On election night, I marked the conclusion of my months-long campaign for local office in the community where I grew up. I started talking to voters and knocking on doors in June, and my efforts involved knocking on more than 3,500 doors and spending hours in conversation with countless voters. But despite the need to get my name out there, I found myself hesitating to bring up the fact that I was running for office.
I hesitated partly because of all the negative connotations that come with the word “politician.” I am much more comfortable with the term “elected official” or “public servant.” When I make that point to my friends, they often smile at me and teasingly say, “That’s exactly what a politician would say.” But I am not playing with semantics when I say that we need fewer politicians in office and more public servants. In our divided nation that might just be one of the few sentiments that would get nods of approval across the political spectrum.
A sense of service, a desire to help reknit our social fabric, and an unfailing sense of optimism inspired me to run—and what an adventure the campaign was. Although I did not emerge victorious in the race for legislator in Nassau County’s 14th District, I did learn some valuable lessons about my country and my own beliefs along the way.
Bipartisan agreement seems increasingly rare as political polarization continues to grow in our country. I talked to one elderly voter about her concerns for our community. At the end of the call, I asked if I earned her support, and she said she wished she could vote for me; but because I was running on the Democratic ticket and Working Family Parties ticket and am not a member of her political party, she just couldn’t. This pained me, not because I had not earned her vote, but because I believe it would be good for our democracy if more people chose good policy over party loyalty, especially in local elections.
The strength of our democracy lies in encouraging independent thinking grounded in the dignity of all people. My Catholic faith and the church’s social teaching have helped to inform and inspire my political decisions, my desire to walk with people in their struggles and to try to create a world in which they struggle less. As I see it, the role of a candidate for office (and an elected leader) does not lie in convincing others you are right—and by extension that they are wrong. It lies in acknowledging the fears people have but not stoking them. It lies in acknowledging the pain of others and offering solutions—policies—that will improve peoples’ lives.
Policies may seem theoretical, but they are really about people.
Policies may seem theoretical, but they are really about people. Bad policies have a very human cost, and I think many of our leaders have forgotten that. I want to contribute to addressing our greatest challenges today, and I think that starts at the local level. A certain urgency is missing. And I cannot stop thinking about all those who have been hurt and who will be hurt by our society’s political polarization and lack of meaningful action on so many issues.
Jesus knew the power of stories and their ability to move us, and I have been transformed by the stories that people have shared with me during my campaign. In July, I had an endorsement interview via Zoom with a health care workers’ union. As the interview wrapped up, a registered nurse shared the story of her daughter who lived with addiction and ultimately died of an overdose. Through tears and filled with anguish, she asked: Where was the government when she sought treatment for her daughter? Where was the government when treatment costs spiraled out of control? Where was the government when our country’s opioid crisis first began? I won’t forget her grief, her frustration, her despair, her desire for her daughter to still be alive.
I cried, too. I told her the government did fail her, and in all honesty, I would probably fail her, too. That if elected, I could never do enough, but that I would do all that I could to advocate for people like her daughter. I believe that by virtue of our baptism, we are shaped by the pain of the world but not defined by it. As I wrapped up my answer, the words of the Confiteor swam in my brain reminding me “that I have greatly sinned...in what I have done and what I have failed to.”
When I finished my answer, the woman (who forgot to put herself on mute) said, “Wow. This is the first human answer I’ve heard from someone who listened and didn’t just revert to note cards.” Even through Zoom, we connected in whatever way we could, and that is the role of elected officials—to connect with people’s pain in real and meaningful ways, to be shaped by the pain of their communities and work to address what is causing the pain.
I told her the government did fail her, and in all honesty, I would probably fail her, too.
