There are moments in the life of a democracy when history stops whispering and begins to call us by name loudly. When the air itself feels heavy with consequences and the question is no longer who will lead and represent us, but how will we demand that they lead and represent us.
We are living in such a moment now.
The signs are everywhere. On street corners, in mailboxes, in the voices and campaigns that urge us to go vote now. But beneath the noise of campaigns and the choreography of politics, democracy hums with a quieter and older truth: Every day is an election.
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We see that truth in the faces of those who built this country’s promise long before they ever step into a voting booth. I see it on campuses like the one I’m privileged to lead and the communities they serve. I have seen and lived it in proximity to the immigrant who left everything behind but faith and work ethic, who labors unseen so their child can dream in the open light.
The single parent who works two shifts so her child can stand where she never could;
The custodian who whistles a hymn of resilience before sunrise as he restores order to a classroom that will hold tomorrow’s leaders;
The cafeteria workers who serve meals with warmth and dignity, reminding us that care is its own form of citizenship;
The educator who teaches with heart because teaching is how they pray for a better world;
The nurse that tends to the needs of a patient long after the clock has forgotten her shift;
The small business owner who keeps the lights on not for profit alone, but for the pride of sustaining a community;
The farmer whose hands bear the weight of the harvest and the hope of feeding strangers he will never meet;
The police officer and the firefighter who step into uncertainty so that other may step into safety;
The soldier who defends ideals that are bigger than any one person;
The union worker who lifts their coworker’s voice as their own;
The entrepreneur who risks failure to spark innovation that uplifts others;
The elder who votes not for themselves but for a generation they may never see;
The young person who volunteers believing that progress begins with showing up;
The first-generation college students, who walk across our campuses, carrying the hopes of an entire family translating their parents’ sacrifice into possibility.
These are just some of the people who keep our republic alive. They don’t always hold titles or degrees, but their fingerprints are on every act of progress we claim. They pour their determination and resilience into the next generation and in doing so they vote every single day. These are the stewards of our democracy.
The most powerful role in a democracy has never been that of president or governor. It is, and will always be, citizen.
Citizenship is not a credential. It is a responsibility. It binds us to one another through duty and care. It calls us to show up, not just on Election Day, but in the daily acts that hold a nation together. That, too, is a vote in our democracy.
Democracy was never meant to be a transaction. It is trust, paid for in service and sacrifice. And too many in public offices and spaces have forgotten that trust, failing to reflect on the lived experiences of those they represent and serve.
Democracy doesn’t just need movements and campaigns. It needs presence. Presence in the classrooms where tomorrow’s leaders are learning to believe in their own worth. Presence in the neighborhoods where hope is both fragile and fierce. Presence in the rooms where decisions are made about lives that the decision-makers will never live.
So yes, vote, vote, vote. Urge your fellow citizens to lean into our democracy. Let your convictions speak at the ballot box. But remember that what happens the day after the election matters just as much, if not more.
Our colleges and universities, our places of work, our public spaces are the proving grounds of our democracy. Our republic does not flourish when we define ourselves solely by who we voted for in the last election, but by how we live with one another between them. It thrives when we lean into the hard work of citizenship. Not by retreating to our corners, but by reaching across them. Citizenship is not something that appears on a ballot every two or four years. It’s something we practice every day, in the ways we teach, serve, build, and forgive.
The republic we vote for is only as strong as the republic we practice. And every day, in our classrooms, neighborhoods, and civic spaces, we decide and determine what kind of nation we are. That’s how a winning candidate who didn’t earn your vote is forced to never forget that they must also serve you.
Every act of kindness and civility is a vote. Every refusal to surrender to cynicism is a vote.
Every day there is an election. And each of us, citizen, neighbor, worker, dreamer, is on the ballot of history. Citizenship lives in how we labor, how we listen, and in how we live with one another. It is written in every act of care, every small courage, every daily choice to build and repair rather than break. The work of our nation is never done, and the promise of our people is never exhausted.
So, vote every day for the republic we deserve, and our politics will once more begin to serve our democracy.
Andrés Acebo is the 13th president of New Jersey City University and a member of the Institute for Citizens and Scholars’ College Presidents for Civic Preparedness.
