Emily Articulated: Fear, empathy, action

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

I’ve been writing this column for a long time, and every time I sit down at my keyboard, I feel the weight, the privilege, of having this platform. But over the past week, the words that have stuck with me aren’t my own. Instead, they were the clear, brave voices of others — people who wrote not because they were scheduled to, but because something in them demanded to be spoken aloud. 

So this week, I want to use this space for amplification. Consider this column a highlighter — yellow and bold — drawn over some of the most poignant words printed in this paper of late. My own no-notes, chef’s-kiss endorsements.

The first comes from Anna Ballard, in her Nov. 13 article, “Sandpoint is better than its fear,” in which she wrote, “a person, described as ‘a man in a bra’ was seen using the women’s locker room” at the YMCA. She continued, describing perfectly the crux of the matter, “and within hours, hundreds of locals were online calling them a predator, spreading panic and urging people to cancel their YMCA memberships.

“How did we get here? How did we get from someone existing as themselves to language of assault and hysteria?” Ballard continued. “Fear has become our favorite drug. We feed on it, pass it around and call it ‘protection.’ But fear isn’t wisdom, it’s just adrenaline dressed up as moral certainty. And when we let fear steer, empathy dies.”

Ballard’s words rang especially true, as from the moment I saw the original Facebook post, I felt my stomach sink — not because of the person at the YMCA, but because of the vitriol it would stir. And sure enough, the comment section delivered: a palpable, almost gleeful rush to outrage before asking even a single clarifying question. There was no pause or curiosity. Just a stampede to condemn. 

It felt like the community — at least those in Sandpoint’s Facebook constituency — was waiting for an event like this to unholster the talking points they’d absorbed from national pundits and fire them at a local human being; someone with a life, a story and a name they never bothered to learn. The person at the center of the incident all but disappeared, replaced with a caricature built out of other people’s fears.

This kind of pouncing isn’t just unkind, it’s incompatible with the thoughtful dialogue required to navigate situations involving marginalized communities. Yet, instead of slowing down, asking questions or grounding itself in compassion, our city’s leadership has chosen speed in the push to repeal the non-discrimination ordinance (NDO) that has protected Sandpoint residents since December 2011.

To me, this reads as a convenient sidestep of responsibility: a refusal to do the harder work of creative, inclusive problem-solving. Moving swiftly to dismantle protections is not neutrality; it’s an endorsement of the fear narratives that have been allowed to dominate our discourse. It rewards those who stoke hysteria and punishes the very people the ordinance was created to protect.

Andrea Marcoccio, speaking on behalf of Sandpoint Alliance for Equality, put it more succinctly than I ever could, earning another swipe from my highlighter. Her words cut straight through the noise and name the reality of what’s happening.

“To reverse the existing NDO in Sandpoint is not a technicality of jurisdiction: It is to knowingly, willingly put your citizens in harm’s way,” she said at the Nov. 12 meeting of the Sandpoint City Council. “It is to react hastily to an issue that requires careful, collaborative decision-making … If it were the safety of citizens — and not the promise of votes and allegiances — at the heart of this rapid response to change the NDO, our community would be invited to thoughtful discourse on what language and protections in our ordinances best serve all of us.”

But for many people — especially those angling for political advantage — fear isn’t a byproduct. It’s the point. It’s a lever they pull for maximum effect. Take Scott Herndon, who, not coincidentally, is challenging Jim Woodward for the District 1 Senate seat in 2026. He wasted no time inserting himself into the uproar, using language like “protecting the dignity of real females” while simultaneously claiming the YMCA is “part of the transgender mafia” — a phrase that couldn’t be more intended to get a rise out of those reading it.

As a woman who actually uses that locker room, I can say plainly: I have felt far more threatened by the legislative records of people like Herndon than by any trans or gender-nonconforming person simply existing in shared space. These leaders obsess over women’s bodies while stripping away our access to basic health care — particularly the reproductive health care directly tied to the anatomy they are so intent on policing. If anyone is compromising my dignity, it’s not the neighbor quietly changing into a swimsuit. It’s the elected officials who legislate my body with performative confidence and minimal understanding.

So I want to end where I began — with Anna Ballard’s words. In moments like this, her voice feels like a compass pointing us back to our humanity: 

“Real safety doesn’t come from excluding people. It comes from learning how to share space with respect, clarity, and compassion. And maybe we could remember that the measure of a community isn’t how loud we shout about our fears, but how bravely we love through them.”

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.