The video Tim Canova posted to Twitter on November 8 showed election officials arriving in their personal vehicles and placing provisional paper ballots into a rented box truck. Each official made the
The video Tim Canova posted to Twitter on November 8 showed election officials arriving in their personal vehicles and placing provisional paper ballots into a rented box truck. Each official made the transfer alone, without a second witness as Florida law required. The midterm election that preceded it had drawn more voters than any midterm in the preceding 50 years. Canova himself had lost his congressional race in Broward County to Debbie Wasserman Schultz by a wide margin.
Those following Florida elections were not surprised to see the county's name. Brenda Snipes manages Broward County's election operations. During her tenure, problems with her stewardship have become routine.
In 2016, Canova challenged Wasserman Schultz in a Democratic primary. When he lost, he sought to examine the ballots—a right he had. Snipes proposed charging his campaign tens of thousands of dollars for the privilege. Canova filed suit. While the case was pending, Snipes ordered the ballots destroyed, despite a federal court order instructing her not to. She signed paperwork claiming no active lawsuits concerned those votes. She ordered their destruction a full year ahead of the legal timeline. When challenged, she characterized it as an administrative error. The federal judge deemed the destruction illegal and indicated Snipes should be removed from office. Governor Rick Scott did not remove her.
Broward County has ranked among the slowest vote counters in the country since Snipes assumed her position in 2003, even though the county gets a three-hour head start compared to the West Coast.
This week, Scott filed suit against Snipes alleging election fraud. Trump tweeted that the situation amounted to "election theft" and an embarrassment. A judge on Friday ordered Snipes to provide access for viewing and copying the disputed ballots.
Election officials in Georgia reported irregularities. Lines at polling places extended for hours. Voting equipment presented security gaps.
Blockchain technology addresses all three concerns. Neither the mechanics nor the user experience present complications.
A voter arrives at a polling place. A poll worker confirms her name against the registration list. She receives a ballot. She votes in a booth. The scanning machine then requests an eight-digit password. Using that password alongside her registration information, the system generates a unique key and assigns her a voter identification code. She inserts her paper ballot into the machine. It records her vote on a public blockchain and provides her with the identification code. She can then visit the election board's block explorer—or any independent alternative—enter her code, and confirm that her vote was tallied. No one else would know her choice unless she revealed the code. If she discovered an error, she could use her password and identifying information to prove the code belonged to her.
The system could evolve. Voters could at some point vote from home using a computer or phone. That would require them to manage their own private keys, increasing the burden. A hybrid approach works better for now. The polling station generates the key pair from registration data and a simple password, not random values.
A corrupt official could manufacture codes for voters who never showed up. But the safeguards against ballot stuffing remain in place. One person attempting to submit multiple ballots generates suspicion from colleagues. The system would make vote deletion impossible. Recounts would disappear. All votes would remain in the record and available for manual or algorithmic verification.
The chain requires miners. Cryptocurrency miners earn fees. Election miners would have an incentive too: a secure election. Both major parties would work to protect their interests on the blockchain, but entry would remain open to everyone.
"Keep our elections safe. Run verification software from your home," a future public service announcement might say. Users could download the software and verify results themselves. Those who don't trust existing explorers could download the entire blockchain and check it themselves. The government could reward miners with coins granting tax advantages.
Alternatively, Bitcoin or Ethereum could house the voting record. That approach would levy costs on taxpayers through transaction fees.
Blockchain governance through voting is established practice. Cryptocurrency projects and decentralized applications have used it for years. The concept of national blockchain elections has been discussed. No existing model matches the simplicity of what is described here.
Tanooj Luthra, who worked as an engineer at Coinbase, is developing Elph, a decentralized Ethereum application. It would generate digital voter IDs and record votes on a blockchain. That would operate, but digital IDs face risks of theft or loss. Still, someone pursuing a similar path represents progress. The author cannot build this. He lacks programming skills and industry connections. He has an idea.
Nathan Wosnack founded and leads Ubitquity, which uploads business records to blockchains. Asked whether this idea had merit, he said it did. "That's a good idea. I think Ubitquity could build something like this. We work with an aviation client that sends us hashes of airplane certificates we manage and upload to their chosen blockchain through our API." He agreed not to steal the concept. The author hopes he will. Without coding ability, the author has released the idea to whoever can build it.
The payoff extends beyond the obvious. A system this transparent would stop election theft, prevent fraud, and make recounts irrelevant. It would expose millions of political observers to blockchain technology in actual operation. They would understand it, not just encounter the word. If blockchain keeps elections secure, why not money? Both the country and the crypto community would benefit.