But my campaign has also helped me to gain a better understanding of why many people, even when they care deeply about a particular issue, are apathetic about voting and disengaged from government. During my campaign’s first phone bank event, a campaign volunteer called a man who lives only about a mile away from where I grew up and now live. The man, whom I will call Charlie, lost his high-school-age son to gun violence about five years ago. Grief dominates his life to this day. Charlie rightly feels the government has not done enough, that his son’s death is going to be forgotten and, even worse, that another parent will experience the pain of losing a child to gun violence. We asked Charlie what he wanted from the local government, and he said that he wanted safe parks for his community, for the government to more comprehensively address gang violence and for his son to still be alive.
We cannot bring back his son, but in honor of the son’s memory, I rallied some volunteers and painted the outside of the Head Start building at the park closest to Charlie’s house. Is it enough? Absolutely not. But it is a start. Just by listening to one another’s needs, each of us can make a difference, elected or not.
Our society’s conceptions of strength and weakness, of qualified and unqualified, of experienced and inexperienced have not served our country well. An Ivy League degree does not guarantee that you will represent your constituents fairly. Qualifications for being a servant leader do not stem from one’s income or age. A true leader must care deeply for the people they represent, have the willingness to listen, and accept that leadership sometimes involves changing one’s position. We must also have leaders who dignify and respect all people, including the person they are running against.
I firmly believe that every member of a community plays a role in rebuilding trust and reknitting our social fabric.
At one point in my campaign, I thanked the incumbent for my district for keeping the campaign cordial, civil and focused on policy. “I wish every campaign was like this,” I said. She agreed, but all present chuckled a little bit. I brought my idealism and my hopes for civility and compassion to all elements of the campaign, and I know that made me look foolish to some.
Properly executed, politics recognizes the pain and the longing for community inherent in each of us while seeking to transform our individual and collective pain into an opportunity for vulnerability and honesty. Campaigns have become scorched earth endeavors, prioritizing winning an election at all costs. Should this trend continue, politicians will still win elections, but our society will ultimately lose. I firmly believe that every member of a community plays a role in rebuilding trust and reknitting our social fabric. I believe it should be the norm, not the exception, that candidates speak to as much of the community as possible, even people who do not plan on voting at all.
Which is why I spoke to Ron, who told me he is too frustrated with the government to register to vote, and that he is concerned about the quality of his road. I told him that if I won, I would knock on his door with papers to register to vote, and that in my first two years in office I would work hard enough that I would earn his vote for my second term. My aspiration to serve my entire community, voters or not, animates my desire to serve in local government.
I like to explain the state of politics and my hope for what it can be using two games: Jenga and a puzzle. In Jenga, one person’s failure will result in your success. Yet, in a puzzle, one person’s success results in everyone’s success and moves all toward creating a clearer picture of the hoped-for result.
I truly believe that politics can be a force for good.
As a believer in the Trinitarian God, I try to let community, relationship and love animate my day-to-day, and as a human, I know how frequently I fail. When I was a candidate for a master’s in education at the University of Notre Dame as a member of the Alliance for Catholic education, my professors delivered and demonstrated a clear message: “Teach with urgency.” I know this same mantra needs to be applied to public policy. So I turn to St. Ignatius and ask him to help me to work toward this goal: to not become beholden to any one policy but instead to embody a spirit of detachment. May our society work for good, even though I have lost. May democracy give people a reason to hope, even if that is not because of me.
I truly believe that politics can be a force for good. But sin, both personal and societal, prevents us from achieving that goal. Our society deeply embeds the idea of sin into its understanding of the body politic, but grace and reconciliation seem to be in short supply. Leaders, elected or not, must believe in the ideas and refinement of American democracy. To move forward as a nation, we must acknowledge not only the sin in the world but also accept the grace that is ever present, too. We must build a bridge where others only see a divide. We must create a tapestry where others only see thread. We must create a song where others only hear discord. That is the role of an elected official, or at least it should be. As lofty as it may sound, my vision of politics and community is imperfect and incomplete, too, because no one person can offer a perfect vision. But as a community, we might be able to create something better.
