In Wisconsin, more than 12 elections in the last 24 years have been won by less than 30,000 votes—a statistic that has become a talking point among politicians. In 2020, President Joe Biden won the state by a little over 20,500 votes.

That election after election here is determined by such razor-thin margins underscores the potential influence of young voters. The University of Wisconsin campus at Madison alone has nearly 50,000 students. In the 2022 midterm elections, nearly half of Wisconsinites under age 25 cast a ballot. Months later, in spring 2023, young voters turned out again to elect liberal-favored Judge Janet Protasiewicz to the Wisconsin Supreme Court.

The youth vote is often a driving factor in election results, but young people across the state, feeling their concerns about Palestine and other pressing issues are being sidelined, are flexing their political power in other ways. Some may still go to the polls, but they’re taking action beyond the ballot box, too, pressuring local and national politicians and institutions to enact change, and showing up or their community when the government fails to do so.

The trend has been obvious since Biden stepped away from the presidential race and Kamala Harris stepped in, bolstering her outreach to Gen Z with plans to reach swing states through targeted digital ads, campus visits, and Gen Z-focused social media content.

But such efforts miss the mark when they ignore Gaza. Some might argue that young voters “risk” the future, jeopardizing chances to ensure better policies for climate, health, or housing here in the U.S when they focus on foreign policy in the Middle East, eschewing voting for Harris-Walz to write in an “uninstructed” vote (as it is called it in Wisconsin) when no candidate aligns with their position on Israel’s military violence in Palestine.

But young progressives in Wisconsin—and across the country—aren’t burying their heads in the sand, or deprioritizing homegrown issues. Rather, they see U.S. support for Israel as inextricably tied to these issues at home, and fighting for justice in Palestine as a means of fighting for justice here. There’s a reason why young people championed demands such as “Money for Jobs, School, Healthcare, Housing, and Environment, Not for War!” at the March on the DNC, a march organized by the Coalition to March on the DNC, a collection of grassroots organizations fighting for the same demands.

Activists, including Greta Thunberg, argue that climate justice depends on a free Palestine. “Injustice anywhere is a threat to climate justice everywhere,” said Wisconsin climate organizer Max Prestigiacomo, who is a recent UW-Madison graduate and former alderman. “In a fight to prevent the climate crisis which first and foremost recognizes that the impacts of said crisis—death—will fall on marginalized people worldwide, ignoring the active oppression and genocide in Palestine is complacency.”          

Reproductive justice, too—another issue bringing many young voters out to the polls. “Roe v. Wade got overturned here, we obviously have to fight for a women’s right to choose in the U.S.,” said 25-year-old Danaka Katovich, national co-director of CODEPINK, a feminist grassroots organization, during a protest at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee. But “in Gaza, women are having c-sections with no anesthesia. Their children are being crushed under rubble and bombs that say ‘made in the USA.’ We’re here to link those two issues.”

CODEPINK also protested at the DNC in Chicago—just like thousands of young people, including from Wisconsin, who protested both conventions, linking justice in Palestine to climate and reproductive justice but also to immigrant, worker, LGBTQIA+, and women’s rights, and to ending police violence. “What made me come to the march was the genocide in Palestine,” commented Wisconsin student Cesar Moreno at the March on the RNC.

Youth politics beyond the ballot box in Wisconsin traces its history back to UW-Madison, a campus with a rich history of protest, just blocks away from the state’s capitol. It’s not uncommon to see students marching down the street in protest or tabling for causes—regardless of the weather forecast.

“Students have been protesting since the beginning of UW,” Kacie Lucchini Butcher, director of the Rebecca M. Blank Center for Campus History, told campus radio station WUWM in a recent interview, calling UW-Madison students “civically engaged.” The Black Student Strike in 1969 mobilized thousands and eventually led to the development of a Black Studies Department; protests against South African apartheid began in the late 1960s and extended through the 1980s.

A crystallizing moment came in 1968, when hundreds of students protested the presence on campus of recruiters from Dow Chemical, the makers of napalm. Protesters encountered brutal police violence that, the Wisconsin Historical Society records, “politiciz[ed] thousands of previously apathetic students” and transformed the campus into “one of the nation’s leading anti-war communities.”

Community members today draw comparisons between the Dow Chemical protests and 2024’s pro-Palestine protests. Student groups such as Students for Justice in Palestine at UW-Madison have pushed for cutting U.S. military spending for Israel, interrupting a Harris rally in September and threatening to withhold their votes until she met their demands for an arms embargo. In May, students launched a pro-Palestine encampment to demand the university divest from Israel, which was met with police violence and arrests.      

Beyond political protests, students and community members show up for each other when government and local institutions fall short. Whether students are using social media to raise funds for peers in need, starting community campaigns to provide legal support to those arrested at pro-Palestine demonstrations or various grassroots organizations working to support their community, young people are dedicated to dreaming up and building a better world.

Social movements have long leaned on mutual aid—“the radical act of caring for each other while working to change the world,” as lawyer, activist, and author Dean Spade puts it—to address community needs. Now, young people are rallying around one another. They feel their elected officials are failing them.

“I think this moment represents a turning point,” said Wisconsin youth organizer Aliya Glasper. “We are depending on our community, our collective power, strength, resolve to resist the current system that exists to work toward a fully liberated world that benefits everyone. A world where the ‘lesser of two evils’ doesn’t exist.”

Young people are ready to be heard. In Wisconsin, in the U.S., and around the world, those in power must listen and react to what we’re saying—not only on November 5th, but every day. And understand that young people are more than their vote.

The post In Wisconsin, Young People Are Thinking Beyond the Ballot Box appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

My wife and I live in a rural farming area in Western Pennsylvania. We moved here five years ago because we’re country people, and it’s only 20 minutes from where I grew up and where my mother still lives.

Here we have chickens, a big garden, and a wood-burning stove but no broadband internet, which sometimes makes it hard on my wife, who works from home.

Each week, I commute about an hour to a small liberal arts college in Pittsburgh where I specialize in U.S. labor history. When I drive to work on Monday morning, it feels like leaving one political universe and entering a parallel one. I sometimes wonder whether there might be a political leader who can bridge that divide and speak to concerns in both worlds.

When I turn out of my driveway, I pass old farmhouses, small manufactured homes, and $500,000 “rustic” styled houses. All along the way, I see Trump yard signs, flags, and banners. I remember seeing the signs and flags in 2016—before we had even moved here—and they have been here ever since. One large farm has several Trump flags and a 4 feet by 8 feet Trump-Vance sign. That same sign read “Trump-Pence” until January 7th, 2021, when the owner crossed out Pence’s name with paint, evidently feeling betrayed by the vice president during the January 6th insurrection.

Around that time, my mother’s neighbor put up a “F— Biden” flag. I’m not easily offended, but it did not seem right that Mom would have to see the F-word every time she left home.

In the 2020 election, Trump won 71% of my township’s votes—1,007 votes to Biden’s 401. I can’t say exactly why. I’ve read studies that voting patterns in rural areas like mine are stoked by “deaths of despair,” but I doubt the politics of the full-time farmer or the construction worker down the road are the same as those of the attorney who lives in a half-million-dollar home. One thing they all have in common: The township is 98.2% white. Only one African American lives here.

