Sign Up for Your Power By Daniel Holder
“I don’t want to vote because I don’t have faith in the system,” Cornell said.
Without thought, I nodded in agreement. Cornell is the bold one in our group. If there’s something to be said, Cornell says it. We didn’t need to vote on it; he was implicitly chosen as our spokesperson.
We crammed a few of us representing our fraternity into our advisor’s closet-sized office on a Friday afternoon. We had set up the appointment with Mr. Hudson intending to resign from our usual efforts spearheading the campus voter registration drive at our HBCU (historically black college and university).
Our expressions were bleak as we looked at each other and the floor. We were eager to get the meeting over with and start the weekend, but no one was raring to get the conversation rolling. We were counting on Cornell to articulate.
“None of us feel like voting in this election because we don’t feel good about the candidates. So how are we supposed to encourage other people to vote?” Cornell said. “The voter registration drive feels pointless.”
“We’ve worked the voter registration drive for years now. It’s never been a problem before, but this year we’re just not motivated. The candidates are so uninspiring. We can’t support either of them.”
Mr. Hudson frowned, crinkling his brow. He scooted his chair closer to the group, shrinking the already tight space. He had our attention.
“You’re driving in a car with your uncle,” he said. “An uncle you don’t like. And he’s been drinking a little. Okay, he’s been drinking a lot. He has no business driving, and you have your hand on the wheel.”
Mr. Hudson paused and allowed the scene to sink in.
“You have no faith in your uncle’s ability to control the vehicle. Do you let go of the wheel or try to get more control of it?”
Mr. Hudson’s locked eyes with us, then rested his gaze on Cornell.
Cornell paused and looked at us before he responded, “Take control of the wheel. Obviously!”
“WELL!” Mr. Hudson stood up and wiped his 3-piece suit that was already spotless. “There’s your answer.” He left us all sitting there. Speechless, we sat looking at each other.
We set up our table with a pile of voter registration cards and a box of pens. We hung a poster board with big, blocky lettering: “Register to Vote!” TJ and I took the first shift. We sat anxiously behind the table, ready for the breakfast rush.
As soon as a cafeteria worker propped open the doors, hungry students started bustling past our table. Most focused straight ahead, ready to fill their plates. Some shuffled groggily through the door, oblivious to our table and eager faces.
A few students glanced at our sign but quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact with TJ or me. The cafeteria filled, and after the commotion of so many people rushing by, the lobby was suddenly deafeningly quiet.
“So much for that,” TJ said, folding his arms over his chest and sighing.
I caught the eye of a guy walking with a few others.
“Hey, man,” I said with my most charming smile. “Have you guys registered to vote?”
“Nah, we’re good,” replied a young man without breaking his stride. “We don’t vote.”
TJ and I looked at each other. As we had suspected before we set up our meeting with Mr. Hudson, this would be harder than ever. If we—the people in charge of the voter registration drive—didn’t feel excited about voting, it was no wonder the other students weren’t either.
I sat back down as the cafeteria emptied. Maybe we should have been more insistent with Mr. Hudson about the voter registration drive being a lost cause.
Thinking back on the meeting with Mr. Hudson, I remembered the scene he had created. My mind flashed to riding in the car and I realized I needed to grab the wheel.
I wouldn’t give up. I stood so fast it startled TJ. A group of basketball players were just leaving the cafeteria.
“Have you signed up for your power?” I asked with determination in my voice.
“Huh?” one player said. She slowed her pace, and I knew I had one chance to make her stop.
“Your power!” I said, raising my fist over my head. “Your power to change this country. Your power to change our world.”
She stopped and turned to look at me. I had her attention.
“Don’t you know that with your vote you have the power to affect this country and our world? Don’t you want to use your power?”
“Definitely,” she said. “What do I have to do?”
“Just fill out this form,” I answered.
She grabbed a pen.
“Keisha, what are you doing?” one of the other players called back to her. The group slowed their pace.
“I’m registering to vote,” Keisha said. “Y’all come over here and use your power!”
Months later, the college auditorium was used as a polling place on Election Day. The turnout impressed me. I hoped my friends and I had had something to do with the number of voters waiting in line that day.
As I stood in line to cast my vote I saw Keisha. She was leaving the voting room with her head held high, grinning from ear to ear. She wore an “I voted” sticker and looked powerful, hopeful, and happy.
Without thought, I nodded in agreement. Cornell is the bold one in our group. If there’s something to be said, Cornell says it. We didn’t need to vote on it; he was implicitly chosen as our spokesperson.
We crammed a few of us representing our fraternity into our advisor’s closet-sized office on a Friday afternoon. We had set up the appointment with Mr. Hudson intending to resign from our usual efforts spearheading the campus voter registration drive at our HBCU (historically black college and university).
