Building Bridges: Finding Humanity in an Unwinnable District

Running for office, I met America at its front door

By Emily Tseffos

Last year I ran for state assembly in Wisconsin in an unwinnable district, and I lost. It’s taken me some time, but I’m finally finding the motivation to reflect on the profound experience I had that revealed something truly remarkable: despite an overall red wave, this district held and did not shift as dramatically as predicted. It speaks volumes about the resilience and complexity of our electorate, and the undeniable strength of the connections forged during my journey down those long gravel driveways and quiet country roads.

I remember knocking on my 3,000th door back in early October, standing in front of a little blue house with its cheerful yellow door, nestled among old barns and waving grasses. Each day of canvassing had been filled with a whirlwind of emotions—exhaustion mixed with inspiration and hope - and sometimes heartache. In what many called an unwinnable district, I uncovered stories that transcended party lines and revealed the heart of our community.

I've spent countless hours walking dirt roads and knocking on doors, listening to the narratives of volunteer fire chiefs who balance their farming duties with community service, nurses dedicated to the well-being of others amidst the challenges of rural healthcare, and parents driven by dreams of better futures for their children. Each story shared with me was a testament to the spirit and resilience that characterizes this area, reminding me of the importance of listening – truly listening – rather than preaching our platform.

One encounter I recall vividly was with a group of farmers, who welcomed me into their lives for an afternoon. They dedicated their lives to the working of their fields and tending to their animals, expressing concerns over climate change and the need for supportive policies that feel out of reach, especially for our smallest farms. Their commitment to their hometowns resonated deeply with me. I joined them on front porches, shared laughter over lemonade, and engaged in meaningful conversations about everything from crop insurance to sustainable practices, realizing that mutual understanding was far more powerful than mere political rhetoric.

And then there were the parents—the everyday heroes. In their eyes, I saw the familiar reflections of my own children. Their sacrifices weighed on me, and I understood, despite the vast differences in our political affiliations, that we all want a better future for our kids. There were moments that felt profound, like when one mother shared how hard it was for her to leave the house for work. I recalled my own struggles, packing snacks for my kids, and wishing for more time with them—a poignant reminder of why I embarked on this journey.

It’s bittersweet to navigate a district that, statistically, resists the values I hold dear. Yet I emerged with a deep commitment to understanding and connecting with my neighbors. Even though here many people’s views may not align with mine, I found common ground through compassionate dialogue. Listening became my guiding principle; it transformed conventional campaign mechanics into opportunities for genuine engagement.

To me, the true essence of politics lies in the personal. I remember an elderly woman whose skepticism about my candidacy was palpable when I first introduced myself at her door. Instead of pushing my agenda, I opened up a dialogue about her life in Black Creek—the joys and struggles she faced. Twenty minutes later, we two strangers had become allies, sharing moments filled with vulnerability and hope. It was a potent reminder that beneath the political labels, we are all human, navigating the complexities of life together.

Whether canvassing, hosting listening sessions, or completing community surveys I was determined to listen and seek to understand first, before I asked them to put their trust in me. Imagine that, a politic that involves and centers our shared humanity and complex experiences, then moves to work together on policies that could serve all of us, together.

This campaign demanded sacrifices, particularly from my family. There were nights spent away from bedtime stories and warm cuddles, days that felt long and lonely. It’s draining, especially as a candidate who worked hard to offer up some very vulnerable parts of my story - mother of a child with special needs, survivor of sexual violence. That feeling was multiplied when my sharing was met with callousness or cruelty. However, every moment, both beautiful and brutal, underscored the importance of what I was doing. Every door I knocked on not only allowed me to invest in the kind of dialogue we need but also in a future where every voice matters, regardless of their background or beliefs.

Looking back, I am proud of what we accomplished. The community did not shift right during a red wave — it held ground, reflecting a tapestry of diverse views that must be acknowledged and respected. And while the election did not end in victory for me, it serves as a powerful reminder that politics is not just about winning; it is about the connections we build and the understanding we foster. Together, we can create a culture of empathy in our political landscape, one conversation at a time.

As I step back from the candidate’s role, I remain committed to advocating for the voices that were shared with me, and I cherish the relationships forged through this campaign. I am hopeful that we can continue these dialogues beyond election day, championing a vision of America that puts people first—because after all, that is what truly matters.

I knew this district wasn’t going to flip in one cycle. Trust is a precious commodity here, and I understand that to win here I’ll need to earn that first. But those stories I heard have stuck with me; I still drive down these roads and pass houses of neighbors I now know and understand a little better. I feel a responsibility to them because I know they’re being harmed by policies and elected officials who are counting on them not looking too closely at what they’re doing.

While I don’t know if I’ll run again, I do know I plan to keep showing up for my neighbors in whatever way I can in the months and years ahead. When people are being harmed, we neighbors show up. It’s the right thing to do.

Forward together!