The other day I got an email from my freshman representative in Congress, Hillary Scholten, reminding me of Tuesday evening’s town hall in Grand Rapids. Unlike a previous email she’d sent announcing the event, this time she mentioned that she’d be joined by the Kent County sheriff and Grand Rapids mayor.
My first thought was I hope she’s not constantly going to have special guests.
A lot of officials hold joint town halls to create a “safety in numbers” situation, giving the audience way less time with the sponsoring individual. Think about it this way: If there’s something controversial in the news, or if you draw a tough crowd, would you rather be up there by yourself or with a couple other targets, each one eating up a chunk of the time?
Of course, sometimes it’s reasonable and appropriate to invite a guest. Occasionally, a big topic crosses federal/state/local boundaries or you just need an expert to help explain things.
When I served as the district’s representative, I invited a guest maybe a few times when it seemed warranted—but that’s out of more than 100 town halls. Representative Scholten hasn’t been in office long enough for us to know what will be usual for her. In any case, I don’t think this one instance is a big deal.
It was the next line in her email that got me riled up.
“RSVP and submit questions at this link!” (To be clear, the exclamation point is hers.)
Now, I’m not writing this newsletter to pick on Representative Scholten. She’s not doing anything atypical here; she just happens to be my rep. To the extent members of Congress hold town halls (many of them don’t), the vast majority ask for both RSVPs and submitted questions (in one form or another).
So, let’s take these items one at a time. What’s wrong with asking people to RSVP?
After all, RSVPs are a normal part of everyday life. People use them routinely in event planning. Members of Congress use them for campaign fundraisers and more.
But one of the things that makes a town hall a town hall is that it’s open to the public. The public means everyone you represent and anyone who wants to cover the event for those you represent, which might include people and media you don’t represent. Anything that creates a barrier to attendance should be avoided.
The excuse generally given for requesting RSVPs is “capacity and safety.” As a veteran of the town hall circuit, I can assure you that this argument for RSVPs is largely bogus.
Even in the most contentious year of town halling, 2017, my gatherings reached capacity only a few times—and only because there was a dramatic surge of activism on the left following the election of Donald Trump. My team and I quickly recalibrated and booked bigger venues that could handle a crowd of several hundred people. It was never again a problem.
As for safety, the RSVP adds little value. No congressional office is going to run a real background check on attendees, and they don’t collect enough information to do so anyway. They know that if they ask too many detailed questions they’re going to face public backlash, and they also don’t want to discourage attendance to the point that the audience is tiny, because the optics wouldn’t be good.
What about scaring off bad actors simply by asking for name, phone number, and email address? Well, it’s precisely the bad actors who aren’t scared off by such things. Bad actors are perfectly happy to give out bad information, particularly when they know they’re likely to get away with it. Only once have I heard of a congressman doing an actual ID check at the door.
The primary function of the RSVP in this context is to scare off good actors—more specifically, good actors who disagree with the member of Congress. It’s the person who doesn’t support or trust the member of Congress, but who would never falsify a form, who is least likely to participate in a town hall that asks for an RSVP.
But this is exactly the kind of person you should want to have at your town hall if you’re interested in growing as an elected official—someone who honestly challenges your way of thinking, who might persuade you or be persuaded.
Let’s turn to the second item. What’s wrong with having people submit questions in advance, either online or by hand at the event?
Well, nothing is wrong with it in a narrow context. For example, maybe someone in the audience is extremely shy and doesn’t want to speak in public, or maybe someone has a disability that inhibits certain interactions. It’s completely sensible to accept a question in writing in these circumstances.
But these should be the exceptions. Unfortunately, it’s overwhelmingly the case that, to the extent any audience questions are answered at a town hall, the questions will be carefully handpicked. An audience member will be called on at the appointed time to deliver a preapproved question or simply have their question read from the podium.
The excuse here is almost always that this is the best way to keep the town hall orderly and peaceful. Nothing could be further from the truth.
In fact, one of the reasons my town halls were such relatively calm affairs (emphasis on “relatively,” because anyone who does enough town halls will experience some tense moments) is that I gave everyone an opportunity to express themselves, regardless of where they stood on me or the issues. If you want to sow seeds of grievance as an elected official, then the surest way to do that is to make people feel unheard.
The bottom line is that the Q&A portion of the town hall shouldn’t revolve around answering preselected questions. The mistake so many members of Congress make is viewing the town hall as a forum for presenting talking points rather than as a forum for growing into their role as a genuine representative of every person in the district.
My town halls were focused on providing audience members with the opportunity to question me directly—live and unfiltered—without my foreknowledge of the questions. I’d spend some time at the start of each meeting, maybe 15 minutes, giving an update on happenings in Congress, and then I’d typically take one and a half to three hours of questions, randomly calling on individuals who raised their hands, not knowing what anyone was going to ask or say.
This process built understanding and trust with the whole community. I developed into a much better representative by making myself vulnerable, engaging respectfully, learning about their issues through dialogue, and addressing the concerns of supporters and detractors alike. They developed a new appreciation for my libertarian principles, and I established common ground with some people who initially felt like they disagreed with me on everything.
Being elected to Congress means being given the responsibility to represent hundreds of thousands of people of all backgrounds and creeds. Nobody arrives to Congress fully prepared. But most members of Congress choose never to prepare, even after they’ve been there for years or decades.
Justin, do you know of any members of Congress that do Town Halls well? I have always considered you to be fairly unique when it comes to a commitment to transparency and accountability over the last decade and a half.
Although my agreements with you are pretty tangential, this article really resonated. A friend of mine who served for years in a state legislature told me that when a prospective candidate approached him for advice (after my friend had left the legislature) the advice he offered was to read at least one news outlet with whose editorial positions he disagreed (every day). I think he would agree with your suggestions.