Priority and problems of local politics
Involvement in local politics may not be what you expect—but it’s more important than it seems.
“All politics is local,” an American commonplace for nearly 100 years, has almost surpassed in its repetition Justice Brandeis’ designation of the states as America’s “laboratories of democracy.” Both high-minded phrases are meant to remind citizens that America prizes subsidiarity—the decentralization and delegation of powers—in its lawmaking. This reminder is necessary because of the public attention focused on the great federal circus in Washington, D.C.
But even the most civically-minded Americans find it difficult to regard these recitations as more than platitudes. Young people seeking to work in government or politics greatly limit their options and career potential by focusing on the state, much less the local, level. National politics has international implications. The federal budget is staggering—and the Federal Reserve essentially decides the value of the dollar. The media is slow to cover even momentous political news outside the Capital Beltway.
All politics is local? A cynic might counter: not any politics that matters.
But the cynic is proven wrong time and again. The best rebuttals appeared during the COVID-19 pandemic, when federal policy was in chaos while states, counties, and municipalities stepped up. Most people think of level-headed Republican governors like Ron DeSantis and Kristi Noem who opposed corrupt medical authoritarianism—but even in states with Democrat governors who sought to centralize their executive power, legislatures passed constitutional amendments and other firewalls to preserve checks and balances. I proudly worked with the Commonwealth Foundation to help draft, pass, and approve one of these constitutional amendments by referendum in Pennsylvania—and 46 other states followed in our footsteps by introducing over 300 similar measures.
Emperor of the 2nd Ward
Watching the “boring” state legislative process turn into a massive win that directly impacted my family convinced me to get more involved in the civic process. In the May primary of 2022, I ran a write-in campaign for the lowliest possible office in my state: a rural Republican county committee member, 2nd Ward. I was elected with a handful of votes from friends (and my wife dutifully voted for me as well). My new responsibilities included attending and voting on resolutions at monthly committee meetings (held at the local VFW), volunteering at some local events, and the all-important “committee endorsement”—the local party’s official nod to favored primary candidates for county office. That was it. The doldrums of local politics had me questioning my decision.
Still, I believed, anyone who wants to start in politics should be willing to start local—and more Americans should focus their efforts there. Coming up on the anniversary of my election, I have certainly learned more than I have accomplished as a committee member. But the lessons of local politics have also taught me deep truths about the American system and suggested new ways to revitalize the grassroots. Few realize how crucial local political organizing is, how badly it needs renewal, and how much could be accomplished if it were taken seriously.
The unpaid volunteers working in local activism—and even as local party functionaries—are a vast, untapped power source in American politics. There are advocacy and media organizations that provide resources to the grassroots, but few provide leadership or take action locally. A few vignettes from the rural Pennsylvania political scene may help the reader perceive both the problems and the potential of local government and local activism.
Moving to Adjourn
Sitting in my folding chair on a Thursday evening, I wondered what could possibly be on the agenda at this month’s committee meeting. There was nothing happening—the election was still months away, and there was no plan yet for advocating or door-knocking on behalf of the nominees. There weren’t even any upcoming fairs needing a committee booth or public service events. We were here at the VFW as a formality.
After the Pledge of Allegiance had been recited and the minutes from the last meeting approved, there was an opportunity for any committee member to speak up. A woman raised her hand and launched into a prepared exhortation that now the primary was past, everybody needed to support our Republican candidates no matter what, just like the Democrats do for theirs. Even if you don’t like them, she wagged her finger, it’s your job to have their back. Once she was finished, a man stood up to ask “leadership” why his water bill was so high this month. It was clear that he had confused this with a City Council meeting.
Then our state representative rose to explain her latest legislative vote—a piece of business that was at least relevant. She had voted with the Republican majority on a complicated issue that involved vaccine mandates, and some of her further-right constituents had been perturbed. She was highly sensitive to these concerns and provided an inside look at how trade-offs happen in the state legislature. But most attendees looked uninterested or confused.
Once she was finished, a man stood up to ask “leadership” why his water bill was so high this month. It was clear that he had confused this with a City Council meeting.
After the financials were hastily approved—the committee’s yearly budget is around $1,000—we were ready to wrap up. Then came my only active role: seconding a motion to adjourn.
The typical committee meeting often leaves me wondering why this deliberative body exists. It also leaves me imagining a robust party committee, what it would require, and what it would be capable of. In America’s past, these local parties used to wield kingmaking power and the ability to truly influence elected commissioners, sheriffs, solicitors, and judges. Does the state and federal overreach of our time call for the return of local mafia-like behavior? Another vignette from neighboring Allegheny County helped me think about this question more deeply.
Who Watches the Watchdogs?
A journalistic assignment from RealClear Politics, where I am a contributor, led me to observe and report on a training seminar near Pittsburgh led by the anti-corruption group Edgar County Watchdogs. The Watchdogs are a retiree duo, Kirk Allen and John Kraft, who have filed hundreds of open records requests and lawsuits to expose malfeasance by elected and appointed officials. During our training, they explained to a room of dozens of local activists how to scale these methods across the grassroots and wage total legal war against ideologues and rent-seekers.
