How Can I Vote For The Party That Doesn't See Me?

How Can I Vote for the Party That Doesn’t See Me?

How can I possibly be a woman of color — both white and Black — and have walked through every issue known to man, and then turn around and vote for Republicans that don’t support me or what I’ve been through?

I can’t. I just can’t be for Republicans, or for people that allowed things to happen to those that are part of my race.

I’ve been through it. Shelter in 2023. Waitlists. Eugene Police Department showing me racism and the criminal justice system up close. Walking into that courthouse in Eugene and seeing a sea of white faces on the wall, generation after generation, and not one that looked like me. Realizing the system was built without us in mind.

I’m biracial. I’ve lived California and Oregon. I’ve been “too Black” for some rooms and “too white” for others. I’ve been criminalized. I’ve battled mental health. I’ve clawed my way back while people told me to keep quiet and be grateful.

So how do I look at a party that fights DEI, that bans books about my history, that calls Juneteenth “woke,” that makes it harder for people like me to vote, and say, “Yes, that’s for me”?

But working hard doesn’t mean I have to vote against my own story. It doesn’t mean I have to pretend voter suppression didn’t happen. It doesn’t mean I have to forget who was in office when I watched Black men get profiled, when mental health was treated like a crime, when the courts looked just like that wall in Eugene.

I believe in the education system. I believe in doing things in my community. I believe we rise by lifting each other, not by pulling the ladder up. And when I look at policy after policy — on healthcare, on housing, on police accountability, on whether my ancestors’ history can even be taught — I don’t see my life reflected in the Republican platform. I see my struggle ignored. I see my people blamed.

People say, “But you’re half white.” As if that erases the other half. As if the cops see “biracial” before they see “Black.” As if the courthouse walls made room for me because my mother is white. They didn’t.

I can’t vote for the people who were quiet when it mattered. Who called it “law and order” when it was really “you and us.” Who tell me to get over 2023, get over Eugene, get over the portraits that never included me.

I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m asking for equal treatment. I’m asking for a government that sees what I’ve been through and doesn’t legislate like it never happened.

So no. I can’t do it. I can’t walk through fire and then vote for the arsonist. I can’t be a woman of color and hand my ballot to the people who debate whether my history should be taught, whether my vote should count, whether my life matters.

I work hard. I have faith. I believe in God’s timing and in unity, like the Bahá’ís teach. But faith without works is dead. And my vote is my work.

I vote for the people who don’t need me to shrink to fit in their America. Because I’m done shrinking.

* Cathryn M Murray Harris.