOP primary. Indeed, conventional wisdom decrees that Sadun barely rises to the level of thorn – on election day, he will be pulled painlessly from Big Tom's ribs by McCaul, whose Web site strikes the reassuring tone of an officeholder-elect (emphasis ours): "Since the election ended, I've been traveling the district, meeting with future constituents and listening to their concerns."

Conventional wisdom has an insistent, intimidating voice. Lorenzo Sadun is ignoring it. And he's not the only one.

Personal Connections

The Republican Goliaths who would represent most of Central Texas – newcomer McCaul, 17-year incumbent Lamar Smith of San Antonio (CD 21), and Williamson Co. favorite son John Carter (CD 31) – would appear to be shoo-ins. (As does Doggett, correspondingly gerrymandered into his new, bizarrely shaped CD 25, which runs from East Austin to Mexico, and where he faces little more than token opposition from novice GOP candidate Rebecca Armendariz Klein.) But the elephants must first go through the formality of a November general election, and three men have chosen to pick up a sling and face them. All three fit the white, male Democrat demographic (known at the Legislature as "WD40s") that DeLay has targeted for isolation or elimination.

Sadun declared too late to be an official nominee, but his write-in candidacy has earned the backing of the state party. In CD 31, Jon Porter, a 34-year-old Cedar Park lawyer, has decided to see if Fort Hood's military families, formerly represented by Chet Edwards, remain willing to support a Democrat. And in CD 21, Rhett Smith – no relation to the incumbent – hopes that the redrawn district burrows so far into Austin that it will tip in a Democrat's favor.

Each of the districts is anchored by metropolitan areas, but the Texas countryside remains traditionally home to retail politics – county fairs, Fourth of July picnics, Memorial Day parades... home to handshakes, baby-kissing, and creating name ID. This morning, our destination is the Hempstead Watermelon Festival.

Although the weather is bracing and the countryside lush, the trip down to Hempstead offers little political comfort: A cafe in Chappell Hill features a discouraging marquee: "Bush is the man."

Nonetheless, Hempstead remains a good target for a Democrat. Even for East Texas, Waller County has a particularly high percentage of African-Americans, likely the reverberation of historically black Prairie View A&M University just six miles east of Hempstead. The Watermelon Festival won't put Sadun in front of a lot of voters – Hempstead has just 4,173 citizens, and all of Waller County only 29,183 – but a write-in candidate can't afford to miss a single one.

The scene is not without unintentional comedy. Sadun is clearly a fish out of water – a liberal, Jewish college professor from an urban university (with his balding head, glasses, and mustache, Sadun bears more than a passing resemblance to the feckless stereotype of an intellectual in the "Mallard Fillmore" comic strip) trying to convince country folks that he's their guy. The candidate is a little awkward, but compensates with enthusiasm, passing out cards and shaking hands as quickly as he can.

Most of the responses are politely noncommittal – "Nice to meet you" and little else. Some people politely make it clear that they are hard-shell Republicans, while a few are downright ornery. One peppers Sadun with "facts" – "the decline of public schools began with the removal of corporal punishment"; "we have more racial problems now than we did back in the '50s." Yet another is preparing a parade float for the Kingdom Kids, an organization that "goes into schools and teaches Christian values. Thank God the school lets us in." Unaware that Sadun and campaign manager Patti Edelman are Jews, he blithely lectures them at length, adding that homosexual marriage will destroy America, and then advises, "When in doubt, read the instructions. The instructions are in the Bible." He doesn't specify a testament.

Not a likely Sadun voter, but the conversation ends with a glimmer of hope, at least of finding common ground. The self-appointed preacher walks back to Edelman minutes later and remarks of Sadun, "He's a nice guy. You know, I don't vote straight ticket. I'm Republican, but I vote for the man. I'll vote for a Democrat if I like him. As long as he has strong moral fiber." One wonders if Sadun might have swayed him a little further by recounting his active role in his synagogue. Probably a stretch.

But Sadun will strike a few more sparks in Hempstead. This is not 100% Bush Country, and rural Democrats are far from extinct. On the local level – where being Dem is more of an East Texas tradition than an ideology – they often win. On the parade route, we spot a sight that would be rare even in Austin – one of Sadun's bright green bumper stickers on the back of a van. At the festival grounds, a woman approaches the candidate furtively, as though the KGB were in her shadow, and gently says, "I heard you say you're a Democrat. I am very Democrat."

