I was just 8 years old the first time my family came under attack. Even at that young age, I could sense the tension in my parents as they tried to shield me from the vitriol. But secrets were never their strong suit.
It was 2015 and my dad had decided to leave his corporate job to run for the state legislature. On weekends, we’d hit the pavement, knocking on doors and attending fundraisers. Some people would greet us warmly with offers of coffee and cookies. But there were others, like the older man who thought it was OK to yell at a kid and his father to get off his property before he “made us.”
It wasn’t your typical family bonding experience, but I loved it. Being immersed in politics at such a young age gave me a unique perspective and appreciation for civic engagement. Little did I know the personal toll it would take on all of us.
As my dad’s political career progressed, the demands on his time became increasingly brutal. During legislative sessions, I would often go days without seeing him, as he burned the midnight oil at the Capitol. He missed family dinners, vacations, and school events. The line between our personal and his professional life vanished. Personal attacks bled into my life as social media posts circulated among my friends. The need for police surveillance of our home due to death threats had become a reality. Yet, I admired his dedication and believed the positive impact he could have made the hard parts worthwhile.
That changed in 2022 when my dad decided to run for mayor of Denver. I remember sitting in the audience with my mom and brother, when one of his opponents flat-out called him a racist live on air in front of thousands of people. I watched as almost everyone on stage piled on knowing nothing about him. This was my father, a man raising two boys of color in Denver who talked to us all of the time about the things he knew he couldn’t understand.
The following weeks, he was subjected to a relentless barrage of personal attacks from his opponents, attacks that had nothing to do with ideas or policy — they were just about him as a white man. Standing on the sidelines unable to come to my father’s defense, I had never felt more powerless in my life, or more disillusioned by politics. His opponents were not interested in debating the issues or understanding his positions. They wanted to create clickbait to help further their own campaigns.
In that moment, something inside me snapped. The pure, unshakable love for politics that I had once felt gave way to a deep cynicism about the state of public discourse. I had grown up dreaming of one day following in my father’s footsteps, but now those ambitions felt tainted by the harsh realities I had witnessed.
Only days ago, even after my dad decided to resign from the state Senate, the attacks continued. Rather than celebrating his years of service and often unrecognized achievements, he was met with a scathing, unprofessional news segment that was more character assassination than responsible journalism. From someone who publicly advocates for professionalism and impactful journalism, it’s deeply disappointing to witness such inappropriate and unprofessional attacks. As Denver’s most-watched local newscaster, Kyle Clark’s vulgar remarks highlight the very issues plaguing our political system. Reducing a man who has spent a decade in public service to a caricature of a power-hungry politician is simply wrong.
The media and critics know Senator Chris Hansen. They don’t know “Dad” – that he loves good coffee, worries about paying for college, felt guilty having to say no to us a lot as we were growing up. They don’t understand the hard conversations and decisions that have been made within our home. And I know my family isn’t alone.
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We live in a world in which public servants are supposed to just ignore personal attacks, yet these attacks too often cross boundaries in inappropriate ways. They impact families, friends and neighbors. I’ve come to realize that the personal toll of political life makes long careers in public office a near impossibility in today’s climate unless you are someone who shuts everyone out and doesn’t care. But that’s not what good leaders do. Good-intentioned people simply cannot succeed in a political landscape that rewards division, demonization, and a single-minded pursuit of scoring points and tearing each other down.
But what can we do to change it? Get involved in a campaign to elect someone you believe in. Show up at local city council, school board, state House or Senate meetings to actually listen to your representatives and ask questions. This will let you get to know them as people — imperfect but hopefully well-intentioned. It will let you become a more critical consumer of the news; it will give you insight into the agendas people might have when they misrepresent an elected official’s position. And it lets you be a partner to your elected officials instead of just bystanders. Before criticizing an elected official, try asking yourself, “What things might they be thinking about that I am not because they see a bigger picture?”
I’ve seen the good side of politics. I’ve been infatuated with the change that it can bring into people’s lives. Yet we get so caught up in the hatred of political opponents that we forget politics can be a pure and true tool for the American people. If we can restore a sense of shared purpose and mutual respect in our politics, then perhaps the personal sacrifices required of our public servants will not be in vain.
Sachin Hansen is a senior at George Washington High School in Denver.
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