The Work
Today I successfully cast my ballot for the 2020 US Presidential Election. I exercised my π‘π£ππ§πππππ 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 π‘π£ππ§πππππ 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.
Iβm standing here in front of this βRespectβ mural after casting my vote in what feels like, to many people, a historic election; not all of us have the βrightβ 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 ππ¦π€π₯ and π€ππ π¦ππ be accountable to the communities all around me. Voting doesnβt 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 Iβm 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 donβt know it all and Iβm 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 itβs needed, and understanding that we may not have clean answers to age-old problems.
I *do* know that my education means nothing if I canβt move in solidarity with living breathing people and instead wax eloquently about these issues on paper. Moving forward, I keep hearing Charlene Carruthersβ words - βπΉππππ π£ππππππ ππ€ π πππ πππ, πππ ππ₯ π₯ππππ€ π¨π π£πβ. Iβm standing here at this βRespectβ 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 Iβm πππ π π€πππ to be radical and π¨π π£ππππ my damned hardest. I hope the same for you.
