This upcoming election is widely considered the most important in decades, so the whispers of a flipped Missouri, or a blue Florida or Texas, are perhaps unsurprising. However, I’ve got my sights set on something much more elusive and ethereal: a blue Alabama. 

It is plausible, albeit not likely, for a Democratic vote in Missouri to matter, or at least make more of a dent. However, a vote in Alabama? Not so much. Yet, I have elected to cast my ballot there anyway.

The crowning Alabama Democrat achievement in the last 30 years was the surprise senate election of Doug Jones, who prosecuted the KKK church bombers. He beat Republican Roy Moore, a man who numerous women accused of sexual assault and pedophilia and who was allegedly banned from his local mall. Jones won 50%-48%.

Despite this win, the Alabama Democratic Party (ADP) is in a perpetual state of disarray. This year alone, we misscheduled our meeting, feuded with the DNC and accused them of being racist, and waited until the last possible day to put Harris on the ticket. Out of 24 elections on my ballot, three of them had a Democrat in the running. The Dems were matched by the Libertarians. 

When I talk to my Alabama friends about the upcoming election, they seem to have embraced the futility of voting with an inner peace even the most hardened Buddhist monks could not dream of. When I came to WashU, I frequently thought about escaping this futility: Could I make more of a difference in Missouri? Could my vote finally matter, even at the expense of Alabama?

However, I think my friends’ peace is a fake one; it’s born of apathy, the opposite of love. Make no mistake — I love my state. I love the friendliness, the weather, our football team, and even our beach. And, like with any love, I’m deeply saddened and angered when what I love disappoints. 

At the end of the day, I don’t want to be ashamed of being from Alabama. I wish I didn’t have to see the concern in my peers’ eyes when I mention my home. I wish I didn’t feel shame when a gay friend asked why they’re not welcome there, and I wish I didn’t have to reassure others that I don’t believe in the hate our leaders proudly espouse.

In my eyes, I cannot so ardently maintain my disappointment and regret for Alabama if I run from the opportunity that I have to pursue some change. Many watch the happenings of Alabama with dismay and wish they had the power to change it. As one of the few people granted with both the voting power and the care to use it, it is my responsibility to make my desire for change known with my vote.

Escaping to Missouri is a Catch-22: If an Alabama voter is politically literate and passionate enough to switch their voter registration to Missouri in search of more political investment, they are the last person that should be switching. Alabama needs politically energized voters; for everyone that rightfully flees, Alabama sinks deeper into its quagmire of stagnancy and hate.

But, what can one vote do? My vote is one amongst millions, and my friends, smart as they are, are quick to do this math. What does one vote matter in the face of a culture of discrimination and silence spanning decades? What does it matter in the face of a million to the contrary? Trump won in Alabama by nearly 600,000 votes in 2020. 

One vote matters to every individual who looks at the election numbers and realizes they’re not alone: not alone in their desire for change, their desire to not be ashamed, to not be fearful. It matters to every 10, 20, 30 individuals who are inspired to vote, because that overwhelming 600,000 is only 600,000 individual voters who have already come to that same realization. 

Change is shepherded by great people riding on the backs of common voters numbering in the millions. Voters that, while history will not remember them, will themselves remember history. Voters who will tell their kids and grandkids that change is possible, even in the most stagnant, unlikely of places. That they’ve seen it done before; that all it takes is a little momentum, a little love.