Unfortunately, she lives in Madisonville, outside CD 10, but another person – an actual district resident – loudly and proudly tells Sadun between bites of watermelon that he'll support him "as long as you're a Democrat. I don't want to talk bad about our president, but we've got to get that jackass out of the White House." In another moment, a frail-looking woman in a motorized wheelchair angrily declares, "I'm tired of the government giving money to the rich. I can't get social security or disability right now."

Sadun gets into an extended discussion with three African-American ladies who ask him what he will do in Congress. The question gives him a chance to reel off his list of the core beliefs that he learned from his parents, who immigrated from Italy just before World War II: "Live up to your responsibilities; leave this world a better place than you found it; stick up for your rights; and stick up for the other guy's rights."

These moments are enough to uplift the Long Shot.

"People are of different backgrounds, but the nice thing about a festival is, there's a bottom line that we all agree upon," says Sadun. "Okay, it's watermelon. But that's a start. It's a place to start a conversation, it's a place to make a personal connection. You make a personal connection with enough people, you make progress. And if it's somebody who has totally different political views and would never vote for you in a million years, okay – you shake their hand and they see that a Democrat is a real human being and doesn't have horns and a tail. This is important, because right now we've got a pretty widely split country, where people are used to hearing the same things over and over again, and never hearing the opposite opinion."

Sadun acknowledges being a bit out of his element, but says, "I'm learning to make this my element. If you're going to represent people, you gotta understand who they are, and you don't understand who they are sitting at UT. You find out who they are by going out to where they live, doing the things they do, and appreciating what they do. Whatever the results of this election, I'm going to come away from this with a much better understanding of where we live, and who we live with, than I had before."

Common Values

Unlike Lorenzo Sadun, Jon Porter doesn't need to develop Texas street cred. He's as native as they come – born in 1970 in Pasadena, about two blocks from the legendary Gilley's honky-tonk. His family bounced around from Houston to Corpus Christi, to College Station, Lewisville, and Flower Mound. He's also familiar with CD 31 – he got his undergrad degree from Southwestern University in Georgetown, and now lives in Cedar Park. In between, he got a law degree from the University of Arkansas, spent a few years as an investigator and prosecutor with the Texas State Board of Medical Examiners, and last year became a partner at McDonald, Mackay and Weitz, LLP.

Also putting him in better position than his CD 10 colleague is that Porter is the true Democratic nominee in CD 31, so his name will actually appear on the ballot.

But it's questionable whether that will help him much, beyond straight-ticket votes. Porter knows he also has a difficult fight for name recognition. A recent error in one of the district's prominent community newspapers, The Rockdale Reporter, exemplified this struggle – it incorrectly stated that "Milam County will no longer be represented by District 11 Congressman Chet Edwards of Waco but by Congressman John Carter of Round Rock after the November general election." (Immediately after the primaries the Chronicle made the same mistake, earning a stern chewing out from Porter's wife, Nisa, a former Chronicle employee.)

So Porter is constantly on the road, wearing out tires and shoe leather. June 5 finds him in the Killeen back yard of Bobby Grant, chair of the Bell County Democrats, raising the funds he'll need to continue his treks. Earlier today, he was in the tiny town of Bartlett; now, he's also in front of a modest crowd, just 31 people.

Porter needed to hustle even to convince Dems to support him. "When I first met him, I wasn't totally impressed," Grant confesses. "But as the days go on and the weeks go on, this guy is a hard worker who campaigns. He'll go anywhere, do anything; he's smart, intelligent, you can ask him a question and he can give you an intelligent answer. And I can't say that much for Mr. Carter over here in Round Rock." At community gatherings, Grant complains, "You usually get to see a video" of Carter rather than the representative himself. (Rep. Carter's campaign did not return calls requesting an interview, nor did that of Michael McCaul.)

In the shadow of Fort Hood and one county south of the president's Crawford ranchette, one might be quick to stereotype Bell County's military culture as a bunch of die-hard Bush loyalists. Not so, say the veterans gathered in Grant's backyard.

"My philosophy is," Grant explains, "I believe in helping that guy like, when I was down at Wal-Mart today or when I went by the HEB, those people work[ing] at those checkout stands and trying to make a living on the wages they're making, I have a concern for those people. I also have a concern for the deficit that we're running up in this country." Grant says that he is 66 years old and doesn't want his grandson to "wake up one day and say, 'I wonder why my grandfather didn't try to stop some of them.' That's what I'm trying to do right now. Elect people that will maybe put some brakes on what we're doing right now in this country.

