I grew up attending St Anthony Catholic Church in East Anchorage. My Dad, quiet and grounded, was a telephone lineman, master carpenter and, with my Mom, started Jamico’s Pizzaria in Mountain View, one of the oldest establishments in Anchorage to this day.
One of my earliest memories was Dad pressing the horn of our purple station wagon whenever we drove by an abortion clinic. He never mentioned it, but I came to know that was his way of supporting people out front who were standing for the rights of the pre-born.
It was long into the future, after I made a career of navigating the intersection of faith and politics, that I became familiar with the role of Catholic Conferences. Catholic bishops throughout America share the same faith, the same Catechism and the same fundamental teachings about human dignity, marriage, family, and the sanctity of human life. But why do these Catholic public-policy ministries in different states often look and act so remarkably different?
The answer becomes apparent when we look beyond Alaska.
The good is what happens when a Catholic conference understands its role as more than simply monitoring legislation. It means bringing the Church’s moral teaching into the public square with clarity, consistency and charity— even when those teachings are politically inconvenient.
Consider Kansas. The Kansas Catholic Conference identifies protecting human life, marriage and the family, and religious liberty among its foundational public-policy priorities. It calls protecting unborn life its “preeminent priority.” The conference does not stop at statements of principle. It testifies before legislators, advocates on legislation, and communicates Catholic teaching to Catholics and the broader public.
South Dakota provides another compelling example. Under Executive Director Michael Pauley, a dear friend and the former Policy Director for Alaska Family Council, the South Dakota Catholic Conference has been highly visible on life and family issues. During the 2024 campaign over Amendment G, which would have created a constitutional right to abortion, the conference provided parish resources and encouraged Catholics to understand the measure through the lens of Catholic moral teaching. The bishops subsequently addressed the amendment’s defeat and called for continued work to build a culture of life.
That is the good: Catholic teaching translated into public engagement.
But South Dakota and Kansas are not anomalies.
Texas provides perhaps the clearest example of a Catholic conference functioning as an active public-policy organization. The Texas Catholic Conference of Bishops describes itself as the public-policy voice of the Texas bishops. Its current legislative priorities explicitly state that human life should be protected by law from conception to natural death. Its agenda addresses abortion, euthanasia, IVF, surrogacy, marriage, family formation, parental rights and gender ideology.
And the Texas conference does not simply publish those principles. It takes positions on individual bills and provides testimony before the Legislature. Its legislative records include opposition to efforts to weaken abortion protections, opposition to legislation changing the legal understanding of marriage, and opposition to policies advancing gender ideology among children.
Florida is just as assertive. The Florida Conference of Catholic Bishops publishes annual public-policy priorities that begin with the protection of unborn life. In 2024, when Florida voters faced a constitutional amendment concerning abortion, the bishops and their conference publicly urged Floridians to reject the amendment. The conference produced parish resources explaining its position and explicitly connected the issue to Catholic teaching on the dignity of unborn human life.
And then there is Hawaii, an especially interesting comparison for Alaska because of its geography, population, and political culture. It is headed up by another good friend, Eva Andrade, who also happens to lead the Hawaii Family Forum, the equivalent of Alaska Family Council in the Aloha State.
The Hawaii Catholic Conference explicitly says its positions “transcend political platforms or ideologies.” It describes itself as neither Democrat nor Republican and says its public-policy positions are based upon Catholic social teaching and the dignity of every human person. It also states that its advocacy extends from conception to natural death.
That is an important distinction. A Catholic conference does not have to become a Republican organization—or a Democratic organization—to speak clearly about Catholic moral principles. Indeed, that is precisely the point.
The bad is when Catholics cannot easily determine what their public-policy representatives believe the Church’s teachings require on the major moral questions of the day.
Mary Gore has been publicly identified as the first cousin and close friend of U.S. Sen. Lisa Murkowski. Murkowski has taken prominent positions supporting abortion rights and LGBTQ-related policies. That family relationship does not prove that Gore’s relationship with the senator influences the Alaska Catholic Conference, and it would be irresponsible to suggest otherwise without evidence.
But it does make the conference’s public record—and its independence from partisan politics—a legitimate subject for public scrutiny.
In 2020, then-Fairbanks Bishop Chad Zielinski issued a letter addressing Catholics’ moral responsibilities when voting. His letter spoke directly about abortion and the moral limits on supporting candidates or policies that would expand access to abortion. He was an example of a Catholic bishop applying Catholic moral teaching to public life in our state.
The question for Alaska Catholics today is not whether the Church should become partisan. It should not.
The question is whether Alaska Catholics are receiving the same moral certitude, clarity, and direction from their Catholic public-policy leadership that Catholics are receiving in Kansas, South Dakota, Texas, Florida, Hawaii and other states.
The Catholic Church’s teachings do not change when a state crosses a border. Catholic moral teaching is not red-state teaching or blue-state teaching. It is not Republican teaching or Democratic teaching.
If Catholic conferences in other states can speak clearly about human life, marriage, family, parental rights, and religious liberty while explicitly distancing themselves from partisan politics, Alaska Catholics should reasonably expect the same.
The issue is not whether the Alaska Catholic Conference should tell Catholics which political party to support. It is whether the conference is giving Alaska Catholics enough information to understand what their own Church teaches—and how those teachings apply when the most consequential moral questions reach the ballot box.
That is not partisan politics. It is a question of Catholic leadership. And as we enter the final lap of this election cycle, Alaska Catholics deserve an answer.
P.S. For a great read on this issue, check out Father Robert Spitzer’s book, The Moral Wisdom of the Catholic Church – A Defense of Her Controversial Moral Teachings.
