On Civic Engagement

Anyone who has a passing familiarity with my online presence–at least the presence that goes under the LambicPentameter pseudonym–is probably aware of how I feel about voting. But in case you aren’t here to indulge my internet ego, I will share an abbreviated version of it:

Voting in an election is the barest minimum of civic engagement in which a person can participate.

And by that, I don’t mean that it’s easy to do. It’s not easy to get time off from work, time away from other life obligations that have a more direct and immediate impact on your everyday life. It’s not easy to navigate our arcane electoral system to ensure that you are registered, that you know where to vote, and to spend the time and hassle finding transportation to get there and overcome the fear that for some stupid reason, you still might be turned away. Or have to wait in a line that makes the DMV seem like a quick errand. And the less privilege you have from your spot in our socio-economic tapestry, the more likely you are to face increased difficulties in the voting process. So no, voting is not easy.

But when I say it’s the barest minimum, I mean that even with all that effort, it’s still a one-and-done proposition. Do it and then you’re free and clear for the next several weeks or months (or possibly years, but hopefully not–midterms matter too!). It’s also the civic action that gets you the lowest return on your ideological dollar. After all, even in a local election, you are one vote out of thousands. And even if your preferred candidate is chosen, they are representing those thousands of voters, each with their own ideas. The notion that your own personal politics will make a dent just because you checked a box once every two years is a fantasy. And yet, aside from the occasional campaign donation, that’s largely where I’ve found myself the last several years: self-righteously preaching about policies and about how bare minimum the act of voting is while doing fuckall to affect any larger change myself.

Then I had an epiphany.

I watched Elizabeth Warren’s performances at the Las Vegas debate, where she metaphorically murdered a person who symbolizes most of what is currently wrong with our political system, insofar as who it predominantly works for, and how you gain access to it. And while this isn’t the first time a politician has done something that got me excited or energized, for some reason this time felt different. Maybe it was the contrast of her fighting attitude to my admittedly increasing disappointment that her campaign was struggling so hard to gain ground in the polls. Or maybe it was the realization that, even if her performance didn’t catalyze a path to the nomination, it was a first-hand example of how fighting can do good, even if you don’t win that fight. Even if she wasn’t going to get the nomination, she was going to do her best to make sure some billionaire egomaniac couldn’t just skate his way to the nomination because he has enough money to singlehandedly fix the Flint Water Crisis (TWICE, even) and is pouring it into a presidential campaign.

But I digress. The point here is that I decided to go beyond my typical involvement of online yelling and campaign donations and signed up to phone bank for Warren’s campaign. It was something that seemed tangible and that I had the immediate resources to commit to doing it well. One week later, I’m about to do my fourth session and, no matter the outcome of the 2020 Democratic Primaries, I’m doing something tangible. And perhaps more important is the fact that breaking that proverbial seal has led to a better understanding of the fact that I can do more than vote and I can be involved without having to take massive chunks of time out of the existing demands of life to do it.

In fact, I also learned this week of a new Democratic candidate for Senate here in the great state of Nebraska. I’m still familiarizing myself with Alisha Shelton’s acute policy positions, but she is running to unseat Ben “Never, but not never ever ever Trump” Sasse in the 2020 election. Which is plenty for now. Hopefully she turns out to be the kind of progressive voice that I can really get passionate about, but even if that isn’t her M.O., she represents positive change in my immediate backyard, where whatever change she can affect will have a more direct impact on me and my fellow Omahans (Omahanians? Omahicans? Sorry, I don’t know the proper terminology–I haven’t even been here a full two years yet).

So, what’s the point?

Okay, that’s a fair question. What is the point of this exercise in navel gazery? The point is this: while voting is still the bare minimum you can do to involve yourself in politics, and it’s something that is essential to even have a fraction of a seat at the table, it’s also hard to do and easy to get down on how ineffectual it is, given the distance between your vote (say, for President) and direct policy impact on your life. And if your someone who is discouraged by that distance to the point of wondering if voting is even worthwhile, I would say this:

Yes, it is worthwhile, if sometimes a disheartening chore. But you can give your vote a boost if you supplement it with direct, hands-on action. Even small action. Anything to feel like your involvement in the political process is more than just an obligation. Obligations are lame. Obligations take time away from things you’d rather be doing. And obligations are only as strong as the things that tie you to them, which, with voting, is not very much. Find that epiphany or motivating spark and turn that hum-drum obligation into just a piece of a larger involvement in what happens to you and your community.