The Voting Booth

by Brandy Colbert

There are very clear Before and After moments when someone hears about Julian. Before, they feel fine thinking whatever they think about me. Even if they don’t know anything at all. But after…that’s when all the backtracking starts. You can practically see it on their faces, the worry that they’ve done or said something that might be offensive to the guy who has a dead brother.

“He’s suddenly concerned about voting in a two-party system.” I snort. “White guy?” Marva’s eyes fly open. “How did you know?” “Because Black and brown people don’t have that kind of luxury.”

“Change takes time. And patience. And…a willingness to listen to people we may not understand.”

how people did fucked-up things like compare your sibling’s death to their grandparents who had passed away from natural causes in their eighties.

“This is what I think of when I think of Julian. Him being this little. This dependent on me.” His voice is so low I have to strain to catch his words. “And now my baby boy is dead. I couldn’t protect him. I gave him that freedom he wanted, but I should’ve seen that he could never truly be free. And I…I’m a Black man. It was my job to teach him what that meant in this world, how much more dangerous it was for him, and I failed. I failed him. I’m doing the best I can to protect you two. I’m sorry if my anger is too much for you, but I’m

“The first time I was in a car that got pulled over, my brother said we were lucky. Because the cop didn’t make him get out and…he wasn’t violent. But I was with him when he got stopped again, two more times. And I’ve been pulled over and—some people aren’t so lucky, you know? Some people don’t make it out of a ‘routine traffic stop,’” he says, making air quotes with his fingers.

“This is why getting people out to vote is so important to me,” I say quietly. “We shouldn’t still be dealing with this. We never should’ve had to deal with this. Too many people risked their lives and—I’ll never forget the first time I heard about the four girls in Birmingham. I was in fifth grade…the youngest was the same age as me when she died. Or the Freedom Summer murders. I didn’t understand how anyone could hate Black people so much just because we were Black.” I take a deep breath. “But that’s when I learned about people like Bayard Rustin and Diane Nash and Stokely Carmichael and Coretta Scott King and…so many people who worked over the last century to make sure we wouldn’t still be where we are. I know voting doesn’t solve everything, and people may think one vote isn’t all that important, but I really believe it makes a difference.”