I will enter a polling station in Washington, D.C., in several days and vote for the first time. The thought of filling in a ballot may be mundane for millions of Americans who have done it (or forgotten or merely not bothered to do it) routinely every two or four years for all of their eligible lives. But there is nothing mundane about the prospect of participating in a democratic election. Not for me. This coming election will mark the first time in my life I will vote. I had not anticipated how profoundly moving I would find this.
I became a U.S. citizen in 2022, but my journey here began much earlier. Until recently I was a citizen of Sudan where, for the entirety of my life, free elections have never taken place. For all of my thirty-six years the notion of voting — the idea of participating in a real democratic process — was as remote as a dream. I have such reverence for democracy and for the democratic process that I made a career out of democracy activism and democracy consultation. It has been my honor to assist others in building, fortifying, and augmenting their democracies across the globe. For years I have fought for precious democratic structures and goods that I myself have never fully enjoyed.
In the weeks before this election I have found myself meditating on what that right — that privilege! — means to me. My vote will not be the one that tips the scales in Washington, D.C., where the electoral outcome is a foregone conclusion. The district has long been reliably blue. But for all that, I feel anticipation, pride, and a sense of solemn responsibility. For me, this vote isn’t solely about exercising my civic duty in the United States; it is an expression of reverence for democracy — for me personally and for the whole world.
Having fought for years for Sudanese democracy and rights activists, I have seen how devastating silencing the people’s voice can be. We have watched in Sudan as elections, when they happened at all, were anything but free or fair due to manipulation, oppression, and coercion. Indeed, for decades, the people of Sudan have lived under autocratic rule, and we continue to endure the brutal effects of conflict and war. The human cost (perhaps you’ve heard of it?) runs to millions of displaced people, innumerable deaths, and whole communities torn apart. Today, Sudan is once again embroiled in a brutal civil war for which there is presently no end in view.
The right to vote — the right to peacefully select our leaders and determine our destiny — is a right I have dreamed about all my life. It is a right that billions around the world, including so many in Sudan, continue to be denied. Yet here in the United States many take it for granted. I have seen far too many people, disillusioned by partisan divisions or disheartened by the imperfections of the system, dismiss the value of voting altogether. It is very easy to become cynical about politics, especially when the process feels controlled by special interests, money, or gerrymandering. But Americans do not have the right to allow the imperfections in our system to blind them to the astonishing privilege into which most were born.
Often these days I find myself mentally begging my fellow Americans to remember that to vote is not only a right but a responsibility. It is the primary, overwhelming responsibility which comes with the great honor of being a citizen in a democratic country. In the seconds it takes me to draw my pen across a host of boxes in a few days time, I will be standing in solidarity with those who can’t. And I will be the emissary in that moment for all the millions of Sudanese citizens who never had the chance to know what democracy feels like. I’ll be thinking about those activists, those refugees, those displaced families — the people who view the United States as a model of what democracy ought to look like. Is our system imperfect? Absolutely. But I don’t know a better one, and I’ve been around.
I hope every American, whether they’re in a battleground state or a reliably blue or red district, comprehends the weight of their vote. Even in places like D.C., where the outcome seems clear, the act of voting is a powerful statement. It’s a way of affirming our commitment to the democratic process. It’s a way of saying, “I believe in this system, flawed as it may be, and I will continue to participate because I know how easily it can be taken away.” And fellow Americans, believe me: it can be taken away. Even here. Even this year.
I have longed for this moment for thirty-six years. I will not squander it. I will not belittle it. This is no small thing. Americans must strain to see the rights they enjoy through the eyes of the mass of human beings the world over who long for them. Americans, we are lucky that a ballot box can shape our futures – not violence, coercion, oppression, and vain resistance: a vote.
When we vote the world watches. The reverberations of our choices shake and shape the globe. I know what it is like to read the papers and watch the news shows in countries far away when Americans hold their elections. When we cast our ballots we should think of the billions who look to America as a standard for what democracy ought to be, and as an ideal that they can fight and pray for and dream of. For me, and for so many others, a vote is a sacred act, a beacon of hope. And so should it be for all of us.