In spring 2024, the small college where I had worked for 12 years—a place to which I had been deeply devoted, in a community that I had no intention of ever leaving—declared a financial crisis that made it clear closure was possible. Since my partner was also a faculty member at the college, and we could not risk having our entire household income and health insurance tied to a precarious institution, I had to look for other employment. But how? Where? We live in a small, rural, and remote town in northern Wisconsin; what could I do with my skills and training that would in any way approach the feelings of fulfillment, freedom, and purpose that had defined my relatively brief career? After a cursory and very depressing search for online academic work, I decided to take seriously a thought that had occurred so clearly while walking my dog one evening that I think I said it aloud: maybe I should run for office.
The truth is that I had been professionally restless for a while. Though I loved teaching, I was racked by a feeling of profound unease and consequent lack of enthusiasm for my research. In 2021, I had begun in-depth interviews with politically progressive gun owners, many of whom reported that they were buying firearms in response to the Trump era and what was, even then, a growing awareness that the Right was moving toward antidemocratic impulses. Explaining the social and cultural reasons for the surge in gun purchasing that was tied to a declining trust in democracy did not feel like enough to meet the moment. Worse, I was haunted by the idea that writing about the desire to be armed as a response to political anxiety would somehow rationalize, normalize, and perhaps even hasten what I feared most: a downward spiral into armed conflict rooted in partisan divisions. I was overcome with a conviction that the only work I wanted to do was that which would help to strengthen democracy and promote trust in each other and in our government.
With my job in question and these larger, existential concerns at the forefront of my mind, I remembered that Governor Evers had signed new, non-gerrymandered state legislative maps into law. For the first time, I saw that my new district, running along the south shore of Lake Superior, is a Democratic stronghold. I could campaign and legislate while staying true to my progressive values. So, I decided to run. And I won.
A Place for Sociology at the State Level
The last few months have been illuminating in hundreds of ways, and I am endlessly stimulated by all that there is to learn and consider about being an elected official. Yet, one of the most glaring characteristics of my new workplace is the dearth of sociologists. I have yet to meet one in our extensive state research agencies; I have not come across one in the many advocacy organizations I meet with; and none has reached out to me directly to discuss specific policies.
In some respects, this is unsurprising. Taking my own experiences as a guide, prior to this work I focused much more on national politics and federal laws than I did on state-level politics. While I occasionally wrote opinion pieces for local and regional newspapers, the holy grail was always national papers, and I never once contacted my state representatives to share my views, much less to request a meeting. When I moved to Wisconsin, concealed carry had just become law, and my expertise in this area could have helped lawmakers think through the implications of this and other firearms policies. I even knew my state representative—who would later become my state senator and the Senate Minority Leader—personally; yet it never occurred to me to ask to meet with her so that I might share my expertise.
State legislatures are where many of the policies and laws that directly affect our lives are written and where significant resource decisions are made. We will soon be voting on how to allocate somewhere on the order of $60 billion per year; we have already voted on proposals focused on crime and immigration, employment, schools, and trans rights; and I sit on a committee for colleges and universities, where we engage in debates that inform decisions with direct impact on the budgets and policies for our state’s institutions of higher learning. For someone with an abiding interest in power, it is now baffling that I was so disengaged with a profoundly consequential level of government to which I have had fairly ready access. I could offer an analysis about why my attention was drawn upward and away from the state level, but I will instead devote the space I have here to encourage sociologists to develop relationships with their state legislators in the hope that our field will play a much more prominent role in this critical level of law and policymaking than it does currently.
I offer these reflections with a few caveats. First, perhaps I was uniquely oblivious and politically disengaged vis-à-vis my statehouse, and what I share here is common knowledge. Second, I am a brand-new legislator and there is much to learn, so I will cross my fingers and hope that my reflections age well. Third, my experience is in Wisconsin, and all states have specific dynamics related to their geographical size and legislature’s structure (e.g., its composition, whether it is full or part-time, available staff). While specifics will vary, the larger point is one that I hope is taken seriously: to the extent that we ignore or minimize state government, we are missing an opportunity to use our power to have a direct influence at a major scale.