Next on my drive, labor history. I get on the interstate just over the ridge from Aliquippa, once home to a Jones and Laughlin steel mill that used to employ 10,000. Steelworkers were a key part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s base, and in 1936 he won this county nearly two to one. A historical marker in town reads “NLRB v. Jones and Laughlin Supreme Court Ruling,” commemorating a 1937 decision that enshrined union rights in federal law. In its wake, workers here overwhelmingly voted to join the United Steelworkers, ending the company’s dictatorial rule over the town. The union contracts that followed brought steelworkers out of poverty and gave them a 40-hour workweek, sick pay, and pensions.

The last few decades have been hard on Aliquippa. The number of those good union jobs went into sharp decline in the 1980s, and the mill shut down in 2000. As jobs went away so too did many residents, leaving behind empty lots, a depleted local tax base, rising crime rates, and disillusionment. Many who live in the region’s former steel towns blame the industry’s decline on free trade agreements. Trump’s rhetoric about “carnage in the streets” and “getting tough on China” undoubtedly resonate with them. In 2020, Trump won 58% in Beaver County. There were hopes that the natural gas boom would reinvigorate manufacturing, especially when Shell built a plant to process gas for plastics, but the boom never came.

I continue another 25 miles into Pittsburgh. As former mill towns like Aliquippa—and a dozen others—continue to struggle, Pittsburgh has reinvented itself. It is now home to seven colleges and universities, several hospitals, IT and high-tech firms, and an increasingly diverse population.

I exit the highway and drive through Squirrel Hill, where I sometimes see police and armed guards stationed outside the neighborhood’s synagogues—a reminder of the horrific attack on the local Jewish community six years ago. On October 27, 2018, a far-right extremist killed 11 people and wounded 6 in a local synagogue. The week before, the gunman had posted an antisemitic and anti-immigrant message on Gab, a social media network used by hate groups and “alt-right” activists.

Trump condemned the shooting but also seemed to downplay the threat posed by white nationalists and hate groups, which have been on the rise since he announced his candidacy in a 2015 speech, accusing Mexico of sending drug dealers and “rapists” into the U.S. And he continues to use rhetoric that dehumanizes immigrants and stokes fear and hatred.

I then drive across Forbes Avenue, a main thoroughfare that leads to the four-lane Fern Hollow Bridge, spanning a 100-foot-deep ravine. In January 2022, the bridge collapsed with five vehicles on it, including a city bus. Amazingly, no one was killed. Investigations revealed that the concrete piers had deteriorated, and the X-braces had rusted through—evidence of our crumbling infrastructure.

The recently passed Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act, one of President Biden’s legislative accomplishments during his first year in office, enabled Pennsylvania to start clearing away the rubble and rebuilding almost immediately. The new bridge opened to traffic just 11 months after the collapse, but there continue to be a lot of concerns about the condition of Pittsburgh’s 146 bridges.

Along the tree-lined streets near my college campus, I see yard signs very different from the ones in my rural community. Here, there are signs for progressive Democrats, one that proclaims in several languages that immigrants are welcome, and Black Lives Matter signs.

I’m reminded that in the run-up to the 2016 election, some colleagues, having studied the “FiveThirtyEight” forecasts, were confident—like many people around the country—that Clinton would soundly defeat Trump. I wonder if being surrounded by so many Clinton signs contributed to that certainty.

When I park my car near campus, I undo my seatbelt and pin a button on my shirt that reads “Chatham Faculty United.” Last year, administrators informed us by email of a $12 million budget shortfall, cuts to our 401K match, and more costly health insurance plans. Faculty members began a unionization effort. In one meeting, I told coworkers that Biden’s National Labor Relations Board has been the most protective of union rights of any NLRB in my lifetime. We received letters of support from politicians, including the Pittsburgh mayor, the county executive, and a city councilperson.

Even though 73% of the full-time faculty signed union cards, the university administration refused to recognize the union and hired a law firm to challenge our right to organize. We are now in our seventh month of hearings, and the university informed us that the administration plans to appeal the NLRB decision. It has crossed my mind that the president and the trustees may be hoping that Trump will win and new NLRB appointees will make it harder for us to unionize.

Even though my commute can feel like I’m passing between two very different worlds, I can’t help but think the things that we—on both sides of this divide—have in common.

Undoubtedly, we all have differing views and beliefs, but I also believe that the sharp divide I see today comes from tribalism fueled in large part by political rhetoric. I genuinely think that there are many issues that bind us together: We want stable jobs with good benefits and a voice in our working conditions. We want good infrastructure, including safe bridges in our cities and broadband internet in the country. Maybe most of all we want our family, friends, and neighbors to be safe—and hate-filled rhetoric is not making us safer.

I keep hoping for a politician who will stop along this route and talk—and listen—to all these people and find that common ground.

The post Two Pennsylvanias, One Drive, No Connections? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

For a dozen or so elections since 2020, I have worked as a poll worker in Cobb County, Georgia. It has been an eye-opening experience that has made me more certain than ever that the voting process, at least what I’ve seen of it in my slice of the state, is safe, secure, and fair. Which makes me believe there’s little reason to question it anywhere else in the country, despite what the election deniers say.

Georgia has changed a lot over the years. I live with my husband and kids in a suburb about 30 minutes northwest of Atlanta. Our area is both hyperlocal and big-box, historic and modern: from Marietta Square—site of a Civil War training ground and military hospital turned walkable plaza with upscale mom-and-pop businesses—to, five miles up the road, a commercial district anchored by Target, Home Depot, and IHOP. It is an area that used to be very white, and very conservative. In the 1994 congressional election, voters in the nearby 6th District had to choose between Newt Gingrich and the actor who played Cooter from The Dukes of Hazzard. Gingrich handily won.

My family is proudly part of the browning and purpling of this rapidly growing area, which gets more diverse (by some estimates, Cobb County’s white population has fallen below 50% of the total) and more college-educated (16 percentage points greater than the state average) each year. Living in a swing state (and in possibly the swingy-est county of that swing state) means, perhaps by definition, experiencing life as a study in contrasts. Already in this fast-moving 2024 election, metro Atlanta hosted a rally for the Harris-Walz ticket the same day that the Georgia State Election Board, dominated by known election deniers, approved a new rule codifying a means for delaying—and potentially denying—the outcome of voting here in 2024.

This push-and-pull has been ongoing. In 2018 and 2020, the 6th District elected Lucy McBath, a Black gun control advocate, as their representative. Then the Republican-dominated state legislature redrew the maps and effectively gerrymandered her out of office. In 2022, she switched to the adjacent, Democrat-friendly 7th District and went on to win her primary and general elections.

I first got interested in working at the polls in 2018, when Stacey Abrams, a Black, progressive, up-and-coming state representative, was running for governor against Brian Kemp. Kemp was then Georgia’s secretary of state—basically, in charge of our elections—and refused to step away from the role during the campaign. To me, this seemed to be such a gross conflict of interest, I wasn’t sure I could trust the election. So I decided to learn for myself how the process worked. In that way, I’d be doing my own small part to ensure any portion of the election I participated in was handled fairly.

