Voter suppression has been a truly parasitic entity in our country’s politics and I will concede that as a middle class white male I’m not experiencing it. However, I can’t think of a deeper form of voter suppression than running into your mom at your polling place.
Let’s go back to November 6th 2016 (JUST FOR LIKE A SECOND). I walk into this Methodist church an hour before the polls closed with the confidence of someone who always has their phone on “ringer.” I stand in line for about 20 minutes, and if you’re living with anxiety like me, you’re scanning the room hoping you don’t recognize anyone.
So far doing great.
I'm handed my ballot...
Start walking towards the booth...
With 4-6 steps remaining I get a tap on the shoulder...
Like a horror film I turn very slowly, so I can stall how long I have to react to whoever I’m about to see. I already gave it away, it’s my mom. We had barely talked about the election since we were of course going to be voting for two very different people.
Important side note: The last time (and this is true) I ever yelled at my mom was at the age of seven when Clay Aiken lost during season two of American Idol. Sobbing, I asked my mom if she voted, and she said no. I was so mad I threw our house phone across the living room. I’m so far 0-2 voting-wise.
Ballot in hand, my mom waves to me and says:
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to change your mind.”
“Yeah,” I rebut.
We then walk into our adjoining booths and cancel out each other’s vote.
-May 9th, 2018