Our expressions were bleak as we looked at each other and the floor. We were eager to get the meeting over with and start the weekend, but no one was raring to get the conversation rolling. We were counting on Cornell to articulate.
“None of us feel like voting in this election because we don’t feel good about the candidates. So how are we supposed to encourage other people to vote?” Cornell said. “The voter registration drive feels pointless.”
* * *
Mr. Hudson was an older gentleman, always dressed to the tee and elegantly formal. He was a man of few words, and today he was mute. He sighed and nodded thoughtfully. The quiet dragged on into an awkward silence. Even Cornell seemed too defeated to offer more input. I finally spoke up.“We’ve worked the voter registration drive for years now. It’s never been a problem before, but this year we’re just not motivated. The candidates are so uninspiring. We can’t support either of them.”
Mr. Hudson frowned, crinkling his brow. He scooted his chair closer to the group, shrinking the already tight space. He had our attention.
“You’re driving in a car with your uncle,” he said. “An uncle you don’t like. And he’s been drinking a little. Okay, he’s been drinking a lot. He has no business driving, and you have your hand on the wheel.”
Mr. Hudson paused and allowed the scene to sink in.
“You have no faith in your uncle’s ability to control the vehicle. Do you let go of the wheel or try to get more control of it?”
Mr. Hudson’s locked eyes with us, then rested his gaze on Cornell.
Cornell paused and looked at us before he responded, “Take control of the wheel. Obviously!”
“WELL!” Mr. Hudson stood up and wiped his 3-piece suit that was already spotless. “There’s your answer.” He left us all sitting there. Speechless, we sat looking at each other.
* * *
I guess we were having our voter registration drive after all. With only a week to prepare, we printed flyers to pin up all over campus. We reserved a table in the cafeteria lobby, with the aim to catch students as they filed in and out at mealtimes.We set up our table with a pile of voter registration cards and a box of pens. We hung a poster board with big, blocky lettering: “Register to Vote!” TJ and I took the first shift. We sat anxiously behind the table, ready for the breakfast rush.
As soon as a cafeteria worker propped open the doors, hungry students started bustling past our table. Most focused straight ahead, ready to fill their plates. Some shuffled groggily through the door, oblivious to our table and eager faces.
A few students glanced at our sign but quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact with TJ or me. The cafeteria filled, and after the commotion of so many people rushing by, the lobby was suddenly deafeningly quiet.
“So much for that,” TJ said, folding his arms over his chest and sighing.
* * *
After a while, the well-fed students started emerging from the cafeteria a few at a time. I decided on a more outgoing approach and got up to stand in front of the table.I caught the eye of a guy walking with a few others.
“Hey, man,” I said with my most charming smile. “Have you guys registered to vote?”
“Nah, we’re good,” replied a young man without breaking his stride. “We don’t vote.”
TJ and I looked at each other. As we had suspected before we set up our meeting with Mr. Hudson, this would be harder than ever. If we—the people in charge of the voter registration drive—didn’t feel excited about voting, it was no wonder the other students weren’t either.
I sat back down as the cafeteria emptied. Maybe we should have been more insistent with Mr. Hudson about the voter registration drive being a lost cause.
Thinking back on the meeting with Mr. Hudson, I remembered the scene he had created. My mind flashed to riding in the car and I realized I needed to grab the wheel.
I wouldn’t give up. I stood so fast it startled TJ. A group of basketball players were just leaving the cafeteria.
“Have you signed up for your power?” I asked with determination in my voice.
“Huh?” one player said. She slowed her pace, and I knew I had one chance to make her stop.
“Your power!” I said, raising my fist over my head. “Your power to change this country. Your power to change our world.”
She stopped and turned to look at me. I had her attention.
“Don’t you know that with your vote you have the power to affect this country and our world? Don’t you want to use your power?”
“Definitely,” she said. “What do I have to do?”
“Just fill out this form,” I answered.
She grabbed a pen.
“Keisha, what are you doing?” one of the other players called back to her. The group slowed their pace.
“I’m registering to vote,” Keisha said. “Y’all come over here and use your power!”
* * *
By the time lunch was over, we had registered over 200 voters. It felt good. I was grateful we had gone forward with the voter registration drive.Months later, the college auditorium was used as a polling place on Election Day. The turnout impressed me. I hoped my friends and I had had something to do with the number of voters waiting in line that day.
As I stood in line to cast my vote I saw Keisha. She was leaving the voting room with her head held high, grinning from ear to ear. She wore an “I voted” sticker and looked powerful, hopeful, and happy.
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Daniel Holder is an author, a speaker by night, but disguises as a project manager by day. His mission is to transform the world with stories. Daniel’s writing reveals his interesting perspectives, specifically on spirituality and has published one book, I am Church, but be on the lookout for the next. Daniel was born in London, England, but served as an officer in the USAF. He is the husband of one beautiful wife, and the father of two princess stunt doubles. |