I filled out an application and emailed it to the county elections office, which informed me that my name would go into a database and that there was no way to know when I’d be called to work. Sure enough, it wasn’t until 2020 that an area supervisor contacted me to let me know where I’d work and how to sign up for training (where I’d learn voting procedures, how the equipment works, and what to do if a voter doesn’t have ID, is at the wrong precinct, has pending citizenship status, and so on).

COVID made things a bit more complicated, but on Election Day, we successfully aided voters as we had been trained: confirming their identity and eligibility, showing them how to use the touchscreens and where to insert a printout of their choices into a scanner that delivered a satisfying “Ballot Successfully Cast” notification. We sent each voter on their way with a cheery “Thank you for voting!” and an “I’m a Georgia Voter / I Secured My Vote” peach sticker.

I’ve worked multiple elections since that first year, and it has utterly transformed my faith in our system. Voters are in charge, every step of the way. Poll workers are there merely to guide or to answer questions. Our training is ongoing, thorough, and frequently updated. Everyone I ever worked with at the polls was committed to a fair election—taking it upon themselves to ensure that every eligible voter got to cast a ballot and feel confident it would be counted. Our personal beliefs were a non-issue. With a couple of exceptions, I don’t even know my poll coworkers’ politics.

The experience has made me a proselytizer for voting. I encourage everyone I know to make sure they vote (Are you registered? Do you have a valid picture ID? What is your plan for casting your ballot? Do you know the location of your polling place and the options for voting early and/or absentee?). And my neighbors and local friends know they can reach out to me if they have any questions about the process. If I don’t know the answer, I will find out for you!

Happily, most voters I encounter at the polls seem to trust the process, too, though every election, there are people who grumble that the system is inherently unfair or that voting doesn’t matter. No explanation or reassurance seems to sway them.

This year, I worked the polls for Georgia’s primary and will also work the general election. I’m excited to prove once again that our elections are conducted in a fashion that is fair and completely aboveboard. I only hope the voting public is equally confident in the results.

I feel less certain about what color our purple state will turn this time around. As optimism rose among Democrats this summer after Kamala Harris moved to the top of the ticket, I couldn’t help but remember the Abrams-Kemp election, when many rallied around a strong Black female candidate, only for her white male Republican opponent to win by a comfortable margin.

For all the yard signs, prophetic think pieces, and high-spirited rallies, there is no relaxing into hope, no blithe belief in its inevitability. For every positive sign, there’s a reminder that no outcome can be taken for granted.

The post In Georgia I Trust appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Oh, you beautiful souls in Battle Creek, Michigan: the teacher, the pipelayer, the barista, the big-hearted tech at the vet’s office checking in a scared family’s pug. How I wish you would stop being an infrequent participant in our democracy and take the time to vote in the upcoming election.

Scratch that. I’m off script.

I became a one-way pen pal for democracy in 2018, writing letters and postcards to strangers in the lead-up to that year’s midterm elections. 

I had spent the months before marching for women, science, immigrants, and Muslims. Then I decided marching wasn’t enough. I needed to engage individual Americans about electing politicians who shared my values. 

So that September, I attended a grassroots event to learn about volunteer voter outreach hosted by a Los Angeles group called Civic Sundays. We could choose to learn how to knock on doors, call and text prospective voters, or write postcards to engage people.

I’d never heard of writing postcards to strangers as a way to encourage them to vote. But I was charmed by the thought of an analog means of saving democracy. Civic Sundays and other organizations, many of which sprang to life following the 2016 presidential election, supply volunteers with lists of names and addresses of registered voters. The writers supply penmanship, stamps, and sometimes the postcards themselves.

I joined a large table of people with seemingly professional-level glitter and Magic Marker skills. While their postcards looked like illuminated manuscripts, I painstakingly struggled to make mine legible. A fourth-grade teacher once told me my writing resembled a hostage taker’s ransom note, but fortunately, I didn’t have to take a handwriting test to get a seat at the postcard table (some organizations do actually require one).

I found the work rather wholesome, but I wasn’t sold on the idea of trying to engage a population that couldn’t be bothered to vote.

The more postcards I wrote, the more I started to wonder: Who were these infrequent voters? Why weren’t they doing their civic duty? If I looked their address up on Google Maps, what would I see? Unmown lawns? Gated mansions?

I became racked by a desire to know who exactly were these shirkers of civic responsibility. But we’d been given clear instructions: Do not personally engage the recipients of your missives. Instead, we followed a clear and concise script of just a few sentences.

I participated in another postcard-writing campaign for the 2020 presidential election. This time, I specifically requested names from a swing state, Michigan. As I wrote to these strangers, I became increasingly frustrated, imagining them enjoying their weekends without a scintilla of voting guilt while I agonized over whether they might be offended by a postage stamp with a cat on it.

When I mentioned these frustrations to a cynical friend, he told me to read the Trappist monk Thomas Merton’s famous 1966 “Letter to a Young Activist.” I should have been suspicious, seeing as my friend would be the last person to write a postcard to a stranger. Sure enough, Merton’s words did not reassure me about the fate of my postcards. “[D]o not depend on the hope of results,” he wrote. “When you are doing the sort of work you have taken on, essentially an apostolic work, you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect.”

After reading Merton’s letter, I spent some months not writing the scofflaw voters of Michigan, Georgia, Arizona, or anywhere else.

But when the 2024 election campaign started up, with the future of the country once again on the ballot, I asked for another postcard list.

This time one of the choices was to write to people in my own state, California. This felt more like writing a neighbor than someone far away and utterly unknown. Once I had my list and started reading the names and addresses, I realized some of my postcards would be going to people who lived near the town where I work.

And then it happened. I recognized a name. The Gen Zer who needed a nudge to vote was one of my thoughtful, capable students.

I finally had an answer about the people I was writing to. They were just like the rest of us: unmarried singles and matriarchs of big families, people who drive electric cars and people who drive big trucks, charming people and irritating people and neighbors who played their music too loud but were sweet with their kids. People so busy leading their lives that they sometimes forgot or opted not to vote.

Recognizing just one name made me certain I had to keep penning these epistles of democracy, to keep reminding others, even if they didn’t listen or want to hear it, that their vote mattered. With new insight into Merton’s famous missive, I had to put my trust in, as he put it, “the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself.”

The post How I Became a One-Way Pen Pal for Democracy appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Working in media I walk a tightrope every day trying to adequately reflect the nuance of life and political perspectives on the island of Ireland, in particular Northern Ireland.

Come election season, how people here choose to vote is never about just one issue. But, as always, the question of whether Northern Ireland should reunify with the Republic of Ireland is a consideration on many people’s minds—even though it isn’t on the ballot.

Northern Ireland is currently part of the United Kingdom. Along with voters in England, Scotland, and Wales, the electorate here will head to the polls tomorrow, July 4, to select members of the Westminster Parliament in London.

Northern Ireland is very small, with a population of less than 2 million people. It holds just 18 of the 650 seats in the British parliament so influence can be challenging. Northern Ireland’s devolved legislature, known as Stormont, has limited powers, as do local council bodies.

