This past Tuesday, November 4th, I was one of hundreds of thousands of new naturalized immigrant voters. Prior to the election I made sure to conduct thorough research of local issues and candidates’ backgrounds, knowing that I am not only casting my vote for the President but for many other public servants whose performances will help shape the political and personal realities of all Americans. Intellectually, I understood the task ahead of me, but my emotional response to casting a vote for President caught me by surprise. While I waited in line to vote I felt anxiety building, and once I finally picked up the pen, I had to steady my hand and wipe off pesky tears in order to cast my vote. I left the voting area feeling a mixture of fear and excitement; fear that my vote will not help change the status quo, and excitement that it just might help create a better world. Now, reader, before you assign my response to emotional instability, let me place my reaction in a greater context.
I arrived to Chicago in 1995, after escaping besieged Sarajevo, the capitol of Bosnia, a story that reads more like a suspense novel, rather than one’s life. As a legal resident, I found a job, and with a help of my husband and student loans, I earned a Bachelor’s degree and worked my way towards a Masters Degree. After three years of living in the US I was eligible to apply for American Citizenship. I did not apply.
Even though I was building my “American Dream”, an activity culturally advertised as a cornerstone of American Identities, I was an outsider. Surviving a war, which served as a brutal suppression of civil rights, I became cynical about the potential to change realities through political expressions such as voting. In addition to this, declaring allegiance to a country and promising to carry arms if called to serve in a time of war for was something I agonized over. Also, being born in a country and developing a passionate love and attachment to that country, through nationalist discourse was, I felt, much different than having to make that choice. The issue of citizenship was not a means to an end, but a privilege of choice and as such I felt that I had to honor that with a serious consideration.
Last year, after witnessing my mother’s continuous active participation in Bosnian elections despite the corruption and general understanding of voter fraud, I began to question my complacency about my own role in the society in which I live. “Why do you keep voting and serving as an election judge when you know that nothing will change?” I asked her.
“Honey, not voting is equivalent to a crime. I know that the possibility of change here is small, but if I am living in a society I will voice my opinion about it. And when things, such as war happen, I at least know that it didn’t happen because of my silence. I know where my responsibility lies,” she said.
This conversation was a catalyst for me, and I made my choice to move from the security of the sidelines and become actively engaged in my environment.
In August of 2007, I became an American citizen along with more than 660,000 people. I registered to vote the same day. On November 4th, 2008 I voted for the first time in my life, and went off to work that day hoping that my vote counted. On November 5th I started my day feeling hopeful about the future, for the first time since I turned sixteen in 1992. This optimism and understanding that one can help create a change is the gift of America.