Rick Santorum isn’t exactly known as a friend of the blacks or gays. Though his platform contradicts my most central beliefs, I proudly cast my vote for him in Illinois.

Call me a masochist if you want to, but I had my reasons.

I wasn’t simply following the trend of some Democrats in other states with open primaries. For me, voting Republican in a primary was a well-intentioned and informed social experiment.

Some Democrats this year have voted for Santorum either to prolong the GOP primary or because they feel Obama would easily defeat him in November. Santorum even welcomes crossover votes. His campaign invested in automated phone appeals to Democrats during the Michigan primary.

That may sound like dirty politics, but it’s really business as usual. Similarly in 2008, many Republicans crossed over for Obama, mobilized against Hillary Clinton’s candidacy. Since primaries involve quite a bit of mudslinging, the opposing party delivers free ammunition when the other party’s general election candidate is decided earlier.

So crossing party lines during a primary isn’t so farfetched – even if for some partisan schadenfreude.

As for me, I’m a fairly liberal Democrat who’s voted for only one Republican candidate. A first-time voter in the 2006 Illinois gubernatorial election, I voted for three-term Illinois treasurer and Medill alumna Judy Baar Topinka. Even a fool could have foreseen Blago’s eventual corruption meltdown.

But being the staunch Democrats they are, my family laughed me out of the room when I discussed my first voting experience. One of my cousins even quipped, “Oh, so you wanna vote for those rich bigots, huh?”

That statement shouldn’t surprise you. It’s no secret that many in the black community despise Republican candidates.

Ever since party realignment in the 1960s due to schisms on race-related issues, blacks have been fiercely loyal to the Democratic Party. By comparison, they’re consistently more supportive on civil rights issues and programs benefiting blacks. Republican candidates aren’t trusted because of party rhetoric and legislative voting records.

It follows, then, that many in the black community believe voting Democrat secures their representation as a racial voting bloc, otherwise identified as “linked racial fate” by political scientists. And if you’re black and crave gossip and mockery from the community, being out of the Republican closet is a sure bet.

So you can imagine my experience voting Republican was unpleasant, to say the least. My home district on Chicago’s South Side is the most heavily black congressional district in the country.

Since Obama, Congressman Bobby Rush and other officials on my sample Democratic ballot weren’t facing serious opposition, my vote felt relatively inconsequential.

Even still, I swallowed the huge lump in my throat as I walked into my polling place to request a Republican ballot.

The election judge with whom I interacted was younger than is typical in my district, probably in her late 20s. Initially she was friendly and eager, despite a slow day driven by the lowest presidential primary turnout in 70 years.

Since I’m named after my dad, I had to double-check and make sure I wasn’t voting under his identity. It’s the same game every election. I had to sign off on a form to declare my party, and I saw she had a Democratic ballot ready and waiting in her hand.

And then I said the unthinkable: “I’m voting Republican today.”

Almost simultaneously, the other three election judges at the table, all elderly black women, snapped their heads in my direction. “You’re our first Republican voter today, ” one said while nodding in amazement.

The young lady, taken aback, replied like a kindergartener who was about to snitch: “Ooooh. Wait ’til I tell your daddy!” But he already knew, which I didn’t hesitate mentioning.

So as I filled out my ballot for Santorum and his convention delegates, I could feel the election judges’ eyes peering upon me as I voted.

The murmurs were unmistakable. I felt as if I had committed a crime.

I owed them no explanation, of course. A vote is a vote and election judges are forbidden to advocate for any candidate or party while people vote. And so I continued on unashamed, walking to the machine for my ballot to be processed.

It felt like forever waiting for my ballot receipt, despite only a few minutes elapsing and being the only person waiting. The younger female election judge had been engaged in conversation with the elderly pair staffing the exit. With their eyes in my direction while I filled out my ballot, I could only begin to wonder what they discussed.

They callously gave me a receipt. Not even a cheerful “have a nice day” or “thank you,” as is customary. And with my deed being done, I returned home dismayed.

I felt more outcast than I’d felt in a while, despite what was my artificial Republican affiliation for the day. And I could only think, “This must be what it feels like to be a black Republican,” let alone in a heavily black district. If you asked me now, though, I’d probably say that’s what they get for voting for some of those rich bigots. m no explanation, of course. A vote is a vote and election judges are forbidden to advocate for any candidate or party while people vote. And so I continued on unashamed, walking to the machine for my ballot to be processed

It felt like forever waiting for my ballot receipt, despite only a few minutes elapsing and being the only person waiting. The younger female election judge had been engaged in conversation with the elderly pair staffing the exit. With their eyes in my direction while I filled out my ballot, I could only begin to wonder what they discussed.

They callously gave me a receipt. Not even a cheerful “have a nice day” or “thank you,” as is customary. And with my deed being done, I returned home dismayed.

I felt more outcast than I’d ever felt in a while, despite what was my artificial Republican affiliation for the day. And I could only think, “this must be what it feels like to be a black Republican,” let alone in a heavily black district. If you asked me now, though, I’d probably say that’s what they get for voting for some of those rich bigots.

Derrick Clifton is a Communication senior. He can be reached at [email protected].