"Plus, the Iraq situation is just a travesty, I think," says the retired reservist.

"We shouldn't be in Iraq," agrees Vietnam vet Bill Perkison. A former intelligence analyst, he suspects that the Bush administration saw what it wanted to see in the flawed Iraqi intelligence. "We are not a preemptive-strike country; we never have been, and we never should have started. In the case of Afghanistan, because the Taliban was there, located and known, I support Bush and I support what we did there, and I think we should have done it even while Clinton was in office, and we should have wiped that nest of terrorists out. And we should still be focused on finding those people," rather than attacking Iraq, he says.

More than one person at the party calls him – or herself a formerly "passive Democrat" or says, "I've never been involved in politics until now." They say they've found themselves newly motivated by the appalling record and style of the Republican leadership.

Porter lays out his philosophy to the small gathering: "The reasons that we're doing this... going forward for a common ideal, for our common values, and our common values are that, in fact, America does work when Americans work; are that health care, access to good insurance, should be a right and not a luxury. We're doing this because the national deficit is so out of control; the Democratic Party, despite being labeled as tax-and-spend liberals, are now the party of fiscal restraint, and we can prove it – back when we were in control, the deficit was lower, the debt was being paid off.

"Now, under George W. Bush and John Carter, the deficits have gone up. Each and every one of you owe more than $24,000 apiece to the national debt. My 21-month-old son owes $24,000 to the national debt. We are enslaving our children's future. For what? Tax cuts for the wealthy. An unjust war built on a stack of cards and lies, where we're losing lives every day, because the president and his people did not listen to their generals."

Medicare, social security, and insurance, Porter tells them – these should be our national priorities, and they're not being met by "compassionate conservatism."

"Across the board, people are just really upset," Porter tells me later. "Frankly, people are just real pissed off, and they're looking for a place to vent it.... I've met Republicans who come up to me and tell me, 'Jon, either (a) I'm going to vote for you, or (b) I'm so frustrated I'm just going to stay home.'" In Bartlett, Porter talked about the jobs that Bush claims to have created, and, "[a] guy came up to me and said, 'Jon, I have two of those jobs.' He was working Wal-Mart and McDonald's. And he was a former Dell employee."

Is it realistic to imagine Porter can win? Don't try to tell him otherwise. He knows that pairing several small counties with the booming – and staunchly Republican – Williamson was intentional, but says, "Robertson, Milam, and Falls are ours. They will fall into our camp if I don't spend a second in those. Those are strongly, strongly, strongly Democratic counties. Erath, [Coryell], and Hamilton are right on the cusp. They could go either way.

"We could win all those outer counties very easily, with a little bit of work, and it wouldn't be enough because of Bell and Williamson. I want to tell you right here and now: Bell is in play. And with a little bit of work from you, and talking to friends and family, we can take Bell County."

But Porter will need more, much more, than unblinking optimism. This fundraiser collects about $1,000, bringing his total war chest to $14,000. John Carter's stands at $722,000.

Smith vs. Smith

If there are many Democrats in Comal County, most haven't chosen to come out to their county party's Memorial Day picnic in New Braunfels' Landa Park. The picnic begins with a modest number of folks sitting under the beautiful oak tree in the center of Landa's dance slab, listening to a high school jazz orchestra. Once the band wraps up, it quickly becomes clear that most of the audience were the musicians' parents, who fold up their lawn chairs and leave. For the rest of the rally, the crowd numbers about 60 – and if you discount the invited politicians and the many folks working some sort of booth or another, there are only about 20 who actually showed up just to listen.

The size of the audience doesn't diminish the ardor of the speakers. Supreme Court candidate and labor lawyer David Van Os, state party chair Charles Soechting, and congressional candidates Henry Cuellar and Charlie Gonzales all try to whip up fervor. By far, the hottest fire and brimstone comes from longtime Comal County activist Hal Casky. The Democrat is elderly and seems frail – until the moment he begins to speak.

"I want to talk to you about the far right and the Christian Coalition that has taken over and polarized this nation of ours," Casky thunders. "I'm proud to say that I attended SMU Perkins Theological Seminary years ago – Hallelujah! And I want to tell you that I'm a liberal, and I know as much about the Bible as the far right could ever dream of knowing!"

