Torchbearer

Mother, it is the very early hours of the day people in my country vote for our next President. The official day. Many people have voted early. Many people are not allowed to vote at all.

I have said before how I think of You when I see pictures of the Statue of Liberty, and how the Emma Lazarus poem The New Colossus - written for the statue - also connects.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Democracy is not perfect, Mother. A Republic is not perfect. A Republic with democratic elections...well, we've proven that's not perfect. No system is. Biases are built in, and manipulators twist things in order to get the most power they can over other humans. 

There are two main candidates. A man who has been clear about wanting power for himself, and being willing to sacrifice and manipulate everyone else to get it. And a woman who is no closer to perfect than the system or any of the rest of us who live here, but she wants to hold the torch up to light the way for others before she hands it to the person who fills the role after her.

Mother, it will be wonderful to look at her as our President and see a hint of You! Please bless us with such magnificence, and with the power spread among us to work with her to make improvements in the imperfection.