Institution Green

This song seems to conflate two ideas. One is being a patient in a mental institution. The other is participating in an election, voting. It is possible that Vega is implying that being a citizen is like being a mental patient.

And it seems that what triggered this comparison is was the color on the walls of wherever it was she went to vote-- a shade of green once preferred by mental institutions because it evoked Nature and was therefore thought to be calming. The song begins by describing the walls of this color, noting that they have not been maintained-- the paint is "cracked and dim."

She is part of a "line," a queue of people "waiting for our faces to be seen." Faces, of course, meaning uniqueness. All the listener knows at this point is that the walls are this particular shade of green, and so those in the queue are assumed to be waiting for admission into some mental facility.

This notion is fostered by the next lines: "Watch the floor and count the hours." They are waiting for a long time-- with no magazines to read, no TV to watch-- and are not talking with each other while waiting. They do not even look at each other or make eye contact: "None will meet my eye/ Private people in a public space." Well, sure, what would they talk about except their mental diagnoses-- which are no one's business, thanks very much!

At the head of the line is some sort of "book" full of "names." She is expecting her own name to be in the book, and is somewhat apprehensive about that. She wants to be recognized as an individual with a "face," but it worried that the authorities and bureaucrats there will "lose [her] on the printed page" and she will become just another statistic.

The factotum-like employees will be nameless and faceless as well, leaving her not knowing "where to point the aimless rage." She is thinking that even if she rebels, she will not even know who to rebel against, since it is a whole system that is responsible (or irresponsible).

Then comes the revelation-- this is not about being admitted to a mental institution at all! This is about lining up in some bureaucratic, institutional building to vote.

"I cast my vote upon this earth," she says, meaning two things at once. Yes, she is a citizen and therefore has the right, along with others on the Earth, to make her political voice heard. Yet she is so anonymous, so one-among-many, that her vote may just as well be "cast" (or "tossed," as in "cast your bread upon the waters" or "casting a line," as in fishing) upon "the earth," right into the dirt. "I... take my place for what it's worth," she explains. "Yeah, I did it-- so?" is the implication.

What does she really want? Eye contact! "I... hunger for a pair of eyes." To what end? "To notice and to recognize." She wants to be acknowledged as an individual, and this process piles her votes in with everyone else's, anonymously.

It's the other side of the idea of a "secret ballot" that is at the core of democracy. On the one hand, no one gets to know your vote, and therefore cannot attack you for it-- you are safe to vote your preference with no repercussions. On the other hand, you said something very important, but no one heard.

Back to the line. Now we see that the "woman" who "stands behind a table" with a name-book in front of her is checking to see if you registered to vote. If you did, and were approved, you can vote. If not, no. But Vega continues to recall the mental-institution imagery here. She describes the above process thus: "She will call my name/ After that, I'll be admitted in."

Now, she has arrived at the voting booth. Today, many of these are electronic. In the past, they were mechanical. The small booth had three sides, the fourth being a curtain instead of a door. It was not unlike a shower stall in this way, although the curtain was usually only waist-long. Today, many voting devices have no curtains, but are simply oriented in the room to prevent others from seeing your votes.

Once inside, the early-model voting machine presented a series of levers-- a pull to either side indicated a vote for either candidate. Often, attendants were on hand to explain, and then once you understood, they backed away and closed the curtain to let you vote in secret. Thence these lines: "Teach me how to pull the lever/ Push the curtain closed."

Vega evidently found the whole experience humiliating and demoralizing. The song ends with her repeating: "Take what's needed, then just let me go."

In other times and places, voting was limited to few, and one's vote had to be open. The secret ballot was created to preserve the dignity of the voter. Perhaps if Vega wanted her vote to be public, she could simply wear a button declaiming her favored party or candidate.

There are many reasons to complain about the imperfections of the American electoral process-- the prevalence of money in campaigns, new voter restrictions, gerrymandering, the violent intimidation of voters, the complexity of the electoral college system (which can elect someone who has lost the popular vote), the ease with which computer-voting systems can be rigged or hacked, the low voter rates, even the dampening effect on new ideas caused by an only-two-party system.

All of these issues and more can-- and do-- earn the voting process fair comparison to a mental institution.

But the secret ballot seems an odd target. Again, if Vega did want her voting preferences known, that would be easy enough. Candidates' campaigns are more than happy to provide everyone with stickers, pins, hats, flags, signs and more to let everyone know who you voted for. They are also usually glad for public figures such as herself to publicly align themselves with their candidate.

Although she'd have to write them a new song. Most of her work is... less than anthemic.


Next Song: Those Whole Girls