My African-American friends and family encourage me to vote for Barack because he is extraordinary and different and a voice for change and oh, did they mention … black. As just one registered voter out of millions, why do I have to tell everyone I know who I am voting for? I cannot help but feel that my character hangs in the balance. If I vote for Hillary, I am turning my back on my race, or, worse, I’m a self-hating black. If I vote for Barack, I am forsaking women and any hope of gender equality—ever. For the first time in my life, I wish I were a white man. At least then I wouldn’t have to bear the joint legacies of racism and sexism on my back.
I have to confess, the pressure got to me so badly that I was unable to vote in my state’s primary, even though I lied to several people and said I did. I couldn’t pull the lever against a potential black president—or a woman. I felt that I had to stand for one “ism” over another, and I couldn’t handle it. But if I thought I could sit back and enjoy the campaign post-primary, I was wrong. People still won’t leave me alone.
Despite a well-crafted appearance of world-weary cynicism, I suddenly felt naive and flummoxed trying to make a decision about whom to vote for. I thought we had gotten past much of the tribalism that allows racism and sexism to thrive. But everybody I know seems to be taking orders from some exclusive group—whether it is race- or gender-based—and I feel as though my allegiance is somewhere in the middle. Then I had an epiphany: I was playing the worst kind of identity politics. The truth is that I’ve always known which candidate I preferred. I was just too cowardly to admit it—afraid that someone would take some membership card away from me. I didn’t feel this conflicted when I married a white man, so why was I torturing myself over the Democratic nominee for president? Because in trying to cast my vote solely on the basis of the color of my skin or my gender, I had fallen for the sort of group-think that fosters racism and sexism and all the other “isms,” too. In the past, I’ve used the courage of my convictions and the strength of my own character to combat stereotypes and succeed. I think it’s time I tried that again.
So, here I go: I’m a Hillary supporter. Why? Because I like her, and I trust her, and identity politics aside, she has been a great senator from New York and I believe she has the intelligence and the experience to bring the country forward.
I feel awful that I skipped the primary, but that’s what I get for being a coward. By being too scared to speak my mind, I botched my civic duty and turned my vote into a game: “Who is Raina voting for today?” In the process, I denied everybody, including myself, the intellectual complexity that makes the truth so much more interesting than fiction. I’ve been a black female for as long as I can remember and I don’t see that changing after Nov. 4. Four years ago I had friends and family who voted for Bush, Nader and Kerry, and I still speak to all of them. I think I’ll afford myself the same luxury. If anyone does want to judge me by which lever I pull, so be it. I’m brave now. I can vote for whomever I choose, which is what I should have done a month ago.
