By Amy Trask, Democratic Nominee for FL HD-22
It was rainy outside, but on primary night, many of us joined the ACDEC (Alachua County Democratic Executive Committee) gathered at Heartwood Soundstage for an election watch party. We watched results roll in live, heard from candidates, and celebrated the wins that came across the screen.
I’ll be honest – primaries always give me pause. Maybe it’s because the last primary, I was watching the results of my own race with shaking hands and hesitant hope. We called it the “little red wagon campaign” because that’s exactly what it was: sweat, tears, caffeine, grit, and a whole lot of faith. No fancy apps. No paid staff. It was just me and my two kids – then six and nine – walking doors with me, flyers printed from my home printer, and cookies or roll‑ups made in my kitchen for meet and greets.
I raised less than $10,000 and talked to every single person I could, even after a major accident (plot twist) left us seriously injured. Somehow, our message resonated. I didn’t win, but I won two out of the three counties in my race.
Because of that race, I know what political courage looks like. What fortitude demands. What resilience takes. Ordinary people stepping into extraordinary arenas can change the conversation – and sometimes, change the outcome.
So this year, when I looked at the primaries, I looked with appreciative eyes and a fire in my belly. Every person who steps forward expands the conversation for all of us.
And this primary tested many of us. That’s the nature of primaries: they stretch us, they challenge us, they remind us that democracy is not a spectator sport.
Some of the people we rooted for didn’t make it across the finish line. Many did. Some races were agonizingly close. Some revealed openings; others tightened margins. But this primary, in particular, felt pivotal: who will we elect to fight for us in one of the biggest elections – and biggest opportunities – we’ve had to take our state and country back?
We need leaders who refuse to dim their light. Leaders who stand tall like the lighthouse that has become a symbol in my own work. A lighthouse doesn’t choose who it guides. It doesn’t ask who you voted for. It simply remains – steady, bright, resilient – so others can find their way to shore.
That’s what our communities deserve: a system that values humanity over hierarchy. A system where people don’t have to choose between electricity and medication. A system where groceries and rent don’t swallow entire paychecks. A system that trusts local governments to govern based on their own needs. A system that invests in public education so teachers want to teach and parents want to enroll their kids.
And Florida delivered some heavy momentum.
We got our top-of-the-ticket fight card: Nixon. Jolly. Javier Rodriguez. Taddeo. Atkins.
Then we saw wins from other big races we were following: Wasserman Schulz. Valimont. Holloway. Grage. Yonce. Jenkins. Driskell. Gantt. Vilchez Santiago. Nieves.
We saw incredible momentum: two Moms for Liberty candidates defeated to flip the Sarasota School Board, and flips with an Orange County School Board Chair, a Flagler School Board seat, and an at-large Jacksonville City Council Seat.
We saw our own champions: Ward. Atria. Rockwell. Certain. Willits. Crabbe. Randall. Harp.
Now, I know that some folks say, “I don’t really care about politics,” but politics cares about them, and it’s important people know that. It cares about the price and quality of your healthcare; it cares about your grocery bill and your gas bill; it cares about your child’s classroom, your rent, your safety, and your future. It cares about whether you can afford to live in the state you call home. Now that we know who’s in the ring, we can’t afford to bungle this up.
The chaos we’re seeing in Tallahassee and Washington isn’t normal, and it’s not sustainable. It’s not what Floridians deserve.
Corruption, greed, and backroom deals don’t have to be the status quo. Our future is not written in stone, no matter who insists it is. We need eight seats to break the supermajority in the state House, four to flip the US Senate.
Real change is not only possible, but within reach, so we cannot afford to stay home. We cannot afford to let exhaustion or frustration silence us. The stakes are simply too high.
Every day, I hear from people who are rationing medication because they can’t afford refills, or skipping doctor visits because they’re terrified of the bill. I meet parents who put back diapers or formula at checkout because their paycheck didn’t stretch far enough. Farmers worried about losing the green we all depend on, especially after legislation like the Agricultural Enclaves bill passed and the Blue Ribbon Projects’ near-passage. Local electeds trying desperately to help constituents but tied up by preemption bills. Survivors of violence who feel unseen. Grandparents raising grandchildren. Kids navigating foster care. Families drowning under a cost of living that feels like a tidal wave.
I hear and see their struggle. Fear.
That’s not the Florida I grew up loving, and it’s not the one I want our kids to inherit. I want more for them, and us.
We have a moral duty to stand up for each other: not just for the candidates we personally chose, but for the people who stepped forward at all. When we stand together, we build something bigger than any one race or any one moment. We build a table long enough for everyone who has felt unheard, unseen, or unvalued.
Unity is how we build more seats at the table. It’s how we create space – and thereby hope – for voters who feel politically homeless. Unity is how we reach those exhausted by tribalistic warfare, those questioning or weighing whether the cost of voting their party line is worth it, those wondering if there might be something better elsewhere. Unity is how we make room for those quietly asking themselves whether they could vote for a Democrat, or anyone who simply sees them, hears them, and fights for them.
I am a mom and a domestic violence survivor, but I’m also the author of two Senate priority bills this year, including The HAVEN Act, which was signed into law. I am proof that ordinary people can flip the script, start conversations, bring people to the table, and make lasting change for those who need it most. And now, I’m fighting to add “Representative” in front of my name when we defeat Chad “Cracker” Johnson and flip one of the most winnable seats in the state.
I’m just one of so many stories of change. Jason Bellamy-Fults (FL SD-6). Merrillee Malwitz-Jipson (FL HD-10). Seth Harp (CD-3). Hunter Miller. Angie Nixon. David Jolly. Annette Taddeo. Joey Mendoza Atkins. Whomever else fought to represent you on your ballot.
We can choose how we show up for each other. We can fight for each other.
We can flip the script and change the story, but it’s going to take ALL of us.
So let’s get out and win.