The Illusion of Democracy
One scooter corral.
Keep in mind that everything you're about to read was done to install a single scooter corral.
Last April, I walked by a DC Department of Transportation (DDOT) employee drilling plastic pylons into my street. To be clear, he was doing this in the roadway near a major thoroughfare, which just so happens to be the only intersection where northbound vehicles can enter a neighborhood that thousands call home.
It was obvious to anyone with common sense that this change was going to cause unnecessary congestion and danger for all road users here. So why were the supposed transportation experts creating this bottleneck? I decided to attend an Advisory Neighborhood Commission (ANC) meeting to ask that very question. The feedback I received there provided me with my first glimpse at how rigged the community engagement process has become -- even when the issue is something as trivial as a random scooter corral.
Before the forum began, Mayor Bowser's Office of Community Relations and Services (OCRS) liaison stood there and told me point blank that I "might not like DDOT's answer." The commissioners in attendance heard him say this and barely batted an eye. I took note of their reaction but put my animus on the backburner because all five of them seemed to follow my logic. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was funky after hearing the ANC Chair springboard from the subject of scooter parking to phrases like "life-saving improvements" and "wait for someone to die" when waxing on about infrastructure.
Soon after, I was told DDOT's Community Engagement Manager could be summoned to discuss the corral. He never materialized, but he did make sure to mention that his agency doesn't have to tell the public about projects of this nature and, thus, is not beholden to the notice of intent (NOI) or appeal processes.
Things began to get super spicy in June of 2023. It was then when they revealed their new plan to move the corral mere inches away from its original spot; thereby eliminating the five conflict-mitigating options I had proposed, including an alternative on the same block (near the corner created by an adjoining dead-end street) that DDOT themselves had considered a finalist for relocation. To make things even more frustrating, all parties involved pretended to be reasonable by suggesting a temporary removal of the corral. But I knew full well what they intended to do. They were going to come back better organized for a second bite at the apple.
As a result, I felt compelled to protest by actively taking part in another ANC event. That night, I improvised the scooter corral equivalent of Allen Iverson's "We're Talking About Practice" diatribe. For the second time, the ANC signaled unanimous verbal support for my argument. In retrospect, the formal letter they drew up didn't challenge the idea of DDOT plopping a goofy obstruction in the street. In other words, despite my firm objection, our elected leaders decided the best way to challenge a rogue bureaucracy was to send a milquetoast correspondence where they claimed to be "look(ing) forward to participating in (the) process."
You can probably guess how things played out. But that alone was not the impetus for this op-ed. Rather, it was the way these various factions executed their plan. First, DDOT generated an October NOI (with a broken hyperlink) on the basis that "a member of the public recommended" the exact location they desired. Whether this person lives anywhere near here is debatable, given a documented pattern of corral suggestions coming from individuals whose voter registrations are linked to addresses miles from the ANCs in question.
As a Hail Mary, I went to a third ANC meeting in November to plead my case. Once again, the commission voted unanimously to do something that, at first blush, sounded in line with the speech I delivered. There's the rub. As it turns out, validating my clearly expressed opposition was not their goal. On the contrary, they were really rubber stamping a prewritten resolution unseen by the public. Upon wading through that document the following day, I was shocked to discover they summarized their position by stating, "we do not oppose per se the location of (the) scooter corral." It's like nothing I had uttered for seven months mattered.
[I could go on and on about the dirty tricks I encountered along the way. Stories that immediately spring to mind: unresponsive scooter contractors, invisible hands that stage where those devices are placed, senior citizens whose legitimate requests have been mothballed, citywide rack mandates that clearly quash local wants and needs, and FOIA analysts that treat legal deadlines like whimsical suggestions. But I digress.]
My truly final hope was to rally residents to respond to the NOI while the public comment period was open, which (conveniently for DDOT) was scheduled to expire right after Thanksgiving break. Fazed, I went door to door to drop off flyers, praying families would get back from vacation, see the urgency, and act. I, too, emailed my comments to the Program Specialist, including a bolded demand that he CC the acting DDOT Director in his reply to me. He did not. What did he do? Well, he lied about the community response being evenly split. According to a FOIA request I initiated, not one email with the project number or my street name that was submitted during the public comment period supported the scooter corral. Not one. As if that wasn't bad enough, he later emailed his coworker to brag that the situation was "breaking more brains." Real classy stuff. I'm confident that wasn't the only mocking done by the three employees linked to this project; alas, I can't prove it definitively since their internal communications were more redacted than the JFK files.