The Westminster election has been a lackluster campaign but will likely throw up some surprising and significant results. What it means for Northern Ireland depends entirely on whom you ask—nationalists, who want reunification with the Republic of Ireland; unionists, who want to remain part of the U.K.; or others with varied views on the future.

There are hundreds of years of complicated history and identity issues in the mix. Many people consider the island of Ireland to have been Britain’s first colony: the whole thing was once part of the U.K. But in the early 20th century, 26 of Ireland’s 32 counties formed a new republic, leaving the six counties in the north still part of the U.K. This new region of Northern Ireland, essentially gerrymandered into existence, was rife with inequality and structured to ensure unionist electoral dominance in perpetuity.

From the 1960s to the late 1990s violence between British loyalist and Irish republican paramilitaries, and the U.K. state, left over 3,500 people dead and tens of thousands injured. People in Northern Ireland still feel the impact today, through inter-generational trauma and in political discourse.

While the 1998 Good Friday (Belfast) Agreement peace accord largely brought an end to 30-plus years of devastating violence, people in Northern Ireland continue to explore what the future will look like. Peace is a process, not an event.

Over the last quarter century, Stormont has been dominated by fragility, disagreement, and collapse. Indeed, this year it has only been fully functioning since February following a two-year unionist-led dispute over post-Brexit trade arrangements that apply to Northern Ireland but don’t apply to Scotland, England, and Wales.

The government was resuscitated just recently and now the political parties that form the mandatory power-sharing government are trying to present a united front while also competing with each other for Westminster seats.

British unionists standing for office talk a lot about strengthening Northern Ireland’s position as part of the U.K. Non-unionists tend to focus on what they view as the failure of the current U.K. government to adequately provide for the region.

The latter group currently has more seats at Westminster, having overtaken the British unionist parties’ hold on the Northern Ireland delegation for the first time in the 2019 Westminster election. That year, the nationalist parties Sinn Féin and SDLP won seven and two seats, respectively; the unionist DUP won eight seats, and the Alliance Party, neither nationalist nor unionist, won one.

The main aim of Sinn Féin—the Irish political party with historical links to the Irish Republican Army (IRA)—is the reunification of Ireland.

It believes the island should never have been partitioned, and that its people would be best served by an all-island government in the future.

It has an electoral presence in both jurisdictions on the island of Ireland, and in recent years has emerged as the largest party of local and devolved government in Northern Ireland.

Sinn Féin MPs do not take their seats in London. Rather, they abstain from parliament as a form of protest—on the basis that British and Irish people are better off taking control of their own fortunes. They do not accept Westminster MP salaries but do claim expenses to carry out constituency work around areas such as housing, amenities, and public services.

The smaller Irish nationalist party, the SDLP, while rejecting the British oath of allegiance, say the words to be able to take their seats. SDLP MPs believe that for as long as Northern Ireland is part of the U.K., it’s their duty to try to influence policy from the inside, and not leave unionists as the only voices inside the London parliament.

Ultimately Sinn Féin and the SDLP want the same thing: a new, reconciled and reunified all-Ireland constitutional future.

The Alliance Party, formed more than 50 years ago, has emerged in recent years as the third major electoral force in Northern Ireland. It is a “cross-community” party, takes no fixed position on unification, and therefore is described as “other” on the political spectrum, along with the likes of the Green Party.

Alliance attracts support from unionists and republicans, from those who could be persuadable in either direction, and from those not motivated by the topic at all. In this way, they offer representation for those who want an alternative to the traditional binary constitutional positions of political parties in this part of the world.

With society dividing roughly 40-40-20 (unionist, nationalist/republican, and others, respectively), Alliance voters will be extremely important when it’s time for people in Northern Ireland to decide to vote to reunite with Ireland at some time in the future.

The Good Friday Agreement allows the U.K. government to call for such a referendum, known as a border poll, under any circumstances; it is accepted that the most likely scenario in which they would do so is when it’s clear most people would vote for Irish unity. That day may not be as far away as it once felt.

I do not see Northern Ireland existing as it has in the years ahead. Its foundations aren’t solid, and its demographics and political landscape are changing. The old certainties of the past no longer exist. Background does not automatically indicate a constitutional preference but statistics suggest that the youngest people here, and the next batches of voters, are more likely to come from Catholic, nationalist, republican communities. The oldest citizens are more likely to be from Protestant, unionist, loyalist communities.

Post-Brexit, conversations about the constitutional future have only accelerated. There is a widespread view that the U.K.’s departure from the E.U. has been disastrous, which has provided impetus to those who seek an alternative future.

Of course, the constitutional future isn’t the only issue citizens care about.

The health service, the economy and cost of living, education, climate, and a host of other issues are important to citizens, too—if poorly addressed because of the general dysfunction that permeates all areas of life, and the structural inadequacies that sometimes make progress feel impossible.

The July election results will impact life in Northern Ireland in a variety of ways. Some people will vote tactically, declare “none of the above,” or not bother voting at all.

As frustrating as it can be, participating in the democratic process is an important function of any society, and it’s important to vote. It is a privilege. Throughout the history of the Irish civil rights movement and other rights movements around the world, people have died for their rights. And as a feminist, I am acutely aware that women were denied the right to vote in the not-so-distant past.

As dysfunctional as it is here, I love this place and its people. We deserve a bright future, an abundance of opportunities, and peace and reconciliation to be central to it all. There is something about a community that has experienced great suffering that produces many decent, empathetic, loving, and funny people. Dark episodes often build resilience and humanity. Every election in Northern Ireland offers an opportunity to channel those strengths to build a better future—even if indirectly, for now.

Labour is most likely to win. Once a new parliament is formed, Labour’s response to Northern Ireland’s political reform, funding levels, equality provisions, the legacy of the violent past, infrastructure projects, and a future border poll, will be where the focus shifts.

The post What’s at Stake for Northern Ireland in the U.K. Elections? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Here in France, we had all expected the far-right Rassemblement National (National Rally)—or the RN—to outperform in the European elections earlier this month. At 8 p.m. on June 9, the results confirmed the polls and our fears.

But we never expected the bombshell that President Emmanuel Macron dropped on us a mere hour later.

Sober, dressed appropriately for the dramatic moment in a black suit and tie, Macron announced that he would dissolve the lower house of France’s parliament, the National Assembly. With the far-right RN and Reconquête! parties winning nearly 37% of the votes in the European elections, Macron’s centrist party’s relative majority in France, already under strain, had lost credibility. He called for snap parliamentary elections, with the first round scheduled for this Sunday, June 30.

Le Monde, channeling the president’s allies and supporters, called his decision “an egotistical and solitary flight forward, reckless and risky, with potentially very serious consequences: an absolute majority for the National Rally or an ungovernable National Assembly; cohabitation or paralysis of the system.” People called Macron narcissistic, megalomaniacal, Jupiterian, Napoleonic.

In Paris, where the extreme right did not win in any neighborhood, the city is preparing for the onslaught of the 2024 Summer Olympics, which begin on July 26. Everywhere in France, school is nearly out, and people are getting ready for their holidays. Yet now we’re faced with a political whirlwind spinning faster than we can absorb. Its potential outcome is very serious indeed, and yet neither the people nor political parties have time to reflect calmly.

