The Fading Flag: How Civic Duty Lost its Shine

On a national scale, the 2008 election was sort of a big deal. Barack Obama won the presidency and became the first African-American president in US history. I remember watching the debates between Obama and McCain with great interest. The 2008 presidential election was important, but a California proposition, also on the ballot that year, would end up having a much greater impact on my life. Proposition 8 sought to make gay marriage illegal in California.

The citizens of California passed Prop 8 (52.47% for and 47.53% against). But opponents fought it all the way to the Supreme Court, eventually contributing to the legalization of gay marriage across the United States. My path to “radicalization” began in the months before Prop 8 passed.

Let’s set the scene. In 2008, I was 10 years old. My parents did not agree on much; in fact, it was not until I was in my late teens that I can recall them having a conversation that did not devolve into yelling. Prop 8 was no exception. My dad is a life-long member of the LDS (Mormon) church, and at the time, I considered myself to be one too, despite not being baptized and only attending every other week. When my dad went door to door in my hometown encouraging people to vote “Yes,” I went with him. The church said gay marriage was wrong and the church was always right. That was as much thought as I put into it.

Later, back at my mom’s house, I proudly told her what we had done. This resulted in a foundational conversation for my life. We discussed how all people were made in God’s image, even those who looked, acted, or believed different than us. We discussed the separation of church and state. We discussed how Jesus treated others with love and respect. I gained two things that day: passion for engagement in democracy and deep empathy for those who are different from me.

In the years that followed, I paid attention each election. I watched debates and researched propositions. In middle school, I started to study the Bible in depth for the first time. I took classes on the founding documents and logic, and while concurrently enrolled in college classes, I took political science and sociology. I longed to turn 18 so I could vote, serve on a jury, and volunteer to help run a polling place. 

As soon as I could (the day after my 18th birthday), I registered to vote as an independent. I already knew that I would never vote for a candidate just because a group said I should. I wouldn’t vote based on party, but I would look at people as individuals. By this point, the 2016 presidential primaries were already in full swing. I watched with growing anxiety as a man who openly mocked the disabled, disparaged minorities, and joked about sexually assaulting women (amongst other misogynistic comments) gained popularity. 

Even though I leaned closer to a conservative stance, I did not vote for Donald Trump in 2016, but I did not vote for Hillary Clinton either. I voted third-party that year, believing that every vote counted. When it was announced that Donald Trump had won, despite losing the popular vote (something that has only happened five times in US history), I was shocked. I didn’t agree with Clinton’s policies, but I believed her to be a good person. I could not say the same of Trump.

My disgust for him and many members of the Republican party only grew. Men and women who had stood against him one by one joined his side. I watched as the aisle between parties grew wider and wider.

I volunteered at a polling place during the 2020 election, despite the fact that I was getting married two days later and really ought to have been preparing for that. It was the third election I had worked, and due to other the circumstances, the last I have. Once again, I found myself facing a candidate I believed was a good person (despite not agreeing with all of his policies), and one I not only did not like but believed to be dangerous for our country. I did not vote for Donald Trump in 2020, but I did not vote for Joe Biden either. I again voted third-party, believing that voting for what I agreed with was better than voting against what I disagreed with.

And then I watched in horror as Trump supporters attacked the Capitol building. I believed that Trump was dangerous to democracy, but never did I imagine he was that dangerous. I sat helpless, watching it all unfold from behind a screen on the other side of the country. Part of me believed that the attack would be the final nail in the coffin. Surely people would see what I had seen for years.

It became obvious during Biden’s term that wouldn’t be the case. I watched Christians and non-Christians alike continue to praise Trump, continue to bemoan a stolen election, continue to apologize for or wave away his actions. I despaired more and more for my country. I still participated in local and state elections as a voter, but the luster was fading. Instead of looking forward to the 2024 election, I felt a growing sense of dread as it approached. 

I once again was faced with the choice between a person I respected and another I had come to believe was truly evil. I did not vote for Donald Trump in 2024; I did, however, vote for Kamala Harris. For the first time in my life, I voted based on party. For the first time, I voted against a person. For the first time, I found myself picking candidates based on who they were or were not affiliated with. I voted for Harris as a last hope, a plea for democracy to stand.

Since I was child I have wanted to engage in democracy. From the moment I had the chance, democracy has been on fire. Part of me cries for the child I was. For the zeal I had that was lost.

I have my own children now. I hope I’m able to teach them what a good leader looks like. I hope by the time they are able to vote in 15 and 17 years they have a better go of it than me. I hope they see value in every person. I hope they feel like their voices are heard.