by Hannah Riffe

I traveled home to Cincinnati this past weekend in hopes of getting to vote for the 2012 presidential election in early. I had procrastinated on getting my absentee ballot and had an urge to get off campus anyway so I figured I would vote in person. As I made it to downtown I was surprised to see that most of the city was dead, barely a person in sight, and on a Saturday afternoon this was uncommon. But as soon as I turned my car towards the Elections Board building I knew why the rest of the city was quiet. It seemed as though everybody in the downtown area had converged to the two-block radius surrounding the only early polling site. I parked and sat in my car just looking at the barely moving line and tried to convince myself that it wasn’t worth the wait. But I concluded that I had already driven two hours from Indianapolis, so what would another half hour be?

Three hours later when I finally dropped my freshly marked ballot into its box and received my “I Voted!” sticker I had never felt more accomplished. I stood alone in line for three hours shivering in 40-degree weather as the sky kept spitting out rain. Being a 21-year-old young white female alone in a predominantly African-American crowd I was uncomfortable. Not scared, not suspicious, just uncomfortable. Those handing out political propaganda and the politicians continuously ignored me because they either didn’t care about my vote or decided in their mind that I was going to vote a certain way. But I did it. I voted. Don’t get me wrong, every 20 minutes or so I decided I was just going to get out of line and go back to the car with heated seats and drive to the closest Starbucks for a grande hot chocolate. But I didn’t. And I want to say it was all because of my own will power and convictions but really it was peer pressure. I was surrounded by so many people who were so excited and so willing to wait even more than three hours to vote for somebody they truly believed in. I was not only inspired by their dedication but also slightly ashamed of my indifference. But that indifference slowly faded away as I was able to think (three hours is a long time) about why I was voting.

In a phone conversation with my dad a few days before I admitted that I felt that my vote wouldn’t even matter. He immediately said, “Do you know where you come from? Cincinnati is one of the most democratic cities situated in one of the most republican counties, in one of the biggest battleground states. Your vote may change the whole election!” Well, when he put it that way how could I not vote? But I was still conflicted on who to vote for. I knew that my personal beliefs aligned strongly with one candidate but my parents’ aligned with the other. In those three long hours I struggled on what my ballot would say. Most of the people in line with me were open and proud Obama supporters, so what would one vote for Romney really do? But on the other hand many of my core beliefs matched Obama’s stance on social issues. Do I vote for a candidate who could help my family and our economy or do I vote for a candidate I think will push our country into progress with social issues?

In the end all that matters is that I voted. I voted for the first time in a presidential election. I voted as a way to fulfill my civic duty as a US citizen. I voted for the women who came before me and sacrificed all they were for my rights. I voted for myself, for my beliefs, and for my future.