France’s National Assembly is comprised of 577 MPs, who are elected to five-year terms. In the last parliamentary elections, in June 2022, Macron’s Renaissance Party won only 245 seats, losing its absolute majority. The RN won 89 seats and became the largest single-party opposition group in parliament, behind the now defunct left-wing alliance NUPES, with 151 seats.

As in the rest of Europe, far-right ideas and parties have been on the rise in France—although here, following a short period of disgrace after World War II, extremist far-right militants and nationalistic populists have always hovered in the background. The RN is the former Front National (FN), founded in 1972 by Marine Le Pen’s father, Jean-Marie, who brought together groups with varying extremist ideologies to create a political party—including fascists, and members of the Organisation de l’armée secrète (OAS), a paramilitary terrorist group famous for attempting to assassinate President Charles de Gaulle in 1962. In 1986 then center-right President Jacques Chirac put in place a “cordon sanitaire” blocking off the extreme right to dissuade political alliances. But politicians like Nicolas Sarkozy blurred the lines between left and right, political scientist and sociologist Philippe Corcuff has observed—and since Le Pen took over from her father in 2011, renaming the party and working hard to make it more “socially acceptable,” the RN has steadily gained.

The party—and the right in general—have been further helped by Vincent Bolloré, a conservative Catholic billionaire media mogul accused by Reporters Without Borders in 2021 of intimidating and bullying journalists. And since Macron became president in 2017, he too has moved further to the right. His goal is to bring those drifting to the far-right back into the fold to preserve his majority. But the strategy has consistently failed, as we saw in the European election results.

Now, with the playing field upended, parties are scrambling to create alliances, and members are shedding allegiances. Le Pen’s niece Marion Maréchal, a prominent member of Reconquête!, left the party after a potential electoral pact between it and RN broke down. Eric Ciotti, head of the traditional right-wing party Les Républicains, announced he wanted to form an allegiance with the RN, taking his own party by surprise. (The party then voted to exclude him.) Jewish celebrity philosopher Alain Finkielkraut suggested he would vote for the RN—despite its origins being founded in antisemitic and racist ideologies—as did Nazi hunters Serge Klarsfeld and his son Arno, citing fear of immigrants from Muslim countries as a reason.

As retired diplomat Anis Nacrour put it, “It’s like billiard balls gone crazy, zigzagging and hitting all sides of the table.”

The various left-wing parties managed to pull together a coalition and program in record time to form a bloc, the Nouveau Front Populaire, or New Popular Front. But the hard-left leader Jean-Luc Mélenchon is disliked by many for his confrontational and disruptive style.

We can only speculate why Macron thought calling snap elections was a good idea. Ever since the Renaissance Party lost its absolute majority in parliament during his second term, Macron has forced through several controversial laws. He relied on a constitutional gambit to raise the retirement age from 62 to 64, bypassing a vote in the Assembly. He also has planned unpopular budget cuts for the fall. Perhaps Macron thought he would have to dissolve the National Assembly then anyway.

But forcing the French to choose sooner rather than later seems to be a terrible gamble. In French national parliamentary elections, there are two rounds of voting, and a party must win an absolute majority in the second round to rise to power. Even if the RN wins 37% in the first round on June 30, echoing the right-wing parties’ EU elections success, it will need many more votes in the second round, scheduled for July 7. In the week between the two votes, parties will scramble to form political alliances, and two frontrunner parties will emerge. The uncertainty of the outcome, with populism and charges of antisemitism versus anti-Zionism blurring the lines between left and right, gives us a feeling of being in a political maelstrom in which none of our choices feel true—except voting against the far-right. Earlier this week, on June 24, Macron wrote a letter to the French people urging us to vote and to choose the central bloc rather than the left-wing coalition or the far-right, of course. “This is our election and yours to make,” he ended the letter. This was disingenuous. It was Macron, after all, who had called for the vote.

In Paris, like other cities, we live in a bubble that is not representative of the rest of France. Most regions voted for the RN. This seems inconceivable to me when I see how people co-exist in my ethnically mixed neighborhood of Belleville. In the large nearby park, the Buttes Chaumont, older tattooed Kabyle women sit on benches, Chinese women hold group dance classes, a multi-ethnic and multi-generational crowd practice Tai Chi, and schoolchildren of every color babble as they skip across the park after a nature walk.

When French people are asked what they worry about most, they say purchasing power and the environment. But immigration tops the agenda for right and far-right parties and permeates the political discourse—even if the number of immigrants to France is average for Europe, and behind Germany or Spain. And, while most everyone I know agrees that it has problems, we strongly feel part of the European community. The RN’s nationalism and xenophobia are unacceptable.  In the 2022 presidential elections, Parisians breathed a sigh of relief when Macron edged out Marine Le Pen. Last week, an IPSOS poll showed that 62% of French people intend to vote on June 30 with the RN still leading at 31.5% with the New Popular Front not far behind at 29.5%. We can only hope that across France people will realize just how critical this juncture is.

The post What Was Macron Thinking? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

In 2024, almost 19 million of us will choose elected officials to represent us at all three of these levels: 33 new members of the European Parliament (MEPs), 3,000 new mayors across Romania, 588 new members of the Romanian Parliament, and 1 new president.

So why is there fatigue, rather than campaign excitement? And are the Romanian and European contests functioning in opposition to each other—distracting citizens from the important issues in both sets of races—or are they mutually beneficial, because they’ll bring so many people to the polls?

Thus far, the current Romanian government seems to have abandoned meaningful debate about the issues the country faces. Projects are stagnating. There is no real strategy to deal with the Ukraine war at our border. There is no plan to modernize the Romanian economy in a digital era, or industry and agriculture in the era of green transition. Candidates merely praise the work of party colleagues, and criticize the opposition, avoiding concrete proposals or explanations of their positions. Flattering photographs on social media encourage us to vote for candidates, without giving us a reason why.

Even electoral debates are missing. Instead, politicians secure spots on popular television shows and list their achievements from a safe seat. In fact, the first and probably only real electoral debate between the Romanian candidates in the EU elections was organized by my NGO, Europuls,  and Democracy International, which took place at the recent Global Forum on Modern Direct Democracy*.

The EU elections, meanwhile, will lead to the renewal of the European Parliament, the institution that adopts EU laws. They will also indirectly reshape the European Commission, the bureaucratic body that proposes EU laws.

According to the latest Eurobarometer survey, 74% of Romanians say they intend to vote in the EU elections, 19 percentage points more than those who said they intended to vote in 2019. It will be interesting to see whether the intention will translate into actual presence and whether the turnout will be higher than in 2019.

The decision to hold Romania’s local elections on the same day as EU elections sparked heated debate here. The ruling coalition has cited several reasons for the move: reducing administrative costs (though leaders have provided no figures to indicate any likely savings), keeping local constituents engaged and avoiding electoral fatigue over what would otherwise have been four rounds of elections, and even counteracting extremism. The opposition argues that merging elections is anti-democratic and undermines small parties’ chances.

