Eleven to Two

It comes up at the end of a business meeting, after the coffee money and the literature order. Someone raises a public question — a local bylaw, a ballot measure, something genuinely about alcohol. There is no argument, because there is nothing to argue about; the room agrees. Somebody suggests a show of hands, just so we know where we stand, and it isn't binding on anyone. Eleven hands go up. Two don't. The secretary writes it down, because writing things down is the job. Nothing has been sent anywhere. Nobody has spoken to a newspaper. And yet a record now exists, in a group's own minutes, of that group's position on an outside issue. The next secretary will read those minutes. Somebody will eventually quote them. And the two members who kept their hands down have learned something about where they stand in that room — one of them will test it next month by staying quiet. The Tradition's phrase is "in such a way as to implicate A.A." (Big Book, p. 565). A vote is the cleanest way to implicate anybody. It was eleven to two, and now it belongs to the group.