The first time I voted was in a home for elders five minutes from my childhood home. I was wearing blue jeans and an orange graphic tee that sported a drawing of a sun. My mom walked me to the polls.
I traced my way down familiar hallways towards the polling room, but this time, I wouldn’t be filling out the kiddie ballots they used to give me while my mom would vote. The “I Voted” sticker I’d collect would actually mean something this time.
When I left the polling station, my mom took the obligatory photos of me with my sticker—photos that would never see the light of day past my mom’s camera roll.
But, in the four years since the last presidential election, I’ve contemplated how much weight my “I Voted” sticker actually carries. I feel the despair of my peers whose formative years were lived under a Trump presidency—peers who’ve been disillusioned by grandiose promises from politicians. I won’t delineate the laundry list of crises we’re facing—they feel like they’re tattooed on the inside of my mind. But their omnipresence and the lack of imminent change is disheartening to young voters—even to the extent that some wonder: “Why am I even voting?”
It’s impossible to quiet the doubts: “How can my vote change the fact that my friend has to work himself to the bone to pay for tuition?” and “Will my vote contribute to the perpetuation of violence abroad?” and “Are my city councilmembers even listening to our community’s perspectives, or are they selling out to corporations and developers?” Once we vote representatives into office, how do we know they’ll even listen to what I need? These questions are beyond justified, and far too often, conversations about voting dismiss these concerns too easily.
On the flip side of my cynicism, I feel an incredible responsibility to fulfill civic duty by voting. As the daughter of a Korean immigrant mother and a Puerto Rican father, the ability to vote is indeed an incredible privilege. It is a right that my mother waited a decade for while waiting for citizenship. It is a right that is still not afforded to Puerto Ricans residing on the island; that is, Puerto Rican residents are not afforded the civic right to vote in presidential elections past the primaries. Each time I vote, it is not just a fulfillment of my civic duty but a responsibility I feel is due to my family’s legacy.
Like most dilemmas in life, both realities can coexist. I can feel a sense of civic duty to vote in elections, big and small, and I can continue to question whether my vote is having the impact I desire. But the remedy lies beyond the voting booth. As we see in our politics issue feature article, “Gen Z Gets Out the Vote,” voting in your presidential election is just the entry point to enacting change. Constituents, whether plagued by concerns about the climate crisis, gun violence, or healthcare, can take action by voting in local and midterm elections, engaging with grassroots organizations, and simply spreading awareness in their communities.
Just like voting is only the first step to fruitful civic action, I hope our politics issue articles are just the starting point for conversation around political engagement.
This election day you’ll find me in the voting booth and sporting my “I Voted” sticker, or if perhaps I’m feeling jazzy, a “Yo Voté” sticker. But I promise that by stepping out of the booth I’ll be stepping into a reinvigorated commitment to community organizing and local progress on the issues I care about the most.
I hope you too will vote this election day and take your action beyond the booth.
SSSF,
Natalia
