“If you are part of a society that votes, then do so. There may be no candidates and no measures you want to vote for ... but there are certain to be ones you want to vote against. In case of doubt, vote against. By this rule you will rarely go wrong.”
— Robert A. Heinlein, “Time Enough For Love”
October 26, 2024
I voted today.
This is, of course, not the first time I have voted. This isn’t even the first time I voted as an out trans woman. But, as I have illustrated in previous posts, I’ve learned a few things in the last few years.
This vote feels different. This feels so consequential. Because of this, everything felt like it had to have meaning.
First, I wore a dress to the polls, even though I rarely wear a dress outside of work, because gosh darnit, I earned the right to wear a dress. (I went through a dress phase, where I would wear a skirt or dress every day, in the first six months after publicly transitioning; after that, I just wore what I wanted.) I wore a denim jacket over the dress; a pink triangle is sewn on one side of my jacket, and a pin with pink, light-blue, and white hearts rests on one lapel. I wore kintsugi earrings, a symbol of repairing one’s self after being broken; go here to get some idea as to the meaning of kintsugi to a trans person.
And then… I went to vote. I am a trans woman living in a red district in a blue state, which makes for an interesting time. I’d finally put up a voting sign for the first time in my life - a sign supporting New York Prop 1 - early this week, because I got really tired of the casual “protect girls’ sports” transphobia of the vote-no crowd for Prop 1.
My goal in voting was simple. Of the two major political parties, one - the Republican Party - has made it their stated mission to criminalize trans existence - and, by extension, remove me from society entirely. I have no choice but to oppose. Frankly, the Republican Party has become a breathtaking construction in dishonesty, cruelty, and stupidity, delivering pain to everyone other than a sheltered few. Any thinking, feeling human being must stand in opposition to that. Note that voting against Republicans isn’t the only reason to vote; I don’t want people to think there aren’t positive reasons to support the Democratic Party, as there is plenty to applaud and support. That said, the stunningly audacious evil of the Republicans’ plans must be opposed.
The polling place was brisk, but there was no line. I went to the check-in location, signed in, got a printout of my ballot, and went to sit down and fill out the form.
Even in this moment, I felt like I had to be so careful. Yes, it’s one vote, but I don’t want to mess it up in any way; memories of hanging chads still floated in my brain, specters of a bygone era. I found the line that corresponded to the Democratic Party, voted for the candidates slated therein, from President on down, and bubbled in every appropriate bubble. I had to flip the vote sheet over to get to Prop 1; I dutifully bubbled in the “Yes” bubble, then went to the ballot machine.
In going to the machine to tally the vote, it took two attempts - it didn’t register the ballot the first time, and spit it back out - but eventually the vote went through.
I voted, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
It never felt like this when I presented as male. It didn’t even feel this way two years ago, when I was finally presenting as myself. This year, it felt like I was voting as though it could be my last chance.
In this experience, in all of this worry and uncertainty, I am left with an interesting conclusion, because voting - the ability to vote - has such an interesting connotation now. And, to understand why, a little history lesson is in order.
Until 1870, black men in theory and in practice could not vote.
Until 1920, women could not vote. Think about this: there are American women alive today who were born before the 19th Amendment.
Even today, aspects of our government and our society do everything it can to disenfranchise voters, to dilute or deny the vote to others, in particular voters from marginalized groups. This disenfranchisement can include anything from gerrymandering to making it inconvenient to vote to voter roll purges to disenfranchisement-through-criminalization to out-and-out threats of violence. In a sense, even the Electoral College is a form of disenfranchisement, giving an outsized voice to underpopulated states, and thus to rural and predominantly-white voters.
When I was outwardly presenting as male, voting was just something I did, a privilege I had. It was one of many invisible privileges I enjoyed as a presumed straight white man, one that I viewed as inviolate and guaranteed. I voted, because it was my civic duty, because it was the patriotic thing to do, blah blah blah.
As a trans woman, I recognize it now.
Voting is a privilege and a fragile right - a right that has to be defended, a right that has to be fought for. It is a right that has been denied to marginalized groups time and time again in the quest for power. Today, I felt like I was voting for my freedom and my life. I don’t just fear what certain politicians will do if they take power; they’ve already stated and demonstrated what they intend to do, following a playbook eerily reminiscent of one attempted in Germany ninety years ago. In my vote, I expressed my opposition to their proposed genocides, and my contempt for their demanded monstrosities.
I don’t know if my chosen candidates will win. But I will vote; I will speak. I will not acquiesce silently, and I will not die silently.
If you have the right to vote, vote. Please. One voice alone isn’t going to make much of a difference, but millions of voices coming together just might.
