One of the most powerful moments of my life was taking my eldest son to the polls on November 3, 2020. He got to watch me vote for myself to be a US senator — to hold a seat that Strom Thurmond, a former segregationist, clung to for almost half a century.

Though I did not ultimately win that seat, I was profoundly moved. My son is named after my grandfather, and that day, it was like my grandfather — who I once shared the tradition of voting with — was in that booth with us.

I heard his voice and felt the pain of the stories he had told me over the years. The reminder that Black men like my grandfather couldn’t always vote in South Carolina — and that even when we could on paper, voting could still cost us our lives. 

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