If You Don’t Vote, You Don’t Get to Complain

The moment that set me on my path as a journalist wasn’t a series of small choices—it was one defining moment. October 11, 2014, in Hong Kong, during the Umbrella Revolution, was when everything clicked. I was sixteen, still figuring out who I was, and found myself right in the middle of something bigger than I could have imagined.

After seven years living in Hong Kong, I found myself witnessing a moment in history. Central, Admiralty, and Wan Chai, normally teeming with taxis and workers, had come to a standstill. What used to be the constant hum of the city was replaced by people determined to make their voices heard.

Tents lined the streets, chalk messages covered walls, and banners hung from overpasses, transforming the cityscape into a symbol of resistance. It was raw and urgent—a city that had long operated under constraints now openly demanding a voice in its future.

Why? Because they wanted something many of us take for granted: the right to vote in elections that truly reflect the people’s will. Beijing had promised universal suffrage, made it seem within reach, and then, at the last moment, took it away. The elections were allowed—but only for candidates pre-approved by Beijing. A vote, but no real choice.

So, the people of Hong Kong did what they could when their voices were silenced: they spoke up. The government, feeling its authority questioned, responded as many do—they cracked down. Riot police in full gear, tear gas in the air. From my apartment across Victoria Harbour, I watched the smoke rise as people demanded what they had long been told was already theirs. Hong Kong’s leaders gave law enforcement broad authority to maintain order—and they used it.

But the protestors didn’t disappear. The more pressure they faced, the more they resisted. They knew the odds were against them—they knew they wouldn’t win in the short term, that Beijing wouldn’t back down. They knew they were up against one of the most powerful governments in the world. And still, they stood.

That night, something changed in me. It refocused my purpose—not just to write, but to document. To ensure these stories weren’t erased, rewritten, or distorted. To make sure people saw and understood what was happening, because if we don’t tell the truth, only the version of those in power survives.

That’s why I’ve voted in every election I’ve been eligible for—local, state, and national. I understand something that too many overlook: the right to vote isn’t just a privilege. It’s a responsibility.

It’s something generations before us fought for, sacrificed for, and in many cases, died for. History shows that when democratic participation declines, those in power grow less accountable. Rights aren’t always stripped away in one fell swoop; they erode gradually, often under the guise of stability or security.

Hong Kong taught me that lesson. But let’s be honest—most people haven’t had that experience. If they had, I wouldn’t be writing this.

In the last election, roughly 36 percent of eligible Americans—nearly 90 million people—didn’t vote, despite the election’s far-reaching consequences. Now, many of those same people are frustrated with the results, voicing their disappointment in protests, conversations, and online. Some even openly admitted they didn’t vote.

When we look at voter turnout, patterns become clear. States where one party has held power for decades—Arkansas, Hawaii, Oklahoma, Texas, New York, Tennessee, Indiana, Alabama, California—often rank at the bottom for participation. Many people in these states believe their votes don’t matter, so they disengage. But disengagement doesn’t change the system—it strengthens it.

Low voter turnout has consequences. When fewer people vote, power consolidates among those who do, making it easier for systemic imbalances to persist. The lower the turnout, the easier it is to redraw districts, pass laws that suppress voting, and let decisions be made by an increasingly narrow segment of the electorate. Apathy doesn’t create a vacuum—it creates an opportunity for those in power to entrench their position.

It’s easy to point to voter apathy as the main reason people don’t vote. But the truth is, voter disengagement doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Structural barriers—such as identification requirements, limited polling places, and long wait times—can significantly hinder people's ability to vote.

These aren’t just inconveniences; they are obstacles that can make the voting process more difficult, especially for those with limited time or resources. Long lines can discourage voters who have other commitments, while confusing registration processes or changes to polling locations without sufficient notice can create unnecessary confusion.

In some cases, additional documentation requirements can disproportionately affect certain groups of voters, including the elderly, people with disabilities, and those in rural areas. While some may feel their vote doesn’t have an impact, for others, these barriers can be the real reason they face challenges when it comes to participating.

These factors are important to acknowledge because they shape the broader landscape of voter turnout. It’s not just about encouraging more people to vote, but also ensuring that the process is accessible to everyone—regardless of where they live, what they believe, or their socioeconomic status. When barriers to participation are lowered, the result is a stronger democracy where more voices can be heard.