In practice, the local contests seem to overshadow the EU elections, as EU parliament candidates campaign in their districts, and often promote candidates for local elections instead of talking about EU-level priorities.

Romanian citizens seem confused, disillusioned, and indifferent. Because they don’t know what distinguishes the people and parties on their ballot, the European elections here seem more like a popularity contest rather than a political one. That’s unfortunate because the story of this election is mainly one about the future of Romania as part of the European family—a family in which we have lived for nearly 20 years, and which makes our lives better every day.

An EU infusion of more than 60 billion euros into the Romanian economy financed essential reforms in our public administration and justice systems, as well as investments in roads, railways, schools, and hospitals. EU values of democracy, human rights, and rule of law have made us more inclusive and tolerant—a more modern society. Being part of the EU single market has increased our GDP. Romanians can travel and work throughout the EU; our goods, services, and money move around almost as freely as within a single country. EU membership means we have no cellular roaming costs or extra fees for credit and debit card purchases within the EU, full protection of our personal data, and a guaranteed four weeks of paid leave per year. We benefit from the unified emergency and health insurance systems for all 27 EU countries. We have enjoyed fast access to vaccines during the pandemic, great food quality standards, and the strictest environmental targets in the world.

Romanians are distracted from the high stakes these elections represent for us and for the whole European continent. Even now, 17 years after becoming an EU member state, our country doesn’t fully embrace its responsibility to the project.

With 33 seats in the European Parliament, Romania is the sixth most powerful country in the EU. Forty percent of Romania’s children live in poverty and social exclusion. By leaning in to the European project, we can rescue those kids by helping to erase social and economic disparities across EU regions and by helping the EU achieve economic and climate targets.

We can influence geopolitics, too. Strategically positioned on the Black Sea, sharing a border with Ukraine, and a NATO member, Romania could play a key role in resolving the war in Ukraine, and planning for that country’s reconstruction. Romania strongly promotes the rapid integration of our neighbor Moldova into the European Union. This is essential because the faster Moldova transitions toward the organization, the faster its citizens can escape poverty, and Russian threats to their freedom and resources.

But accomplishing all of this requires that we elect candidates that understand the world, as well as the EU agenda and how Romania could benefit from it. And we need responsible and informed citizens to elect them. As a Romanian citizen, I would like to ask our candidates for the European Parliament about these issues before going to the polls and casting my ballot. These are questions that will shape the EU agenda in upcoming years. I hope that, as of June 9, I and Romanian voters like me will get more insight into what our leaders are thinking when it comes to our future and our future role in the continent.

*Zócalo columnist and democracy editor Joe Mathews is a founder of Democracy International, and sits on the Global Forum on Modern Direct Democracy’s supervisory committee.

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This year we celebrate the milestone of 30 years as a democratic state and the seventh general election in which all South Africans regardless of race are allowed to vote.

Our history is long, bloody, and racist. South Africa’s apartheid system lasted nearly half a century, from 1948 to the early 1990s. It was a system that suppressed Black South Africans and where the minority white population controlled political decisions, the economy, and society. The majority of the South African population faced systematic discrimination in all facets of life, including housing, land, jobs, and public facility use.

After 1994, and the election of President Nelson Mandela, voting became a form of power for Black South Africans. Elections serve as a reminder that our ancestors fought for our freedom and won.

This election I prepare to vote for the first time with no frontrunner political party championing the radical change my generation wishes to see.

I grew up in Cape Town, the second-largest city in South Africa, located in the southernmost part of the country. It is the second largest urban destination in South Africa, with more than a million international tourists annually. To the world, Cape Town is this picturesque city known for its natural beauty. To me, the mountain is just a backdrop from my yard. From my vantage point, I see disadvantage: young kids not being able to go to school because their parents aren’t able to care for them, becoming what they grew up believing they should be—gangsters. To me, Cape Town is potholes and small shacks that fuel wildfires in summer.

And when I look at South Africa as a whole country, I do not see freedom. I see Black children in poverty and rampant unemployment, especially for young people. I see unpunished gender-based violence and rising economic inequality. I don’t see freedom in a country where the working class isn’t able to afford basic needs because of inflation and rising food prices.

So, are we really free, or have we wasted our hard-won freedom?

In the sixth grade, my school dedicated a whole term to learning about Nelson Mandela. We read about his fight for Black South Africa and how he helped end apartheid, his 1990 release from prison after 27 years, his years as head of the African National Congress (ANC) Party, and his 1994 inauguration as South Africa’s first Black president. After one term he resigned from the ANC, stepped down as president, and transferred leadership to his successor. Even after his death in 2013, his legacy lives on with Mandela Day. That’s a public holiday, celebrated on Mandela’s birthday, July 18, when people do at least 67 minutes of community service—one for each of his 67 years in public life.

The ANC has been in power for the last 30 years, with five different leaders. The party once represented unity and freedom for all South Africans and a promise of foundational change. Instead, it delivered elite corruption that sent the country into a steady decline. The ANC has crippled the country’s economy, loadshedding leaves households without electricity for up to six hours a day, and unemployment is at all-time highs. Even with free healthcare and medication, the country is still battling to contain the spread of HIV and tuberculosis.

For older generations, the ANC has always been a beacon of hope. They had a front-row seat to all the bloodshed and inequality of the apartheid system. Their emotional ties to the party are rooted in experiencing freedom after years of being oppressed.

As young people, we have seen the ANC steal the very resources we are supposed to use to build a future. Many young South Africans believe if the ANC wins the 2024 elections the country will burn, and we will be left with nothing but ashes.

When I look beyond the ANC to the other opposition parties, there isn’t much to consider voting for them.

This election, former President Jacob Zuma surprised South Africans when he announced he would helm a new political party, uMkhonto weSizwe Party (MK Party). Zuma was charged with corruption in 2005, when he and a close colleague, businessman Schabir Shaik, took bribes from a French arms company. He stole billions from South African taxpayers and was accused of fraud, corruption, racketeering, money laundering, and rape. He was released after two months of a 15-month term on medical parole.

The Democratic Alliance (DA)—founded in 2000 through the merging of multiple parties—is a centrist, majority-white party, and the second largest. It has been ruling the Western Cape province since 2009. Its leadership is comprised of mostly white politicians. The DA’s main goal is to bring down the ANC they see South Africa as a place they need to “rescue” from the ANC and their corruption. They’ve shown blatant disrespect to the people they want to “rescue” by paying for an advert that shows the burning of the national flag—a flag that represents unity and the “rainbow nation,” a representation of all the cultures and nations in South Africa.

