Commitment to Voting Rights
“I’ll tell you why,” Rob replied enthusiastically, “It’s because the Democrats are the only ones looking out for Latin-X voters.”
Juan threw his empty can into the recycling box. Standing, he indicated that he was ready to tackle the fence project and that Rob should join him. "Rob," he uttered his neighbor's name with a thick layer of sarcasm. "You come to all my parties and drink all my beer. Have you ever heard a real Mexican say 'Latin-X'? That's not how we talk about things."
“You gotta think big picture,” Rob also threw his empty can into the recycling box. “Instead of thinking just of your social or peer group, you need to think in broad terms about people with shared values that have been disenfranchised by our system.”
Juan retrieved his post-hole digger, “What do you mean, disenfranchised?” he asked, “Who’s not letting us vote?”
“Well,” Rob considered the question as he walked to a spot on the ground beneath the stringline and indicated the place for a new post. "Just two years ago, the Supreme Court struck down the Voting Rights Act of 1965. It was designed to prevent voting discrimination.”
Shoving the string aside with his leg, Juan brought the digging tool down on the desert soil with a thump. “What happened?” As Rob began talking, Juan was almost sorry he’d asked the question. Rob was in his element, talking about complicated legal issues.
“In a narrow ruling, they upheld a new law that prohibits anyone other than a close family member or caregiver from collecting mail-in ballots,” Rob said breathlessly, “and another one that rejects votes from people who show up to cast a ballot in the wrong precinct.”
Juan's post-hole digger slammed down again, hitting something hard and unyielding as if he had slammed the blades down on concrete, "What’s wrong with that?” The shock rang through his shoulders. He slammed the digger down again and again, jarring his gritted teeth, loudly ringing each time.
“It’s wrong because these new restrictions impact minority communities more than white communities,” Rob replied. Then, indicating the hole Juan was digging, he asked, "Is something wrong?”
“I hit caliche.” Caliche is the dense, calcium-filled soil common throughout the American Southwest that is extremely difficult to dig through.
“Figures,” Rob commented in disgust. “Want me to get the hose? Maybe some water will soften it up?”
“No.” Juan had been working in Arizona for decades. “That just makes it worse. I’ve got a Makita in my truck. It’ll break through this easy.”
The Makita power hammer was a small electric jackhammer. Juan carried it up from the truck while Rob ran an extension cord from the back of his house to the fence line. Before Juan began, he asked, “Are you telling me that someone is trying to make it harder for Mexicans to vote?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Who’s doing that?” Juan asked.
“All the usual suspects,” Rob said, handing Juan the end of the extension cord. “Rich people, conservative politicians, and businessmen who feel threatened by the growing influence of the Hispanic community.”
Juan depressed the levers, activating the powerful tool. He leaned his weight into it and felt satisfaction as the steel tip chiseled its way through the hardpan. It also gave him an uninterrupted moment to consider what Rob was telling him.
“So, the Democrats are trying to help us?” Juan asked, standing up and stretching his back. “What are they doing about it?”
“The Democratic party’s emphasis is on workers' rights, fair wages, and workplace protections,” Rob explained. “They’re actively pushing to safeguard voting rights, expand early voting options, and prohibit discriminatory voter ID laws.”
“Hmm…” Juan used a small shovel to remove rubble from the new hole, “I like that. They’re looking out for us.”