The year is 1773, it’s a cold mid-December night, a Colonist sits quietly at a port in Boston, Massachusetts. The Colonist is prepared to attack, “No taxation without representation”, this phrase echoes and repeats in his mind as he stares out onto the water. He is here tonight to make a stand, to make a statement, that he nor anyone else will be silenced. The other men prepare themselves and slip into the night. He fights for the right to vote.

Now we are in 1870, the Civil War has ended, a African American man sits on his porch. As he stares at his fellow Americans, he sees the joy on their faces, finally they will be heard. Their decisions will affect the world around them. Generations before him were enslaved and humiliated. Forced to work with no pay and beaten for speaking out.  He is freed now, from the shackles of slavery, but now he has a choice, a real part in society. He finally has the right to vote. 

It is now 1917, as a young girl stands outside of the Library of Congress, she to is here to fight for her right to vote. For decades, her and all other women have been told to be quiet, and to not bother themselves would politics, they’ve had enough. She fixes her posture, raises her sign and humbly waits as her fellow women raise their signs and fight for the same cause, the right to vote. 

All three have one thing in common: a desire, a need to be heard. Being silenced is a punishment not deserved for anyone. A colonist wanting freedom, a former slave released into the world, a young girl fighting for a say. Being able to have a part in the decision on who runs the government is an honor many do not have. In only two years, I too will get this right, and with it I hope to make a difference like the millions of others in this wonderful country. That’s what voting means to me.