The DA is also openly supporting Israel, a matter that weighs heavily on many South Africans’ hearts and minds, who, like me, think Israel is committing genocide in Gaza. DA leaders have made high-profile trips to Israel, including a 2017 journey when Mmusi Maimane (former DA leader), Geordin Hill-Lewis (now mayor of Cape Town), John Steenhuisen (current DA leader), and Michael Baigram (DA parliament member) met Israeli president Isaac Herzog. The DA also suppresses pro-Palestine speech: In January 2024 law enforcement painted over a mural of the Palestinian flag, including the words “we stand with Palestine,” in the Lavender Hill neighborhood of Cape Town, citing permit issues. Though it has issued a statement in support of a two-state solution in Israel/Palestine, the DA has made no mention of genocide in Gaza, even after South Africa took Israel to the International Court of Justice. Many South Africans see this—genocide, oppressive laws, policies, and practices that segregate Palestinians from Israelis—as a reflection of what our parents, grandparents, and ancestors went through during apartheid and the Boer War. It is also a clear indication that the world is still so unequal, and that human rights only matter to those who have powerful influence.

Other smaller parties like Action SA, BOSA, SNP, ISANCO, UIM, VF PLUS, RISE Mzansi, and IFP also stand with the DA and their policies. They believe that South Africa doesn’t need fundamental change but only improvement. This type of incrementalism is unacceptable to my generation. We see it as just another way of maintaining the status quo.

So, who is fighting for my generation’s future?

The Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) is the third-largest political party in South Africa. The party was formed in 2013 by former ANC Youth League leader Julius Malema and the former ANC Youth League spokesperson Floyd Shivambu. In 2015, the EFF was one of the biggest supporters against the #feesmustfall movement, which was the largest student protest in South Africa, fighting for free education for students who can’t afford higher education. Its 2024 political manifesto was the best by any political party. With clear goals for job creation, the energy crisis, and bold ideas like establishing a state-owned housing and infrastructure company, it seeks to create about 4 million jobs. The party also wants to open borders, a position many South Africans unfortunately think will create a rise in xenophobia and strain an already unstable economy.

I only have one semester left at the University of the Western Cape. I’ve seen the struggles of my fellow students; I’ve seen the struggles of the people in my neighborhood; I’ve seen the struggles of people who have the same skin color as mine all over South Africa. We all have witnessed how incompetent our leaders are and how ordinary people suffer.

So this is what I face in this election: balancing the fact that so many major parties are only fueling their own agendas with the need to keep some faith in an already-broken government.

The post Young South Africans Are Sick of the Status Quo appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The biggest elections in Mexican history will take place on June 2. Citizens will vote to fill more than 20,000 offices: electing a new president and governors from eight of our 32 states, filling the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies (the equivalent of the U.S. House of Representatives), and installing a new head of government for Mexico City and thousands of other communities.

If that sounds hectic, it’s because it is. In Mexico City, braving a month-long heatwave, literal tons of political propaganda litter the streets. Every free wall, pedestrian bridge, and lamp post has been overtaken by multicolor plastic signs and candidates’ smiling faces. Plastered one on top of the other, most end up crumbled, half ripped, or destroyed. Clara Brugada and Santiago Taboada, political rivals running for head of government in Mexico City, have denounced each other’s teams for taking down the propaganda. It gets put back up within days.

Despite the posters’ bright colors, these contests can only be described as gray—the opposite of exciting. Rather than being about the future, they’re stuck in the past.

In México, people often see the president as a villain. Things seemed different when the leftist Morena party leader Andrés Manuel López Obrador ran for the office in 2018. As Mexico City’s mayor from 2000 to 2005, López Obrador expanded the Periférico, the city’s biggest urban highway; renovated the city center; provided government pensions for citizens 70 and over; inaugurated the Metrobús system; and stood up to President Vicente Fox.

Despite a prominent bribery scandal, López Obrador positioned himself as an outsider, speaking often about fighting the Mexican power mafia, politicians and businessmen who acted against the true interests of Mexico. López Obrador lost in 2006—by a mere 0.56%—and again in 2012. During these years he traveled the country calling himself the “legitimate president” who had won the 2006 election. In 2018, he won a decisive victory, defeating his runner up by 31 percentage points, and becoming Mexico’s first “president of the people,” as he would put it. He launched a daily, two-to-three-hour 7:00 a.m. press conference called the “Mañanera,” in order to speak to his people. He opened the Mexican White House to the public as a museum.

Many Mexicans believed that perhaps this man would be the change the country needed, after enduring decades of corruption and scandal. On Sunday July 1, when López Obrador’s victory was announced, hundreds of thousands gathered in Mexico City’s Zócalo, or main square, in a moment of joy, hope, and catharsis. I went there with my mother; she was truly happy, because she had supported him for years and thought it would never be possible for him to win. That day, in front of the roaring crowd, López Obrador hugged himself as if he were hugging all of us and said, “I love you.”

López Obrador named his movement “La Cuarta Transformación,” or the Fourth Transformation, suggesting his presidency would mark a historic shift comparable to the Mexican Revolution of 1910—an era of “Primero los pobres,” where the poor come first.

Reality has failed to meet expectations. The president promised to combat elite private sector interests, but promoted a model of austerity and reduced public spending that erased dozens of government programs in favor of a model of direct monthly payments for some disadvantaged groups. These payments, made by bank transfer, have been denounced for irregularities, and for being used as a way to condition voting, and have only increased private sector power. Some 30 million Mexicans lost access to health care.

López Obrador leaned into divisive, authoritarian, populist rhetoric. He also instituted changes to the police and military that made Mexicans less safe. In many states today, including Michoacán, Zacatecas, and Guanajuato, organized crime factions force residents in mining, transport, or agriculture to pay a fee just to do their work. In the country there is a crisis of over 300,000 internally displaced persons that have relocated due to violence.

Almost six years have gone by, and López Obrador is facing the end of his term. Many people are pleased with the monthly payments; salaries have increased, too. For many Mexican voters, the president still represents a moral alternative over politicians from traditional parties. He was, they say, chosen by the people.

But for the rest of us, the mood is no longer joyful—just skeptical. These elections have involved a huge outpouring of resources. They have been loud. Cars drive through the streets with boomboxes announcing the names of the candidates. Politicians dress in the colors of their parties (phosphorescent orange from head to toe for the Movimiento Ciudadano party). It’s like being at a carnival—noisy, colorful, unserious—and on social media the frenzy is even more intense: You can see videos of candidates dancing and giving away Cheetos with their faces stamped on the packages.

The flashiness is not accidental. Money is the driving force behind these elections. It is the criterion for selecting local candidates, who pay a fee to run for office. It pours out to thousands of consultants to feed the endless publicity and influence votes. Organized crime money finances campaigns and buys candidates. The whole exercise feels like a marketplace, not a forum for ideas.

The day of the election may be a chaotic one. Already, electoral violence is at an all-time high, with more than 30 candidates murdered. Mexicans expect to see the same kinds of disruptions that occurred in the midterm elections of 2021, as well as confrontations between candidates when results are close.

There’s one change that’s certain: Mexico will have its first female president. Physicist Claudia Sheinbaum, the candidate for Morena, has spent the past six years as mayor of Mexico City, and all polls suggest she’ll win. She is running against another woman, former Senator Xóchitl Gálvez, from the opposition PAN-PRI-PRD party, a conglomeration of former opponents whose uncomfortable marriage has the sole purpose of forming a unified front against Morena. Sheinbaum, López Obrador’s designated successor, has promised continuity: to defend the poor and represent the people, fight corruption, and uphold the principles of La Cuarta Transformación. But her promises are hard to believe. Sheinbaum’s government in Mexico City failed to show accountability for incidents of negligence like the collapse of a subway line in 2021 that resulted in the death of 27 passengers, reduced investment in public transportation, and failed to uphold promises to make a greener, less polluted city. She is also working within a divided, fractious party—and a movement so identified with one charismatic politician that many wonder if it can outlast its creator.

