By Hannah Chang
Elections.
Voting.
I grew up hearing and saying those words as if they were an anthem of America’s strong, blessed democracy.
I felt it more so because in my Korean-American family, I was the only one born an American citizen. When I was seven, my family moved from Philly? abroad as Christian missionaries. Two years later, my parents and I eventually settled in the country of Georgia, a former Soviet nation and the birthplace of Joseph Stalin.
As an elementary school student, I said those words – “voting,” “elections,” – with pride, even if I didn’t fully understand what it meant to “vote.” I just knew it was special because I understood my parents and older brother didn’t get to do it. Our family never spoke about it, but I could see the passion and frustration about politics - Korean and American - in their eyes.
Silent mouths, fiery eyes.
As a middle-schooler living in Georgia, I said those words with some confusion. There were many times I wasn’t allowed to leave the house because of demonstrations happening downtown. A Georgian university rector, a close colleague of my mom, was being attacked by the government for being pro-western, and students had to stand in solidarity to protect their right of academic freedom. Why did young people have to take their opinions and demands to the streets? Why were their so-called “elected” officials just puppets for the people with money and ties to Russia?
As a high schooler with a brother who had remained in the US but, not yet a citizen, still couldn’t vote in America, I said those words with gravity and even a sense of shame.
I chant these words too easily. Like a lullabye, I sing them with an empty head. Because I am a high school student, because I am a college student, because I only have to focus on studying and making friends, I forget the power of voting. And to focus on studying and making friends is proof of a peaceful, wealthy society. I don’t have to worry about my government forcing my university’s leaders to take a certain stance. We all understand that our government is far from perfect, but it has given us a life free from many worries that other countries cannot offer. But the foundation of that government is the vote.
Each vote is a voice. I am given a voice, my brother is not. I wish I had realized the power of our voices when I heard young people shouting in Rustaveli Street in Tbilisi, Georgia.
But now I understand the gravity of voices. Because I grew up in a place where voices were stifled. And I have a brother who doesn’t get a voice in this country, the place he’s lived in nearly his entire life.
Now in Philadelphia, I vote not to “change the world” or “make a difference.” I vote remembering my family’s frustrated sighs and Georgians waving their flag and yelling in the streets.
Hannah studies Philosophy, Politics, and Economics and Journalism at the University of Pennsylvania. Growing up in the country of Georgia, a former-USSR nation, she has always been interested in government, history, and by extension, voting. She loves to explore these themes through writing, specifically through journalism and the media.
ABOUT Committee of Seventy
The Committee of Seventy is a nonpartisan, nonprofit organization that has promoted, supported, and facilitated government ethics and election integrity for more than a century. We believe that elections should be more free, more fair, more safe and more secure. We want every eligible voter to vote, to be informed when they vote, and to vote with confidence.
For more information, visit www.seventy.org
ABOUT Vote That Jawn
Using the power of youth voice and connection, #VoteThatJawn aims to bring 18-year-olds and other first-time voters to the polls—beginning a process toward full civic engagement—not just for a charismatic candidate, but to advocate for youth safety, agency, and inclusion.
For more information, visit www.votethatjawn.com
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