I came home crying today from my voter registration shift.
Your vote counts here.
A half-dozen people in an assortment of red-white-and-blue t-shirts stood in the 90-degree heat to get the last wave of eligible voters signed on to the rolls.
Today is the final day of registration to be eligible to vote in Texas for the November 5th election.
Like any deadline, there’s always a final rush, and we VDRs were ready to help with in-person registration at the Williamson County elections office.
The flow of people registering was constant. We had a line in the parking lot for most of the time I was there; no sooner had one seat emptied but another person was there to sit down with a clipboard and pen. The line was still there when I left after three hours, and I imagine people will keep coming until the office closes tonight at 7pm.
I personally helped register:
a mama with a tiny infant strapped to her chest
a servicemember wearing full military fatigues
young people who had just turned 18 and wanted to vote for the first time
multiple transplants to Texas, including one who just moved here 4 days ago
a niece and uncle duo who already had a plan to go to the polls together
people on their lunch breaks
several folks accompanied by service dogs
people dropping off signed registrations for their entire households
many, many people who had moved and needed to update their registrations, and
quite a few Baby Boomers who were registering to vote for the very first time. (It’s never too late to start voting!)
But the one that has had me weepy since noon?
The newly-naturalized citizen who didn’t realize until today that there was even a deadline to register, because, “Where I am from, in Belarus, we don’t have to register to vote. For 30 years, we have the same President—he is Putin’s friend— and registering doesn’t matter because the elections aren’t real and the votes don’t count.”
I replied emphatically, “Your vote counts here.”
Both of us were immediately overcome with tears, and I’ve been wiping my eyes ever since.
It’s jarring to be confronted with such a stark picture of an alternate reality, one where elections are not free and fair; where leaders are untrustworthy, paranoid, and cruel; where citizens are silenced and intimidated; where “public servants” are instead political appointees loyal to the regime; where people are subject to the whims of a dictator who will give up power only through death or violence.
In bright optimistic America, we’d gladly believe that a scenario like that is just imaginary.
But the line between real and imaginary is growing ever thinner…
For now, you have a choice in how your city, county, state, and country are led, and who leads them.
For now, your vote is secret: no one can force you to vote a certain way, and no one knows how you vote unless you tell them.
For now, your vote is counted, and your voice is still heard.
I want to be more like this new voter who uprooted their entire life for the belief that there was something different and better than existing under an authoritarian regime.
Keep voting, keep working, keep showing up.
Your vote counts here.
For now.