Xóchitl Gálvez, meanwhile, is inexperienced and little-known. Her candidacy reflects the traditional parties’ inability to produce strong opponents. It is as if none of the big names wanted to contend against Morena.

Idealists might say that these elections are a decision between two visions for Mexico’s future. In my mind, they are something less profound: a reaffirmation of a movement that prophesizes extraordinary morality while sadly copying previous governments’ vices. It feels as if today’s Mexican political system is run by the idea, rather than the reality, of electoral change. Through elections we can put a woman in power, an outsider in power, a different party in power; we can punish the ruling party, or the traditional parties.

Change alone is not hard. What is hard—extremely hard—is change that makes things better.

The elections are all people talk about here, but they feel like background noise to me. More competition does not necessarily translate into more democracy, or better democracy. It’s the scramble for power that truly drives Mexican politicians. Little can be said for the exercise of power itself, or if leaders care at all about what happens the day that follows the election.

The post Mexico’s Noisy, Colorful, Unserious Election appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Since April 19, the day general elections began in India, voters have queued up outside polling booths, braving a muggy, scorching heatwave. The mood appears mostly upbeat. Voters talk to TV news reporters. They articulate wishes for change or belief in the incumbent leader.

This year’s election is the largest, and longest, in India’s 60 years of increasingly fragile democracy. Nearly a billion people are eligible to vote, in seven phases, over 44 days.

In voting thus far, women have outnumbered men in several states, and have made up nearly half of the people at the polls. Women may be poised to match men’s influence at the ballot box. But how will they vote? In a country where women’s rights and opportunities are under pressure, it’s not clear that turning out for this election will make Indian women’s lives happier, safer, or more prosperous.

The 2024 election pits candidates aligned with current prime minister Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) against candidates from the Indian National Developmental Inclusive Alliance (INDIA) led by Rahul Gandhi and Priyanka Gandhi—the great-grandchildren, grandchildren, and children of former prime ministers.

Modi’s platform, communicated in sweeping speeches and vicious attacks on social and legacy media, emphasizes economic development and a traditionalist nationalism that privileges India’s Hindus over its Muslims and other minorities. The BJP’s most flagrant move to establish Hindu supremacy was the inauguration of a temple to the deity Ram at Ayodhya, at the site of the centuries-old Babri Masjid Mosque.

Alongside Ram, the hero of the Hindu epic the Ramayana, the BJP venerates his loyal wife, Sita—calling on Indian women to be sacrificial, devoted, modern-day domestic queens meant to serve the patriarchy. Modi plays on the idea that women are best seen in relation to men, as “maa, beti, and behen (mother, daughter, and sister).” And he cautions that their mangalsutra (the gold-and-bead necklaces married women wear) will be snatched by “them”—“infiltrators” or “ghuspaithiya,” a Hindi word meaning intruder that Modi recently used to describe members of India’s Muslim community.

Modi offers lofty promises about women’s futures. India should have “a women-led development,” which thus far seems to be a collection of government giveaways such as a recent effort to install liquid petroleum gas hookups in rural homes (that can no longer afford to refill their fuel canisters) and a drive for clean toilets (exposed as ineffective by the country’s embattled independent media outlets). At BJP rallies, the vague slogan “Nari Shakti”—which roughly translates to “Women Power”—roars out of microphones every time the government faces criticism about discrimination or violence against women.

There’s been plenty of both. The BJP has largely alienated India’s 181 million urban women, who could join the workforce but instead cook, clean, and care for families. Better employment is one of the top wishlist items for Indian women, who also tell reporters that they want safety in public spaces, a check on inflation, and better education and health facilities. But according to 2021 data from the World Bank and International Labor Organization, women comprise only 19% of India’s workforce, down from more than 40% in the early 1990s. In a nation with a tradition of strong women leaders, only 12% of this year’s remaining election candidates are female.

There has been gruesome violence, motivated by political aims and bias. One girl raped by a BJP legislator in Unnao, Uttar Pradesh, in 2017; another 8-year-old Muslim girl gangraped in Kathua, Kashmir, in 2018; a Dalit girl gangraped in Hathras, Uttar Pradesh, in 2020; hundreds of women assaulted, raped, or killed in the Manipur, a state in the northeast where ethnic clashes have led to unimaginable brutalities. Police investigations of these crimes have been slow and inconsequential. BJP members have celebrated when rapists have been released from jail, and they have lashed out at victims who publicly expose their attackers. Data from India’s National Crime Records Bureau revealed that on average, in 2021, 86 women were raped every day and citizens lodged 49 cases of crimes against women every hour; from 2014 to 2022, the bureau reported that overall crimes against women per 100,000 population increased from 56.3 to 66.4.

Violence is a major concern for Rajnita Chaudhury, a 21-year-old intern at a film production company in Mumbai who voted BJP in the last election but is reconsidering her vote this time around. “I want public spaces to be safe. I want to be able to travel by myself at night everywhere in India. Is that too much to ask?” she said. But she’s not optimistic. “What is killing my hope the most is how divided our college campuses are. Boys from Uttar Pradesh are going ‘Jai Shri Ram’ (Hail god Ram) for everything. I can’t relate to it.”

Sheetal Bachche, 38, a domestic worker at a suburban residential complex in Mumbai, migrated to the city newly married, about 15 years ago. “The women in my family were very hopeful when Modi first came because he talked a lot about what will help women,” she said. But most of his promises “went bust, [so] I am thinking of alternatives. And so are the women in my extended family.” She added, “But is there any alternative for Modi?”

The Gandhis and INDIA, with a platform promoting equality and sharply focused on unemployment and inflation, are trying to answer that question in the affirmative. Rahul Gandhi has visited girls’ colleges and spoken with 18 and 19-year-old girls in smaller towns and villages on the campaign trail.

But his counter-promises to women sound a lot like Modi’s. His recently announced Mahalakshmi scheme would deposit 100,000 rupees each year in accounts of “women in poor households.” Which category of poor, and whether all these poor women have bank accounts, is not clear.

The woman of the moment is Priyanka Gandhi, whose resemblance to her grandmother Indira has been a subject of discussion for decades. In the last election, she did not campaign. This time around is different. She embraces her role as a non-playing captain, bolstering her team by articulating the party’s focus on three primary issues: unemployment, capitalism-induced corruption, and rising inequality. She speaks a chaste Hindi, wears a wry smile, and makes humorous puns on Modi’s fear- and hate-mongering.

She speaks to women as individuals—not just as mothers, daughters, and sisters. At a recent rally in Nandurbar, Maharashtra, flailing, screaming crowds showed their support for her. Within the swell, the promise of change—if not in the outcome of these elections, for the future of women participating in politics and public systems, and finding their voices as individuals.

The post What Do Indian Women Want from This Election? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.