The first time I voted was back in 2008. That election year was filled with so much excitement and optimism. I was 20 years old and finally feeling like I had power and influence to make change and help make history. I went to school in the south, so the Obamas weren’t exactly the fan favorite outside of our small-university bubble. However, regardless of the fact that my favorite shuttle-bus driver proudly wore a Sarah Palin hat that he had gotten autographed when she came to the campus to speak, I still felt like the two of us could converse and share what we liked about our choices without questioning the morality and values that we each shared.
I can’t say the same thing in 2020.
Election day is two days away. 2016 was a shock to everyone. As an educator, we were wildly unprepared for what would happen. I’m grateful for my principal back then, who had the courage and good judgement to know that in our mostly Black and immigrant community it would be insensitive and unjust to try to go along with “business as usual”. Our students were crying, our staff was in shock. The hope and optimism that had been established and cultivated in 2008 had been obliterated. An uglier truth had started to emerge, and we were not able to protect our students from it. So instead of glossing over it, we leaned in, and we supported each other.
This year we have more of a plan. But it also means we have more fear and less trust.
My experience voting this year felt significantly different than it has in the past. When it was announced that New York would have early voting, I was glad that I wouldn’t have to wait for the official election day and that I would be able to go to the polls feeling more relaxed and self-assured. What I didn’t anticipate was everyone else in Harlem having the exact same thought. Since I had heard that during the first day of early voting the lines were hours long, I decided to wait until day two. I couldn’t gauge how early I needed to get to the polls, so I decided to get some coffee and check out what the line looked like an hour before the polls even opened. When I walked by the building, the lines were already starting to wrap around it. I got to the end of the line, warm coffee in hand, turned on one of my favorite podcasts and waited.
I was in line for a total of 3 hours.
By hour 1.5 my AirPods were dead and my hands were numb – it was 40 degrees outside. I participated in JROTC in high school, so I was used to standing for long periods of time, but the weather was beginning to make it unbearable. I had worn warm workout leggings, so I started doing high-knee jumps and butt-kicks to prevent my legs from getting stiff. I looked around at my fellow Harlemites and everyone was quiet, yet equally looked uncomfortable. Invariably, when you are in a line this long with the same people you start to make “friends.” The woman in front of me with a camo-mask would make small talk here and there, mostly about the fact that she did not anticipate having to wait so long. I resorted to placing my hands inside of my shirt and under my arms. At one point I texted my friend who had voted the day before: “I don’t think I can do this.” She was encouraging, and offered me suggestions of ways that I could still get my vote in and not be so uncomfortable. In that moment, I considered leaving the line. But the fear of something going wrong was visceral. At that moment, I felt leaving that line could potentially put my vote in jeopardy.
This is what fear and mistrust do.
They make seemingly simple and easy tasks like voting, buying cigarettes, going to a 7-11, playing with friends outside, driving your children home, or even sleeping in bed with a loved one feel like the scariest, most dangerous things you could do. To some, my actions at that moment may have felt dramatic, but as Black woman in America, I have learned that I can’t leave anything to chance. I don’t have that privilege.
My “friend” with the camo-mask was getting weary too, but she managed to stay positive, even as others around us began to grumble. By hour 2.5 we were nearing the entrance, but could tell, based on how they were letting groups in, that we weren’t going to be inside anytime soon. My friend took a big sigh, started laughing, and I could tell delirium was starting to take hold. I prepared myself for complaining about the logistics of early voting and the ridiculousness of it all, but instead she said (to no one in particular), “Hey, this is what Fannie Lou Hammer fought for. She endured worse, so I can stand in this line a little longer.” In that moment, you could tell there was a definite shift in those of us who had heard her.
As a child I wasn’t taught much Black History in school, but I remember learning about Fannie Lou Hammer very early on from my hairdresser’s husband who owned a Black artifact and boutique store. He gave me these small cards that held information about important African-American historical figures, and for some reason my card on Fannie Lou Hammer was one I always remembered. Hammer was one of the most powerful voices of the Civil and Voting rights movements. She was beaten, bludgeoned, arrested and abused, all for the sake of Black people everywhere having the right to influence, make change, and help make history. After each attack, Hammer would wake up the next day ready to continue the fight. She would stand in front of her oppressors and demand that all people have the right to vote unencumbered.
One of my favorite quotes by Hammer is:
“Never forget where you came from and always praise the bridges that carried us over”
As I looked at the faces of the people around me in line, I realized that, while everyone looked cold and tired, they also looked resolute. Our ancestors died wanting this chance. While, yes, there were definitely other options we could have taken to make it easier, the fact that we were uncomfortable now paled in comparison to what those before us had endured.
I took a deep breath, placed my hands back under my arms and stood firm.
I don’t know what the results of this election will be, but I am grateful I had the chance to participate, to share my voice, and give my vote.
And now we wait.
Wow, my in line wait was just 45 minutes tops but I do remember a time standing in line to vote for over 2 hours , I’d just remind myself that those before me had more than just a long line but their life at stake. People have hopes far beyond just who’s going to be in charge of this Country, to some, their lives are in the balance, I just pray who ever gets in office, remember that!!!
Beautifully written.