Bring a folding chair, a packed lunch and an entertaining tablet to the voting lines. And maybe some pepper spray for any righty militias harassing the polls: https://iwillvote.com/
He began with pamphlets of populist slogans,
Posters of Guevara and “Death or Country” on walls,
Defended the “Capital” of Marx like a showman,
That's the eighteen-year-old I recall.
Hated the radio and songs with a chorus,
Rough surroundings fattened his grievances up,
Always ready to own the libs like a boss,
The future would mix his allegiances up.
Ink your skin with tatoos of your pledges,
Before time makes you a mercenary for wages;
One more false prophet sells what he held precious.
Between the revolution and your greed,
Lie only a few steps and so take heed,
It's easier to slip than to succeed.
He graduates from law school an accomplice,
In the process, his ideals began to sicken,
Was elected as a Liberal to Congress,
Grew expert in deceptive rhetoric then.
I saw him graffiti “Death or Country”, wild and lawless,
I was the geek with the guitar, he might not recall it,
He looks strange today in suits and designer wallets,
How easy our ideals bend to our profits.
Today, you whistle songs from the radio,
Your mansion has no space for Che's photo,
You're a mercenary for hire by the status quo.
You forgot to ink your skin with all your pledges,
Where'd that boy go, who once fought in the trenches?
Who would break bread with the unfed without a question?
There's a protest outside the Presidential palace,
The guy on the president's balcony has that boy's face...
A few thoughts on strongmen: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/07/trumps-collaborators/612250/