I’m a Black Woman Who Can’t Vote—Here’s What the 2024 Election Means to Me

Driving to school with my mum was nothing out of the ordinary. I’d ask her why I needed to know quadratic equations, and she’d come up with some hypothetical situation where I’d need to know them, and I would ask her what was for dinner. Every time we pulled up into the drop-off loop, she would tell me to make good choices, to remember that education was a privilege and something to be grateful for, and that I had the power to be a positive force in the world.

The drive to school on the morning of Wednesday, November 9, 2016, wasn’t like other morning drives. The air was thick and heavy, almost suffocating. While my mum tried to hide her fear behind a smile and some dark humor, we both knew that she was worried for her future and for mine. At drop-off, instead of her usual speech, she told me she loved me, but those words felt more like an apology than a declaration.

The 2016 election altered my worldview

Despite growing up in Canada, I wasn’t insulated from the political happenings in the United States—I often felt like I grew up in the 51st state. As political extremism spread like wildfire through the United States, it permitted those same extremist beliefs to become a part of everyday life in Canada. Kids I had known since pre-school were telling me to “go back to where I came from.” Boys I had known my whole life asked me as I passed them in the halls “If my pussy looked white or black since I was mixed.” I had family members making remarks that we needed someone like Donald Trump to run the Canadian government. Overnight, a place where I felt safe and accepted turned into a battleground where right and wrong were separated by a minefield of hateful, bigoted, and arrogant comments.

When Joe Biden won on November 3, 2020, I felt as if I took my first breath after having held it for four years. Ironically, November 3 is my birthday, and as I celebrated my 19th year, a part of my inner child was revived from watching someone who looked like me actively be part of the solution. To have that same woman not only be the first female President but be proudly Afro-Indian while doing it would be a shining example that, just like my mother said, I could be a positive force in the world, and that’s exactly what my terrified 15-year-old self needed.

“Overnight, a place where I felt safe and accepted turned into a battleground where right and wrong were separated by a minefield of hateful, bigoted, and arrogant comments.”

While it would be cool to have someone who looks like me hold such a powerful position, that’s not the reason why I support Harris in the 2024 election. It’s because, above all else, she leads with hope and reminds us that it is a necessary ingredient in creating change and that with it, anything is achievable.

How the 2024 election heightens my fear

I didn’t think it would be possible to have a day evoke more fear than the day after the 2016 election, but life has a way of surprising you. The fear I felt at 15 years old was intensified by 100 percent on July 1, 2024, when the Supreme Court granted presidential immunity. It was the ultimate betrayal from a group of people I trusted to have my and the nation’s best interests in mind. It was nauseating knowing what Trump was capable of after January 6—and, that if he was elected in 2024, he would be allowed to turn to violence.

I remember calling my mum crying and repeating, “It isn’t fair.” It felt like I was watching a tornado rip through a town tearing everything in its path to pieces, and I was terrified to see what the aftermath would look like in the 2024 election. I had graduated college a mere two months prior, and I was angry that, instead of discovering how I could make my mark on the world, I was worrying about history repeating itself.

“When navigating hard conversations with individuals who had differing political views, I found myself surrendering to those emotions rather than leaning into patience and understanding.”

While I had anxiety, fearing the results of the 2020 election, that has only multiplied with this upcoming election. My life is no longer in Canada, but here in the United States. I have a job, home, and relationships that not only tie me to the U.S. but have made me increasingly invested in this country’s well-being, and selfishly, I don’t want to be forced to go back to Canada when I have just started creating the life I’ve dreamed of living in New York City since I was 11 years old.

I’m a permanent resident of the U.S. as of August 2023, so while I’m here long-term and one day will probably become a citizen, I have not and continue not to have the privilege of voting. While I was completing my college degree virtually in 2020 and dreaming of finally moving to the U.S., I also felt powerless as a non-voter who was incredibly emotionally invested in the election results. My anxiety about the election in 2024 is the fact I cannot vote, and so much more is at stake than in 2020—and I remember how relieved I felt four years ago.

Why Harris’s campaign speaks to my core values

While Harris supports the reinstatement of Roe V. Wade, medicare-for-all, the banning of assault weapons, and bans on gouging grocery items, and do not get me wrong, all that is a huge relief—her ability to speak, respond, and unite a group of people together while at a disadvantage simply because of her gender and race is what is most inspiring.

Throughout the past eight years, I’ve felt many emotions—anger, fear, betrayal, to name a few. When navigating hard conversations with individuals who had differing political views, I found myself surrendering to those emotions rather than leaning into patience and understanding. Recently, however, I’m experiencing a new emotion, perhaps the most powerful emotion anyone can feel: hope.

Those feelings of anger, fear, and betrayal have now transformed and been replaced with confidence, determination, and understanding, all driven by Harris’s hope and joy. A conversation I often find myself in is the defense that mixed-race individuals “shift” between ethnicities to whichever gives them the most benefits at that moment. I’ve been able to articulate why that narrative is hurtful from my experience being a mixed-race person, in the hopes of educating rather than continuing a cycle of anger that only furthers the divide. I got so used to feeling powerless in politics after that day in 2016. Now, with Harris at the helm of the Democratic party, I feel hopeful about the 2024 election.

A Black, female President would give me hope

When I was a little girl, I believed my mum when she told me I could be anything I wanted to be. While I still believe I can achieve anything I set my mind to, the goals I’m setting have become significantly more realistic and have been dictated by the way I look and how the world perceives me.

The statement “if a Black woman becomes president” is something even two generations ago wouldn’t dare think, let alone ask. I feel so lucky to live in a world where I don’t have to guard that idea safely in my head, but instead get to say it out loud. I’m thankful that Kamala Harris never settled for what others said was “realistic,” both before and during her 2024 election campaign.

So, while I don’t drive to school with my mum anymore, a call from me during my evening walk is nothing out of the ordinary. I tell her about the conversation I overheard as I was waiting for the subway, ask if I should apply to grad school, and share that I’m scared I won’t ever meet my person. Like clockwork, every time we end the call, just like at school drop-off, she tells me to make good choices and that I have the power to be a positive force in the world. I hope the call on Wednesday, November 6, 2024, ends the exact same way with an added amount of overflowing relief and joy—instead of a loss for words and an apologetic “I love you.”