“My vote won’t change anything. Why bother?” Because I still have the chance to use it.
I often think about my ancestors. Our family history goes back to the 1500s in what is now Germany. Eventually, some of them left everything they knew and made the journey to America.
The people on the ballot are applying for a job. If you ran a business, would you hire this person?
I can’t know what my ancestors said to one another, but I imagine someone finally insisting, “We don’t have to live this way.” Taxes, government control, and oppression had made life there unbearable. They had little influence over the system directing their lives, so they crossed an ocean and faced the risks of a new frontier. They wanted the chance to work, build something, and keep what they earned. They knew life would be hard. Still, they wanted a chance.
I can’t imagine looking them in the eye and saying, “I get a say in who has power over my liberty, safety, and money, but I’ve decided not to use it.” Election fatigue makes that easy to do. We get frustrated, switch off, and tell ourselves one vote won’t matter. I can’t control the result, but I am responsible for using the voice I have.
That’s part of being a good steward. It means taking the ballot seriously. Government should protect life and property, maintain infrastructure and national security, and support fair commerce. Officials need clear duties, limits on their authority, and consequences if they misuse it.
Take the phrase “public servant.” Some officials seem to serve, certainly—but themselves. And when the public asks questions, a plain answer can suddenly become hard to find.
Take two recent examples. At a Senate hearing in July, Anthony Fauci invoked the Fifth Amendment more than 100 times. He had a constitutional right to do so. Even so, it wasn’t exactly reassuring to watch.
Rep. Ilhan Omar of Minnesota called it “insane” to suggest that her former husband was her brother. But when asked whether she was related to him, she replied, “Not to my knowledge.” A federal court filing also referred to her as “Ilhan Nur Said Elmi,” without explaining the designation; Omar disputes it. What does that mean? The public deserves a clear answer backed by evidence.
Before defending either official, consider whether you would accept the same behavior from someone on the other side. Public service brings public scrutiny. Ask for answers—even when the official belongs to your own party.
Trump may be the most publicly visible president in our lifetime, to the point that he hardly seems to need a press secretary. Sometimes I think he could use one more often. But that’s another column.
When I’m deciding how to vote, I come back to four questions.
Have they built anything?
Maybe they’ve run a business, managed a farm, or raised a family. What have they actually been responsible for? Have they ever made payroll? Employees need their checks on Friday; good intentions won’t pay them. Experience by itself doesn’t make someone qualified, but I want to know whether a candidate understands work, responsibility, and consequences.
Would they give my wallet back?
All of it, without expecting a reward. Would you trust this person with your property—or with your family in an emergency? Do their actions match their promises? If neither candidate seems trustworthy, compare their records. Which one would require less supervision?
Do they help people become independent?
Are officials helping people stand on their own, or making them more dependent? One analysis of census survey data from 2014 to 2023 estimated that 81% of Minnesota households headed by Somali immigrants received cash assistance, food assistance, or Medicaid. That number, on its own, doesn’t tell us whether recipients are working, how long they need help, or whether the programs are working as intended.
Those are fair questions for the officials who oversee public spending. Are families becoming more able to support themselves? Is independence even the aim? People who can’t provide for themselves because of age, illness, or disability need help.
But being unable and being unwilling are not the same. Compassion means looking honestly at what happens to the people we say we’re helping. Stewardship means looking just as closely at the people managing that help with public money.
Will they protect life and property?
For me, that starts with protecting unborn life and opposing medical gender interventions for children. It also means holding people accountable when they hurt others or take what isn’t theirs. Look at candidates’ records on border security, bail, and sanctuary policies. Who was protected, and who bore the cost? What did the official do when something went wrong? The standard should apply regardless of race, religion, wealth, connections, or party.
Compare what candidates said they would do with what they have actually done. Ask a neighbor to do the same. The people on the ballot are applying for a job. If you owned a business, would you hire this person? Would you bring them on as a consultant?
Then vote.
My ancestors came here because they had so little say in the decisions shaping their lives. They took enormous risks for an opportunity their descendants now have. I can’t promise them I’ll always make the right choice. But I will vote.
Because I still can.
