Challenge #9 ~ The Not-so-secret Ballot

Listen to me tell the story here on YouTube or read the text below.

It was 2004, the year of my first presidential election and an important one. To be more specific it was the first time that I would be allowed to cast my vote and join in on determining who would have the responsibility of running my home, the United States of America.

The republican George Bush was up for reelection and the Democrats had chosen John Kerry as the worthy opponent. Among these two main candidates were many others from different parties such as the Independent and Green parties. There would also be the opportunity to elect other officials to different offices. It was up to me to weigh-in and push for the candidates I thought would best manifest our collective highest greatest good. What a delightful burden to carry.

Looking forward to this new beginning I registered to vote and took all of the necessary steps to make sure that I could participate. Not only did I feel that it was important to vote and have a say in how one is led, but I also wanted to show respect for all of those who fought hard to ensure that I received my due right to vote as a Black woman. So much sacrifice to eradicate prejudice and limitation. I wanted to be sure to honor that sacrifice by casting my ballot.

Finally November 2^nd arrived and I skipped my college classes for the day to head to my voting location. Before leaving campus I ran into a friend who cordially reminded me who to vote for. I smiled politely, thinking that I would vote according to my heart and conscience when the time came.

As I stood in line I watched all of the poll volunteers completing their civic duties. Some sat at tables, taking names and checking identification. Others were escorting voters to the poll machines, I patiently waited until it was my turn. After checking in with the election judges, an elderly Black man with salt and pepper hair showed me to my designated poll machine. I walked in feeling ready. I looked to the left to see the poll curtain was closed.

I turned my attention back to the ballot. Carefully, making sure to follow marking instructions, I chose the presidential candidate I thought best. Breathing deeply I took in the proud moment. Before I continued on to vote on other officials and amendments, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. You know that feeling you get when you think someone is standing behind you but no one has touched you or said anything? Heeding the eerie warning on the back of my neck, I turned to see that the poll worker who had escorted me to my voting cubicle was still standing behind me. He had peeked in the closed curtains to watch me vote.

We stared at each other. He stammered something about whether I needed assistance. Clearly, I did not. I stood there torn between giving him a piece of my mind and wanting to turn back to my ballot. I chose the latter and in a much more subdued mood finished casting my vote for the 2004 election.

When I left the booth the poll worker walked past me once again escorting other voters to their machines. I moved to stop him and confront his behavior. I felt so annoyed at him infringing on my right to a secret ballot, a right that came at a huge cost. In those few short moments, when he walked past me, all I could manage was a determined frown. Have you ever felt like you want to speak up but your voice catches in your throat and you find yourself nestled somewhere between annoyance and anger?

Even now I still look back on that day and feel disappointed that instead of speaking up for my rights, I took pity on his age. He can’t have been much more than 60 years old which seemed really old to me back then at the age of 20. I wonder how many voters he secretly watched that day. More importantly I wonder how often, over the years, I took pity on others instead of voicing my concerns and needs.

Have you ever made excuses for people instead of standing up for what you know to be right? I was very good, even overzealous when it came to standing up for others. When it came to speaking up for me I often found myself just letting it be or reassuring myself that I could take the heat. You teach people how to treat you and sometimes it is good to remind others that you have not only needs but also constitutional rights that are to be respected.

That was my first and last experience at the polls so far. Shortly after that election I moved overseas to Germany and have been casting my votes via Absentee Ballot ever since.

Bush won the 2004 election, making life overseas somewhat difficult. When I arrived at the German university and I met one of my suitemates, we introduced ourselves and he asked where I was from. As soon as I mentioned the USA he promptly let me know that he doesn’t like Americans because they reelected Bush. He quickly added that he liked me, and he liked the other American suitemate he once had, but in general he doesn’t like Americans.

“So he doesn’t like Americans, but he likes all of the Americans he’s met so far? Hmm.” I thought to myself. It didn’t seem to me that he had reflected well on his prejudiced opinions but we would be sharing the same kitchen and bathroom for the next months, so I decided to let it slide.

As we move into the coming 2020 presidential election, I hope that we all will rise up and take pride in our right to vote. Many women and men sacrificed their lives and rights to set strong foundations for future generations. By exercising our right to vote, we too have the opportunity to take part in democracy and be instrumental in establishing positive foundations for the generations to come. Sometimes it all seems like a carefully crafted fairytale, but we must take advantage of the tools offered to us in order to steer the country and the world into more compassionate and restorative spaces.

Over the last months many have worked hard to define what it means to be privileged. Privilege to me is when you can say that you didn’t know that poverty, unemployment or racism exist, that because you had never experienced it for yourself you thought it to be a non-issue. What if we could move the world into a space where issues such as these indeed become mythical, not just for a portion of the population but for all? What if these issues were only relatable through old stories of the way things once had been. Our next generations could grow up saying, “Yes, my ancestors experienced poverty and racism, but I have never experienced it and I don’t personally know anyone who has.”