To Norah Vincent, Who Didn't Vote

The Los Angeles Times this morning ran an opinion piece by writer Norah Vincent titled, "A Vote Too Late for Obama," in which Vincent confesses that she didn't vote in last week's historic election because she didn't like Obama's tax proposals, found McCain "intellectually brittle" and Palin downright terrifying. But now she's having second thoughts.

"As I've watched the wave of post-election elation rushing over so many people in recent days," Vincent says, "and as I have been unexpectedly and powerfully moved myself, I've started to feel a little, I don't know, out of it."

A hundred and twelve people responded to Vincent's commentary, expressing just about every possible reaction from "You're an idiot" to "Don't worry, Obama will disappoint us all, and then you won't have to feel guilty." But still, I felt moved to toss in my two cents:

How sad, Norah. This past week has been a highlight of my life, a defining moment in U.S. and world history! I'm sorry you passed up the opportunity to be a part of it.

You're brave to share your thoughts and regrets with the public, though, and I hope you can ignore the cruelty in some of these comments. Strange stuff for such a hopeful, magnanimous time as this.

You've explained, quite eloquently, why you didn't vote. Which has inspired me to explain why I do. Why, in fact, I can't not vote.

Voting is such a rare and costly privilege. So few people anywhere, at any time, have ever had a say in who governed them or how. Yet we Americans do. And that's only because so many have sacrificed so much for so long.

When I think of all the soldiers killed or wounded in all the wars fought to establish and preserve this nation, and of all the heartbreak and hardship imposed on their families and communities back home, I can't not vote.

When I think of all the immigrants, including my own Lithuanian grandparents, who left behind forever everything and everyone they knew and loved, all to live in a new world where men were free to determine their own destinies, I can't not vote.

When I think of all the suffragettes who marched through jeering crowds and chained themselves to fences and staged hunger strikes and endured prison forcefeedings so that women, too, could help shape our society, I can't not vote.

When I think of all the African-Americans in my native South having to wait an entire century after Lincoln freed the slaves before their opinions finally counted, I can't not vote.

And when I think of boys just a few years older than I, drafted at age 18, forced to fight, even to die in Vietnam, but not considered old enough to help elect or reject those who sent them there, I can't not vote.

Even when the weather's bad or the lines are long, even when the issues don't seem all that important, or I can't get excited about any of the candidates--even then, I can't not vote. I just can't.

This time of course was different. This time made up for every boring, disappointing election I've ever voted in. This time we made all those sacrifices count for something. I wish you could know how good that feels.

Beyond Words

Occasionally in life there are those moments of unutterable fulfillment which cannot be completely explained by those symbols called words. Their meanings can only be articulated by the inaudible language of the heart.

Martin Luther King Jr.
Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech, Dec. 11, 1964.

Why I Voted for Barack Obama

Finally, after two years of campaigning, election day is here. And whatever the outcome, it's going to be historic.

I have long felt this election is the most critical in my lifetime—in no small measure because I am convinced we have now lived through the worst administration in our nation’s history. An administration that squandered the opportunity of national unity imposed by national tragedy, that instead exploited our fears to advance its own twisted agenda. The havoc that George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and their pseudo-Republican crew have wrought upon this country and across the world in little more than seven years is simply stunning. Who would have believed so much could have gone wrong so fast? If it were fiction, no one would buy it. (If only it were fiction.)

No wonder the president’s approval rating has fallen to 22 percent, the lowest since Herbert Hoover. You'd think all this would ensure a Democratic victory. And yet the presidential race is still too close to call. This is how divided we are as a nation. Why? Because people are afraid. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of others they perceive as different from them. Afraid of change. Or the lack of it.

In essence, I have come to see this election as a fundamental choice between the past and the future, between fear and hope.

I have no illusions that a rookie senator from Illinois can fix all our problems. The system is too entrenched; the problems, too dire and widespread. But perhaps he can begin to turn the ship around, to head us in a new direction.

I realize I may have been taken, snookered by a smooth talker, a man of natural eloquence and amazing poise. But his words, however lofty, strike me as genuine. He seems to speak from a quiet center informed by intellect, compassion and faith. He seems to understand that true leadership is all about service, not power. He is, in a word, inspiring.

And so I dare to hope. I hope this nation will not act from fear yet again, but will instead find the courage to change, to embrace a new era of history. I hope Barack Obama will be our next president.