Low participation makes elections easier to control, giving disproportionate power to those who vote while others opt out. Fewer voters means less accountability for those in office, making it easier to shape policies without broad public input. The idea that individual votes don’t matter has been repeated so often that many believe it. But history tells a different story: voting is the most direct way to bring about change.

Voting determines which policies are enacted, who enforces the laws, who interprets them, and who shapes the system. This is why access to voting has been contested throughout history. It’s why groups have been denied the vote, why electoral maps are manipulated to favor certain outcomes, and why misinformation is spread. The less confidence people have in the process, the easier it is to convince them to stay home.

The result? Widespread disengagement, reinforcing the cycle of political stagnation.

Many young voters disengage, citing frustration with the system, skepticism about meaningful change, and barriers to participation. Many believe their vote doesn’t matter. But this is one of the most damaging myths. The reality is, voting isn’t powerless—it’s powerful. And that power is understood by those who try to suppress it.

The United States often calls itself the “leader of the free world,” a nation where power belongs to the people. But the voting process is weighed down by structural barriers, misinformation, and disengagement. If democracy is meant to reflect the will of the people, participation shouldn’t just be possible—it should be expected.

Other democracies have addressed this in ways that ensure broad participation. One of the most effective models comes from a country whose history mirrors the United States— a former British colony with a diverse population, a complex political past, and a federal system with significant state power. Despite its own challenges, this country has created a voting system that encourages engagement at all levels.

The country? Australia. In Australia, voting isn’t just a right—it’s a civic duty. Citizens must vote, and failure to do so without a valid excuse—such as illness, travel, or emergency—results in a fine. Ignoring the fine leads to further penalties.

This approach has resulted in consistently high voter turnout, often exceeding 90 percent. Elections are more representative, and political leaders can’t just cater to their most loyal supporters—they must appeal to a broader electorate, knowing that nearly everyone will vote. In contrast, the United States often struggles to surpass 60 percent turnout, even in high-stakes elections. Political strategies here focus on mobilizing a small, highly engaged fraction of voters while discouraging others. The result? Outcomes shaped not by the majority, but by those who show up.

Having traveled widely and spoken to people from various backgrounds, including Australians, one key difference stands out: they trust their elections. They’re not caught in endless debates about whether their democracy is fundamentally broken. Voting is not seen as exhausting or futile—it’s a basic part of civic life.

Why? Because Australia has policies that ensure widespread participation—from compulsory voting to accessible polling stations.

Meanwhile, in the United States—where democracy is often celebrated as a core value—the voting process is hindered by structural barriers, misinformation, and disillusionment. Yet, Australia, a country that still formally recognizes the British monarch, has created a system with higher trust and participation. This should prompt reflection.

Mandatory voting may seem unfamiliar to some, especially in a system where personal freedom is tied to the right to opt out. But in a democracy where a third of eligible voters opt out, the system isn’t operating at its full potential. Low participation means the most engaged minority often dictates the outcome, leaving the broader electorate frustrated by results they didn’t influence.

Voting in the United States isn’t difficult like it is in many other parts of the world. It can be inconvenient, and the system is imperfect, but at its core, casting a ballot is straightforward. It’s not an extraordinary sacrifice—it’s a fundamental civic duty.

Citizens already face expectations that directly affect government and society—paying taxes, serving on juries, and enrolling children in school. So why is the one act that shapes the policies behind these responsibilities treated as optional?

In Australia, mandatory voting didn’t diminish personal freedom—it reinforced democratic engagement. It didn’t lead to excessive government control—it ensured broader representation. When everyone votes, leaders must appeal to the entire electorate, not just the most vocal or mobilized segments. Imagine an electoral system where representatives are accountable to the full population, not just those who vote in a given year.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether mandatory voting is un-American. Maybe it’s: why is it so acceptable for so many to opt out of the process that shapes the country’s direction? That’s only part of the equation. The other half is knowledge. A democracy is only as strong as its electorate’s understanding of how it works.

Consider this: Australia ranks highly in civic engagement, with an education system focused on political literacy. In contrast, the United States has seen a steady decline in civic knowledge. A survey found that over 70% of Americans struggled to answer basic questions about their government, with less than half able to name all three branches. Without understanding the institutions that govern them, misinformation can take hold, and disengagement becomes the norm.

