Vote for Me!
And other absurdities that make sense.
Politicians are all the same. Voters are as well. If we are to keep the generalizations fair and balanced, voters would have to be similar to the questionable officials they chronically elect to office, without fail. The same politicians they angst about in the unending vortex of modern-day democracy.
It is easy to mark the failings of the political class while hopped-up on reluctance to illuminate the shortcomings of the voting public. If, as is widely lamented, politicians tend to be serial liars, master thieves, and disingenuous brutes who are good for nothing, then it stands to reason that certainly the voting populace, who, in full knowledge of these failings installs them to public positions of power — must be of that ilk.
Like attracts like. Regrettably, no one wants to admit it, and this is where things get sticky and stinky.
What do I know about politics? Enough that to win my vote politicians hold lavish rallies and sing their sweetest promise songs. They even dance the elect-me jig in hopes I would cast my X in their favor. Humbly, I think that their brave efforts embolden my perception as a qualified authority on this circus affair.
If my vote counts, my opinion must matter. On election day, my opinion translates into one vote. That vote amassed with a slew of others, when tallied in the winner’s favor will chart the course of the foreseeable future. A future that is shaped by the choices that we who exercise adult suffrage inevitably make.
While on election day every cast opinion counts, in the real world the speed at which said opinion can be negated if it doesn’t harmonize with the tunes sung by our illustrious pundits, is astounding. We live in a time when intelligence and independent thinking are celebrated until ideological differences present themselves. At that juncture, best believe one’s position will be challenged, discredited, and any surviving parts hung, drawn, and quartered.
The system is set up so that for democracy to live, all opposing views must die.
Evil and its lesser counterpart
My mind came to rest on the subject of politicians as this is the first time in my life that the theater of politics was playing out all around me so vividly. It is also the first time the impact of my vote felt heavy — necessary and fragile all at once.
In 2018, I left Barbados six months after Prime Minister Mia Mottley gloriously embroidered her name into history’s page by winning every parliamentary seat in the country’s House of Assembly. At the beginning of 2019, I had my first election experience in an African nation. Then in 2020, I left the U.S. amid their presidential elections to take up a management position at the only English language bookstore in Dakar, Senegal.
I recall my mail-in ballot sitting sprawled out on top of other important papers waiting for me to fill it out, but I never did. Couldn’t bring myself to after realizing that the popular choices on the ballot just weren’t ideologically in sync with what I wanted. Seeing the line-up of unknown candidates didn’t help to motivate me either. It reinforced what I always felt about the oppressive nature of democracy practiced stateside, which virtually mutes the voices of lesser-known potentially worthy candidates to bolster the ideology of the U.S. solely as a two-party nation.
At that time, folks were tired of President Donald Trump, the “orange guy” who, with the reins of power in his clutches, seemed unhinged as he led. Others felt seen, and by extension hopeful of Senator Kamala Harris, the bi-racial black woman, who, should she win, would make history as the first female Vice-President of the United States and a tally of other race and gender-related achievements.
When it comes to making political decisions, I’m not swayed by firsts, gender, age, sexual proclivities, or race. Competence, vision, and integrity are my influencers. Bouncing my reluctance off of friends and colleagues, I was inundated by the mantra, “You must vote!”
“But I don’t like any of the choices. There’s no clear, good choice.”
“Choose the lesser of the two evils.”
“What? Who does that?”
Plenty of people. Though it is hard to trace the point where evil or its lesser counterpart became contenders for leadership positions, as unimaginable as it seems, in today’s world, they are.
A mystery basket
On November 30, 2021, Barbados, the birth country of my mother, became the world’s newest republic. Less than two months after the historic occasion, Prime Minister Mia Mottley whose ruling Barbados Labour Party dominated 29 out of 30 possible parliamentary seats — called a snap election.
“You know what you got, yuh ain’t know what you gon get.” — Bajan Proverb
The masses were stunned. Two years before elections were constitutionally due Prime Minister Mottley cornered Barbadians — who were suffocating under the restrictions of pandemic protocols dictated by curfews, quarantines, cancellations of all kinds, and severe limits on the hosting of social activities island-wide — into doing the unimaginable, gathering to party.
Fundamentally political rallies are large gatherings that drum up — literally and figuratively — support for candidates of the contending parties. This type of socializing in the face of the established mandates surrounding the Battle of the Pandemic drew the ire of a watchful public that keenly noted the contradictions in messaging. It was one of a mounting list of do-as-I-say-but-not-as-I-do scenarios carried out by the Mottley-led government.
Interestingly, although Barbados became a new republic, it postponed the drafting of a new constitution. That too became a point of contention. Utterances about the exclusion of citizens in the decision-making matters of the nation made their rounds. A mounting perception of no vote, no voice blanketed the island leaving voters to wonder if their beloved democracy was turning into a dictatorship.
