The year 2020 has already proven itself to be one for the books, but one date in particular will go down as one of the most historic moments in U.S. history: On November 3, the nation will decide not only who will lead our country for the next four years, but what its priorities and values are.
What if we voted on behalf of Ahmaud Arbery? Or Breonna Taylor? Or George Floyd? And for every single life taken at the hands of racism and injustice? What if we decided to vote because they can’t?
For me, an eighteen-year-old Black girl in Wisconsin, that’s what this election means.
Anyone who has taken standard middle-school history classes can probably vouch for the fact that, when discussing the founding of the United States, democracy and sovereignty of the people are central components. It is taught that, since the beginning, the desires of the citizens dictate our government leaders and the policies they implement.
It wasn’t until the 2016 election that I learned the harsh truth that this was not the case at all.I didn’t know much about politics or electoral processes in terms of the Constitution, but I did know the meaning of democracy, or at least the key words according to Google: control by the majority.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew the Founding Fathers didn’t intend for the “power of the people” to extend to everyone living on American soil. The systematic approval and imposition of male hubris and racial subjugation made that painfully obvious. But the problem in 2016 wasn’t that people weren’t exercising their right to vote. They did, and they won, and yet, because of the electoral college, they still lost.
As a teenager still struggling to understand exactly what it means to navigate life as an American with intersecting identities typically subject to oppression, I liked to believe in the notion that if I didn’t like something, I could eventually help change it with the check of a box. Now, I am forced to acknowledge that it might not be so simple. So I must ask myself: What was America if not for the people? More specifically, what was it if not for my people?
I relied heavily on the views of my parents, who made it crystal clear that the election of one candidate in particular would be detrimental to people who looked like me. And if Trump, of all people, could slither his way into office without the popular vote, what did that mean for me?
At first, I became apathetic toward the process. As far as I could see, the system didn’t work, so why bother participating in it? That was the mindset of a fourteen-year-old girl, and up until recently, I remained steady in that belief.
But after learning more about the voting process within the past few weeks, I’ve realized something: Election season is the one time that we are able (and allowed) to simultaneously be selfish and selfless.
As you scroll through social media or turn on the news to hear snippets of gilded statements from politicians, it’s only natural to think about what matters most to you as an individual. If you are part of the lucky few whose rights don’t happen to be up in the air, you can choose to turn your phone off and ignore it. You can remain introverted, and stay home.
But, as citizens of the United States, you also have the opportunity to decide who will benefit you the most by being in office. Who will protect and support you? Who will see you and fight for your right to live a fuller life? Who will bring you close to achieving happiness?
With this mentality, you can show up on Election Day and cast the most selfish ballot: the one that will benefit you the most. If that’s the incentive you need to get out of bed on November 3, by all means go for it.
But I wonder: What would happen if we took the other route? The one where we temporarily put aside our own agendas, and thought of someone else?
What if we voted on behalf of Ahmaud Arbery? Or Breonna Taylor? Or George Floyd? And for every single life taken at the hands of racism and injustice? What if we decided to vote because they can’t?
Or what if, when we bubbled in the circle next to a name, we did it for the hundreds of thousands of lives lost to COVID-19 due to the reckless and irresponsible manner in which the current administration has handled it? Or for the families separated at the border? And the women and LGBTQ+ communities whose rights to health care seem to be up for grabs? For the West Coast and communities of color suffering from the effects of climate change? And for every other group whose livelihood has been threatened over these past four years?
What if we voted in honor of Representative John Lewis, Ida B. Wells, Sylvia Pankhurst, and every other ancestor who marched, sat, bled, and died so that every individual with a marginalized identity could do what they were robbed of doing? Who believed that voting was not a privilege contingent on one’s reproductive organs or the color of their skin, but rather a right guaranteed to all inhabitants of this country.
And maybe most importantly, what if you voted for future generations? For the chance that your kids can soon return to school and not have to fear for their lives under a desk in the back corner of the classroom. Or the possibility that your grandchildren could access a college education without the burden of a lifetime of student loans.
This type of voting tugs at the moral fiber of our being, not as Americans, but as human beings. It’s not always easy, but I wholly believe that if we all voted for our neighbors, our co-workers, and our fellow Americans on the opposite coast, we could end the endless cycle of division.
If not for any other reason, vote for them. Because in the end, whether or not you choose to cast your ballot, you are voting either way. As David Foster Wallace said, “There is no such thing as not voting: you either vote by voting, or you vote by staying home and tacitly doubling the value of some diehard’s vote.”