But I Don’t Want to be Political...

A last push to go to the polls for those of us who really don't want to

This article originally ran in slightly different form on Election Day 2000 as part of IMDiversity's month-long special content and discussion section, Bush-Gore Diversity Q&A Special. In light of that year's astonishing lessons re-emphasizing the importance of the individual vote and citizen participation, the editors resurrected the article for inclusion in the "APAthy to Action: Elections 2002" readings series in this form.

Election Day, 2000 - When I was in graduate school, I used to subscribe to The New York Times. I loved taking all day Sunday to pore over it, keeping up to date on all the latest plays and books and current events, and playing a bit of the intellectual snob. After a year, however, I had to cancel my subscription because I was tired of being outraged all the time. I could not write enough letters of protest to my elected representatives. I found that keeping current complicated my life and that I was really much happier not knowing.

Similarly, when I started writing for Asian-American Village Online, I knew that if I got back up to date on Asian Pacific American issues and politics, I would be irritated and indignant and would occasionally not like white people—including my husband—very much. I warned my Caucasian husband that part of the price of being current would be my taking out my frustrations on him. He said that would be alright. AAV editor Stewart David Ikeda said I could focus quietly on family and lifestyles, art and culture, but then laughed at the increasingly strident tones and strong opinions that keep sneaking through.

I keep hearing myself say, "I am not very political…" Yet I continue to find myself in the middle of political discussions and campaigns.

But I do not want to be political.

I "did politics" in college, isn’t that enough? I recently remembered (I had completely blocked it out of my mind) that in college, I worked on the Mondale-Ferraro campaign. I worked at the Democratic convention in San Francisco. I worked at the polls on election day. I got involved in a student government campaign. I went to rallies protesting apartheid in South Africa. I used to boycott grapes, Nestle, and companies that did business in South Africa. My parents used to study the faces of the UC Berkeley protesters being dragged away to jail on the television news, afraid to see my face among them. (Actually I was careful never to get arrested. I also never took drugs for the same reason. "What if I want to run for public office some day?" That is pretty funny now, in retrospect.)

Now I try very hard not to listen, not to care. I resist and resist until I just cannot stand it any more. Then I stay up all night writing a flurry of letters and articles of protest and support. I send mass emails out in a panic to all my family, friends, and passing acquaintances about urgent news like the anti-Gore "Daisy" commercial. Then with the breaking of dawn, I lumber back into blissful hibernation again.

I knew a woman in women’s studies who used to say, "Every breath you take, every choice you make is political." It made a lot of sense to me when she said it. But now I am embarrassed about politics the way some people became embarrassed about feminism a few years ago. I do not want my actions to have further meaning. I want things to be simple.

I remember that day I spent sitting in the polls on election day somewhere in Oakland in 1984. My job was to track who was coming in to vote so that the Democrats could go to the homes of those registered Democrats who had not yet voted to roust them to the polls. It really opened my eyes.

I remember an African American man in his 80’s who could not read and needed assistance to vote. He kept saying, "Mondale. I want to vote for Mondale." When they asked him if he wanted to vote for any of the other offices or ballot issues, he said ok, he would vote for Willie Brown, a prominent African American politician who was then Speaker of the California State Assembly and not up for election in Oakland.

A 50-ish African American woman came in wearing her bathrobe and fluffy slippers. She said she was sick and home from work that day, but she forced herself to go vote because she did not want Mondale to lose by one vote—her vote.

There was also a Republican who was running for some local office in that district who came in to vote for himself, all flash and fancy clothes, phony smiles and vigorous handshakes. He was such a glaring contrast to all the other voters in that low-income neighborhood.

This past weekend, while talking about the election with some dinner guests, my husband said that he almost never votes—only if there is some local proposition about which he cares. I was shocked. Offended even. How could I not know this after being married for ten years? He is usually the one who is more informed than I am. I may not always be up on current or local issues, but I always vote in the national elections (except for once when I was overseas and requested an absentee ballot which did not arrive until six months after the election). I had sent him the web address of where he could register to vote online and get an absentee ballot, and I could not understand why he would not register since it was so easy. Now that I know, I am really hurt that a well-educated person would choose not to vote.

My family went to a lot of trouble so that I could be free in America. My grandfather fought in China’s Nationalist Air Force (with the Flying Tigers with American planes and American training) in the Sino-Japanese War and in China’s Civil War so that China could be free; my family fled China on the last boat and plane to Taiwan; my grandparents and their friends saved all their money to give my parents boat fare to America; my parents studied hard so that they could come to America as students; my parents worked three and four jobs to support themselves while studying in America; my parents gave birth to me in America so that I could be a natural-born citizen. ("You can be President someday because you were born in America. We can’t because we are only naturalized citizens.") If any one of these many steps were changed, I might not have the luxury of sitting in my dull suburban four bedroom home trying to decide if I should drive my three kids in my boring blue minivan to the polls today.

That is just my own family. If you broaden the scope to include all Asian Pacific Americans, then the contributions and sacrifices become staggering—from the court cases fighting for our rights of citizenship to the Nisei in the 442nd/100th. Voting, writing letters, and keeping informed can hardly be considered sacrifices in comparison. It's a debt we owe to them.

My children have been talking about the elections at their pre-school. They learned about the candidates (Bush likes French food, Gore likes cookies; one likes dogs, the other likes cats), the parties (they made elephant and donkey puppets), and ballots. They have been voting on everything from stories to snacks for the past week. They are having a school-wide election today. In addition to Bush and Gore, they also have a local independent candidate who is favored to win—Bernie the Bear. I think it is so cool that my kids are learning about this at such a young age. I certainly did not until fourth or fifth grade, and all I remember was the eighth grade civics teacher going to all the classes telling us not to vote for someone just because he has a pretty wife. (Did I mention that Bernie the Bear is a girl bear?) I showed my girls the work we have been doing at Asian-American Village with the Candidates Q&A (not the content, just the pictures), and I gave them "I make the difference" APIA Vote 2000 stickers that they shared with their friends.

They are so proud of me. I am so proud of them.

So stop fighting it. Go vote.