Miller Hudson
Over the past four decades the role of the district congressional office has changed dramatically. So too, of course, have the channels of communication for reaching your representative. In a world dominated by electronic messaging, one wonders whether pen and ink letters are any longer opened. It’s evident, if you’ve dispatched an email recently to a member of the Colorado congressional delegation, that interns are scoring missives against a list of currently salient topics, thereby matching them with a pre-written reply. You may be writing for or against a subject (the environment, Ukraine, artificial intelligence, deficits, etc.) but will receive the same response: “(the Senator/Congressperson) shares your concerns regarding issue X and values your thoughtful concerns/advice on the matter.”
Emails pour into congressional servers in such volumes today an appeal goes un-noted by your member even when they are personal acquaintances. To capture personal attention requires a “work around.” You can establish relationships with specific staffers who are assigned to policy matters that concern you, directing messages directly to them, or alternatively, ambushing your member by attending a town hall meeting. It’s become increasingly difficult to visit your member’s district office by knocking on the door. You will find it locked. Following the baseball-bat wielding attack in Virginia which sent several young congressional staffers to the hospital, you’re likely to be asked to schedule an appointment by email.
This isn’t just poor constituent service but also makes for bad politics. Traditionally, each instance when a congressional office handles a “case” requiring intervention on behalf of an aggrieved constituent, such as a social security or veterans’ benefits snafu, its successful resolution secures allegiance from 50 or 100 voters. Relatives, neighbors and co-workers learn of the political help and it wins appreciation. This may be “old school” politics, but it’s a formula proven to work. Requiring voters to jump through electronic hoops during a period of stress is worse than stupid, it produces resentful voters who then recount their frustrations to those same relatives, neighbors and co-workers.
I first met Jason Crow during former President Barack Obama’s re-election campaign in 2012. He was assembling a “Veterans for Obama” group. We met every few weeks in his offices at Holland & Hart for breakfast and event planning. An Afghanistan veteran, Crow was energetic and eager. The thought flitted through my mind he was likely to soon be a candidate himself. A few years later, Crow organized a veterans’ event in 2018 at the VFW Post on Santa Fe for Jared Polis as he was campaigning for governor. It was then when I met Maytham Alshadood, a translator for American troops in the Middle East wars who had received refugee status.
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Alshadood made an appeal to Polis recommending a waiver on residency rules for refugees like himself who were now pursuing higher education at Colorado colleges. Although sympathetic, Polis was not yet in a position to help. I pulled Alshadood aside and told him I thought he could lobby the Colorado legislature to authorize such an exception. Sen. Steve Fenberg stepped up to help shepherd legislation authorizing in-state tuition. A few years later, I discovered Alshadood was newly elected Congressman Crow’s district office director. We had sold our Denver house and moved to Littleton, becoming Crow’s constituents.
When I was approached early this year by a friend of 50 years, an international business executive who was asked to join a military intelligence command during Desert Storm, wondering whether I could arrange a private meeting with Jason ‘s Washington staff, I was confident I could get that done. I was wrong. My friend had been impressed with Crow’s courageous leadership at the Jan. 6, 2021 violence in the U.S. Capitol. He has operated periodically in the shadow world known as America’s “black budget” which governs our national security programs. Suspecting Crow would be involved in a scheduled investigation of the tumultuous withdrawal from Afghanistan, he possessed information he felt the congressman should have. I don’t know what that was, but I can attest to his reliability and integrity.
I first contacted Crow’s district office in March, only to discover Maytham Alshadood had departed for a position with a national non-profit. I would contact the Colorado office six times, three by email and three in person, followed by two recommended emails and a phone call to the congressional scheduler in Washington. All nine contacts fell into a black hole. No reply and no follow-up. This summer I attended a town hall meeting at Aurora City Hall and waited patiently to speak with Crow, assuming he would be alarmed when I recounted the performance of his staff. To the contrary, he bristled at the suggestion my story could be accurate defending the usual responsiveness of his office. If he wanted a more detailed explanation, I suggested he give me a call and handed him my card.
Several weeks passed without any contact. Then I saw Jason again at his annual dinner event at the Breckenridge Brewery in Littleton. He appeared to have no recollection of our earlier encounter. I’m writing today to let him know we’ve made arrangements with another Congressional office after two phone calls. I learned Crow’s top two employees resigned from his Aurora office. My advice to Jason, as a retired manager, is he make a practice of personally following up with a half-dozen closed cases each week. Ask how they feel about their interactions with his staff. Home Depot asks me occasionally whether I was well treated at their store, why shouldn’t my congressman do the same?
Miller Hudson is a public affairs consultant and a former Colorado legislator.
