That’s Mr. Council President to You
“Council President?”
“Council President Ford? Your thoughts?”
It took me a second to realize everyone around the table was looking at me. And they were waiting for an answer.
I managed to give them one, and they moved on to the next person while I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d gotten away with it. Again.
I’ve been on my village council for three years, first appointed to fill a vacancy and then elected for a second term. Recently, I became council president. Along with that, I’ve started attending events with our mayor, since should something happen to him, I’ll be his replacement. I’ve also taken on some additional duties, one of which currently involves being on a committee focused on solid waste management. In other words, trash.
None of this is quite as impressive as it might seem. We are a village of just over 200 residents, not a major metropolis. However, we are also unusually active in local politics. Our current mayor serves on multiple boards and committees, we have a reputation as being a very progressive village, and for a number of reasons we often find ourselves at the forefront of various undertakings.
All of which is why earlier this week I found myself seated at a table with representatives from much larger municipalities, including mayors and city managers of these cities. And this time not only was I representing our village on my own I was doing so as a key player in a Very Big Plan.
Council President Ford. It sounds so weird. I don’t even go by Michael, except on book covers, because it sounds so formal to me. Most friends just call me Ford. Now it’s Council President Ford. Whenever anyone says it, it takes me a minute to remember that they’re addressing me.
When I was first invited to join council, I thought the most pressing items of business would be setting the hours for Halloween trick-or-treating, choosing the musical entertainment for the monthly summer cookouts, or maybe dealing with the occasional complaint about wayward chickens. And we do all those things. But I’ve also learned way more than I ever thought I would know about state laws on everything from how to conduct public meetings to how to prepare for the annual audit.
Have you ever wondered where everything goes when you flush your toilet? I didn’t. But now I can tell you in excruciating detail where it goes, and what happens when that process doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, and what rules you need to follow to fix it. I can also tell you exactly how much it costs to replace the aging water pipes in a rural village ($1.4 million), how you go about finding that money, and which people higher up on the food chain you need to call to help you get it.
But I still don’t feel like an adult. I feel like someone playing an adult. When, a few weeks ago, the mayor took me to a monthly gathering of other mayors, I had to go buy pants to wear because nothing in my closet was even remotely suitable. When a friend mentioned recently that he’d heard me interviewed on the local radio, I thought he must be mistaken, until I remembered the reporter who asked me a few questions after a public forum we held so residents could voice their opinions on a traffic flow problem we’re trying to solve.
Traffic. Flow. Problem. It all feels very strange.
It’s also made me rethink how I view what I consider real politicians. You know, these people who are cattle farmers or bartenders one day and in the House of Representatives the next. For years I naively assumed politicians actually knew something about politics, or at least knew more than I did. Now I know most of them are just making it up as they go along.
This is distressing, for obvious reasons. But it’s also oddly reassuring. If someone like me can learn, fairly quickly, how this stuff works, then others can too. The two biggest obstacles to effecting change are believing that you can’t do it and believing the people already in power who don’t want you to know you can.
We’ve all seen what happens when ignorant yet determined people decide they want to be the ones to make decisions for the rest of us. And we’ve all seen what happens when people who do get in figure out how to stay there long enough to cause damage. Well, the only way to keep this from happening over and over again is to get them out and get good people in. And sometimes those good people need to be us.
Listen. If I can buy a pair of pants and hang out with mayors long enough to convince them that I’m one of them, anyone can do this. For too long I waited for other people to do it. Now that I’m doing it myself, even in my very small way, I see how it’s done. And I want more of us to do it.
Village councils. Library boards. School boards. Boards of directors of all kinds. These are the entry points. So, please, look for them. Raise your hands. Run. The more good people we have in places like these, the more we get into even bigger roles.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put on my council president pants and get to work. ▼
Michael Thomas Ford is a much-published Lambda Literary award-winning author. Visit Michael at michaelthomasford.com.