Not to be forgotten was the philosophical bacchanal caused by the conflict of interest surrounding Dame Sandra Mason’s new governmental post. The former operative for the British government — having served as governor-general, the intermediary of Queen Elizabeth II to Barbados — was installed as the first president of the new republic. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that the same person who represented the interests of the Crown now rules the former colony as its president. Just as the public’s vote is not warranted for the appointment of a governor-general, the Barbadian people played no part in electing President Sandra Mason either.
While these are but a few highlights of the master brew, on January 19, 2022, amidst record low voter turnout, the Mottley government won all 30 seats in its 2nd consecutive elections sweep. Bajans had not yet recovered from the old wounds inflicted by the dominant opposition Democratic Labour Party, whose leader, former prime minister Freundel Stuart, while campaigning further rubbed salt into said wounds by romanticizing his party’s time in power as “glorious”. Uncertain of Independent candidates and bobbing around in the uncharted waters of a rapidly morphing pandemic, the people of Barbados did that thing people tend to do when feeling overwhelmed and the popular party might be that lesser evil — or the best choice.
Now Barbados has a political basket with 30 parliamentary eggs in it — a one-sided government. With no opposition to balance out the scales of representation, praying hands are tightly clasped and fingers crossed.
Party people
In February 2019, I experienced my first African election in Senegal. Having been advised that it was a safer option, I returned to the Casamance from Dakar some weeks ahead of the big day. Although Senegal’s electoral process is among the safest in the world, it can be intense. Some 500 km south of the capital, I passed time with my host family in the village of Diakène Ouolof — learning about Diola culture and volunteering in their market garden.
Set-back from the banks of a nearby mangrove, Diakène Ouolof is a village of about 600 people. Located 30 minutes midway between the urban commune of Oussouye and the tourist town of Cap Skirring, as small as the village is, it commands respect in important affairs. Assembling under the large mango tree that hosted all of the village’s major events, Diakène Ouolof received its share of political hopefuls making campaign rounds.
The generator would be cranked up. Plastic chairs assembled. Tables set out with bottled water, sodas, and fruits. The DJ running the sound system would play music mixes of the latest Afrobeat tunes or Diola hits to set the ambiance. Children were always the first to arrive, stealing a moment to dance and play at the big-people event until it was time to relinquish their places to elders when they arrived. As the canvassing politicians rolled up in small-scale vehicle entourages, women of the village would dance and welcome them — draping their scarves around the necks of their guests while singing spirited songs.
With the arrival of different politicians came colorful palm-sized pamphlets listing each party’s promises. No need to go online to download long-drawn-out manifestos. Party aims were straight to the point. As were the speeches. No lot of long talk, just brief declarations with pauses for the singing and dancing that kept the event lively.
The people of Diakène Ouolof take politics seriously. Committed groups would organize rallies in support of their preferred candidate. Families were clear in the declaration of which political party was the party of their house. Family members with divergent views safeguarded their true feelings for the ballot box.
When I first visited Diakène Ouolof in December of 2018, no one had electricity — in the traditional sense. Some NGOs had donated solar panels and outfitted homes, but for many families, maintenance and repair costs for the solar electric systems were beyond their means. Barring a few families whose compounds were washed with light, everyone else was living in darkness.
The village hospital became the place where dying devices were brought back to life. With its functioning solar electric system and kind doctor, the facility served as a community charging station for mobile phones, and a few tablets.
Ran by a Senegalese and Spanish husband and wife couple, the culture center, guest house hybrid accommodation where I stayed had a generator which they would rev up for special events and Friday night movie screenings that catered to the viewing pleasure of the village’s children. During my stay at the lodging, their solar energy outfit functioned well enough to run the refrigerator but barely generated enough electricity to properly charge all of my devices and those of the other guests all at the same time.
In one of our conversations about the current, the Spanish owner drew it to my attention that the infrastructure to provide current to the village was already in place, but the powers that be were waiting until it was closer to elections before turning it on.
During the first week of February a political delegation from the ruling party came to the village campaigning. I was no longer staying at the guest house from my first visit. I was now with a host family that consisted of a pair of brothers, each with a wife, and children. Though their house was wired for electricity, their solar battery system had fallen into disrepair. In the evenings, after finishing their chores, the family’s school-age children would sit at the table around a single candle to do their homework. A portable solar lamp would light my room. At dinner time, cell phone flashlights would illuminate the communal bowl when we ate.
The evening of February 2, 2019, lives forever in my mind. On that evening just before sunset, the canvassing politician wrapped up his appearance and left the village. I sat with my host family in their front yard participating in our end-of-day ritual of bonding around an evening fire. The street lights came on.
