We tell people to vote as though casting a ballot is, all by itself, an accomplishment.
Doesn’t matter whether you understand the issues. Doesn’t matter whether you know anything about the candidates. Just get in there and participate. Here’s your sticker.
But if we believe voting matters, shouldn’t we care what goes into the vote?
I keep coming back to a fairly ordinary principle: if you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s okay to sit something out.
We accept that almost everywhere else. When someone asks us to weigh in on something we know nothing about, “I don’t know enough to answer” is a perfectly respectable response. Sometimes it’s the most useful thing we can say.
Put a ballot in front of us, though, and suddenly admitting ignorance feels like failing democracy.
Why?
Your vote helps make decisions for other people. It affects people you love, people you’ll never meet, and people who will be living with the consequences long after you’re gone. That seems like a reasonable occasion to do a little homework.
You don’t need a political science degree. You don’t need to memorize legislation or spend your evenings watching people yell at one another on television. But you ought to have some idea what you’re voting for, what you’re voting against, and why.
And “why” deserves a better answer than “I recognize the name.”
I’ve looked at ballots and realized I knew absolutely nothing about some of the people asking for my vote. Especially farther down the page. Judges. Boards. Offices I barely understood.
Am I supposed to pick somebody anyway?
Because their name sounds familiar? Because I liked their sign? Because they belong to the party I usually support, so whatever they intend to do must be fine?
I can leave that race blank. So can you. We can vote on the choices we’ve taken the time to understand and acknowledge where we haven’t done the work.
There is no extra credit for filling every bubble.
Of course, this gets uncomfortable when we start talking about who knows enough. I can already imagine somebody nodding along while mentally compiling a list of all the idiots who should stay home.
Their relatives. Their neighbors. Everyone who voted for the other guy.
Slow down.
This has to be a question we ask ourselves. Otherwise, it becomes another convenient argument for why our opinions deserve power and someone else’s don’t.
Knowing enough also doesn’t mean agreeing with me. You can understand an issue and reach a different conclusion. You can have different priorities, accept different tradeoffs, or believe a risk is worth taking when I don’t.
But can you explain your choice? Can you get past the slogan? Do you know what the person you support actually proposes to do?
Have you considered what might happen if they do it?
Those seem like modest questions to ask before helping put someone in charge.
And confidence doesn’t answer any of them. We’ve all met people who are completely certain about something they have barely considered. We’ve probably all been those people.
That’s the part that bothers me. Someone willing to say “I don’t know” may be taking the decision more seriously than someone who has an immediate answer to everything.
Yet we pressure the first person to vote and hand the second person a sticker.
I would rather encourage the uncertain person to learn. Look up the candidates. Read beyond the campaign advertisement. Find out what the office actually does. Give yourself a chance to make a considered choice.
But if Election Day arrives and you still don’t know, guessing doesn’t suddenly become a civic virtue.
You have the right to vote. You also have the right to recognize that you haven’t prepared yourself to make a particular decision.
Nobody should take your ballot away because they think you’re uninformed. That judgment belongs to you, and it requires some honesty.
Maybe the message should include that honesty.
Learn what you can. Think about the consequences. Vote where you can make a considered choice.
And where you can’t, it’s okay to leave it blank.
“I don’t know enough to decide” is an answer we ought to be mature enough to respect—even when there’s an election.
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