To the Child that Can’t Vote

When Trump was elected as President I was 17 years old. I was part of a mentorship group in my high school and we were going to a sleep-away camp. I remember sitting on the bus feeling uneasy as we took the hour-long trek to the campground. It was lights out around midnight but I snuck my phone underneath my sheets to watch the progress of the election. I fell asleep by accident and woke up in the middle of the night clutching my phone. When I swiped up and checked the election results I was faced with a nightmare.

Donald Trump won the election.

In the weeks leading up to the election, I often wondered how it would feel if Trump had won. I thought I would be afraid of the future. But at the moment I wasn’t afraid. I felt helpless. Angry. For the first time in my life, I realized that I loved a country that didn’t love me back. That night I cried myself to sleep. 

That morning I heard a white kid tell one of my Spanish classmates that she was going to be deported. The girl laughed and I knew that it was meant to be a joke. But, I couldn’t help but think about all of the children that were actually going to be deported. It made me want to cry again but I refused to. Something within me had hoped that someone could save these children from being forcibly removed from the only country they’ve ever known. (Sadly, in the years to come I would learn that many children were forcibly removed from their parents and forced to literally live in cages. I’m still waiting for the children of America to be safe.)

On the bus ride home I did the mental math. I would be 21 years old and able to vote in the next presidential election. The amount of time between then and now felt like ages. Instead of being a Senior in High School, I would be a Senior in college. I would be a totally different person in a totally different world. It was terrifying to realize that I would have to endure the next four years in America.

And endure I did.

I was called my first racial slur when I was crossing the street at my college. The man was driving a pickup truck and refused to stop even though the crossing signal allowed me to. If I hadn’t stopped he would have hit me. As he screamed a racial profanity at me I couldn’t help but notice the blue lives matter and the Trump 2020 flag waving proudly on the back of his Toyota. Bile and anger rose in my throat. For weeks after I looked out for that car waiting for him. I didn’t know what I’d do if I saw him. But I knew that he wouldn’t silence me again. 

I’ve had people throw rocks at my small pride flag in my bedroom window. It was the week of national coming out day and I wanted to show my support for LGBTQ+ people. At first, I decided that I wanted to keep the flag up as a sign of protest. But one night when a water bottle was thrown against my window I decided to take it down. I was tired of fighting. I have never had anything thrown at my window again after that.

I’ve experienced countless other acts of racism. I’ve experienced countless acts of homophobia. Experienced sexism. I listened as I was told that people like me didn’t belong in America. For the past four years, I have endured. But I also have grown strong. And I manifested my anger into a passion for fighting for equity.

Recently this fight had led me to the voting polls. I thought about voting for the president a lot in the past four years. I thought that I would cast my ballot in honor of my 17-year-old self who was praying for a change. But as I filled out my ballot I couldn’t help but think about my little sister. She’s 13 years old. She’s civic-minded and talks about activism in a way that makes her wise beyond her years. Still, she’s years from voting and depends on adults making choices about her future. She relies on adults to fix the damage that Trump has done in the same way I had to trust adults to prevent him from causing damage in the first place. 

To the children who can’t vote, I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that adults are actively making choices that put your human rights at risk. I’m sorry that you will have to grow up to fix the mistakes that older generations are making right now. But, I want you to know that there are people trying. That there are adults who care. And who will fight to make sure you can grow up in a safer place. I don’t know how the election will turn out. But I do know that I won’t fight until the world is a better place for you to grow up in. 

• election
• Joe Biden