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Nakita Nicole is an administrative assistant and consultant for nonprofits and groups that wish to widen their impact. She is also a musician, poet, and artist, and a lover of the Moosehorn National Wildlife Refuge. She was raised in Robbinston.
Sometimes it’s really difficult living in a remote, rural community. Months can pass with only a handful of routine events to attend if you want something social on the weekend without planning hours of travel. The grocery store may not have the ingredients you need for that new recipe. It can feel isolating — especially as a childless woman of a “certain age” — and it’s not always easy to make new friends or launch a new business.
But there’s a flip side I’ve come to appreciate. Born and raised here, I returned at the end of my 20s after a decade in cities and on college campuses. One of the most surprising benefits of rural life is how accessible our elected officials are. Unlike in urban settings, where politicians can feel distant or unreachable, here, the person representing your district is likely someone you already know — or at most, a conversation or two away from knowing.
For about nine years, I called our District 9 state representative every other year to talk about my experiences with the foster care, adoption, and post-foster care systems. That world is a soap opera worthy of its own series, but the key moment came when, after hearing me out for years, she invited me to draft a bill addressing a specific issue I was passionate about.
By then, I had already volunteered for a presidential campaign, a congressional campaign, and served as a congressional delegate for Former Foster Youth in Washington, D.C., where I met with staffers from the offices of Chellie Pingree and Ann Kuster. Those experiences gave me the confidence to communicate effectively and the courage to speak openly about what I saw as dangerous, unfair failures in the system. But to be honest, I don’t think those experiences were necessary to be taken seriously. In fact, they may have added some ego and impatience — traits that might serve you in a competitive city but are less helpful in a small, interconnected community.
Authoring the bill was an incredibly educational experience and gave me a sense of purpose. At the time, I was living on a very low income, had no degree or professional title, and didn’t have a wide network of local professionals or community leaders to lean on.
The issue was so personal to me that I struggled to reach out broadly to other legislators or explain the deeper context behind the bill. That likely contributed to it not passing. It’s something I’d like to try again — this time with more support, strategy, and perhaps with someone from the community to help represent other voices, whether from the elderly, low-income households, tribal communities, or small businesses.
If you have an idea for change, I’d love to hear it. What I really want you to take away is this: Political leadership is listening. Our representatives have a duty to consider the opinions, needs, and ideas of their constituents. They’re not meant to live in an echo chamber. They are supposed to weigh data from all sides, listen to personal stories, and act in the public interest. And they are keeping track of what they hear.
Don’t expect a single meeting to result in sweeping change, but with persistence and support from a group, you can have a real impact. Even if you’re not invited to author a bill, you can still show up with specific requests and policy suggestions. Notice what’s on the docket during the session. Ask when new ideas can be submitted and when voting happens on proposed legislation.
If we don’t feel represented at the federal level, let’s pay more attention to our state and local governments. Where others may not advocate for us, we can — and must — advocate for each other.
