The Work
Today I successfully cast my ballot for the 2020 US Presidential Election. I exercised my ๐ก๐ฃ๐๐ง๐๐๐๐๐ as a documented able-bodied Queer person of color who had the ability to take time during the workday to stand in line. I was able to make my way to the early voting poll in my own vehicle- avoiding long public transportation lines and additional risks of exposure to COVID-19. I waited and waited, feeling the heaviness of it all.
I have the ๐ก๐ฃ๐๐ง๐๐๐๐๐ to surpass many structural barriers that will keep undocumented, non-resident citizens, incarcerated and formerly incarcerated folks, transgender and gender non-conforming people, cash poor communities of color, and other marginalized groups away from the polls. Ranging from inaccessible polling stations and locations, discriminatory policies (like dismissing identification cards and inhumane documentation laws), and the long ongoing legacy of targeted voter suppression.
Iโm standing here in front of this โRespectโ mural after casting my vote in what feels like, to many people, a historic election; not all of us have the โrightโ to vote or the ability to demand justice without retaliation. Voting is only one facet of the journey towards building a better world, but voting will not save us. Our responsibility does not begin or end with the ballot - and I know I ๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ฅ and ๐ค๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ be accountable to the communities all around me. Voting doesnโt disappear the material conditions of those most vulnerable in a society deeply entrenched in white supremacy. Casting my ballot alone will not undo the centuries long harm led by the state.
The struggle continues and Iโm sharing this as a reminder that the work will never be done and cannot be done alone. There is so much more for me to (un)learn. The work beyond the voting booth looks like taking the lead from organizers and activists (the folks in the streets who have always been the incredible knowledge producers and leaders) who have worked tirelessly- locally and (inter)nationally. The fight for our lives happens in my/our proverbial backyards. It means admitting I donโt know it all and Iโm still learning, regardless of the fancy degrees and accolades I may have, and that I am not beyond reproach. Sometimes it means being called to the carpet on how colonial constructs are deeply embedded in my own ideas and solutions, donating time and money, directly where itโs needed, and understanding that we may not have clean answers to age-old problems.
I *do* know that my education means nothing if I canโt move in solidarity with living breathing people and instead wax eloquently about these issues on paper. Moving forward, I keep hearing Charlene Carruthersโ words - โ๐น๐๐๐๐ ๐ฃ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ค ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐๐๐๐ค ๐จ๐ ๐ฃ๐โ. Iโm standing here at this โRespectโ mural, painfully aware that not all of us move through this world with the unabashed knowledge that their lives matter. Not all of us have the ability to be seen as a human being deserving of respect and dignity. Not all of us are free. So Iโm ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ค๐๐๐ to be radical and ๐จ๐ ๐ฃ๐๐๐๐ my damned hardest. I hope the same for you.