"Amen!" comes a shout, and the crowd – what there is of it – goes wild.

"I am sick and tired of being sick and tired and pulling up against these idiots who think they know what is in the scriptures, and they do not! They cannot tell you the difference between poetry, they can't tell you the difference between allegorical language, nor can they tell the difference between mythology, and they know very little about biblical history! They are a group of provincial liars!

"What we have to do is attack those people. And I want you to quit being ashamed of being a liberal person and taking the holy scriptures seriously. Because let me tell you something: There's more love in those holy scriptures than there is hate."

Rhett Smith isn't nearly so rousing a speaker, and like Porter, he's having to work hard to make voters aware that there is an alternative to Lamar Smith. "What is important to me is to fill a need for a political voice," says the 54-year-old grandfather, accountant, and Navy veteran. "I will try to visit personally every single precinct in the district."

On Lamar Smith's Web site, it is obvious that illegal immigration is the congressman's front-burner issue – to him, there is no graver threat to the U.S. "That's his only big issue, besides supporting Republicans," Rhett Smith says. "And of course, he doesn't step up and support education. He's got a very poor record on education.

"We really need to build a better relationship with our neighbor to the south, Mexico. We've never really gotten the boost from the North American Free Trade Agreement, which got a bad rep. If we had invested a little bit more and been a little more creative in dealing with that, we'd have gotten a better boost.... For a fraction of pennies on the dollar of what we spend in nation-building, we could easily educate and train an awful lot of people in Mexico about environmental laws, about highways and transportation, maybe help them build some of the infrastructure, their health and medical care program.

"We could bring these people up to speed, because obviously they're many years and years behind the industrialized world, but with a little injection of American creativity and American know-how, we could bring these people up to speed in a few years instead of... always working with a third world country."

Challenger Smith is soberly realistic about his candidacy, but looks for silver linings: "I think I have a better chance than John Courage did, and he was a heck of a candidate," he says, speaking of the Dem who in 2002 garnered 25% of the vote against Lamar Smith in the old CD 21, which encompassed more of the Hill Country and less of Austin.

"I think there's going to be a negative Bush/Cheney vote, and a negative Tom DeLay and Lamar vote. You know, Lamar is pretty shy about getting in the media, and perhaps that serves him well." (Lamar Smith was asked for an interview about Rhett Smith, but a campaign spokesman would only comment, "He doesn't know him, he hasn't seen him, and he won't vote for him.")

Smith knows that to win, it will take more than Comal, where only one elected official is a Democrat. In fact, he's banking on Austin. CD 21 has long covered western Travis County, but re-redistricting pulled it into the heart of the city, right across 38th Street from Central Market. "The new map [of this district] kind of favors the Democrats," Smith says. "I think they were so greedy, DeLay and his crowd, of trying to dilute Lloyd Doggett and some of the other Democrats. But when you do that, you've got to shift people somewhere, so obviously you're going to dilute Republican voting strength. They were just taking a gamble that they could have it all.... We've got to have a huge turnout in Austin/Travis County."

Nonetheless, here he is in Comal, under an oak tree, his shirt stained with summer sweat, meeting the few Democrats on hand. "Those Democratic chairmen in each of those counties are very active, really go-getters. The guys in the large counties are good, but the guys in the small counties really just put their heart into it," Smith says. "We're going to fight for every single vote."

How Safe Is Your E-Vote?

It's either the best thing ever to happen to elections, or the stupidest blunder our elected officials have ever made; the savior of our democracy, or a conspiracy to steal it; an idea whose time has come, or a hapless symbol of society's naive faith in technology.

Electronic voting hasn't completely boiled over into the nation's greater consciousness ... yet. But it's on a high simmer. It has staunch defenders, passionate detractors, and one way or another, it will make a huge impact on the 2004 elections.

The push for computerized voting gained momentum after the 2000 presidential election, also known as the biggest electoral fiasco in U.S. history. An appalled nation learned what an imperfect science elections are -- hanging chads, allegations of fraud, and butterfly ballots making Jews vote for Pat Buchanan. Surely, we were told, in our modern computer age, we could do better than this.

In some eyes, computers seemed the obvious answer. No chads. No stray marks. No spoiled ballots (in fact, no paper). No need for human judgment about "voter intent" at all. The result was the 2002 federal Help America Vote Act -- which does not specifically require electronic voting, but does provide funding to help states replace punch-card and lever voting systems. Many jurisdictions all over the nation are choosing "direct recording electronic" systems.

