False hope vs. actual leadership: where does Montana go from here? 

by Tony Hudson, President, Save the American West, Stevensville

Every election season, we’re told that hope is on the ballot. We’re promised reform, revival, renewal—as if the right combination of slogans can heal what’s broken in our communities. But hope, when it’s not tied to truth and responsibility, isn’t leadership. It’s theater. And Montana has had enough theater. 

False hope sounds good. It’s quick, emotional, and easy to sell. It tells us we can fix things without sacrifice, clean up corruption without confrontation, and restore trust without earning it. It offers comfort instead of courage. But comfort doesn’t build roads, feed families, or keep the heat on when winter hits. 

Actual leadership, by contrast, is quieter. It’s the neighbor who shows up early and stays late, the parent who teaches by example, the public servant who admits when they’re wrong and owns it. Real leadership doesn’t demand applause; it produces results. It doesn’t trade in fear, frustration, or chaos—it earns respect. 

In Montana, we have reached a crossroads. The gap between appearance and substance—between what’s said and what’s done—has never been wider. The parties have left the people, while our communities fight to survive. We’ve outsourced our production, weakened our self-reliance, and in the process destroyed the middle class that built this state. Sadly, the only export we have left is our children—for we all know graduation day is the day we say goodbye as they move on to out-of-state opportunities. 

So where do we go from here? We start by telling the truth. Not the version that flatters us, but the one that demands something of us. The truth that rebuilding Montana—and America—means producing again, trusting again, and leading again. 

Real hope is born through honesty, sincerity, and hard work—the possibilities of being truly relevant. It doesn’t come from consultants or pollsters; it comes from people who still believe in building in the present for the future. The next generation of Montana leadership must learn to reject performative politics, and instead promote mothers, fathers, and families. Montanans need to say no to the idea that leadership is about climbing ladders instead of carrying burdens. 

If we are to move forward, we must make INTEGRITY our starting point, not our slogan. We must RETURN the parties to the people. Those who identify as independent are the proof that conscience is still alive in this state. Our task is not to shame them into belonging, but to give them a home worth belonging to. 

False hope tells people what they want to hear. Real leadership is the execution of good ideas—honesty, humility, and owning your mistakes. One fades the moment the banners come down; the other endures long after the crowd goes home.

When I think about leadership, I think about Washington on that frozen Christmas night in 1776. There were no cameras, no slogans, no promises of reward. Only starving men in rags, pushing wooden boats through ice, following a commander who said little but expected everything. The words that carried them across the Delaware weren’t campaign lines—they were the immortal opening of Thomas Paine’s American Crisis: “These are the times that try men’s souls.” 

That was not a call to comfort, but to courage. It didn’t offer safety; it demanded sacrifice. And yet those half-frozen soldiers rowed through darkness because they trusted the man beside them, and the cause before them. That’s what leadership looks like. It’s not found on stages or in slogans—it’s found in the quiet endurance of people who keep going when every reason says to quit. 

If Montana is to move forward, if America is to be renewed, then we must rediscover that kind of faith—in our purpose, in our neighbors, and in ourselves.