For a while now, I’ve had a complicated relationship with politics. And I don’t think I’m alone in that. It can be hard to stay energized when the news feels heavy, elections feel constant, and progress feels slower than it should.
But to be appropriately self-critical: disengaging was also easier. Telling yourself that showing up won’t matter is a pretty convenient way to protect yourself from disappointment. Cynicism can dress itself up as principle, and I’ve let it do that before. I stopped showing up, and then I told myself showing up wouldn’t matter anyway.
Familiar Faces, Community Gathering
I wasn’t planning on going to the Hall of Fame event. To be honest, I’d never heard of it before.
But, over the past five months, I’ve gotten to know folks working with the Dubuque County Democrats, and something about their genuine commitment and warmth started to chip away at me. These weren’t abstract political figures; these are neighbors and friends. People who cared enough to live their principles. People who were frustrated too, and kept showing up anyway. So when the Hall of Fame dinner came up and I had the opportunity to write this article, I said yes.
I came partly because I was asked to write about my experience as a first-time attendee, and partly because people I’ve come to trust kept telling me I should be there. I belonged in the literal and figurative room. I expected a formal political dinner: polite speeches, familiar talking points, maybe some networking, and then everyone would go home.
I walked into a packed hallway leading to the soon-to-be-packed ballroom, scootching past people and feeling entirely in the way, but almost immediately ran into friends.
People I hadn’t seen in years, people I’d served alongside on Dubuque Senior High’s student council, parents of childhood friends, my first theater director, people from other lives I’ve lived as a barista, a bartender, a paralegal, a writer, a kid. Familiar faces I wasn’t expecting. Before the program even started, it already felt less like a political event and more like a community gathering.
I didn’t expect how personal and reassuring it would feel.
Honorees
The evening honored some genuinely remarkable people and I was crying within the first five minutes. Not dramatic movie crying. More like the sudden kind of emotion that sneaks up on you when you realize people have been doing good work around you for decades while you’ve been convincing yourself nothing matters.
A few of the honorees that stood out to me were:
- Nick and Linda Lucy and Bill and Kyle Stumpf: Both received the Senator Tom Harkin Award for Freedom and Equality, recognition that felt well-earned. Kyle’s advocacy for inclusion and disability rights is exactly the kind of work that doesn’t always get a spotlight but is so important, and it was meaningful to see it celebrated in that room. It was eye-opening to learn there were such dedicated people right here in Dubuque.
- State Representative Lindsay James was honored with the Ann Michalski Distinguished Service Award.
- Dianne Gibson was honored for her more than 40 years as an educator and continued community advocacy. That last one hit differently for me: 40 years is a lifetime of showing up, even when you don’t want to, even when the inner-cynic chirps in your ear.
Former Senator Tom Harkin was the keynote speaker, though he was unable to attend in person due to some last-minute health challenges. He joined remotely to speak, which felt even more significant given the circumstances that kept him from coming to Dubuque. He still showed up to give motivating remarks about how we can’t give up – not on democracy, not on being decent to one another, and not on working to make the world a better place.
Candidates
Zach Wahls and Josh Turek, both vying for the U.S. Senate seat currently held by Joni Ernst, also spoke. I expected that part of the evening to feel the most “political,” but what stood out to me was how much of it still came back to people’s actual lives: healthcare, disability rights, water quality, public schools, and whether Iowa can be a place where people feel safe, respected, and able to build a future. I left feeling hopeful that it still can.
I got to hear from some local candidates as well. (I’ll be transparent: one of those candidates is my father-in-law, Eli Licht, who is running for the Iowa House, District 72.) Part of what drew me to the Dubuque Democrats in the first place was watching him engage politically in such a public, vulnerable way. But even setting that aside, hearing Matt Robinson (also a candidate for the District 72 seat) and others running for state offices speak up close was a reminder of why local races matter as much as (or maybe even more than) the ones that make national headlines.
There’s something different about hearing candidates speak in the room you’re sitting in. It feels personal, immediate, and real in a way that watching something on TikTok or Facebook never quite does.
I heard people talk about disability rights and why inclusion matters so much, about how health and environmental issues (like water quality) are affecting everyday people in Iowa, and how we have to fight to protect the rights of vulnerable populations among us.
What Surprised Me
What surprised me most was how little the evening felt like a performance.
I expected speeches. I did not expect to feel genuinely moved by stories of people who have spent decades teaching, organizing, advocating, and making Dubuque better in ways that rarely make headlines. I expected a room full of Democrats. I did not expect to see so many pieces of my own life reflected back at me: teachers, parents, old friends, community volunteers, people I’d known in completely different chapters of my life.
“I did not expect to see so many pieces of my own life reflected back at me.”
I also didn’t expect the fundraiser part to make as much sense as it did. The Hall of Fame is one of the party’s biggest fundraising events of the year, and I’ll admit I didn’t fully understand that going in. But by the end of the night, it felt less like an abstract ask and more like a practical one: this is how local organizing gets funded, how candidates get supported, and how people keep showing up between elections.
I left that Diamond Jo ballroom feeling something I hadn’t expected: amped and motivated. Not in a fist-pumping, slogan-shouting way, more like a quiet, settled sense of purpose. These are real people doing real work in our community, and there’s room for more of us at the table.
So if you haven’t been to Hall of Fame before, or if it’s been a long time, here’s what I’d tell you: go. Go even if you feel unsure. Go even if you’re tired. Go even if you think you already know what a political event will feel like.
The room might surprise you. It surprised me.
About the Author
Gwen Merfeld is a licensed therapist, Dubuque native, and first-time Hall of Fame attendee. She wrote this reflection for others who may feel unsure about stepping into political spaces, but still care deeply about their neighbors and community.