But while election administrators are generally enthralled with the new technology -- and a number of companies are rushing to meet the demand -- others are not embracing DRE voting. And the critics are not just the usual conspiracy theorists. The strongest condemnation is coming from the people who best know the limitations of computerization: computer scientists.

What will electronic voting mean for Travis Co. (and the rest of Texas) and how might our experience compare to the rest of the nation?

Electronic Shadows

Perhaps the best way to understand electronic voting in Travis Co. is to understand what it is not.

It is not Diebold. And it is not ES&S, nor Sequoia. Those three firms are the market leaders in the electronic voting system business, and thus quite naturally have become lightning rods -- especially Diebold -- for the nationwide movement against electronic voting.

Diebold and ES&S (Election Systems & Software) have some conspicuous Republican connections that automatically make yellow dogs go on point. Diebold CEO Walden O'Dell is a Bush "Pioneer" -- collecting at least $100,000 in Bush campaign contributions -- and in a now notorious 2003 quote, he said he was "committed to helping Ohio deliver its electoral votes to the president next year," a statement widely denounced as proof positive that Diebold's machines will be rigged to favor Republicans. In context, O'Dell was clearly referring to fundraising, not vote stealing. But quicker than you can say "conspiracy," the credibility of his company was damaged. As for ES&S, one of its board members (and former CEO) is Nebraska Republican Sen. Chuck Hagel, raising an obvious question of conflict of interest between campaigning for votes and producing the machines that will tally them.

But one good reason to doubt the Republican electronic coup theory of e-voting is that in fact, many of the election officials aggressively pushing for e-voting -- including Travis Co. Clerk Dana DeBeauvoir -- are longtime Democrats.

Many computer experts express much more concrete concerns that the available equipment doesn't offer the security an election requires. Three key studies have focused on these doubts: A group of scientists at Rice and Johns Hopkins universities snagged a copy of a Diebold source code that was inadvertently posted on the Internet and examined it; and the secretaries of state of both Ohio and Maryland commissioned studies that were highly critical of Diebold. All three studies charged that the machines were highly vulnerable to tampering. (Diebold responded that the Rice/Johns Hopkins scientists examined an outdated source code; as for the Maryland study, the company actually claimed that it praised the Diebold AccuVote machines -- a spin that dismayed the study's authors).

Even more troubling are reports of malfunctions, computer or human in origin, that have caused problems in actual elections. Among other things, there have been instances of more votes being registered than were actually cast, voters pressing on one candidate but the machine registering the vote for another, or votes simply vanishing.

So what's the difference in Travis Co.? In brief, Hart InterCivic -- an Austin-based company trying to broaden its market, in part with an apparently more reliable product.

The eSlate Connection

Hart InterCivic morphed out of Hart Graphics, a printing company founded in 1912. In recent years, as the document industry moved increasingly from paper to electronic formats, Hart developed extensive digitized business with governmental agencies. In 1999, the government-related portion of the business spun into the completely separate Hart InterCivic, which is becoming a major national player in the growing DRE machine industry.

Hart's product is called the eSlate -- a small electronic tablet, of sorts, specialized for casting ballots in elections. In the summer of 2002, Travis Co. Clerk Dana DeBeauvoir purchased several hundred eSlates and gave them a successful trial run in the early voting period of the November 2002 elections. The county went whole hog into e-voting in the spring 2003 Austin municipal elections, scrapping its optical scanning system altogether. DeBeauvoir says her choice of eSlate was not simply an attempt to Buy Greater Austin, but that Hart InterCivic's machine has several obvious advantages over its rivals.

Unlike Hart's major competitors, the eSlate does not use a touch screen. "I had trouble with calibration issues on the touch screens," DeBeauvoir says, meaning that the onscreen "buttons" that the voter presses sometimes slip out of alignment with the proper sensors underneath the screen. "Not all of them, but some of them. It's what happened in Dallas [during early voting in the 2002 general election, on ES&S machines]; you end up maybe casting a ballot for the other candidate and don't realize it. They've done some things in the industry to try to improve it since I first looked at it, so in fairness to them, I think they have improved their product, but at the time I was doing the review I found it troubling."

Instead, eSlate uses a wheel-and-button system -- the voter turns a dial until the candidate of choice is highlighted, and then presses a button to select the candidate, never touching the screen. (As in all DRE systems, the voter can correct errors before finally pressing the "cast ballot" button.)

