We got on the bus at 8 o’clock on a Wednesday packed up for a long night. There’d be roadside rest stops, but nothing longer than that on the bus ride from Ashland to Washington DC for the annual March for Life. Some had three bags, multiple pillows and enough blankets to satisfy a four-year-old’s fort-making needs, but I packed light; just a backpack and some snacks. 

We got on the bus at 8 o’clock and drove through the night, arriving at a DC IHOP at 4 in the morning. During the bus ride, House Republicans had pulled a bill that, if passed, would have nationally banned abortions after 20 weeks, with some exceptions. As this was one of the causes we marched for, the news dampened my spirits. We were on our way to the 42^nd March for Life. That can be read as an impressive feat, as in, “42 years in a row people have marched for this cause.” It can also be read pessimistically, as in, “Wow, 42 years and we are still marching.” After hearing the news that the bill wouldn’t even be voted on, I began to feel defeated before I even began marching.

By the time the march began, though, word had circulated that the House would be voting on a bill restricting federal funds from supporting abortion. I read the news in sight of the Capitol where the vote took place. The bill is now headed to the Senate and, if passed, the bill will land on the President’s desk, where it will be vetoed.

I don’t share this story to preach about pro-life issues. I share this story to illustrate how politics still matters, that the voice of the people will be heard if it’s shouted loud enough. It is easy to get discouraged, even reasonable. One vote in an electorate the size of the United States barely registers a measurable effect. There are always cases that go against this reasoning, with one of the most famous being Bush v. Gore in 2000, when the vote was literally too close to call for some time. 

Even in cases that close I can feel unsatisfied with voting. Voting, in many ways, is one of the more practical ways of expressing political opinion. You place actual support behind a candidate; without the vote, a politician cannot be elected. It sounds obvious, but it is still worth realizing. No political ad, no protest, no feeling can put someone in office without the formal act of voting. 

As I say this, I feel compelled to admit I’ve only voted twice, both times in 2012. I passed on local elections in 2013, and the midterms in 2014. In 2012, as an 18-year-old new voter, I felt more willing to compromise, more compelled to express my vote. In two years though, I felt like I couldn’t support most of the candidates for one reason or another. Rather than compromise, I declined to use my most powerful political tool.

Marching, though, has a sense of single-mindedness to it. I marched alongside hundreds of thousands of people who likely disagreed on every possible issue. Groups ranged from the expected churches and Christian universities, to the unexpected, like a group called Pro Bikers for Life. I doubt we could have come to a consensus on how to express an opposition to abortion, but we at least had that sentiment in common. We were not there to support a candidate, someone who naturally has to take positions on various issues. We were there to voice our opinion on one singular issue in a way that could not be misunderstood. That singular issue united these hundred of thousands of people from across the country to march, and on that day, the literal steps we took embodied the metaphorical steps taken in the Capitol.

This process isn’t unique to pro-life and anti-abortion protesters; this is a process that can be replicated for any issue. I’d disagree with a pro-abortion rights rally, but I’d prefer it to apathy, or a passive support. The ballot is powerful, but the ballot is individually private, even as your vote becomes publicly aggregated. To step outside, to walk Martin Luther King Jr.’s long arc of the universe, is powerful, and as King said, that arc bends towards justice.

So to answer March for Life’s marketing tagline, this is why I march. I don’t march solely for the issue, although that’s part of it. I march because demonstrating devotion to a political issue publicly demands attention. I march because I can literally embody that progress towards my desired outcomes. Whether the issues involve life, race, economic inequality or drug legalization, nothing makes your voice heard like publicly shouting those beliefs. We’ve marched every year for 42 years; it isn’t a rapid process. Nor should it be; making large-scale change ought to demand more time than it takes for a book to be shipped to your doorstep. 

I close with a memory from Mike Huckabee’s visit to Ashland three years ago. He shared a story of one of his visits to a high school, where he asked how many students were interested in politics. When only one or two raised their hands, he told the students how excited politicians were to see things like that. When the public doesn’t care about politics, politicians don’t have to care about politics. So when its frustrating, when you look at Congress, the President and just want to scream, do it. Just do it somewhere you can be heard.