Johnson, VT

Johnson, Vermont, sits in a deep blue pocket of an already blue state, with a Cook PVI of D+17 that tells you pretty much everything you need to know about the local voting patterns. But if you’ve lived here as long as I have, you know the numbers don’t capture the whole story. This town used to be a quiet, independent-minded place where folks kept to themselves and didn’t much care what the statehouse in Montpelier was up to. Over the last decade or so, that’s shifted hard. The political lean here isn’t just Democratic—it’s aggressively progressive, and the trajectory is toward more government involvement in daily life, not less. The 2020 election saw Johnson vote over 80% for Biden, and local town meetings have become battlegrounds for climate resolutions, racial equity statements, and zoning overhauls that feel less about helping locals and more about checking ideological boxes.

How it compares

Drive fifteen minutes east to Hardwick or twenty minutes west to Cambridge, and you’ll find a different vibe entirely. Those towns still have a strong independent streak—more “leave me alone” than “let’s form a committee.” In Lamoille County, Johnson is the progressive anchor, while places like Hyde Park and Morristown (home to Stowe’s spillover) lean more moderate, though even they’re getting bluer. The contrast is stark: Johnson’s town government has pushed for inclusionary zoning and affordable housing mandates that sound good on paper but have made it harder for working families to build or renovate without jumping through hoops. Meanwhile, in neighboring Belvidere, you can still get a building permit with a handshake and a smile. The D+17 rating masks the fact that Johnson is actually to the left of the state average—Vermont as a whole is D+15, so Johnson is pulling the needle even further. That’s concerning when you see how quickly local policy can shift from “let’s help each other” to “let’s regulate everything.”

What this means for residents

For the average person living here, the political climate translates into a lot of well-meaning but intrusive policies. The town has adopted a net-zero energy goal for municipal buildings by 2030, which sounds noble until you realize it means higher property taxes to fund solar arrays and heat pumps that most residents can’t afford on their own. There’s also a growing push for rent control and tenant protections that, while aimed at helping renters, have made some small landlords sell off properties to out-of-state investors. The school board has leaned into DEI initiatives and gender-inclusive policies that, frankly, a lot of parents find overbearing—especially when the curriculum starts prioritizing activism over academics. If you value personal freedom—the right to heat your home with oil, build a shed without a permit, or send your kid to school without a political agenda—you’re going to feel the squeeze. The local government isn’t malicious, but it’s convinced it knows better than you do, and that’s a dangerous mindset.

One thing that sets Johnson apart from other progressive towns in Vermont is the influence of Johnson State College (now Northern Vermont University-Johnson). The campus brings in a steady stream of out-of-state students and faculty who often stay and shape local politics. That’s created a cultural divide between the “townies” who’ve been here for generations and the newcomers who want to turn Johnson into a mini-Burlington. You see it in the local food co-op, the bike lanes that get more use from tourists than residents, and the constant chatter about “sustainability” that ignores the fact that most people here are just trying to keep their wood stoves running through January. The long-term outlook? Unless there’s a serious pushback—and I don’t see one coming—Johnson will keep drifting left, with more regulations, higher taxes, and less room for the kind of rugged individualism that built this town in the first place.