Editor’s Note: The Federal Voting Assistance Program has designated Oct. 12 to 18 this year as Absentee Voting Week as a reminder for overseas voters to mark and return their absentee ballots. The following is a commentary on how the author was reminded about the importance of her vote when she was stationed in Washington, D.C., during an election year in the 1980s.
Sitting conspicuously alone at a Vietnamese restaurant, I was waiting for my friend, Nah, who was born in Vietnam. She was late as usual and when she eventually showed, it was with an apologetic smile and a quick, “Chrissy, I’m sorry.”
As she plopped down and before we could even comment on the weather, the waitress asked for our order.
The conversation, or more accurately, the battle, began innocently enough, with Nah explaining that she had registered to vote that afternoon. Having just become a new U.S. citizen, Nah was excited about the whole voting process.
“I thought registering to vote would really be complicated. But, I filled in all the information, showed my certificate of naturalization, gave my oath and that was it. It took five minutes, if that.
“…I’ve been trying to read about the views of the presidential candidates,” Nah continued, without taking a breath. “It takes me over an hour to read one article. I have stacks and stacks,” using her hands, she exaggerates on how tall they are, “of newspapers and magazines to read. I just hope I can figure out who I’m going to vote for before the election. I’m not sure who…”
Oh no, not again. I was tired of this
“voting craze” not just from Nah, but from everyone. Even John Cougar Mellencamp, the guy who sang “Hurt So Good” was
telling me that I should vote and that my vote counted. Who was he kidding? My one little vote meant absolutely nothing in the big scheme of things.
“Chrissy?” Nah’s voice got weaker. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited about it, and I’ve never done it before. And, I … I just want to talk about it.”
I lowered my eyes. Played with my fork. “I know.”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it, I ….” Nah suddenly stopped talking. Then, she asked, “Have you registered to vote?”
Far too quick, I said, “No.”
“No,” Nah repeated, as if it was the most inconceivable notion she had ever heard of.
I realized my mistake. “In the military, we use the absentee ballot because we move around so much.”
My stalling had worked because just then, the waitress brought us our food. And, Nah respected my wishes and changed the conversation to a safer topic.
Nah had just gotten a job as a secretary and was taking night classes to become a computer programmer. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t enjoy the
conversation. I had never lied to Nah. I mean I didn’t come right out and tell her that I wasn’t going to vote, but I knew she thought I was going to.
I couldn’t bear it any longer. “Nah, I’m not voting this year.” Or any other year for that matter, I added only to my thoughts.
She didn’t say anything.
“Nah, it’s not that big of a deal.”
In a voice that didn’t seem to belong to her, Nah said, “My parents would have given anything to have been able to vote.”
“This isn’t Vietnam. What happened there won’t ever happen here.”
“How can you be so sure? America is young compared to most countries.” She didn’t name Vietnam, but it was understood.
“Age has absolutely nothing to do with it.” I was proud at how quick I
dismissed her argument.
She didn’t look at me. She just sat there, staring. “What does it have to do with?
“Strength. America is strong.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why is America a strong country?”
I had expected Nah to be angry, not to question me in a cold, calculated way.
“Because the people have the power, not the government,” I said, again proud – I remembered something from junior high.
Quick as a mountain lion, Nah leaped toward her prey. “How do the people exercise that power?”
It was over.
I knew the answer, and of course, Nah knew the answer. But, neither of us said
anything. We just stared at each other. The waitress cleared our table and asked us if we wanted anything. Neither of us acknow-ledged her. After a few seconds, she left.
Then, I dropped my eyes and quietly said, “They vote.”
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Editor’s Note: The Federal Voting Assistance Program has designated Oct. 12 to 18 this year as Absentee Voting Week as a reminder for overseas voters to mark and return their absentee ballots. The following is a commentary on how the author was reminded about the importance of her vote when she was stationed in Washington, D.C., during an election year in the 1980s.
Sitting conspicuously alone at a Vietnamese restaurant, I was waiting for my friend, Nah, who was born in Vietnam. She was late as usual and when she eventually showed, it was with an apologetic smile and a quick, “Chrissy, I’m sorry.”
As she plopped down and before we could even comment on the weather, the waitress asked for our order.
The conversation, or more accurately, the battle, began innocently enough, with Nah explaining that she had registered to vote that afternoon. Having just become a new U.S. citizen, Nah was excited about the whole voting process.
“I thought registering to vote would really be complicated. But, I filled in all the information, showed my certificate of naturalization, gave my oath and that was it. It took five minutes, if that.
“…I’ve been trying to read about the views of the presidential candidates,” Nah continued, without taking a breath. “It takes me over an hour to read one article. I have stacks and stacks,” using her hands, she exaggerates on how tall they are, “of newspapers and magazines to read. I just hope I can figure out who I’m going to vote for before the election. I’m not sure who…”
Oh no, not again. I was tired of this
“voting craze” not just from Nah, but from everyone. Even John Cougar Mellencamp, the guy who sang “Hurt So Good” was
telling me that I should vote and that my vote counted. Who was he kidding? My one little vote meant absolutely nothing in the big scheme of things.
“Chrissy?” Nah’s voice got weaker. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited about it, and I’ve never done it before. And, I … I just want to talk about it.”
I lowered my eyes. Played with my fork. “I know.”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it, I ….” Nah suddenly stopped talking. Then, she asked, “Have you registered to vote?”
Far too quick, I said, “No.”
“No,” Nah repeated, as if it was the most inconceivable notion she had ever heard of.
I realized my mistake. “In the military, we use the absentee ballot because we move around so much.”
My stalling had worked because just then, the waitress brought us our food. And, Nah respected my wishes and changed the conversation to a safer topic.
Nah had just gotten a job as a secretary and was taking night classes to become a computer programmer. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t enjoy the
conversation. I had never lied to Nah. I mean I didn’t come right out and tell her that I wasn’t going to vote, but I knew she thought I was going to.
I couldn’t bear it any longer. “Nah, I’m not voting this year.” Or any other year for that matter, I added only to my thoughts.
She didn’t say anything.
“Nah, it’s not that big of a deal.”
In a voice that didn’t seem to belong to her, Nah said, “My parents would have given anything to have been able to vote.”
“This isn’t Vietnam. What happened there won’t ever happen here.”
“How can you be so sure? America is young compared to most countries.” She didn’t name Vietnam, but it was understood.
“Age has absolutely nothing to do with it.” I was proud at how quick I
dismissed her argument.
She didn’t look at me. She just sat there, staring. “What does it have to do with?
“Strength. America is strong.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why is America a strong country?”
I had expected Nah to be angry, not to question me in a cold, calculated way.
“Because the people have the power, not the government,” I said, again proud – I remembered something from junior high.
Quick as a mountain lion, Nah leaped toward her prey. “How do the people exercise that power?”
It was over.
I knew the answer, and of course, Nah knew the answer. But, neither of us said
anything. We just stared at each other. The waitress cleared our table and asked us if we wanted anything. Neither of us acknow-ledged her. After a few seconds, she left.
Then, I dropped my eyes and quietly said, “They vote.”