The sun always rises and so will Kansans — through community and healing

Matt Kleinmann finishes paperwork to file for office on May 20, 2024, at the Secretary of State's Office. The Democrat lost a primary race for the 2nd District congressional seat. (Sherman Smith/Kansas Reflector)

Whenever we experienced a difficult loss at the University of Kansas, coach Bill Self told us, “The sun always rises in the morning.”

I reflected on that on Aug. 6, the night my second congressional campaign ended in defeat. When you get into the arena, you play to win — but sometimes you lose. We just witnessed an election win that will bring joy to most Kansans. We must also grapple with the loss that many in our community are experiencing.

For some, that loss will include suffering. Families will lose health care. People will lose loved ones because of heartless leadership. We’ll see tax cuts go to the wealthiest and leave most of us to grapple every day with economic struggles. And all of this while fundamental rights and dignities are stripped away. We face the terrifying prospect of a judicial system reshaped by a zealous agenda aiming to plunge us backward for a generation. It’s a dark vision rooted in the worship of power over principle, and it seeks to drain the lifeblood of our democracy.

I don’t have answers. For those who feel lost, we deserve the space to grieve the future we could have had, where hope and justice could have flourished. But after a decade of working in an under-resourced community, I know we do not need leaders who promise they alone can save us. We need connections with each other.

Five years ago, a nonprofit I worked for collapsed. We were plunged into darkness. It hurt. In the midst of that hurt, there was an impulse to shine a light bright enough to escape the dark. Instead, the community I was with first looked out for each other, took time to heal and took stock of our surroundings. While we initially fumbled in the dark, we soon became adept at finding our own way and we established an alternative path out of the darkness that survives today.

Together, Kansans are stronger than our leaders or any single voice. We must move forward again, as a community, to do the work ourselves and refuse to wait for a savior who will never come.

Two days after my primary defeat, I attended a meeting where seniors in my neighborhood spoke about the pressures they face: a lack of development, rising property taxes, and declining city services. In that moment, I was reminded that politics isn’t a winner-take-all game. Instead, it’s a temporary mandate for shared governance. You don’t lose if you keep showing up and working to shape your community. The only defeat is giving up. The antidote to our national anxiety is local actions: school boards, city councils, mutual aid, etc.

For our sanity, however, we must recognize that this work does not occur in the digital world, where we shout into echoing voids owned by Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk. No, real work happens when we step ourselves, flesh and bone, out into our neighborhoods, places of worship, and the spaces where we connect. While seeking the Democratic nomination in the 2nd District congressional race, I felt most connected with people who did not agree with my politics when we engaged in dialogue in living rooms and community halls.

We must build or rebuild relationships to weather the coming storm. That starts by being present — not in the abstraction of politics but in the grounded spaces where our lives intersect. You may find yourself, as I have, breaking bread with someone who fundamentally disagrees with you despite caring about the same issues you do. You won’t have to ask who they voted for. Instead, focus on joint tasks that bring meaningful benefits to your neighbors. In those small moments where trust is built, you can find solace and opportunity.

The hard truth is that the forces we’re up against — call them what you will, but they’re heirs to the apocalyptic Birchers — seek to isolate people to harden them in their self-righteousness. We will not reach them by demanding immediate understanding. For those who have the luxury to tolerate this kind of work, it starts with meeting people where they are. Armed with empathy and resolve, we can refuse to let our neighbors shy away from the outcomes of their actions. With persistence, they may see that their certainty on Nov. 5 bore consequences they hadn’t considered.

But change, real positive change, comes slowly. It doesn’t come from speeches, rallies, or retweets. It comes in ordinary spaces — living rooms, church basements, coffee shops and kitchen tables — where people feel safe to ask questions and express doubts. The bravest people I know do this every day, even when it exposes them to a hard world that refuses to see their humanity. My heart is with them, and we must rally to protect them. We must be present, bear witness and demonstrate with our lives and our actions that a different path forward is possible.

The sun will rise, yes, but nothing in our struggle changes unless we rise with it. We must first find one another. Heal. And then build the future that we owe each other.

The other wisdom I carry with me from coach Self: “Think next play.”

Matt Kleinmann is a lifelong Kansan and former Jayhawk basketball player. He now works in community development and in 2024 he ran for the U.S. House in the 2nd District. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.