Secondly, eSlate does not use "smart cards," credit-card-sized devices given by the election workers to voters, who plug them into a voter terminal, letting the machine know that the person standing before it is indeed a legitimate voter. The Rice/Johns Hopkins researchers say that it would be terribly easy to "homebrew" such cards, which an attacker could then sneak into the polling place and use to cast multiple votes. The eSlate voters, in contrast, are assigned unique personal identification numbers when they show up at the polling place, which they then enter into the voting machine. The number's validity expires either upon casting the ballot, or, if unused, within a few minutes of its assignment.

Perhaps most important, the eSlate system has no external connections -- no hookups to phone lines, the Internet, or an intranet. While some systems allow results to be sent by modem to a central vote-counting facility, the eSlate is comparatively old-fashioned -- much like an old-style ballot box, the devices ("mediums") into which votes are recorded are removed by the election judges after the polls close and physically transported to the central counting station. Asked if she would ever try to transmit election results over the Internet or modem, DeBeauvoir said, "No way. ... Never."

In fact, trying to find specific criticisms of eSlate or Hart is difficult. Searches of Internet and Nexis databases turn up only minor reports of human error and no major security failures by eSlate. And in her book Black Box Voting: Ballot-Tampering in the 21st Century, Bev Harris -- the nation's most visible nonscientist critic of e-voting -- limited her criticism of Hart to the company's Republican-leaning investors.

Other critics even give Hart qualified praise.

"Those touch screens are just utter crap," says Rebecca Mercuri, a research fellow at Harvard University's John F. Kennedy School of Government and a prominent e-voting critic. "Even the banking industry had gone away from them years ago, because they malfunction so badly. It's a smart move on Hart's part to not use that. Also, for the disabled, I think it's a very nice interface, that sort of wheellike thing."

Dan Wallach, the Rice University scientist who worked on the Diebold study, says, "I think in terms of human factors, accessibility, that sort of thing, the design of the Hart system -- where instead of using the touch screen they use the rotary knob -- I think there are a number of ... benefits to that kind of design; that somebody who's blind uses the same kind of interface as everybody else."

The 'Mercuri Method'

"Of course, it doesn't much matter if everybody uses the same interface if nobody has confidence that their votes are recorded properly," continues Wallach.

While concern about DRE voting has barely coalesced into a movement in Austin, there is a small network of citizens and groups around the region trading e-mails and worries. A new group addressing the issue, called Texas Safe Voting, is a coalition among the ACLU of Texas, Campaigns for People, Common Cause, and the Electronic Frontier Foundation of Austin.

There are two major public objections to all e-voting systems, including eSlate: None provides a printed ballot for voters to confirm their choices or that could be used in case of a recount; and, the groups insist, the hardware, software, and source code should be available for public review. Even DeBeauvoir admits of eSlate, "Could it be more secure? The answer is yes."

"The main point about the Hart InterCivic machine is the same main point that electronic-voting activists and computer security professionals have been making across the board, which is, without a voter-verifiable paper trail, no all-electronic voting system can be considered really secure and reliable," says Adina Levin, director of the Cyber Liberties Project of the ACLU-Texas and chair of the E-Voting Project of the Electronic Frontier Foundation of Austin.

DeBeauvoir is not as concerned about computer error -- she notes that the eSlate has triple-redundancy storage mediums than can be cross-checked, real-time audit logs, and can recall an image of each ballot that has been cast (although it cannot match the ballot with the person who cast it).

That's not enough, responds Levin. "If I choose on my touch screen or Hart selector, and something goes wrong between the thing that I choose and the thing that gets written electronically, even if it gets written in three different places, or 10 different places, or a hundred different places, it's still different from what I selected. And if I don't have an independent way of recording what I [saw on the computer screen] and going back to check, there's no way of knowing. You're never, ever gonna know."

The paper system proposal is simple enough: After a ballot is cast electronically, a paper copy would be printed and verified by the voter; if a voter says the printed vote does not match what he or she selected, the vote can be nullified and recast, and possibly the machine checked for malfunction. (A bill before Congress would mandate such a "voter-verified" system, and California Secretary of State Kevin Shelley has ordered that all election systems in his state have one by 2006.)

