Why are prisons in the US overwhelmingly in rural areas? The obvious answer might be cheaper land; the less obvious and more nefarious reason is that while people convicted of felonies still get counted by the census (increasing the power of the place they’re imprisoned instead of where they’re from), they by-and-large don’t count in elections. Their bodies are counted, but their voices are not.
5.2 million Americans are not allowed to vote because of a felony conviction, and millions and millions more are systematically prevented from voting by an intentionally byzantine state-by-state patchwork of rules and policies.
I recently got to speak to a number of formerly and currently incarcerated people about their experiences of losing their right to vote and their struggles to get it back. Beyond the implications for the basic function and fairness of democracy, what was most striking to me were the associated feelings of self-worth and basic humanity tied up in the act of voting. As Jane Dwyer Lee told me, “I’m much more than my crime. I did that and I paid my dues. Why can I not vote?”
About 100 million voters didn’t show up in 2016 — that’s about 43% of the eligible population overall. With the stakes so high and so many voices muffled or muzzled, the responsibility has never been more clear. As William Rone put it, “I hope people vote for those of us that can’t.”