In November 2000, I voted for the first time. It seemed like a good jumping-in point—a presidential contest between Republican George W. Bush, Democrat Al Gore and a pair of third-party candidates, Ralph Nader and Pat Buchanan, who mustered barely 3% of the popular vote between the two of them.

I cast my first-ever vote not as an act of high-minded civic responsibility, but of lowbrow civil disobedience. I didn’t like any of the candidates, and back then I was still immature enough to cast a vote just to amuse myself. I thought of Dead Kennedys singer and political activist Jello Biafra, who had suggested that a good way to send a message to unlikeable candidates was to vote “none of the above” on ballots where such a thing was permitted. Nevada’s ballot had that option, so I exercised it.

To this day, I’m profoundly ashamed of having done that. I squandered a powerful responsibility in favor of a callous, self-serving prank. I didn’t give any consideration to our nation’s poor, the disenfranchised and oppressed, who were depending on people like me—someone who wasn’t poor, disenfranchised or oppressed—to use my vote to help them.

The regret was nearly immediate. I got a sinking feeling as the results of the 2000 election were contested in the courts, and the floor dropped out completely when Bush, who had lost the popular vote by more than half a million, chuckled his way into the presidency courtesy of a Supreme Court that called the election prematurely. Every terrible thing that happened on Bush’s watch—the horror of 9/11, the baseless and destructive Iraq war, the Patriot Act’s erosion of personal privacy, the botched response to Hurricane Katrina, the subprime mortgage meltdown—called my attention back to the election where I should instead have cast a vote.

That brings us to 2024, and an even more consequential election. You’ve no doubt heard the prevailing message that this is a battle for democracy itself. The presumptive Republican candidate, Donald Trump, is facing down 91 felony charges, many of them related to his attempts to thwart the peaceful transfer of power. If re-elected, he’s threatened to take revenge on his political rivals, close the borders, conduct mass deportations, enact a nationwide abortion ban, gut environmental protections—in essence, taking on the characteristics of a dictator.

The lies, noise and slander generated by Trump’s campaign will only get louder and more demoralizing as the election approaches, and in the face of this grueling and stressful election cycle, it’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. Trump’s message isn’t “I’m going to win”; it’s “I believe I’ve already won, so don’t tell me I haven’t.” His supporters and enablers are raising the volume of that message to an inescapable roar, in the hopes that election day voters will be put off by it and stay home.

Meanwhile, support for President Biden is unfocused and wobbly, alarmingly so for an incumbent facing an accused felon. The Democratic arguments against Biden are largely specious, beginning with his age: Many voters say that Biden is too old to stand for reelection at age 81. (That’s perhaps true, but perspective is needed: Trump isn’t much younger at 77). They also say that Biden hasn’t done enough important work in his term, though what he’s accomplished with a split congress—including the bipartisan infrastructure bill that Trump promised, yet failed to deliver—is kind of remarkable.

Those disenchanted voters could withhold their votes from Biden to “send a message,” like I did with Gore in the 2000 election. Or they could unwittingly fortify Trump’s position by voting for independent candidates, some of whom are entering the race specifically to weaken Biden’s position.

In less heightened circumstances, voting is necessary maintenance. It’s a series of fixes and adjustments, made with the knowledge and anticipation that some important things will go sideways if they’re dismissed or ignored. But these are not normal circumstances. Trump has driven the wear and tear on our democracy far beyond basic maintenance. If we don’t vote him down—if we allow intimidation tactics or stunt voting to sway our judgment at the polls—he’ll be free to disassemble our democracy at his leisure.

If you’re fatigued by this election cycle, that’s understandable. If you’re feeling disillusioned with our government, that’s understandable, too. We’ve been through hell these past few years—a pandemic, an insurrection, an increasing number of allies at war with their neighbors. But we can’t allow ourselves the option of giving up. This year, your vote—your informed and conscientious vote—could be the epochal act that pushes us away from autocracy and saves people you’ve never met. If you don’t believe that, just consider the previous occasions when voting changed life in this country for the better.

For example, take Public Law 88-352, better known as the Civil Rights Act of 1964—a landmark civil rights law that prohibits discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex or national origin. It must have felt like an impossibility in the years following World War II, when a country that had suffered years of institutionalized bigotry erupted into nationwide protests.

The law wasn’t made overnight, or without constant public pressure. Thousands upon thousands peacefully marched for civil rights, swaying public opinion. The NAACP’s Clarence Mitchell and Roy Wilkins advocated for the law. The House of Representatives voted in favor of it, and Senators Mike Mansfield, Hubert Humphrey and Everett M. Dirksen helped to steer it through 60 days of debate and a segregationist filibuster.

By the time President Lyndon Johnson presented the pen he’d used to sign the bill to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the Civil Rights Act had passed through hundreds of hands—elected officials that voters had helped to put in the right place, at the right time. Voters had made an ecosystem where an important law, one that reflected the will of an informed and conscientious electorate, could come to exist.

Without our vote, the system can get poisoned. Bad actors can get into office and begin chipping away at rights we’ve already earned. Because of Bush and Trump’s Supreme Court appointees, abortion is now illegal in 21 states. The malevolent entities in our government managed to get this far because we didn’t vote for the people and safeguards that could stop them.

Nevada’s Republican voters now face such a crisis point. Trump is a political aberration—a fame-obsessed grifter who has used the presidency to line his pockets and bolster his ego. It’s almost not enough to deny him the presidency again; his example needs to be quashed. Begin now by recognizing another Republican candidate, Nikki Haley. She has demonstrated her respect for the electoral process and the rule of law, which separates her from every other candidate in her field.

Do as I should have done in 2000, and carefully consider the impact your vote could have. You may have ideological differences with Haley, who was still in the running as of press time, but the contrast between her and Trump is stark and enormous. One is running for president; the other is running away from prison.

We can’t sleep on this one. We must cut through the noise and vote to keep our democracy intact.

It’s an election year, an undeniably tough one to stomach. I know you’re tired. I know you’re frustrated. I feel tired and frustrated myself, sometimes, but I also feel hopeful and empowered. I’ve been watching this process long enough to know that voting in numbers can work—and when it does, it feels like the world rising underneath you. It feels heroic.

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