Kamala this, Trump that. Who really cares? It’s not going to affect me in my everyday routine. I don’t work, I don’t pay bills. And I don’t care that much about the TikTok ban. Politics are just white old men arguing about stupid stuff that doesn’t help the nation in any form.
Until I experienced something that showed me that I was wrong. That politics mattered. That politics weren’t just white old men and that it affects my everyday life even if it feels like it doesn’t.
Jan. 16, 2025 was my flight out to see the big Washington D.C.; I hadn’t been too excited for the educational part about the trip because I didn’t care much for political efficacy and politics in general, but I knew this was going to be a fun experience to make new friends, explore the city and get away from school. My mom signed me up for this trip at the beginning of Nov. and I wasn’t too fond of it because of all the things she had planned for me: to meet Donald Trump and talk to Senators. I hated the idea of having to talk to someone in a higher up position in life than me and having them think I’m stupid because of my lack of knowledge with politics and the government. I just hated it.
I sat down, crossed my legs, guidebook in hand and started to write. What we were doing was dumb: a survey about what political act is legal and illegal; honestly I just copied the person next to me. I was already exhausted from walking all day, I didn’t want to learn about something I thought I would never think about or use ever again.
The trip continued at its boring pace until we were forced to participate in a Mock Congress. It felt like something out of a movie—students pretending to be senators, debating bills they had written themselves. At first, I felt like a fish out of water. Everyone was so into it, quoting political figures, arguing over amendments, throwing in their opinions with confidence. I just sat there, feeling like an imposter. What was I supposed to say? I barely even knew the difference between a senator and a congressman, let alone how the whole process worked.
I listened to these teenagers argue about issues like climate change, gun control, healthcare, things that I had always dismissed as “not my problem.” And they were passionate. They weren’t just regurgitating sound bites from the news or parroting opinions they heard from their parents; they were thinking critically, coming up with solutions and engaging in real debate.
It made me start asking questions, listening to debates, and then actually wanting to understand how laws were made, how decisions that seemed so distant on the surface were actually shaping my day-to-day life. The whole trip, from the monuments to the museum visits, finally clicked in my mind. It wasn’t just about what was happening in Washington, D.C. It was about how it happened, and how that process connected to the world outside.
And I realized… these weren’t just old white men arguing. These were people who looked like me, people who cared, and maybe that was the thing I had been missing: caring. I didn’t have to be some political expert to participate. I didn’t have to have every fact memorized or know the exact number of representatives in the House.
All I needed was to care.
Editor’s note: Opinions expressed in editorials are those of the writer(s). These views may not represent those of the adviser; of the Trail staff as a whole; of the Trail’s advertisers; of the administration, faculty or staff of McIntosh High School; of Fayette County Public Schools or of the FCBOE School Board members.
