Voting on the American continent in the 19th century, especially in the West, was not a very easy thing to do.

Bidding stations are set up in places with convenient transportation, such as cities and large towns.

The most difficult part of the journey required voters to ride their own horses, carriages, or even two-legged walks.

More than 100 years later, a yellow-haired mail-in ballot was not popular at that time.

People are more keen to go to the scene and cast their sacred vote.

Of course, this kind of voting takes courage.

Because until the late nineties of the 19th century, before the introduction of the "Australian voting system" in the United States, voting was an extremely dangerous thing.

Each political party prints its own party's ballot in a newspaper it controls.

Voters then cut out the ballot from the newspaper and wrote their names on it.

They arrived at the polling station and, after proving to the staff that they were eligible to vote, made their way through the crowd.

In full view, climb up to a platform placed against the wall and hand the ballot in your hand to the Election Judge inside through a window.

Just like it is now.

At the polling station in Albuquerque, under a large parasol, Scott and the fat congressman were watching the ballot.

And not far from them, Harlem and a few Democrats watched him with fierce eyes.

There is a posture of "life and death are downbeat, if you don't accept it, you will do it, and there is a kind of fighting again".

Scott felt his nose start hurting again.

Both men had been going back and forth from polling places in New Mexico.

But by coincidence, they met here by accident today.

There were a large number of people at the scene, and supporters of both parties held signs aloft.

The sign reads the names of two candidates, Gardner and Davis.

The two sides were tense, and if it weren't for the presence of the police who maintained order, I am afraid that they would have been fighting long ago.

"What about the other polling stations?" Scott pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped the liquid from under his nose.

Ever since he was beaten off the bridge of his nose by Harlem last time in parliament, he always had a runny nose from time to time.

"Visually, our fundamentals are quite stable." The fat councillor said as he wiped the sweat from his head.

If it had been changed to before, Scott would have been relieved.

But it's different now.

"Where is Chen Jianqiu? Where have you seen him lately? Scott asked.

"Huh? I didn't see him, and I haven't heard from him for more than a week. The fat councillor replied hurriedly.

Scott let out an "oh".

He was calm on the surface, but inside he was like a piece of something.

The old man always felt that Chen Jianqiu would come out of nowhere, and then make a big news.

Scott continued to stare at the scene of the vote.

Suddenly, he discovered something very serious.

"Why are there so many Chinese at the scene?" Scott frowned and asked the fat councillor.

"I told you a long time ago that Chen Jianqiu got a bunch of Chinese people in by taking advantage of the loopholes in the constitution and obtained legal citizenship.

The fat congressman muttered that he would have said that Scott was "shooting himself in the foot."

But he looked at the old man's face, but he still didn't dare to squeak.

"I mean, how did they come to vote!" Scott was really annoyed, "Have you ever seen so many Chinese voting in China in your life?!" ”

The fat councillor knew what Scott meant.

Chinese in the United States have never been interested in politics, let alone voting.

It is unheard of for so many Chinese to appear at the polling stations.

Needless to say, nine times out of ten, Chen Jianqiu is the ghost again.

"People have citizenship, what should you do?" The fat councillor spread his hands and said helplessly.

Scott took a deep breath and turned his head to look at the fat councillor, his face pale, obviously suppressed anger.

"Use the literacy test! Do you want me to teach you how to do it? ”

The fat councillor froze.

The so-called literacy test refers to the administrator of the bidding station site who asks the voter some cultural questions to prove that he is a voter who is capable of making voting judgments.

It was supposed to be a bill used by the Southern states to target those blacks.

Because the illiteracy rate of blacks at the time was 40 to 60 percent, this bill basically kicked a large number of blacks out of the electorate.

You can't even write your own name, so why vote?!

And New Mexico, on the other hand, passed this law.

This is what Scott uses in case of emergency.

He wasn't originally going to use it because the state has a large number of Hispanic voters.

But now, he's decided to kick those Chinese out with this thing.

A few days later, there was one more person and a table at the identification points at the various polling stations.

Managers began to ask cultural questions to those voters one by one.

"Please pronounce this line out loud!"

A staff member with curly brown hair handed a note with a line of English letters written in front of a young Chinese standing at a desk.

This Chinese guy has short hair and looks a bit wooden.

He carefully took the note from the staff member's hand and frowned.

A few white men in black suits on the side, holding their arms, ready to see his jokes.

"Shall we find a translator for him?" They winked at each other, "He's afraid he doesn't understand what Hughes is trying to make him do." ”

The young man took a deep breath and read word by word:

"My home's pasture has two cows, one is black and one is also black."

Not very standard, but very clear English floated out of the young man's mouth.

The whites looked at each other.

This guy really knows English?!

The staff was dumbfounded.

Before being sent here, Scott had people give them a private message.

We must make a fool of those Chinese and kick those Chinese out of the ranks of voters.

But what now?

He turned his head and looked at the white man behind him as if asking for help.

The man, a lawyer, a friend of Scott's, came to see the hilarity.

The lawyer knew it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He thought for a moment, pulled the pen from his bosom, and took a note on the table.

He quickly wrote a paragraph on it and handed it to the Chinese boy.

You can't do this, can you?

The young man took the note.

He actually changed his sad face just now, and his mouth grinned, revealing a smile:

"It's easy! Boss Chen taught us in night school! ”

"When, in the course of the development of human affairs, one nation must break ties with another and stand as an independent and equal among the nations of the world in accordance with the laws of nature and the will of God, the reasons which drive them to independence must be declared out of respect for human opinion."

All the whites present froze and could not utter a word.

Another Chinese behind him whispered to him:

"How do you know?"

"Boss Chen said that this is called the Declaration of Independence, and I took the exam last month, this is the first paragraph, and I guess you will learn it next week."

The Chinese young man returned the note to the staff and smiled innocently:

"I'll still memorize it, do you want to listen?"

After that, he continued to recite like fried beans.

The white lawyer almost didn't find a place to bury himself.

He brought the news back to Scott, who was looking at his nose at a private doctor.

"What? Do they speak English? Eh, you tap! ”

The old man sat in a chair, and the doctor next to him was cleaning his nasal passages.

"Then just make it more difficult!" The fat councilor on the side said disapprehantly.

"They have Chinese workers who can recite the Declaration of Independence." The lawyer hung his head, "Chen Jianqiu taught them." ”

Bang Dang!

The plate next to the doctor was knocked over on the floor.

Scott's nose was in sharp pain again.

"It seems that there is no way to raise the difficulty, and if the difficulty is increased, our voters will not have to vote." The fat councillor subconsciously touched his nose as well.

After all, there are also about 10% of the illiterate among the white people.

What's more, he couldn't recite the Declaration of Independence.

The old man held his hand on the table and paused for a moment before speaking.

He gritted his teeth and said:

"Then use the old way!"

(End of chapter)