A liberal, practicing Catholic who has lived in Sanderson off and on since the 1980s and lives here today reflects on the town’s changing culture and her growing distance from the Democratic Party.
I am a liberal woman born in the 1960s, a practicing Catholic, and someone who remembers feeling at home in the Democratic Party. I have lived in Sanderson off and on since the 1980s, and I live here today.
This town is not an abstraction to me. When I think about its future, I am thinking about a place that has been part of my life for decades.
My faith, my concern for other people, and my political beliefs once felt comfortably connected. Today, I feel more tension between them. As I look at Sanderson, I find myself asking whether the cultural changes that trouble me nationally are becoming part of life here, too.
When I ask whether Sanderson is turning blue, I am not simply asking how people will vote. I am asking whose values will shape the town, what residents will be expected to accept, and whether disagreement will remain a legitimate part of community life.
This is not an argument against welcoming newcomers. It is an argument against confusing welcome with surrender.
A New Address Does Not Confer Moral Authority
Nobody should have to spend a lifetime in Sanderson before having a voice here. New residents deserve fair treatment and the opportunity to contribute. Longtime residents should not assume that every unfamiliar idea is a threat.
But respect must travel in both directions.
Moving into a community does not mean the people already there need to be politically educated, culturally corrected, or embarrassed into accepting a different way of life.
I question the assumption that someone arriving with more liberal views necessarily represents progress, while someone defending conservative traditions represents an obstacle.
A person can bring useful ideas without possessing superior judgment about everything. A community can need improvement without its residents needing a lecture about how unenlightened they are.
If someone finds Sanderson appealing because it is different from Austin, I think it is fair to ask why making it more like Austin should become the assignment.
Are we joining a community, or are we trying to remake it until it reflects our preferences?
Those are not necessarily the same undertaking.
When Acceptance Means Agreement
I do not object to liberals having a voice. I am one.
What I object to is the attitude that liberal views deserve accommodation while conservative views deserve eventual elimination.
To me, that is where persuasion becomes pressure.
There is a difference between saying, “Here is why I believe this change would help,” and saying, “If you oppose this change, something must be wrong with you.”
One invites an argument. The other puts a person’s character on trial.
Conservative residents should be able to question a proposal without first proving that they are decent people. They should be able to value religious traditions, personal responsibility, or familiar community expectations without being dismissed as stuck in the past.
That does not make every conservative position correct. It means disagreement should be answered rather than treated as a social offense.
I worry that the language of inclusion can become a demand for conformity: everyone is welcome, provided everyone eventually arrives at the approved conclusions.
That is not the kind of tolerance I want for Sanderson.
The Lecturer Should Follow Her Own Rules
One local example that troubles me involves criticism of artificial intelligence.
I have no objection to someone using AI as part of a creative or business process. My concern is the tone of the criticism and whether the same expectations apply to the person delivering it.
I have found one local businesswoman’s criticism of AI use aggressive and belittling. At the same time, some of her work leaves me wondering whether she uses the tools she condemns.
That is a question, not an established fact. Familiarity with AI prompts does not give me the ability to prove how someone else produced a piece of work.
But someone who publicly lectures others about their methods should be willing to answer reasonable questions about her own.
Does she use AI? If so, in what capacity? Is her objection to all AI use, undisclosed use, or particular applications? Those distinctions matter.
If she does not use it, that answer deserves a fair hearing. If she does, she should explain why her use differs from the practices she criticizes.
The issue is accountability. Speaking with moral certainty does not place anyone above scrutiny.
I do not believe hypocrisy belongs exclusively to liberals. But when someone presents liberal views as the enlightened alternative, I am not going to overlook a possible double standard simply because we share a political label.
The standard we demand from our neighbors should be a standard we are prepared to meet ourselves.
The Talarico Effect
James Talarico represents another part of my growing discomfort with the Democratic Party.
He does not restore my confidence in its direction. His political message leaves me questioning how comfortably someone with my convictions still fits within it.
I am less interested in arguing over whether a label such as “socialist” fits him than in examining the priorities behind the appealing presentation. What is he asking voters to support? What differences are being emphasized, and which are being softened?
Those are also the questions I bring to local officials who appear beside him.
I do not automatically consider sharing a platform with a candidate an endorsement of everything that candidate believes. Officials should be able to discuss a proposal across party lines. Refusing every conversation would accomplish little.
But I also do not believe a campaign photograph is politically meaningless.
A local official may intend to support one proposal. A voter may see something broader: a familiar public figure lending credibility to a candidate whose other positions have received much less attention.
