The first presidential election I actually participated in was back in 2008.
Okay, “participated” might be too generous a term. I was in seventh grade, and in the middle of the day, my teacher escorted the entire class down to the library, where we spent five minutes “voting” by writing MCCAIN or OBAMA on a slip of paper. Then, we dumped the votes in a red, white, and blue tissue box. Even then, I saw the exercise as pretty futile.
I mean, first of all, our votes didn’t make a lick of difference. What were we voting for, exactly? President of the school? If John McCain won at my junior high, would we ignore the rest of the country and swear loyalty to McCain? “It’s good practice,” my teacher had said. Well, so was texting in my vote to American Idol, and that still didn’t stop them from kicking Chris Sligh off the show in Season Six—and yes, I’m still bitter.
Secondly, all of my peers were just parroting the political opinions of their parents. I saw it over and over. We’d be gathered around the cafeteria table, and somebody would mention Obama. And then someone else would scoff, “Obama? Seriously? There’s no way I’m voting for him in November.” Now, ignoring the fact that (cough cough) thirteen year olds can’t vote, those sentences were probably ripped verbatim from a statement by this guy’s dad. We didn’t have our own opinions; we had our parents’ opinions.
And thirdly, I couldn’t tell the two candidates apart. Not their physical appearance; trust me, I had watched enough Saturday Night Live to know that. But at a fundamental level, I wasn’t able to discern the difference. To me, they were just two politicians, making a bunch of promises that probably wouldn’t be fulfilled.
So, like I said, it was pointless. I knew that. But I had a problem. It’s the problem I have today, and you probably do, too.
I cared.
All around me, my friends were making their choice. I wanted it to be that easy. It should have been. It was meaningless, remember? Instead, I found myself staring at the paper until I was one of the few who hadn’t voted. My teacher asked us to finish up. But I didn’t want to just "vote." I wanted to do it right.
It’s been eight years. I'm an adult now, and yet, I find myself in a similar place today, as I imagine many of you do.
Because, friends, I’m not sure making the right decision gets any easier with age. I look at the 2016 election, and honestly, how much has changed since middle school? First off, we don't know if our votes make a difference, and it looks like the whole system is pretty darn rigged anyway. Second, the opposing sides are so entrenched in their views that dialogue is virtually impossible. And third, it’s still so hard to see the difference between candidates in this complicated, ridiculous election. It seems like everyone’s argument is, “Well I don’t love (insert candidate), but I’d rather vote for him/her than (insert other candidate).” All of it makes me want to just give up. I don’t want to care.
But I do care. And I hope you do, too.
When I think about the difficulties facing us, I’m reminded of Cicero, a political thinker who lived in another conflicted republic a few thousand years ago. In his book On Obligations, Cicero says this:
“It is the mark of a brave and resolute spirit not to get rattled in difficult circumstances, and when plunged into commotion not to be knocked off balance, as the saying goes. Rather, we must maintain presence of mind, keep our counsel, and not depart from the path of reason. Such conduct makes demands on the spirit...What we do must not result in our having to say later ‘I had not thought of that.’” (Cicero, 28)
In essence, we want to make the right decisions, and we don't want to regret the ones we make. So, despite the difficulty, we have to care.
I’m not sure what name I wrote in seventh grade. I think I actually may have crumpled up the paper and threw it away. What can I say? I had a flair for the dramatic. But the heart was there. In my thirteen-year old cranium, I really thought about the decision, because I wanted to be someone who cared. To do so “makes demands on the spirit,” as Cicero writes. It’s not easy. But maybe it’s less about the decision itself, and more about what kind of people we want to be. Do we want to thoughtlessly cast our vote this November? Or do we want to look at the messy, infuriating political system and really, truly care?
In the library in 2008, I wanted to care. This year, I want the same thing. Whatever name you throw in the box, I hope you do, too.
But for the record, Chris Sligh will always have my vote.
