JUST (DON’T) DO IT

Was reading an comment online for a co-worker’s recent column on Democrats. In a nutshell, the column details that the Democrats ain’t got it and probably will never have it again. In case you are wondering what “it” is, check out the article because I do not want to give poor summarization of my colleague’s writings: Hello, any Democrats out there? However, the comments regarding the column gave me serious cause to pause. The commentator states that they do not like any of the candidates for the Georgia Gubernatorial race. So, they will put the late Coretta Scott King as a write-in. Hmm…

“What an idiot,” I thought, laughing. Yet, I, too, have to admit that I am not at all happy with any of the candidates. Proudly, Unaffiliated, I am (since 1995). Also, very unsure of who to vote for this time around. There has been a minimal amount of mud-slinging and some serious backtracking on previous “firm beliefs.” And although every voter will never truly be 100% pleased with whom they pick on Election Day, I am still hurt by the results of the last major election in November 2004.

I was literally sick for at least two days afterwards. It was like my heart had been broken by an infinite amount of betrayal or deceit, and consequently caused immeasurable pain that I could feel, but could not see or actually touch. This hurt was not caused by love for anybody or anything. My hopes and dreams had been placed in a system—democracy—and I was more disappointed than I had ever been in my life. It was worse than finding out that there is no Santa Claus. I was not the only one, either; as I talked to fellow voters, there were others who expressed that they, too, felt cheated, or a lack of validation and as if they vote did not count.

As I pondered over my emotional and spiritual ill state of being in November 2004, the thought of writing in Mrs. King’s name in the spot next to Governor became ever so tempting. Tempting; interesting word. It is another word for attractive, or alluring. Fascinating; exciting. Not boring.

But after more time to reflect, and watching a few African-American icons on television this weekend, a word comes to mind that stops me cold: responsible. My ancestors paid for my right to vote with their blood, sweat, and some even their lives. I now have, “it.” And the “it” here simply means the right to vote. Although America’s leaders are shady and downright scandalous, that does not excuse me from doing the right thing. I must act responsibly with my vote, even if afterwards, I feel it did not count. Maybe one day I will feel that it did. Until then, I must exercise my right, but not do so recklessly or carelessly. I will treat my vote as if it were a piece of inheritance that I will hand down to my children, and that they will give to their children and so on. Axe (*pronounced Ah-shay).