Back in 2006, in my hometown of Brockton, Massachusetts, I found myself eligible to vote in my first-ever election. Like every freshly minted voter, I was armed with enthusiasm, a naive sense of civic duty, and a boatload of confusion. I was ready to storm the polls and make my mark on the American democratic process. But, as I soon realized, much like everything else in life, politics is a game, and the rules are rigged.
Before I dive into the deep end, let’s start with a little political science refresher. Democracy, in its purest form, is where everyone gets a say, and we all hold hands around the campfire singing Kumbaya. It sounds lovely, except that it quickly devolves into mob rule. After all, humans aren’t exactly known for their measured, rational decision-making when in large groups. Think of politics as a giant game of telephone, but instead of garbled stories, you get garbled policies that could screw up an entire nation.
So, representative democracy seems like a perfect solution. We elect officials to do the hard thinking for us. Meanwhile, we get to go on with our lives while someone else deals with the messy business of governing. It’s like outsourcing, but instead of customer service, we’re outsourcing the future of our country. James Madison, one of our founding fathers, argued this was the best way to combat faction; that is, the fancy word for all the different cliques and interest groups that inevitably spring up like mushrooms in a damp basement.
Madison’s point was simple. The extremes are dictatorship or anarchy. The middle ground, then, is a republic, which is supposed to keep things orderly while still letting us have our opinions. Nothing screams “freedom” like letting a bunch of politicians decide which opinions matter in the legal process. But hey, at least they’re elected by the people, right?
Now, back to 2006. I was stuck choosing between “The Incumbent You’ve Never Heard Of” and “The Other Guy Who Stands No Chance.” In my district, Representative Stephen Lynch and Senator Ted Kennedy were basically political furniture — so ingrained in their seats that I wondered if they had physically fused with them. Unopposed, unchallenged, and undeniably there, they were the choices I didn’t get to make.
Could I have voted for “the other guy”? Sure, but would it have made a difference? Not unless I believed in the power of wishful thinking. So, like many before me, I realized that my vote was about as meaningful as a snowflake in a blizzard. But hey, at least I participated in the great democratic process, by which I mean I checked a box and left feeling vaguely unfulfilled.
Fast forward to today, and not much has changed. I still don’t subscribe to a political party. From where I sit, the Democrats and Republicans are just two sides of the same worn-out coin. In Massachusetts, leaning Democrat was almost mandatory, but I never could bring myself to buy into the idea that any party had all the answers. It’s like picking your favorite type of headache; do you want the pounding one or the throbbing one?
Sure, parties have platforms, goals, and a bunch of well-dressed people telling you what’s best for you. But they’re just trying to get re-elected, and your interests are the currency they trade in to get there. I’d rather skip the middleman and keep my interests to myself, thank you very much. Besides, the two-party system is like a bad marriage — constantly bickering, but too entangled to divorce.
Then there’s the matter of partisanship—the delightful process by which our government has devolved into a never-ending tug-of-war. There’s no room for the in-betweens, the independents, the ones who don’t fit neatly into red or blue boxes. Honestly, most of us live in the swing states of life—torn between ideals, too cynical to fully commit, yet too hopeful to completely disengage.
At the end of the day, I suppose we get the government we deserve—because we elect them, after all. It’s all very democratic. So, I’ll keep voting, keep checking my boxes, and keep pretending that it all matters. But really, it’s just a very elaborate, very expensive game of musical chairs—only in this version, the music never stops, and the chairs are regularly on fire.
~ Amelia Desertsong
