Visiting the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) in Alabama this past year, I watched the documentary Selma: The Bridge to the Ballot and viewed the expansive exhibit memorializing these protesters. Lecia Brooks, Outreach Director, and I discussed the obstacles that still impede equal access to voting. I left that meeting painfully aware that my own political involvement paled in comparison. I was embarrassed to acknowledge that the extent of my activism consisted of posting editorials on Facebook and ranting about politics to like-minded friends. I resolved that it was time to up my game, to do something.
Shortly thereafter, I dug in. I discovered that only half of the voter-eligible Millennials turned out in the 2016 presidential election, despite their 31% share of the electorate. The overall tally was also distressing: just 60% of all eligible voters participated in the Presidential election. These numbers inspired me to formulate a plan to bring my peers to the polls.
I decided to organize an event in Chicago, called "I Will Vote," to raise awareness about the importance of voting. Recalling my conversation with Lecia, I invited the SPLC and a local organization called Chicago Votes to speak at my event.
Advertising the event to my friends, teammates, and classmates, I received enthusiastic, supportive responses. Optimistically, I reserved a theater large enough to hold 125 attendees to accommodate what was sure to be a huge turnout.
On the cold, rainy morning of the event, friends began to call, offering various excuses for their unavoidable absences. I panicked. What if no one showed up? Not only would I have failed to do something, but Lecia would have flown all the way from Alabama for nothing. The turnout only confirmed my worst fears. In total, only 14 people came: six family friends, six teammates, and two adults from a local conservative group who attended solely to argue with my co-host and me. Not even the Chicago Votes representatives bothered to show up. Responsible for spearheading the event, I was crushed by the failed attendance.
Nonetheless, Lecia gave her presentation as planned and opened the floor for discussion. I stepped up as a facilitator to ensure that my peers were engaged in the discussion. We covered every topic imaginable: voting, affirmative action, police brutality, and the increasing division between political ideologies.
As the afternoon unfolded, I began to see value in the day despite the size of the crowd. Reduced attendance notwithstanding, the event was not a failure. I had reached outside of my comfort zone to act upon an issue which I cared deeply about. Although the conversation veered away from its intended purpose, I felt that each attendee walked away with some new kernel of knowledge. Even if they just posted their thoughts on Facebook or ranted to their friends, as I had—it was a start. And, if each of them found their own 14 new faces, we'd soon realize my dream of a packed auditorium.
Instead of discouraging me from further involvement, this experience underscored that I have my work cut out for me. The day made me stronger, secure in my resilience, and eager to try again. Next time, I will get 15 attendees, and one day, one of us will change the world.
Molly Gallagher, a high school senior in Chicago, wrote this essay as part of her college application. She was recently accepted by Middlebury College in Vermont.