Emily Articulated: Hope

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

In his acceptance speech after winning the Senate race in Texas, James Talarico spoke the words so many in his state had been waiting to hear: “We just took back Texas. We just proved that all the money in the world is no match for the people of Texas.

“We just sent a message to every billionaire mega donor, every trillionaire mega donor, every corrupt defender of this broken political system in this state, in this country: Power belongs to the people.”

I woke up this morning remembering what it feels like to be hopeful. To look at the news and not feel sick. We chose people over big money, voted for people with names like Abdul El-Sayed, with stances like “unity over division,” and celebrated historic firsts instead of massive rollbacks — first Native American governor, Deb Haaland in New Mexico; first Black woman to win the governor seat in Georgia, Keisha Lance Bottoms — that reflect the richness of the America we know to exist.

Finally, it feels like my unwanted companion of discomfort is reflected in the election results. It’s a relief to believe that people’s lives growing harder — grocery bills, gas prices, the cost of keeping a roof overhead — can cut through the noise about Cheesecake Factories, “great asses” and the excuses for wars started like toddlers grasping for things that aren’t theirs at everyone else’s expense.

It feels like a rebuke of the big-money propaganda machine — like massive spending by billionaires protecting their personal interests can still register as disingenuous, like people’s common sense can still turn them against those who built empires by taking more than their fair share. A cloud is lifting; empty promises falling to the floor like shattering glass.

Talarico continued, “This win is for every underdog who’s been counted out and left behind. This win is for every teacher and every nurse, for every farmer and every rancher, for every young person who’s trying to buy a home, for every parent who’s trying to put food on the table.”

The election reminded me that even where opposing ideologies seem to have a stronghold, people can change their minds.

But with all that relief comes an equally large helping of unease here in Idaho, putting a large asterisk next to all that restored hope, begging questions without easy answers: Do I really belong here? How far is too far?

I see myself in so many people in this community: kind, caring, hardworking, creative, thoughtful people who seek to enrich the place they call home. People who want better schools, preserved public lands, functioning infrastructure, affordable groceries, health care, and protections for the most vulnerable.

I see myself in people who hold trivia nights and Rocky Horror Picture Shows; who create music festivals and writing contests; who start businesses and nonprofits; who make room for one another.

And I worry about their breaking point (our breaking point). What will be the straw (will there be a straw?) that causes the people with whom I feel so connected to leave?

I thrive in places with middle ground, where people can come together, see what they have in common and make choices that do the least harm to the people around them. I grew up in a divided place. I’m not scared of people who don’t think like me.

I am scared, however, of being represented by people who fearmonger and lie, who consider propaganda a viable political strategy. Who offer far-fetched solutions to problems affecting a few, with consequences for everyone. Who wield distractions like strobe lights  — “trans people are coming for you,” “they’re killing our babies” — while we’re choosing between paying the mortgage, buying groceries and filling the gas tank.

I yearn for regular disagreements with people I know to be good, or at least well-intentioned. Losing faith in that leaves me feeling raw. In the glow of everyone else’s great correction, their return to demanding solutions to problems that shape our daily lives, we’re left in the shadows.

I can already hear the response from Idahoans who woke up with their own sense of relief this morning: “Well then leave! Go already.” But I live here. People I care about live here. I have a community here. And some battered, broken part of me still believes we can find our way.

Talarico shared, “Always, always bet on the underdog. We went up against all the negative ads, smear campaigns, foreign bots and AI deepfakes that money can buy. Those attacks were the final howls of a dying establishment. The death rattle of a status quo that knows its days are numbered. They played dirty because they were desperate, but we never lost hope. We never lost faith. And against big money and long odds, we took our power back.”

If Texas can find its way, surely we can find some regular, not-He(rndon)-who-must-not-be-named leader to represent the reasonable people of Idaho, regardless of political affiliation. Until then, I am resilient. For now, I am still here.

If you’re trying to build a community that takes care of one another, that prioritizes the well-being of many over the personal interests of the few — if you’re investing your energy and resources in making this a good place for all different kinds of people to live and thrive — then I’m so glad you are, too.

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.