So much at stake: Why I dragged my kids along when voting in the US

Americans often talk as though they invented democracy. This annoyed me for a long time, though probably not as much as it annoys the Greeks. Yet when I voted in my first US election recently, I found the experience to be surprisingly moving. In the weeks since, I’ve tried to unpack why.

Australians, who invented the secret ballot and led the world in women’s suffrage, tend to wear our politics more lightly. This is why we call our leaders “ScoMo” and “Albo”, while Americans still routinely use honorifics for theirs. The British share our disdain for fanfare. When a UK tabloid compared Liz Truss’s political longevity to a wilting head of lettuce, Americans responded with glee, but I also observed in their reaction a sense of surprise. It had simply never occurred to them that you could be that flippant about a political leader. “Maybe we’re too hung up on the titles,” an American friend mused. “We need to humanise our rulers, not deify them.”

Loading

All of this is to say that I – along with many Americans and the rest of the world – harbour profound reservations about the current state of American politics. And showing up to vote in the midterm elections, I was somewhere between apathetic and disconcerted, or maybe a blend of the two.

I had expected it to feel different to voting in Australia, but it was very similar. For one, the process took place in the cramped confines of a primary school’s assembly hall – below a stage which has no doubt seen countless Christmas pageants and slightly butchered performances of I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General. In both countries, I am filled with admiration for the volunteers on democracy’s frontlines: those who care enough to support their candidates outside the hall, and those inside who make things run smoothly.

It was against this dramatic backdrop that I was insistent my children view this as a momentous occasion.

Certainly, there were fewer voters in Speedos and thongs. None, in fact, but that’s probably because US elections always take place in November, on the cusp of winter. The biggest difference was that it was impossible not to be aware of the stakes, which were perilously high. There was a very real sense that, as in 2020, democracy itself was on the ballot. After all, the insurrection of January 6, 2021 was still a very recent memory – and there were plenty of candidates running across the country who sought to undermine the fundamental premise that every vote counts.

Loading

It was against this dramatic backdrop that I was insistent my children view this as a momentous occasion: dragging them along, making them wait in line, holding my how-to-vote cards. Then we went for ice-cream afterwards so they could associate elections with joy. (Voting is not compulsory, so you start the hard sell early.)