DeBeauvoir has her doubts. She wonders how such a system could accommodate those who are vision-impaired -- a driving force behind the e-voting push is compliance with the Americans With Disabilities Act, and e-voting systems provide headphone audio that allows blind people to vote without assistance. She also expresses concern over the mechanics of such a process: Could a voter walk out with the paper ballot? Does the voter get his/her own copy (raising the fear of vote buying)? Is the paper ballot printed before or after the "cast ballot" button is pressed?

Mercuri says she has an answer for all those questions; a system she devised that her colleagues have dubbed the "Mercuri method."

"There's a script, and all of the election officials have these negative points. I've heard them before, I've heard her say them," says Mercuri. "I've explained this to her [Mercuri and DeBeauvoir both serve on the Elections Security Subcommittee of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers], and she's heard me explain this on at least two occasions, so the fact that she's still saying that is amazing.

"That's ridiculous. Nobody ever says that when we're talking about, you know, like an optical scan ballot: 'Oh, the people are going to leave the polling place with the ballot.' First of all, if a person leaves with it, then they didn't vote. If you're going to go to that type of system, people need to understand that. Now, if you go to my article called A Better Ballot Box, you'll see a picture that shows how it could work. ... The person never touches the piece of paper. ... When they see the vote on the screen and they're ready to vote, they say OK, print the paper. It prints it out behind a piece of Plexiglas; they see paper behind the piece of Plexiglas; if they agree that it's OK, they press the button and it drops in the box. So how can they walk out with it?"

As for the disability issue, Mercuri says that visually impaired or even illiterate voters could use voice-feedback scanners to read the paper ballot.

In any case, DeBeauvoir cannot implement a paper-trail system -- any changes to voting machines or balloting procedures must first be approved by the Texas secretary of state, and then by the Travis Co. Commissioners Court -- so voters will have to settle for another paperless election. DeBeauvoir insists that she is not necessarily opposed to a printed ballot system. "I'm willing to do it," she says, "if [Travis Co. citizens] decide it's the right thing to do." She said she wasn't sure how much it would cost to retrofit Travis Co.'s 1,800 eSlate machines -- which are not currently designed to hook up to a printer -- but "a ballpark estimate would be a million dollars."

Hart InterCivic vice president William Stotesbery told a recent Austin forum on e-voting that the industry sees the writing on the wall on paper ballots and will move in that direction anyway. But he also told the Chronicle that in addition to the cost, "What worries me about paper is introducing a false sense of security. There was election rigging with paper ballots, too."

Going to the Source

Paper ballots aside, voting machine companies are much less likely to share their source codes. (Source codes, often copyrighted, are the digitized instructions programmers use to define and operate a particular type of software.) At the moment, they flat-out refuse to do it, arguing that secrecy protects both their proprietary secrets and election security.

Wallach disagrees. "Open source is not a panacea for security problems, although it's often a good thing," he told the same e-voting forum that Stotesbery addressed. "Open source means that you have the opportunity for people who care to go have a look. Diebold accidentally opened their source, and we found a number of problems, and as a direct result of that, other people have been hired to go have a look. Open source doesn't necessarily imply that you're giving a source code away for free; it doesn't mean that you're giving your intellectual property for the whole world to use.

"An argument that's often made as to why you shouldn't give source code away is that if the bad guy can see the source code, that gives the bad guy an advantage, so we should prevent that. These arguments are typically referred to as 'security through obscurity,' and it just doesn't work, and it never has, and it never will. The bad guy will always know how it works, because one of those machines will fall off the back of a truck. It's just a matter of time. Then the bad guy can tear it apart. Or the bad guy can go Dumpster diving and find a burned CD with a copy of your source code somebody made as a backup, or the bad guy can get somebody employed at your firm, perhaps as a janitor, perhaps as a programmer, and walk away with your source code. So as long as that's part of your threat model, and I think that's a reasonable threat model for an election, you can't build your security around the obscurity, so you should build it around something else."

Wallach explained further: "An ATM is secure despite the fact that bad guys know exactly how it works. A voting system should work despite the bad guy knowing."

Stotesbery responds, "Frankly, we think that security and protection of the code does increase the security of it, and we have a difference of opinion on that. ... Our customers feel more comfortable with it not being open in most cases, [and] we feel more comfortable with it." Stotesbery also says that the code actually isn't completely secret, as it is submitted to governmental agencies for certification, under the condition that it is not made public; and he insists that copyright and patent law alone are insufficient to protect trade secrets.