At first, it didn’t register until it did. It was dusk, and the village was alight with warm blocks of luminance beaming down from the light poles. Ecstatic children were running up and down shouting celebration chants that welcomed the arrival of the long-awaited current. Election day was three weeks away.
I would come to learn that up to that point much of the Casamance, which can feel more akin to the neighboring nations of Guinea Bissau and the Gambia, was now receiving electricity for the first time. What I was witnessing was a region-wide and much-welcomed lighting program.
The verdant southern Casamance region, in contrast to the semiarid Sahel terrain of northern Senegal — felt as if it had been forgotten. When President Sall, in his second term re-election bid, visited the Casamance he was received with a welcome reserved for the return of a long-lost brother.
“Macky never comes to the Casamance. He is serious about his second term.”
Back then my French was spotty, but if you hear the same phrase repeatedly, you quickly learn its meaning.
My host family was die-hard President Sall supporters. On his visit to Oussouye, they insisted on wrapping me in the fabric of his party. We piled into a chartered Ndiaga Ndiaye bus that whisked us away from the village to join the festivities.
What a day that was! Under the Casamance sun in the center of the town, hundreds danced and celebrated the coming of their president. A popular music group entertained the crowd. Senegal’s larger-than-life national wrestling champion, Balla Gaye 2 made a silent guest appearance that was powerful enough to frenzy the audience. Sall gave his speech then crowned his delivery with a short sojourn a few meters down the street to pay a visit to the revered King of Oussouye, who represents the traditional powers of the Diola people.
President Sall would go on to secure re-election, but like the makings of an African epic, a young spark, Ousmane Sonko won the attention of those keenly aware that constitutionally — this second bid should be President Sall’s last term in office.
Who feels it knows. Who doesn’t know, will feel it.
On January 23, 2022, Senegal held its municipal and regional elections. I was in Dakar. Again, as seems to be my destiny, elections came my way.
The election of mayors and local representatives was viewed as a test of President Macky Sall and his party’s popularity — as the election for his successor is slated for 2024. Although this is Sall’s second term in office and constitutionally should be his last — the saga of politics posits otherwise.
The world is different now. A pandemic and a conspiracy theory are circulating, each with its variants. These past two years have heist-up the loincloths of leaders worldwide — exposing things that the observant among us are hardly surprised to learn. We are at a place where, in many nations, the needs and expectations of citizens are at an impasse with the words and deeds of elected officials.
Regardless of your party affiliation, undeniably things on the political stage are visibly becoming more contentious. The scenarios and cultures I’ve presented are all different. The histories, challenges, desires, and hopes vary, but one thing remains universal — people are crying out for better governance. Integrity in government. Genuine service in leadership. They sense that there is more in the mortar than the pestle. They feel it.
While political figures dazzle on the international stage with curated optics, polished speeches, and strategic implementation of plans, on many home fronts, the public is disgruntled with said figures. As governments seemingly gobble up more power, the return on investment to the populace is negligible when compared to the span of control relinquished to these policymakers. The replacement political hopefuls that spring up to present themselves as possible alternatives to the status quo aren’t perceived as much better either — meeting with reluctance and wariness from voters who are unimpressed by these new bids.
As reality is measured against manifesto promises — long-term memory and short-term memory cross-referenced; when voters, feeling shafted and forgotten, are left to tend to the rawness of a stolen future or sink into the mire of a repeat of an unhappy past — it is easy to bawl out that politicians are all the same.
But is it the right or fair thing to say?
Is it even true?
Soapbox 4K
I believe that in a democratic system, leaders are a reflection of the people. Politicians can only be as good as the people they represent. If voters are truly desirous of caring, committed, virtuous leaders, they too must be that in their ordinary lives. Let us be the thing we seek.
The rampant seduction by pretty talk from political leaders, only to be ghosted after elections — both by the winning party and the opposition — is real and unfortunate. For the marginalized whose voting rights materialized in the 1960s, there is pressure and mixed feelings to contend with concerning representation and a deep-seated distrust of the process and its players. Conversely, there is the desire to participate in the process both out of duty and honor.
Collectively we have learned the hard way that even when politicians look like us, whoever we identify as, their contrary behavior can quickly remind us that not all skin folk are kinfolk — no matter where you are in the world. Feeling unempowered is at the root of choosing lesser evils, and those who experience this find it easier to surrender to the system. Constituents inclined toward making this type of choice — unmotivated, drained, perhaps downtrodden — are quick to cast politicians as the antagonist when their needs aren’t met by those tasked with meeting them.
Now, some people genuinely like evil, so a character of that making sits well with them. I’m not writing about those people. My focus is on those in our lives who are jaded, tired, and opting out of the process, not because they are disinterested, lazy, or unfazed, but mostly because they, just like the system, are broken.
