The unwelcome

So…um…never mind. A committee of Council rejected the prickliest change proposed to its procedural bylaw last week. It will not, after all, limit who and how many folks can speak to Council and committees. After weeks of pushback and criticism, this strange attempt to muzzle the public voice failed. Good.

But the episode leaves behind a terrible aftertaste— a hint of misplaced priorities and counter-democratic motives—the distinct whiff of contempt for the residents of Prince Edward County.

Mayor Steve Ferguson asked the only relevant question: “What problem are we trying to solve here?” Indeed. For sure, the public business of Council and committees is pocked with challenges and frailties, but too much accountability isn’t one of them. Nor, as the consultant appeared to suggest, is the business of County government hobbled by too much transparency.

The sage veteran of municipal backrooms leaned wistfully into the notion that other levels of government enjoy vastly more secrecy in the formation of public policy.

“It’s secret advice,” revelled the wise adviser.

It’s doubtful anyone missed the point— Council could be far more productive without the endless nattering of the public. As the arbiters of “standard and best practice,” these hired old guys were giving Council permission to be less transparent—without actually saying the words.

Gamely the pair continued to spout vague banalities in support of a bad argument.

Council meetings should be predictable, commanded the other old guy. Why? Because Council’s first job is to “exercise power and make decisions.” As such, it should not permit the rabble’s curiosity or disagreement to get in the way of this mandate. A predictable council meeting ought not to be hobbled by public input, according to this orthodoxy.

The wise consultants then ticked off the many ways regular folks have input upon local government in Prince Edward County, from electing council members, to public consultation, to emails and deputations and comments. We should consider ourselves fortunate then.

But even these battle-scarred old ward warriors couldn’t say the repugnant bit out loud: that is that Council could restrict who and how many could speak at meetings while staying on the pious side of best practices. ‘Other places do different things,’ was as close as they dared.

Setting aside the dubious advice of paid luminaries, the episode raises questions about how this project came about. There seems to have been little interest among council members for reform to the procedural bylaw. Nor has there been a groundswell of public outcry against too many people speaking at council.

It all made for that awkward moment when the uninvited guest shows up at the black-tie dinner with a keg and his cousin Larry. The place goes quiet, and everyone stares glumly at their shoes. But in this version of the story, we are the party crashers. We are the unwelcome.

Certainly, the procedural bylaw—like many of the rulebooks that govern the County—is a patchwork of ideas and concepts cobbled together since amalgamation. That, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a problem. The consultants suggested the existing procedural bylaw “didn’t hang together all that well,” and they found inconsistencies and redundancies. Okay. I expect the same is true of a great many bylaws and regulations. But does it constitute a problem? Is it an obstacle to effective decision-making? These two guys didn’t make the case, nor has anyone else. That, it seems, should be the starting point.

An array of other tweaks and alterations were adopted to the procedural bylaw, including new rules around when Council could reconsider a decision, how the deputy mayor was chosen and when recorded votes could be called. None of these appear to have threatened Council’s ability to “exercise power.”

What was this about then? Consultants are expensive— especially those of this vintage.

It is not as though there is a shortage of things to discuss: a broken housing market, crumbling roads and wildly ambitious waterworks. Each of these files features the patina of public consultation, but little evidence—in the form of policy or even council debate— that these voices are informing the agenda. They certainly aren’t hobbling it.

Near the end of Statler and Waldorf’s presentation, the cleaner of pate offered, “Whose meeting is it?” Then he answered his own rhetorical question, “It’s Council’s meeting.”

But it wasn’t. They were as surprised as anyone that you weren’t invited.

rick@wellingtontimes.ca

Correction: It was, of course, Franklin Delano Roosevelt who won re-election as President in 1940, not his distant cousin, Theodore, who had expired 21 years earlier. I confused the two in my column last week. Sorry.