Massachusetts has dropped its excuse requirements for voting by mail because of the coronavirus pandemic — not only in this summer's primary but also in the general election.
Legislation signed on Monday by Gov. Charlie Baker is significant because it makes Massachusetts among the first states to lock in the ability of all registered voters to cast ballots by mail for November.
While a majority of states have made it easier in at least some ways to vote remotely during the primaries, deliberations across the country about the rules for mail voting in the general election are only beginning to ramp up.
The increasingly partisan split over voting by mail is generally pitting Democrats, who see it as an expansion of voting rights at a crucial moment to protect the electorate's health, against Republicans, who argue there are already enough ways for people to safely vote — and who are aligning behind President Trump's false claims that mail-in voting incubates widespread fraud.
Five states already planned to conduct all-mail elections before the Covid-19 outbreak. Another 28 states and the District of Columbia allow all registered voters to obtain an absentee ballot without citing a reason.
In addition to reliably blue Massachusetts, the Delaware General Assembly has passed legislation allowing expanded mail-in voting for the general election. In battleground New Hampshire and solidly red West Virginia, edicts issued by state officials easing the laws governing mail-in ballots remain in effect.
But the issue in many of the remaining states will be decided in the courts, because the legislatures of most states have adjourned for the year.
The Massachusetts law does not make the expansion of mail-in voting permanent; the law covers the Sept. 1 primary and expires at the end of the year.
Under the law, the state will send each registered voter an application for a mail-in ballot ahead of both the primary and general elections — and conduct a public awareness campaign about the virtues of mail voting.
In-person voting will also be expanded by several days in August and the two weekends before Nov. 3, to make voting more convenient and to reduce crowding at polls.
Massachusetts is now "committed to helping preserve our democracy amid a worsening pandemic — and other states must follow their lead," said Brett Edkins of Stand Up America, a progressive group that's been among the most outspoken advocates for easing voting rules. "This legislation serves as a marker for states across the country to ensure voters receive a mail-in ballot application, can track their ballots online, and have safe in-person early voting options this fall."
Massachusetts has more than 105,000 confirmed Covid-19 cases and 8,000 deaths as of Tuesday.
The state's 11 electoral votes are a lock for former Vice President Joe Biden. The hottest contest in the state this year is the Democratic primary for the Senate, with Rep. Joe Kennedy challenging veteran incumbent Ed Markey.
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 
