I was around 7-years old when I first heard the word “democracy.” It was in Civics class in my home country of Nicaragua and the teacher explained democracy means “the power of the people.” The fact that you had the power to influence the leadership of your city or country seemed almost magical.
Growing up, I took this power for granted. Until I no longer had it.
I moved to the United States six months ago. I’ve been astonished watching the ads and debates and impassioned speeches during this election cycle. Yet, as an immigrant who can’t vote here and who hasn’t voted in my country of birth due to political oppression, I stand on the sidelines, watching a process I can’t participate in.
It feels like being locked out of a room, where decisions about your life and future are being made, but you’re just in the hall, hearing every word but unable to speak.
I came to this country with a hope shared with many immigrants: a better future.
Specifically, a future free from the constraints and threats of a dictatorship. The United States is where I could practice journalism, ask questions and investigate. It’s where I can Write and tell the truth without fearing for attacks against my integrity.
In Nicaragua, elections are just theater.
I’ve only known one president my whole life. The idea of casting a vote, one that could lead to change, was nothing more than an elaborate dream. The winner was decided before the ballots were even printed. There was no real opposition and no hopes for anything different than what we already had, and many people seemed fine with it.
Even President Joe Biden called out Ortega just two days after the 2021 elections results were given. Biden said it was a “sham election that was neither free nor fair, and certainly not democratic.”
Here in the U.S., I’ve found a different kind of barrier. The “land of the free” prides itself on being the land of democracy, but for many of us, that democratic promise is just out of reach.
I pay taxes, I contribute to my community. I care deeply about the policies that affect my life and the lives of my community. But when it comes to choosing the leaders who shape those policies, I don’t have a say.
Caring so much about the outcome of elections and yet knowing that, at the end of the day, you can’t do anything about it is frustrating. I listen to my family and friends talk about their choices. I read up on the candidates, follow the debates, and have strong opinions about who I think would make the best leader. But when they ask me if I’m voting, I can only smile and shake my head no.
People often forget that millions of immigrants live in this same situation.
The U.S Census Bureau estimates that there are at least 4.7 million immigrants in California who are unable to vote, who are affected by every law, every decision, and every election result, just like citizens are. But our voices are absent from the process. It feels like we are invisible, even though our lives here are as real and valid as anyone else’s.
There’s a certain irony in the fact that I fled a place where voting was meaningless, only to arrive in a country where I am unable to vote at all. It’s a reminder of how delicate democracy can be, and how easily one can be excluded from it.
Democracy is more than just a system of government, it’s a promise that every person has a voice, and that every voice matters.
I find myself involved in conversations about the future of the country, especially with elections happening in less than a month. The same main topics: immigration reform, healthcare, education and racial justice. These are the issues that affect my life, and yet, there’s little I can do about it. I can advocate for change, I can even raise awareness through my writing. But would that be enough or just pointless?
As the country moves through yet another election cycle, I will urge those who can vote to do so thoughtfully and with compassion, knowing that they hold the power that many of us don’t, while holding onto the hope that, one day, my voice will count too. Not just in conversations, but in the most democratic act of all: casting a vote.
