Emily Articulated: Conservative whisperer

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

I used to think of myself as a “conservative whisperer” — someone who could hold my left-leaning views without spooking, and sometimes even charming, the staunchest of Republicans. Maybe it was my genuine curiosity or my small-town Midwest upbringing that put people at ease. I grew up in an agricultural community, started working at age 12, paid for my own education, always held down a job, etc. (all the hallmarks of someone they could relate to).

Or maybe it was my knack for give-and-take: timing a good self-deprecating jab about what makes liberals so annoying with a story about how I relied on social and governmental support while “pulling myself up by my bootstraps” into the hardworking, job-holding, self-supporting person I am.

They thought my unwavering dedication to social systems was a cute, if naive, expression of compassion, and felt heard when talking about how the “working man” is being left behind.

This “conservative whispering” was especially clear with a former bar patron I ran into recently. As bar patrons go, he was the best kind — a master of the quick quip and easy banter that make bartending fun (and spare you the problem-dumping variety). Over the years, we used that teasing rapport to transcend the bartender-patron dynamic and become actual friends. 

I’m a firm believer that teasing is a love language; that politeness is for strangers, amirite? We could even joke and spar about politics without losing our footing.

Maybe it was because he has a real “shirt-off-his-back” quality, or because he’s Canadian and his unflinching “Republicanness” felt almost ironic — sure, talk about “slashing taxes” when you’ve got free health care to fall back on. Or maybe it was my appreciation for how exhausting liberals can be in our quest to be “correct” about everything. Or maybe it was simply that it was pre-2020 — a time that felt politically fraught, but through the murky lens of 2025, was just the beginning.

We’d tease, laugh and wander into meaningful conversations that wove together politics and personal stories. If things got testy — as they sometimes did — we could always find our way back to neutral ground: sports, relationships, dogs. We knew each other’s hearts were in the right place and could dip our toes into tricky political waters without being pulled under. (This kind of exchange is different from the tidal wave assaults of viewpoint-parroting non-dialogue I’ve experienced from others, where listening skills were clearly left at home.)

But when we bump into each other now, even dipping a toe in feels fraught. The political conversation just isn’t funny to me anymore. It’s hard to joke when ICE agents are doing their best Germany-circa-1930s impression, or when “free speech” and “balance of power” are treated like flexible, negotiable concepts. The stakes have grown too high for teasing our way through.

I’m living in a reality where ICE officers are pulling people off the streets for speaking Spanish, killing family dogs in homes and detaining people in horrendous, life-threatening conditions. Where peaceful protesters are branded as terrorists, where journalists are fired for printing facts, where health care premiums are skyrocketing, and where grocery and gas prices still aren’t going down.

I honestly don’t know what reality exists on the “other side.” Is it one where a strong, patriotic president is facilitating peace in the Middle East? Or where liberal states are supposedly the true war zones? Or where mixing personal business interests with political power is just smart business (so quit being so sensitive)?

My new default is to shut down — to deflect, change the subject, preserve the relationship. Because I really do think relationships still matter. And, in North Idaho, if you swear off everyone who doesn’t share your politics, your world gets really small. (Though after 1,200 people showed up to the “No Kings” protest, maybe I need to revisit that belief.)

Still, I wonder if that’s the responsible thing to do. How do we find our way through if we’re not even standing on the same ground? I’m grappling with what social responsibility looks like now — trading relationships I care about and risking alienation to have the candid conversations I used to be so good at.

I can’t quite see a way back to middle ground. To quote Reader Editor-in-Chief Zach Hagadone’s Oct. 2 “Back of the Book” piece grappling with the same lack of footing, I just can’t “make it make sense.” And I don’t know where that leaves me. 

It seems I’m no longer the bridge I once was — no longer able to see, understand and use what I find to commune. Somewhere along the way, I lost my touch. 

“Conservative whisperer,” no more.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.