Investing in Diversity by Voting for Hope

I dropped my voting ballot in the mail last week. It wasn’t a presidential election or a highly publicized race—it was just for tax levies. But as I slipped that envelope into the mailbox, I was reminded of something important: not just the act of voting itself, but what voting represents. Living in King County, Washington, means access to a system that works—where democracy feels close, and participation is possible for everyone. Yet, as accessible as it may seem for me, I know that the path to equity is far from complete.

In 2019, Washington state had an interesting moment. On the ballot was Referendum 88—a vote to restore Affirmative Action. The idea was simple: when two equally qualified candidates applied for a public contract or position, factors like race and gender could be considered. It wasn’t a revolutionary concept; similar policies had existed before, but Washington had banned Affirmative Action back in 1998. That ban came with real consequences. Minority- and women-owned businesses, which had won around 10% of government contracts before the ban, now secured just 3%. Referendum 88 was designed to reverse that.

But it didn’t pass. The margin was razor-thin, but the message was clear: we still struggle with how to move forward on the promises of equity. Affirmative Action was never just about providing job opportunities. It was a symbol—a way to say that the barriers standing in the way of people’s dreams should be dismantled. Equity is not about making space; it’s about clearing the space for people to see what’s possible.

I understand the weight of those barriers, often invisible but always present. I grew up in a small town, the daughter of a single Japanese-American mother with four children. My mother worked as a dental assistant—a job she was proud of, but one that felt narrowly defined by the expectations placed on women like her. I followed a similar path. I trained as a nurse in the Army, and then worked in local healthcare. Even as I led public health initiatives—running a teen pregnancy prevention campaign that helped overturn Title V’s abstinence-only sex education policy—I still viewed my world through a narrow lens. I didn’t recognize them as opportunities for more. Instead, I felt that they were part of a predefined narrative—a set of limitations around what people like me could achieve. It wasn’t until I met my husband, someone raised in a family that saw beyond limitations, that I realized how different my life could be. But even then, when I sought funding to start my own business—despite my high earnings and excellent credit score—multiple banks asked for my father or husband to co-sign the loan. The bias, the closed doors—they were all still there, echoing the struggles my mother had faced decades earlier.

The truth is, equity means more than having the chance to compete—it’s about being able to envision yourself beyond the limits that others have set for you. That’s why Disney has made such a deliberate effort to diversify its princesses—bringing Black, Hispanic, and other underrepresented groups into the spotlight. It's also why actors in Hollywood are standing up for more diversity in casting. People need to see themselves in these roles, to understand that they, too, can take the path forward. Too often, we think of opportunity as something handed out, but the real work of equity is creating a world where people don’t see walls—where they see nothing but potential.

We’ve come a long way, but we still have work to do. For many, the path ahead is obstructed by invisible barriers of bias and systemic inequality. That’s why measures like Affirmative Action matter. They help tear down those barriers. They give people hope that they can belong in spaces where they were once shut out.

I’ve seen firsthand what happens when someone can visualize a future they didn’t think was possible. I’ve experienced it myself. And the more we fight to make opportunity real for everyone—not just in theory but in practice—the closer we come to a society where democracy works for all of us. The future we build should be one where limitations aren’t just challenged—they no longer exist.