Sociologists as Reliable, Nonpartisan Messengers
One primary reason we should be engaging our legislature is that we are currently ceding this ground to lobbyists. The specific definition of what counts as lobbying varies by state, but in general, lobbyists are paid to advocate for a particular position on behalf of a client such as corporations, professional associations, and organizations devoted to special interests like animal welfare or health advocacy. At least with respect to my office, lobbyists have influence not because of any past or potential future financial contribution to my campaign, but because they closely track bills and intervene to make a case. They get an audience with my office the same way that anyone else does—they ask for a meeting.
It has become clear to me that good lobbyists are those who are upfront about their client’s interests and are honest and trustworthy conveyors of information. Of course they have their biases, but they are often clear about what those are and the best are even willing to explain “the opposition’s” views. If constituents are not writing or calling, and if a representative is not actively seeking other perspectives, lobbyists will have significant power in framing the contours of an issue and in providing data that they consider relevant.
It is easy to be cynical about this dynamic, but with thousands of proposals appearing in our inboxes over a two-year term (a volume that is only possible because outside groups play such a large role in drafting legislation), it is impossible to read everything closely. I know, because I tried. In my first month, I declared to my staffer that “in our office, we read everything,” a policy I soon had to abandon when it became evident that the breadth of topics we cover and the pace of the work make this lofty goal impossible. Time is scarce and due diligence on every single proposed piece of legislation is not feasible, particularly given how few bills actually make it to committee. I now focus on doing my best to fully comprehend the implications of something I might want to co-sponsor, if it is assigned a hearing in a committee on which I sit, or if it is uniquely relevant to my district. I also read all bills before a vote on the floor. (I have been told that reading anything closely is uncommon.) The fact is that legislators routinely rely on others to explain the implications of proposed legislation, and so the perspectives of the people advising us carry significant weight.
This is where sociologists could be making an intervention. What I and many of my colleagues want most is trustworthy, independent data and analysis that would allow us to better understand the implications of the legislation that we are asked to consider. Having people who understand and can explain the consequences of proposals is invaluable. Sociologists could also approach lawmakers with specific policy or messaging ideas; indeed, effective messaging is some of the most important work we do, and it is something that needs major improvement if we are going to rehabilitate our democracy. There is a more fundamental level at which sociologists could be useful: too few legislators seem to understand principles of social structure, basic demographic data, information related to the reproduction of inequality, or how socio-economic forces exacerbate social problems. ASA’s efforts to produce primers for lawmakers can be exceedingly helpful in orienting their thinking toward structural dynamics.
I know that some people might not care about sociological information even if they had access, and I will not predict that adding sociologists to the lawmaking process would necessarily lead to better outcomes. But I do know that when considering political dynamics of any sort, the only way to have a good outcome is to have a good process, and without reliable information, we are being disproportionately influenced by those who have a vested interest in shaping our opinions.
There are various advocacy organizations that serve as partners to each caucus, and these groups often bring in subject experts, so this could be one way to find an entry point into this work; however, in the presentations I have seen so far, it is unclear whether these organizations are actively engaging with sociological research. In addition, these groups are too often already defined in partisan terms because of their area of focus (e.g., gun violence prevention, abortion rights, or environmental conservation), which limits the extent to which some offices might be open to learning from them.
See Yourself as an Influencer
One of the key takeaways I have after nearly four months into this job is that lawmakers are primed to be influenced. Most are balancing the political imperatives of their party, their constituents’ views and requests, and the best available information, and in that order. It may be the case that even as area experts, your greatest influence remains as a constituent. However you find a way to intervene in state lawmaking, including in the budget process, I implore you to work toward doing so. Sociologists bring a much-needed perspective, and it is critical not to underestimate the contributions you can make to how your state legislators see a given issue. So please, follow what is happening at your statehouse, contact your representatives, ask to meet with them, share your expertise, and find ways to contribute.
If you’ve ever considered running for office or working in government, I strongly encourage you to pursue it. I can’t think of work better suited to the skills and insights of a sociologist. To be effective, you should have the skills to listen well, communicate effectively, think through and research social and cultural complexity, navigate power dynamics, and be able to strategize how to get results given inter- and intraparty statehouse machinations. It is extremely challenging and exhausting at times, but every single day I apply my sociological imagination and training toward the interrelated goals of improving people’s lives and strengthening democracy. What more important work is there?
Any opinions expressed in the articles in this publication are those of the author and not the American Sociological Association.