If people honestly think that the poor and minority votes still count, they need to watch the documentary "American Blackout." I grew up in an upper class neighborhood, so I never witnessed this first hand, but the 95% of American neighborhoods that do not have that luxury can attest to a completely shocking story that made me question the vitality of democracy in our country.
Here's a rather sentimental, wonderful celebration of democracy by the 19th century poet John Greenleaf Whitter.
The Poor Voter on Election Day
The proudest now is but my peer, The highest not more high; To-day, of all the weary year, A king of men am I. To-day alike are great and small, The nameless and the known My palace is the people’s hall, The ballot-box my throne!
Who serves to-day upon the list Beside the served shall stand; Alike the brown and wrinkled fist, The gloved and dainty hand! The rich is level with the poor, The weak is strong to-day; And sleekest broadcloth counts no more Than homespun frock of gray.
To-day let pomp and vain pretence My stubborn right abide; I set a plain man’s common sense Against the pedant’s pride. To-day shall simple manhood try The strength of gold and land The wide world has not wealth to buy The power in my right hand!
While there’s a grief to seek redress, Or balance to adjust, Where weighs our living manhood less Than Mammon’s vilest dust, -- While there’s a right to need my vote A wrong to sweep away, Up! clouted knee and ragged coat! A man’s a man to-day!
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