The thing is, we cannot despair. If we are not first interested or invested in ourselves, we cannot expect someone else to be? Audit yourself and determine where your energy is going and if it is possible to direct some of that energy toward policy or representation. And remember, not all representation has to be political.
When analyzing a leader’s shortcoming — jot down clear points of actions that can be taken by you, within your immediate circle, to address those same needs. The next time you feel inclined to pass judgment on a political figure, ask yourself, “What am I doing to positively impact lives?”. Focus on your circumstances. Visualize how you can improve them and remember that the power is still with the people.
This is so important because the doers of society hardly have time to complain. They are to busy being vigilant, agitating, and activating. They are also the ones politicians seek out when they are building their platform bases. They need you.
If you are serious, candidate hopefuls have to think twice about how they come to the table because your collective exemplifies the levels of excellence expected of whoever steps up to attend to the bigger picture. Be the benchmark.
From things as small as being a person of your word, to larger actions like creating opportunities for others we all have something to offer. In each of our lives, we lead in some fashion. Believe in yourself.
In consciously curating this type of lifestyle, it only stands to reason that a great leader will emerge from the fold. Not the weak, lesser-evil descendants with vampire ancestry, but the strong variety forged in the fire of service and love of country who genuinely want what is best for society, and by extension, the world. Can’t envision that. Well, those without vision tend to perish.
“To put the world in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must cultivate our personal life; and to cultivate our personal life, we must first set our hearts right.” — Confucius
All the new-age talk about empowerment, boundaries, and accountability isn’t solely applicable to toxic kin and colleagues. Healing generational trauma and curses is as political as it is spiritual. Do the work.
Enough with associating leadership with wickedness. Where did the idea of politics being nasty arise from? Who is enabling all of the corruption so often spoken about? If the people are the government and outnumber the appointed leadership, why are we allowing bad behavior to prevail at our expense? As you reinforce your confidence, vibrate higher, weed out the negative, establish trust circles, meditate, and recite mantras, turn this heightened awareness toward those in power, assess the situation, and ask yourself, “What do I see here?”
Leaders are elected to represent the people. Unity is a discipline. True leaders should be able in good conscience to look across party lines and say well done where it is warranted. If they indulge in denigrating those in opposition to them, you have a problem. Don’t grumble. Call them out on it. Togetherness can never be born out of division. Officials who are allowed to push the divisive narrative have no intention of leading. They have come to rule.
It seems hypocritical if we are praying, clearing the chakras, getting into alignment, and smudging away the bad energy in our homes, yet abiding under the undesirable negative actions of political figures. Cultivating a clean heart, mind, body, and space yet allowing nasty people to run the world is a conflict of interest — especially if one subscribes to, as above, so below.
At the base of these arguments is irrefutably the fact that no matter who we elect to handle our affairs on some level, self-serving comes with being in service to others. Be vigilant. Politicians represent a concentrated point of power, yes, but that doesn’t mean we should give up all of our power to them. We are all capable beings.
Take back your power. Do for self. If you are unmoved by the prospect of a free lunch or being saved, it’s harder to be taken by the political con. There’s nothing they can promise you that you’re not capable of creating for yourself. The thing is, self-sufficiency is among the biggest problems most people face. Millions are hungry for something, be it food, opportunity, or employment, and this is orchestrated by the underhanded doing of depraved leaders who ensure to keep citizens in positions of lack, want, and chaos. This is how they prey.
I may not be one to party with a political party, but I understand the importance of leadership. I give thanks for living in a time and place where my vote counts. But my vote is for a certain kind of politician. Someone, that when I look across at them, our morals match. Our principles align.
They must embody genuine empathy and compassion. My representative cannot be associated with lack, whether economic, moral, or spiritual. When I see my leader, I should see a reflection of myself or someone I might aspire to be. Why else would I endorse them? How else could they gain my trust?
We talk about voting our conscience yet endorse folks who are unconscionable. Why do we compromise ourselves and all that we value to empower folks who we hope will do a good job? Accountability says that we demand that our leaders are capable of serving our best interests for the highest good.
In my life, the things that matter, that impact others, and are my responsibility, as they require it — I do what needs to be done. No one has to hope about me, just as no one has to hope about you in your life. I expect the same from public servants and refuse to settle for less. We must be in alignment because when I am voting for a leader, in essence, I am voting for me — a representation of myself within the government — and we both should be outstanding citizens.
Rachelle J. Gray is a Barbadian-American writer, creative consultant, and communications specialist. A graduate of SUNY-Buffalo State College, she was a photojournalist before establishing GrayWorks Media, a Caribbean-based multimedia agency. She has written for Island Origins Magazine and is the former editor-in-chief of BimROCK Magazine. A mother of one and an auntie to many, Kingstown Burning is her debut novel.
