On Tuesday night, incumbent Congresswoman Elise Stefanik won the NY-21 seat by roughly 8 percentage points over Democratic moderate and former CIA counterterrorism officer Matt Castelli. This marks what will become another two-year term for Stefanik, who has served in the House since 2015 and, since then, has become a controversial character. 

Over the course of the past seven years, Stefanik has climbed her way up the ladder of power in the GOP, becoming the chair of the House Republican Conference in 2021 (and thus, the third-ranking House Republican) following the ousting of Liz Cheney. In a state that consistently votes blue and is considered to be a Democratic stronghold, Stefanik represents the opposite end of the New York most Americans think about. Located over 150 miles North of Manhattan, NY- 21 (as any St. Lawrence University alumni knows) is an image of agrarian society, home to some of the country’s leading producers of dairy, stunning, sprawling rural spaces, and unfortunately, some of the poorest districts in the United States. 

When most collegients close their eyes and think of the voter demographic these areas tend to yield, it ought to come as no surprise that a staunch conservative like Stefanik swept the district; however, up until her initial election over half a decade ago, the district came out of a multi-year spree of voting consistently blue. Prior to the election of Bill Owens in 2009, NY-21 was a 100- year old metaphorical-Republican garrison. How, then, did Stefanik redirect this switch, and come into what has turned into a practically monocratic hold over the area? 

Well, back in 2014, Elise Stefanik was a different person actually, most Republicans in the House were different people. The conservatives akin to a John McCain or Mitt Romney, as one must remember, are vastly dissimilar (if not completely incomparable) to the alt-right dog whistlers that the 45th ad- ministration devolved the party to. 

Fresh faced at the young age of thirty (the youngest woman to be elected to Congress, back then), Stefanik relocated to her family’s vacation house in Lake Champlain to “bring a fresh perspective” (2014) to the district. Ironically, back then, her opposition, Doug Hoffman, would state that “past elections [had] been more divisive than cohesive, and I think that is where she is com- ing in: she is healing those divisions and bringing the people together” (Politico). 

At that point in her career, Stefanik was running on an almost purely fiscal platform: decreased regulation, the repeal of Obamacare, simplified tax codes, and – likely to appeal to Fort Drum’s large military population – the preservation of the United States ample defense budget. Her only truly social issue that she’d plat- form was abortion; even as a pro-lifer, Stefanik was not overtly outspoken, and would tout that the GOP needed compassion towards differing views. As Trump entered office in 2017, the Republican Party’s platform would shift to match his energy. 

Being moderate and reducing party tensions was no longer “cool.” Disagreeing with fellow GOP members would result in dog- piling. Stefanik, who had long held ties with big oil, the gun lobby and other special interest groups, saw an opportunity to sink her teeth into the chaos that surrounded her peers. Today, Stefanik isn’t so moderate. Nor is she so unity-focused. Amid mud- slinging campaigns this year (which painted her opposition, Matt Castelli – a gun-owner who served in Afghanistan and Iraq as an anti-gun extremist), one might recall Stefanik’s own “more extreme” beliefs. Alongside a celebration of Roe v. Wade’s overturning, Stefanik also has voiced her support for a nationwide abortion ban. During the landmark Black Lives Matter movement, Stefanik isolated her POC supporters by joining “Blue Lives Matter” and “Back The Blue” marches. In a now-unavailable tweet, Stefanik accused Democrats of conspiring with pedophiles to bring baby formula to immigrants. 

Following the horrific, racially-targeted Buffalo shooting (and a couple other times, too), Stefanik’s rhetoric has echoed a bit too close to White Replacement Theory. 

When Wyoming Representative Liz Cheney’s (R) was rebuked by her own party (for criticisms of Trump participation in the January 6th committee, and votes to certify 2020 election results), Stefanik wasted no time stepping up to the plate to replace her as No. 3 House Republican. 

So what happened? This can be equated to a phenomenon pitched by political science theorists called the “Gingrich Senators Effect.” The title is attributed to Newt Gingrich, who joined the House in 1978 and would later be- come an outspoken Republican Speaker. At its core, the theory goes something like this: Republican Senate members (more specifically, those who previously served in the House of Representatives) have become more and more polarized since the era of Gingrich, in essence contributing to both a heightened sense of polarization and the utilization of more divisive and extreme tactics within Congress – in short, a pack mentality. Trump’s chaotic presidency and the obligation of GOP party members to align themselves with him in order to stay afloat has amplified and exacerbated this effect, resulting in the Gingrich-ification of Republicans in both the House and Senate – just like Stefanik. 

Being in a cesspool of loud voices and acute opinions both polarizes politicians to extremes and unveils more radical opinions that the public may not have otherwise seen. Was the wide-eyed 2014 Stefanik simply a victim of the Gingrich Effect, or did the 45th Presidency open leeway for her to shed her moderate facade? And beyond that, has the same thing happened to her constituents in NY-21? 

One might wonder: Has Stefanik’s recent rhetoric mirrored that of her own constituents, or are those who voted for her simply holding onto a hope that she’ll revert to her initial 2014 beliefs that won her the district in the first place? Only time will truly tell. 

Her next term as Trumpism fades may yield a return to her old beliefs, but one may hasten to say that this isn’t simply a prelude to another two years of slowly intensified beliefs.