What apathy?

Now that my candidate of choice has dropped out of the presidential race, I feel compelled to respond to the 'Prince's condemnation of Princeton students' political apathy ("Princeton Politics," Feb. 4). On a chilly Monday night in early February, I took a deep breath and joined the sinking campaign of General Wesley Clark. A whirlwind of a week later, having phoned countless Tennesseans and South Carolinians and somehow ended up at a primary-watching party at a restaurant deceptively named the Park Avenue Country Club (while it was located on Park Avenue, it was not the kind of country club this South Carolina girl was used to), General Clark was out of the race and so was I. I have no idea who will get my vote in November, and I don't have any more plans to hit the campaign trail. One week — pretty lousy, huh? Let me try to defend my record and show why the 'Prince' is barking up the wrong tree in its latest attempt to hunt down the dreaded apathy that is apparently stalking our campus.

I am a lifelong Republican for whom voting for Bush in 2000 was like getting a root canal: It had to be done, but darned if I enjoyed it. I can remember sitting on my bed freshman year holding my absentee ballot at arm's length, squinting at "my candidate's" name as though it might bite me. But I grimaced, circled (or checked or punched or whatever one did to ballots back then), got my Chinese roommate to witness it (I'd love to have seen the faces of the South Carolina poll workers when they saw that signature) and dropped it in the big, blue mailbox in Frist.

Three and a half years later, I often find myself wishing I had been a Floridian and could take my vote back. I was deeply troubled by the unilateral and, to all appearances, irresponsible way in which the Bush administration waged war on the admittedly oppressive Iraqi regime. I was appalled by its utter lack of concern for the ongoing deterioration of our environment and the effects, not only on birdwatchers and tree-huggers, but on the low-income families that can't afford to move away from waste-processing facilities or buy the few kinds of fish that are still OK to eat. I was outraged by No Child Left Behind's one-size-fits-all attempt to fix education. I was disappointed when faith-based initiatives were traded away on the Congressional bargaining table and then quietly swept under the rug.

All that said, I didn't make up my mind to officially jump ship until four weeks ago, because I wasn't at all sure I wanted to buy what the Democrats were selling. In 2000, I felt forced to vote for Bush because of my pro-life position on abortion; of the Democrats in the race this time, only Clark said he wouldn't use support for Roe v. Wade as a litmus test for judicial appointments, and as his campaign became more desperate, even his neutrality began to falter. Kerry has a record a mile long and none too pretty, is in bed with just as many special interests as Bush/Cheney, and doesn't seem to have the foreign policy experience or sensitivity to religious concerns necessary to get us out of Iraq wisely and honorably.

I don't expect to convince anyone to embrace my rather eclectic cluster of positions. The point I do want to prove is that I am not apathetic. I wish with all my heart that I could dedicate my life for the next nine months to one candidate. I wish I could scamper around the country waving signs and giving my testimonial to everyone I meet. But I don't think declining to pick my man and stand by him when my conscience dictates otherwise is apathetic.

Democratic participation takes many forms; sign-waving is one of them. So is wrestling with the issues, providing a sounding board for other voters making tough decisions and, frankly, criticizing all candidates and thus holding all to a higher standard. Perhaps this is a peculiarly academic form of participation — one that Main Street, USA, would scorn. But it's not apathy. Katharine P. Roberts is a politics major from Columbia, S.C. She can be reached by email at kroberts@princeton.edu.