Eventually, I tracked down the contact information for the DDOT chief and restated my case. What came back from her was something to behold. For starters, she confirmed that all it takes is one or two asks for her minions to swoop in with these corrals -- which, I cannot stress enough, runs counter to dealings with citizens who formally object to installation. Next, she insisted data backed up DDOT's case and sent me a GPS mobility dashboard image as proof. I could pick apart the paltry ridership it disclosed, but the key takeaway was that well under 20% of scooter riders bothered to use the temporary corral, echoing everyone who predicted this phenomenon would occur, including the Director herself. She then added they were putting it on the road surface to "daylight" the crosswalk. That would sound reasonable if the installer (who disclosed that his own parents aren't exactly fans of his employer's tactics) hadn't mentioned in April that daylighting was not a factor. Finally, and worst of all, she neglected to mention the DC code that allows scooters to be locked to signposts. You'd think she, more than anyone, should know basic District transportation policies. Whether intentional or not, her omission reeks of desperation to justify the supposed need for a corral on my street.
Can you now see why this agency is regularly accused of overriding grassroots groups who have pushed back against their land grabs? Democracy dies at DDOT, apparently.
In the end, I lost. The pylons are back.
While it was an enormous exercise in futility for me personally, it will have been worth it if DC residents use my cautionary tale as concrete evidence that the entire community input system is nothing more than a democratic facade. Our neighborhood never had a chance -- even though we jumped through every bureaucratic hoop from the literal first day of the process.
The government machine sets or resets the conditions that allow it to steamroll its way to victory. That's scary -- but not nearly as frightening as imagining what our agencies and elected reps are capable of when something far more consequential (than a solitary scooter corral) is at stake.
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July 2024 Addendum
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The re-installation of the scooter corral led me to pen the above piece and submit it to the editorial departments of a variety of local papers. They all declined to print it. The closest I came to recognition was when, after I circled back looking for any sort of Washington Post response, an unnamed staffer supposedly forwarded it to the Metro section for their consideration. Obviously, nothing came of that. Instead, my message was limited to one post on a neighborhood listserv. Needless to say, I didn't reach the audience I was seeking.
Running out of options, I approached the DC Board of Ethics and Government Accountability (BEGA), surmising this oversight agency might dole out some retribution. Unfortunately, it was clear within the first few minutes of my in-person meeting with their investigator that nothing was going to come of it. I didn't have to decipher a secret code to reach that conclusion; she told me the odds of anything happening were closer to none than slim. Eventually, BEGA sent me a letter claiming they "determined that the allegations are personnel related and are outside of (BEGA's) enforcement authority." Shocking that a department charged with government accountability {especially one that only gets one walk-in visitor every few weeks, according to the logbook I signed when I entered their office} doesn't have the power to hold city workers accountable.
A few weeks later, I decided to take my fight to city hall. Literally. Walking into the Wilson Building, I stopped by the DC Council Chairman's office and sat down with his Special Counsel to see if anything could be done. This man seemed willing to assist. Sadly, he did not actually assist. I reckon his version of "I'll certainly touch base when I have a definitive update" was more aspirational than realistic. Despite three email reminders after our initial talk, he ghosted me.
The final nail in the coffin was driven in by the Mayor's Office of Legal Counsel (MOLC). In my head, the MOLC would welcome someone like me who came prepared thanks to multiple conversations I had with the DC Open Government Coalition about unmasking the redacted portions of FOIA requests. Instead, I wasn't even allowed to set foot in their office. The woman who opened the door forced me to wait in the dimly lit fourth floor hallway, before instructing me to file everything with them online.
About 45 days later, an anonymous MOLC representative sent me an email denying my attempt at sunlight by falling on their favorite legal crutch: "deliberative (internal) discussions." Interesting finding given that, in the very next section of their missive, they said it is DC public policy that "all persons are entitled to full and complete information regarding the affairs of government and the official acts of those who represent them as public officials and employees," before citing a weaselly exemption. I didn't go to law school, but I don't think a forwarded chain complete with a catty cherry on top should be protected under "the give-and-take of the consultative process."
In retrospect, these postmortem efforts all go to show that even the ostensible fail-safe agents hired to hold our governments accountable are prone to the same ethical weakness as those they are charged with overseeing. At some point, one has to wonder if the labyrinthine gauntlet is designed to fail the citizenry while projecting the illusion of democracy.
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** This is a lightly-edited reprint of a March local message board post that now includes a previously unpublished addendum. Per his request, the author's name and certain identifying details have been concealed. **
