Trusting the Process: How Wisconsin Grassroots Groups Are Fighting Election Anxiety

In the quiet college town of Oshkosh, Wisconsin, with Election Day hovering just one week away, an unmistakable tension hangs in the air. It’s the kind of unease that settles into dinner conversations, follows people into grocery store aisles, and keeps them scrolling through news feeds long after they should have put their phones down. But on a stage inside UW-Oshkosh, a group of unlikely allies gathered to push back against that gnawing anxiety with something surprisingly simple: conversation. WisACT, a cross-partisan network operating under the university’s Whitburn Center for Governance and Policy Research, brought together a 13-person panel that included citizens from across the political spectrum. The message was not about winning elections or scoring political points. It was about something far more foundational: helping people trust the process enough to participate in it. The panel, attended by students, community leaders, and everyday voters, was designed to confront head-on the spreading unease that has become as much a part of modern elections as campaign ads and yard signs. Their prescription for election anxiety was direct and even a little radical in today’s climate: get informed, get involved, vote, and then—perhaps most difficult of all—accept the results.

The heart of the problem, as the panelists described it, is a pervasive and stubborn ecosystem of misinformation that doesn’t discriminate by age, education, or intelligence. Jim Steineke, speaking on behalf of RightCount, a group dedicated to promoting voter education about election integrity, offered a striking confession that many in the audience could probably relate to. He described respected, well-educated people—community leaders and successful business owners whose judgment he trusted in every other context—calling him up to insist that the last election had been stolen. These weren’t fringe figures or anonymous internet commenters. They were neighbors, colleagues, and friends who had fallen into a vortex of conspiracy theories, attack ads, and viral falsehoods. Steineke’s testimony illustrated something crucial: misinformation is not a problem of ignorance but a problem of exposure and emotional vulnerability. People believe what they want to believe, especially when they’re scared, and fear has a way of making the most far-fetched theories feel plausible. The panelists argued that this dynamic fuels a dangerous feedback loop. Anxious voters seek out information that confirms their worst fears, the algorithms dutifully deliver more of the same, and before long, the very idea of a fair election feels like a fantasy. This cycle, they warned, is corrosive not just to individual peace of mind but to the shared civic trust that holds our democracy together.

So what is the cure? According to Paul Van Auken, the coordinator of WisACT, the answer lies in the uncomfortable but necessary work of actually talking to one another. Van Auken offered a gentle but firm assertion that the more you involve yourself, the more you engage in conversations with people—especially those on the opposite side of the political spectrum—the more you begin to realize that things might actually be okay. He spoke with a quiet optimism that felt almost defiant given the national mood. The panelists stressed that human connection is the most effective vaccine against the dehumanizing effects of extreme political rhetoric. When you sit across a table from someone with different political views, it’s hard to view them as an enemy. They become a person with a face, a story, and fears of their own. The panel encouraged attendees to step outside their comfort zones, not to persuade or convert, but simply to listen and be heard. There was an acknowledgment that these conversations are awkward and sometimes painful, but they are also essential. Van Auken noted that the people involved in this work on the ground are not armchair quarterbacks. They are actively engaged, showing up, and doing the unglamorous but necessary labor of civic trust-building. Their confidence, he suggested, is not naive optimism but earned assurance borne from doing the work and seeing democracy hold together despite the strain.

A significant portion of the discussion was devoted to the youngest generation of voters, whose participation is vital and whose disillusionment is deeply concerning to the panelists. Ashlyn Clemens, a master’s student at UW-Oshkosh, delivered a candid and moving assessment of how her generation views the political landscape. She described a Gen Z population that sometimes feels scared to approach older generations and have meaningful conversations because they’re not entirely sure their voices and opinions will be heard. There was a palpable sadness in her words, a sense of a generation standing at the doorstep of civic life, full of ideas and concerns, yet hesitant to knock because they fear being dismissed. The panelists urged the audience to actively engage with young people, not with lecture and condescension, but with genuine curiosity and openness. They argued that the cynicism and apathy so often attributed to young voters is not laziness—it’s a defense mechanism. It’s easier to check out than to put yourself out there and be told that your generation doesn’t matter or that your concerns are silly. The panel connected this to a larger theme: apathy is often just a disguise for feeling powerless. The remedy, they suggested, is to make space at the table, to ask young people what they think and actually listen to the answers. Clemens’ voice was a reminder that democracy does not survive on institutions alone; it survives on the belief that participation counts, and that belief must be nurtured across generations.

Perhaps the most emotional segment of the panel came when the conversation turned to election workers, the often invisible public servants who administer our most sacred civic ritual. The panelists took time to remind the audience that these are not faceless bureaucrats or partisan operatives. They are local volunteers—retirees, teachers, students, neighbors—who spend long, exhausting hours on Election Day so that the rest of us can cast our ballots safely and securely. In an era where these workers have faced harassment, threats, and accusations of corruption, the simple act of thanking them has become an act of civic grace. The panelists urged attendees to trust these workers, to recognize the sacrifices they make, and to accept their results even when the outcomes are not what we hoped for. Van Auken returned to this theme with a pastor’s cadence, asserting that this election has challenged voters of every background, but accepting the results is key to preserving democracy. That word—acceptance—carried a heavy weight in the room. It is one thing to vote, quite another to accept that your side lost without resorting to conspiracy theories or calls for delegitimization. The panelists acknowledged how hard this is, particularly in our hyper-partisan age, but they insisted that it is not optional. Democracy, by definition, requires a shared faith in the process, and that faith requires winners and losers alike to honor the outcome.

As the panel drew to a close, the takeaway was neither complicated nor cynical. Vote, be informed, and then accept the results. Van Auken’s words hung in the air like a blessing. In a world designed to keep us anxious, outraged, and constantly doom-scrolling, the antidote is participation. The anxiety we feel is real, but so is the cure. It lies in community, in conversation, in the simple act of showing up and trusting that the people around you—even the ones who disagree with you—are doing their best. These Wisconsin grassroots organizers offered no magical solution to our national dysfunction, no clever slogan or viral campaign. Instead, they offered something more durable and human: a return to the fundamentals of civic life. They reminded us that democracy is less a machine than a garden, requiring continual tending, patient weeding, and a persistent belief in the possibility of growth. With one week until Election Day, their message is a call to resist isolation and embrace connection, to trade rage for engagement, and to remember that our democracy belongs to us—all of us, across every generation, party, and background. The cure for election anxiety is not to tune out but to lean in, and in doing so, to rediscover a faith in one another that no tweet, attack ad, or conspiracy theory can destroy.