That is what I mean by the Talarico effect.
It does not require everyone in the picture to agree on everything. The appearance itself can make a candidate seem locally accepted, trusted, and less politically distant.
For Sheriff Thaddeus Cleveland, the question I would ask is the same one I would ask any official: Where does cooperation on a particular issue end, and assistance with a candidate’s political image begin?
That is a question about a public choice, not proof of a private motive. I cannot know whether someone participates for personal advancement, sincere agreement, or a mixture of reasons.
But voters are entitled to ask what their officials support, what they reject, and whether those distinctions are communicated as clearly as the photograph.
A Public Profile Is Not a Political Explanation
Over the years, I have watched politicians campaign in language broad enough to attract people with very different expectations.
Competence. Community. Opportunity. A better future.
Those are appealing promises. They do not necessarily explain how a candidate will handle difficult cultural or moral disagreements.
Once elected, an official’s priorities become clearer. Voters may discover that liking the person and agreeing with the direction of government are two different things.
That is why I want more than a reassuring personality from public officials, including Cleveland. I want to understand what they believe, what they intend to do, and how their decisions compare with the expectations they encouraged while campaigning.
A strong social-media presence does not answer those questions. Neither does being comfortable in front of a camera.
Communication can serve the public. It can also leave the public knowing a personality better than it understands a record.
The distinction deserves attention.
My Faith Is Not Subject to Party Approval
The deepest part of my disagreement with my party is not about campaign appearances or political personalities.
It is about God.
Before I am a Democrat, before I am a liberal, and before I am anyone’s political ally, I am a practicing Catholic accountable to God.
I oppose abortion because I believe unborn human life deserves protection. For me, that conviction is not a departure from compassion. It is an expression of it.
I cannot regard an unborn child as disposable, and I cannot set that belief aside because it creates difficulties within my political party.
I also believe concern for a child must include concern for the mother. Compassion should involve practical help, support, and a willingness to remain involved after making a moral declaration.
But helping a woman and defending her unborn child are not competing obligations in my conscience.
I speak for my own convictions. I do not need to pronounce on every other Christian’s sincerity to explain what my faith requires of me.
Nor can I treat those requirements as negotiable simply because they have become politically inconvenient.
When the Self Becomes the Highest Authority
What troubles me goes beyond abortion. It concerns the source of moral authority.
My faith teaches me that wanting something does not automatically make it right. Freedom carries obligations. My conscience requires reflection and sometimes correction—not merely reassurance that whatever I choose must be acceptable.
When political arguments treat individual choice as the final answer to a moral question, I hear a different understanding of human life.
To me, that can sound like replacing God with the self: my wishes, my identity, my authority.
That is how the message strikes me. It is not a claim that every Democrat rejects God or literally considers herself divine.
But parts of the political culture surrounding my party increasingly feel hostile to the idea that religious obligations might place limits on personal choice.
My question is whether there is meaningful room for someone whose faith leads her to an unpopular conclusion.
Can I openly oppose abortion without being treated as a problem to solve? Can I bring religious convictions into public life when they do not produce the preferred political answer?
Respect for faith should mean more than accepting it when it remains private, agreeable, or convenient.
I do not expect my neighbors to share my Catholic beliefs. I do expect to be able to express them without pretending they are an embarrassing remnant of a less enlightened time.
The Party I Loved and the Town I Love
The Democratic Party I remember loving was one I believed could accommodate my Catholic faith and my concern for other people.
That is my memory of belonging, not a claim that the party was ever perfect.
Today, I feel a growing distance between that sense of belonging and the expectations I encounter.
I worry about a similar distance opening in Sanderson: between welcoming new people and accepting the idea that established beliefs must give way to whatever is presented as progress.
I do not expect everyone here to attend my church or vote as I do. I do not believe being a longtime resident makes someone right by default.
But neither does being new, liberal, educated elsewhere, or skilled at attracting attention.
Sanderson should be able to change without making its existing residents feel that they are the problem being corrected. It should be able to welcome newcomers without asking anyone to surrender the right to disagree.
I have lived here at different points since the 1980s. I know that belonging to a place does not mean freezing it in time.
It does mean caring enough to question its direction.
I can question my party without abandoning compassion. I can welcome a neighbor without adopting her politics. I can respect a public official while asking whether his public image tells me enough about his priorities.
And I can remain a liberal while refusing to make liberalism my highest authority.
My faith is not a political accessory. My neighbors are not a renovation project. And my conscience is not something I owe to a party.