In Australia, voting is not just an act—it’s part of a broader expectation of civic awareness. The system ensures that citizens are not just participants but informed ones. While no system is perfect, the principle is clear: broad engagement strengthens democratic institutions. In contrast, the United States has seen a steady decline in civic literacy. A national survey revealed that more than 70% of respondents struggled with basic questions about government, including the roles of its branches and constitutional rights.

Less than half could name all three branches of government. Meanwhile, trust in the electoral system has eroded, and misinformation spreads quickly, often drowning out legitimate discourse.

So, what would it take to address this? One step is implementing policies that encourage, and in some cases require, participation—like a national election holiday. Imagine a Tuesday every two years in November when businesses, schools, and government offices close to ensure every American has the time to vote. No scheduling conflicts. No excuses. A unified moment when the country participates in its most basic democratic act.

Making voting easier is part of the solution, but equally important is ensuring Americans have the knowledge to make informed choices at the ballot box. This means prioritizing civic education—not as an afterthought, but as a core element of learning. A strong democracy depends on citizens who understand not just how to vote, but how government functions, how laws are made, and how they shape lives.

This shouldn’t be left to a few high school classes or passive media exposure. It requires a sustained effort to ensure every American has the tools to participate meaningfully in democracy.

Beyond education, there needs to be a broader cultural shift—one that encourages critical thinking, accountability, and engagement. Too often, politics is treated as background noise, something people only engage with when it directly impacts them. By the time the consequences are unavoidable, the opportunity to act may have already passed.

So what’s standing in the way? The greatest obstacle is not just bureaucracy or partisanship, but the inertia of a system that thrives on disengagement. Widespread participation forces leaders to be more accountable, to consider a broader range of voices, and to answer to more than just their most active supporters.

Apathy, on the other hand, maintains the status quo. Low turnout consolidates power among those already entrenched. It allows misinformation to flourish and ensures change remains slow, if it happens at all. A disengaged population is easier to manipulate, a divided one is easier to control, and a misinformed one is easier to keep where it is.

So what happens next? Do we accept the status quo? Do we let voter participation dwindle, misinformation spread unchecked, and disillusionment prevail? Or do we decide to fight for a system that reflects all citizens’ voices? There is one tool with the power to bring change—one that, if used, can shape the country’s future. If ignored, it will allow others to dictate that future. That tool is the vote.

Voting is not just a recommendation. It’s not just a civic gesture. It’s the most direct way to influence policy, leadership, and governance—the mechanism through which people hold power accountable. The more people exercise it, the stronger that power becomes. Contact your representatives. Demand access to the ballot. Advocate for civic education that prepares future voters—not just test-takers. Expect more from the leaders who claim to represent you.

Even if no candidate perfectly aligns with your views, voting is essential. To abstain isn’t just to remain silent—it’s to surrender influence to those who will show up. Those who show up will determine the country’s direction, whether their views represent the majority or not.

The right to vote is often taken for granted in America, seen as something that simply exists because it always has. But history, and the present, tell a different story. Democracies don’t sustain themselves. They require action. They require participation. Most importantly, they require citizens who refuse to be silenced by disillusionment.

The lesson from Hong Kong wasn’t just about resistance—it was a reminder that democracy is strongest when people actively shape it. The protesters in those streets knew that once the right to vote was taken, it wouldn’t return without a fight. It’s a lesson too many Americans overlook.

Policies like national election holidays, improved civic education, and broader voter engagement are not radical—they are pragmatic solutions to a problem that has been growing for decades. Apathy is not an accident; it’s a learned behavior that can and must be unlearned. Fixing this means breaking the cycle—ensuring that every American understands their voice matters and reinforcing that participation isn’t optional—it’s essential.

Let’s be honest: change won’t come easily. There will always be those who benefit from low turnout, political disengagement, and an electorate that stays on the sidelines. That’s why the responsibility falls on those who still believe in democracy’s power.

So, what happens next? The choice is ours. We can sit back and let others shape our future, or we can engage, demand better, and make democracy work as it was meant to.

Because democracy isn’t just an idea—it’s a decision. One each of us must make.