Why Do I Vote? Because of My Mom

In recent months, I’ve heard a lot of discussion about young people, particularly those in Black Lives Matter and similar movements, not wanting to vote in upcoming elections. They don’t buy the typical arguments about why voting matters.

Voting is a privilege and a right. You can’t complain if you don’t vote. No vote is a vote.

I believe that all of these arguments are true. If voting didn’t matter, certain politicians and their political operatives wouldn’t work so hard to prevent or discourage us from doing so. Still, I understand why these may not be compelling arguments to these young people. In the face of recent media attention on the extrajudicial deaths of African-Americans around the country, voting may seem to be a minor concern. The vote looks like a small thing when watching the blood seep from a body that could be your mother, brother, sister, or uncle all the while knowing the chances for justice through the legal system are slim to none.

All of this discussion got me thinking about why I vote. I have voted in every Presidential election since I turned 18. I have voted in almost every local and state election since that time as well, missing only a few of them while living in Guatemala and Mexico many years ago and one recent local election when I was traveling on business. I vote. I vote for one reason and one reason only: my mom.

Okay, technically, my mom is a person, not a reason, but please allow me to clarify. My mom grew up in Mississippi where she was reared by an elderly aunt and uncle. She wanted to participate in the marches to desegregate Mississippi’s beaches. She begged and cried, but Grandma Martha forbade it so she didn’t march. My mom was pregnant with me when Dr. King was murdered and, while other black cities burned, New Orleans went silent. Every year, my mom watched the movies about Dr. King and about JFK that aired on local TV at the anniversaries of their deaths and she cried. My mom mourned every single year for people who symbolized the hope and promise of what the Unites States could be if it lived up to the ideals it professed.

So I vote. I don’t vote because voting is a privilege and a right. I vote because it’s a responsibility. It is my responsibility to my mother who wanted to march and couldn’t. I vote because my mom voted whether she was happy with the choices or not, whether she felt well or not, whether she thought her individual vote mattered or not. I vote for my mom who mourned every year for what could have been and what can be.