The Watchdogs are essentially an anti-mafia: they prompt the courts, the media, and local law enforcement to bust up rings of self-dealing bureaucrats. Kirk and John’s efforts are strictly nonpartisan, and they have helped both liberal and conservative groups bring down corrupt officials from both parties. However, their supporters and audience are heavily Republican. Understanding exactly why that is offered me a healthy corrective to overly detached or overly zealous approaches to local politics, at least in my humble party committee role.
One important characteristic of the 21st-century Republican is that he primarily views himself as self-governed. Politicians and bureaucrats, his thinking goes, are largely unnecessary, and Republicans’ political involvement is largely a form of self-defense against government overreach. There are plenty of exceptions to this generalization, but it is especially true on the local level. Republicans do not view themselves as clients in need of protection by the county commissioner or some local boss.
Thus, the Edgar County Watchdogs offer an attractive strategy to Republicans who have a natural revulsion to mafia-like local politics. They perceive, mostly correctly, that insisting on rule of law for local officials will benefit them more than trying to use corruption in their favor.
The Watchdogs’ methods are becoming an effective tool in the toolkit of local political volunteers, as the Republican grassroots has started to recognize. Even in the rare locality that is corruption-free, concerned citizens can observe and investigate corruption in neighboring localities, particularly major cities, which often determine the political course of the state. Outside resources should support local volunteers and grassroots leaders who want to become legal vigilantes like Kirk Allen and John Kraft.
Fighting local corruption like the Watchdogs is a healthy, hopefully bipartisan effort that will result in the preservation of federalism and popular sovereignty. But there is a fine line between corruption and politics itself—between coalitions of support and hierarchies of client patronage. A final vignette from our county Republican assembly will display how difficult it can be to distinguish between localism and patronage.
To Endorse or Not to Endorse?
It was a freezing night in February when the 250 most locally active Republicans gathered in a high school theater to discuss the upcoming primary. These were committee members from the nine wards, local elected officials and appointees, judges, law enforcement officers, and staffers. No media. Our purpose? To officially endorse a slate of local candidates—all incumbents—for the primary.
As a new hand in the local political scene, it was hard for me to understand the purpose of this endorsement. If an incumbent were doing his job well, he would be the overwhelming favorite. And what was a primary for, if not to allow the electorate to make that determination?
On the other hand, I felt that all our incumbents had done a fine job with their past term. Balancing budgets, providing election security, and obstructing the teachers union’s left wing activism in our school district—I had no complaints. Perhaps endorsing them would keep our local government strong enough to prevent state and federal overreach? Still, something about a party endorsement rubbed me the wrong way. Why was the local party leadership intervening in the primary?
As it turned out, I was not the only one to have these misgivings. At the meeting, the endorsement issue erupted into a flame war. I knew most of the faces in the room from local events, but I had never seen them so exercised. I had brought my daughters to the meeting and at one point needed to cover their ears.
The debate did not break down along a clean divide of grassroots vs. establishment. Some attendees insisted that we “let the process (the primary election) play out” and that we should not “place a finger on the scale.” The other side insisted that the endorsement was important to prevent “goofballs” from challenging our incumbents in the primary and handing the election to the Democrats. Perhaps this was a fair point—one of the attendees was an outsider challenger candidate for county commissioner, and while it would be uncharitable to call him a “goofball,” his views were certainly further from the mainstream.
We voted and the result was decisive: 194 committee members voted to endorse the incumbents, and only 45 voted not to. The committee had officially and democratically placed a finger on the scale. Had we engaged in mafia-like corruption? Or worked as a team to ensure the continued effectiveness of our local government? These are the big dilemmas of small potatoes politics.
Local Sovereignty, if You Can Keep It
With the accelerating madness of national politics, the primacy of local has never been clearer. But the ideal of a local political structure that matters, that actually serves the common good and protects popular sovereignty, requires plenty of deep thought and hard work.
For now, that hard work—the transparency and accountability efforts, the online engagement, the organizing, the volunteerism—is mainly being done by retirees. This is as it should be: an older generation that seeks to protect their generational values and is sacrificing their time to do so. But it also comes with pitfalls. When only one generation is represented, modes of engagement become ossified and stultified. Failures to communicate and technological mishaps multiply. More must be done to involve younger citizens, either by motivating youth volunteers or by some private donor, a veritable George Soros of federalism, funding career-age professionals.
As it is, local politics is not in dire straits—but it has plenty of opportunity for growth. Citizens who want a healthy American nation should get involved, not necessarily to use the system for creating their own mafias, but to improve the functioning of the local system so the system favors positive results. We must always remember that state and federal leaders who emerge from corrupt local politics will carry habits of corruption forward and upward. Hillary Clinton got her start as a local Republican volunteer in Alabama, where she witnessed criminal election meddling against Richard Nixon.
Lastly, local parties provide more than a mere funnel for human capital. They can provide institutional clout to concerned parents, healthcare professionals, business owners, and other individual citizens who are targeted by the state or federal government. Even “toothless” statements and resolutions add gravity that will gain media attention and influence decision-makers.
Reforming local politics so that it prudently reclaims its former importance will take more than declaring that all politics is local—or even active participation. It will require concerned citizens to engage in local politics critically: not only critical of local happenings they want to change, but of the very approaches of our local political systems themselves.
Andrew Cuff is communications director for the Knights Take Rook agency and Beck & Stone.
