I was accused of going on too long in yesterday’s post about the different world in which the General Assembly operates. Inasmuch as my objective was to explain a concept, I think this criticism has things backwards. The essay should have been much longer, probably multiple posts, giving more definition to each point before stating it.

For concision, though, the summary is:

• First, those of us outside of the General Assembly look at its rules and processes, with committees to study issues (in part based on public testimony) and all representatives having an equal say in the final vote.
• Second, on the inside, emphasis is on a political process that helps balance the interests of the legislators in an orderly, but unwritten and potentially dictatorial, fashion.
• Third, the unwritten rules by which the legislators operate are what make the Speaker of the House “the most powerful elected official in the state.”
• And fourth, these two perspectives are so real to each side as to constitute entirely different worlds.

Because, ultimately, forcing a change would literally be changing the world in which the Speaker of the House lives, requiring him to acknowledge that the political machine he uses doesn’t actually exist, the change must come from the people and their direct representatives. The method of doing this is as easy to see as it is difficult to accomplish.

The first of two fronts is to force the processes as they are understood by the public to mean something. Make it uncomfortable for legislators to miss committee hearings or behave as if they don’t matter. Make the “held for further study” vote that feeds legislation into the strictly political process an embarrassing one to make. (Imagine if people in the audience shouted “Held for further study!” and laughed every time that particular vote is called.) And so on, throughout the legislative process.

In short, if the legislators have to behave as if the process is important, it will become so for them, and they’ll be less willing to sublimate it to politics.

The second front is to behave as if the imaginary machine doesn’t exist. Committee members should insist on taking votes on their bills. Andrew has given some suggestions for doing this, with elaboration when Rep. Patrick O’Neill disrupted the routine for ethics legislation. In the same line, demanding public explanation of the unwritten rules would make it clearer to all involved that there is no good explanation (as there cannot be for things that don’t exist). The more daring among committee chairs could openly flout the speaker’s authority. As I’ve pointed out, the “further study” mechanism isn’t even applied as the rules suggest it should be.

In short, if leadership has to explain the basis for its authority, it will become clear that no basis exists.

None of this will be easy, and we come back once again to the reality that Rhode Islanders and their direct representatives have to want a change. Because the objectionable machine is political, not written into the rules, insisting on rules changes is not only likely to be a failing fight, but will be of limited use in making the necessary changes.