Why I Couldn’t Vote. And You Can.
“My vote is my voice…and the voice of all who struggled, so that I may have my voice.” — Lydia Obasi
The Right to Vote
My time in Europe has come to an end and now it is time to get back to work. I’m writing this from a street cafe in Paris on the Monday of the Democratic National Convention as the Democratic Party officially nominates Vice President Kamala Harris for their nominee as president of the United States. I’ll be in Chicago this Thursday and hopefully I can work some magic to be in that convention hall to witness history.
See, I couldn’t vote in my first U.S. presidential elections when I was 18. I couldn't vote in 2002 in our national referendum on the War on Terror, or in 2004, when President Bush was re-elected president, or in 2006 when the Democrats took control of the House and Senate, or in 2008 when America elected its first Black president, or in 2010, the year of the Tea Party revolt, or in 2012, the year America elected a Black president – again.
I couldn’t vote because I wasn’t a U.S. citizen. I was an immigrant, here on a student visa, then later on a green card. The first time I voted was a year and a half after I became a U.S. citizen, in November 2014, in Chicago, the home of the Democratic National Convention.
Prior to that, I was one of the millions whose rights in this country were determined by other people’s voting. They are all still here. And they still can’t vote. So, if you don’t want to vote for yourself, vote for all of them.
Vote for the children who are about to transform the country, whose futures will depend on the outcome of elections that they have no say in. Vote for the over 4 million former prisoners disenfranchised from voting and on whom legislative decisions have a life-changing impact. Vote for those in American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, and the other U.S. territories who are U.S. citizens without a right to elect their U.S. leaders. Vote for those with disabilities, many of whom do not live near accessible polling facilities where they can cast their votes. Vote for the unhoused who lack the permanent addresses frequently needed to register to vote. Vote for the residents of District of Columbia who still aren’t allowed a voting representative in Congress. And vote for the millions of immigrant non-citizens in the United States, many of whom are resting their hopes on staying in this country on the outcome of these elections.
If you are able to vote, then you have a great superpower. Go use it. The future of millions truly does depend on it.
Do the work
This week, I commit to getting involved in our democracy by registering to vote, staying informed about different candidates and current issues on the ballot, and developing a plan for voting in the upcoming election.
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Across the globe, words have become so charged that debates and discussion quickly veer into anger and accusations. We see it again and again, in our workplaces, our homes, our schools, our lives. And yet, we cannot move forward on inclusion and belonging unless we can successfully share our own perspectives while recognizing the perspectives of others. But having those conversations without the right preparation can lead to anger, frustration, and the belief that tackling difference is not worth all the conflict it brings. That’s where A More Perfect Union enters.
In A More Perfect Union, we start with the possibility, or why these differences matter in our world. Then we move into the reality, using charged phrases and fragmented identites to understand how we became polarized in our silos. Next, we address the solution – civility – the fundamental basis of our shared civilization. Finally, we end with the ten steps we can all take starting now to rebuild a civilization centered on dignity, empathy, respect, and a more perfect union for us all.
