When I was in middle school, I was given the opportunity to cast a vote in a Presidential election. Not SCA or Class President, mind you. The election was to decide the next President of the United States. I proudly registered my vote and then waited eagerly to see if the vast swath of middle American adolescents (at least those who attended my school) would affirm my assessment of the best possible candidate. It was, of course, a mock election and the results merely captured the record of an opinion, derived from a select slice of the masses and with the power to change nothing. Or so it seemed.

As a middle school student, I was too young to march into the mysterious confines of the curtained, rolling grey steel monsters that swallowed my parents each election day. I did not have the privilege of swinging down the red levers to cast my vote for candidates or to decide issues. I captured bits of political ideas and current event details in that inadequate net that children use to seine and sort the conversations of adults. I formed opinions and I cherished notions. And I was governed by laws created by elected officials, interpreted by appointees and enforced by officers. I knew, without really understanding the knowledge, what it was to be a disenfranchised constituent governed by other people’s laws.

So what changed as a result of a middle school mock election? I knew, for the first time in my life, what it was to lend my voice to a growing chorus and see the song swell to reflect the harmony of a group. In our little election, the independent candidate won. I don’t know why. Perhaps his stance outside the confines of the traditional two party system appealed to our own burgeoning rebellions. Perhaps we were merely reflecting the opinions of our parents in a community that was likely to vote outside of Republican and Democratic lines. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that my little drop of a vote trickled into a the stream of public opinion and I felt validated. And it wouldn’t have mattered, I believe, if my choice had not proven to be the popular one. I felt empowered by the notion that I was able to give voice to my opinion. What changed was my sense of my place in the process, of my knowledge of my burden as a citizen and my eagerness to participate.

As American children, we grew up expecting to some day have an opportunity to vote. What we believe about that vote can vary a great deal. Does one person’s vote count?

Is it important to participate? Who should be allowed to vote?

We know, if we remember our civics lessons, that this country was formed, in part, as a reaction of an unhappy citizenry to the oppression of taxation without legal representation. What about representation without taxation? Does that have an impact?

Do the groups of stakeholders in an election, the people impacted by policy, law and public action, differ from the group legally enabled to vote? Where is the overlap? Where are the gaps? If I live outside the city limits in a county that derives at least a potion of its identity from the city, I have a stake in the success or failure of the city and its residents. I do not, however, have a vote. If the state that is located upstream from my home decides to loosen its restrictions on chemical dumping, I will live in the consequences. I will not, however, have an opportunity to vote out the people who made that decision.

Of course, we have other means of making our opinions heard. We can write letters, support groups that influence policy, pay visits, post online. What if there was a way to see the aggregation of opinions—a way to capture and report the concerns of nonvoters?

Could this influence public policy?

I’m not suggesting that elections should be open to any and all participants. Far from it. However, I suspect that as this new age of interconnected online exchange unfolds, we may see the nature of influence continue to change. With that may come changes in the definition of citizenship, of ownership and of government—changes that seem impossible now but that may happen with a whisper when technology, culture and philosophy collide in just the right way.

So, when you see me and we discuss this, as we almost certainly will, don’t tell me who you voted for. Just tell me that you voted. That’s something we can celebrate together.