The Ohio secretary of state report, completed in November of last year, raised additional concerns: Hart does not use encryption to protect election data sent from the eSlate machine to the election judge's controller booth; supervisory functions in the booth (including the button to close the polls) do not have a mandatory password; and the machines are all connected to the booth through a "daisy chain" of cables that an unauthorized person could easily reach and accidentally or intentionally unplug, disrupting the election.

While the report labeled these as "high risk" problems, DeBeauvoir and Stotesbery disagree - Travis Co. already requires a password, she said, and Hart plans to redesign the eSlate to make passwords mandatory; Hart plans to incorporate encryption, and in any case, the data only travels a few feet from the voting booth to the judge's booth. Finally, should the daisy chain be unplugged, DeBeauvoir says, no data would be lost and the machines could be reconnected and rebooted in a few minutes. (Hart fared better in the Ohio study than any of its competitors, which had more risk areas identified, including the possibility of outside parties getting access to a DRE system and altering the data within it.)

Cross Your Fingers

One of the charges in the Rice/Johns Hopkins study was that "many government entities have adopted paperless DRE systems without appearing to have critically questioned the security claims made by the vendors." DeBeauvoir wants to reassure Travis Co. voters that that doesn't apply here. Indeed, DeBeauvoir convened a diverse task force to help her analyze the vendors that sought Travis Co.'s business, a group including experts in computer security, programming, legal issues, and conducting elections.

The first task was to design theoretically the type of system that Travis Co. needed: "We knew we wanted certain things for our protection. We knew we wanted to have the exclusive control over the setting up of each ballot. ... We did not want the vendor to do that." They wanted to be able to produce a paper copy of each ballot (for later recall, not to be confused with Mercuri-style immediate printing), different kinds of audits, and equipment that couldn't be easily broken into, especially nothing that could be accessed with a keyboard. (Some other systems, including Diebold, are keyboard-accessible.)

"They also helped me design, for the second round, the series of questions that we would ask these vendors. And what they suggested and what we ultimately did was, [have the vendors] teach you how to do the system ... and then send them away. My people had to be responsible for being able to operate the system themselves. And I will tell you, we tried to break every system they gave us. I wanted to break into it, tamper with it, I wanted to see if I could do anything. We did lots of, sort of, call it dirty tricks. We tried to mess it up. Not all of our systems that we evaluated for purchase passed those tests. There were some gaps in security in a couple of the systems." DeBeauvoir didn't want to name the specific vendors for legal reasons, "but there were a couple of vendors we wouldn't consider buying." She says she reviewed all the DRE systems that have been certified in Texas, including the Hart eSlate, Diebold's AccuVote, ES&S's iVotronic, and Unilect's Patriot.

She also required that the systems allow her to do manual logic and accuracy testing. "Now that's outside the scope of law, but to me what that says is, you're not relying on the machine to check itself." Her election workers manually enter every bit of data for every ballot for each different precinct. "That's one of the things that the computer security person recommended to me that I do. And to tell you the truth, I kind of balked at it at first, because [I said], 'Ugh, do you know what it's going to take to do that? Are you crazy? These systems can check themselves.' But I'm glad he did it, because what we found was, it was a better way to confirm that every piece of equipment worked and that every ballot was correct."

None of the above means that Travis Co. voters can truly rest easy. While we may be using one of the best-designed DRE systems available, other jurisdictions in Texas and around the nation have chosen the bigger market leaders, either unconcerned by or unaware of security questions. It's easy to imagine a train wreck heading for us that will make election 2000 look like a speed bump. If we're lucky, it will vaporize like the Y2K scare. All DeBeauvoir can do is take care of Travis Co., and she says she's trying her best. She says some of the e-voting critics "can be antagonistic," and "I don't agree with all of the assumptions [they] make, but it's important to listen. If nothing else, if we end up doing nothing more than appeasing a worry that is a little dubious and perhaps way out there on the risk scale; if we end up taking steps that appease them and their concern, then all we've done is make more people more comfortable.

"I have to serve as an advocate for voters," DeBeauvoir says. "If we've got some people out there who are less than confident, then they've got every right to ask the question and get an answer, and if they're still not confident, then we keep that conversation going. It's not up to me to say, 'Oh that's just not a real problem,' or 'It's just silliness,' or 'You're not educated enough.' That's not my role. My role is to keep answering."

You can bet they'll keep asking.

Lee Nichols is assistant news editor of the Austin Chronicle.

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