Bedtime Stories for Public Servants: For the Purpose of Consultation

The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of ASPA as an organization.

By S. Mohsen Fatemi
January 23, 2026

The river was low that spring, exposing stones no one remembered naming. From the council chamber windows, it looked patient, as if waiting for something to pass.

Elena had been sworn in six weeks earlier. She still sat too straight, hands folded, listening harder than she spoke. Tonight’s agenda was short. Routine items. Public comment ended early. Then the chair cleared his throat and said the phrase.

“For the purpose of consultation.”

It was said evenly, without emphasis, like a comma.

The motion passed. The audience—four residents and a reporter—watched the council rise, gather papers, and disappear through the side door. Elena followed, notebook tucked under her arm. She had begun keeping private notes, not of what was said publicly, but of what shifted quietly, without record.

The executive room was smaller, windowless. A legal pad sat at each seat, blank. The city attorney took her place near the end, uncapped her pen, and waited.

They spoke first about numbers. Not votes, not decisions. Just numbers. How a half-mill adjustment might land. How residents would react if the notice came after summer. Someone joked about calling it “alignment” instead of “increase.” The attorney listened, nodding once, twice.

Elena wrote: budget tradeoffs.

They moved on to messaging. Which words sounded responsible. Which ones sounded defensive. How to frame inevitability as stewardship. Someone asked whether this crossed a line. The chair smiled and said no line had been crossed because no action was being taken. The attorney did not disagree.

Elena wrote: political messaging.

They talked about timing. About who would speak first when they returned to the chamber. About silence—how long to let it sit before calling for a motion. The discussion was calm, almost tender. No one raised a voice. No one proposed anything concrete.

Elena wrote: tax impacts.

When the chair asked if there were questions for counsel, no one spoke. The attorney closed her notebook anyway.

Back in the chamber, the lights felt harsher. The audience returned to their seats. The chair announced they were back in open session. The agenda resumed.

A motion was made. It matched, perfectly, the shape of the conversation Elena had just witnessed. Another member seconded it. Discussion followed, brief and orderly. No one seemed uncertain. Elena noticed how easily the words came now, as if rehearsed.

She hesitated when her turn came. The room waited. She could feel the river beyond the walls, still and indifferent.

She spoke, carefully, asking a narrow question about timing. It was answered immediately. Satisfied murmurs followed. The motion passed.

Applause did not break out. Nothing dramatic happened. The reporter typed. The clerk recorded the vote. The minutes would later note that an executive session had occurred for the purpose stated.

After adjournment, Elena lingered. The attorney passed her in the hallway, offered a polite smile. “You’re doing well,” she said, as if encouragement were part of the job.

At home, Elena opened her notebook. The pages were neat, restrained. No accusations. Just categories. She wondered what would happen if someone else read them. Probably nothing.

She thought of the residents who had left early, assuming the meeting was over. She thought of the phrase again, how small it was, how much it held.

Outside, the river continued its work, wearing down edges slowly, without ever appearing to move.

Elena closed the notebook and did not tear out the pages. She placed it on the shelf beside binders labeled with years and budgets she had not yet learned to navigate. She told herself this was how institutions breathed, expanding and contracting within rules designed long before her arrival. Still, as she turned off the light, she understood that what unsettled her was not secrecy, but fluency—the way everyone else spoke this language as if it were neutral, inevitable, already decided. Tomorrow, she would return, sit straighter, and keep listening, counting, learning what was never quite said. Aloud.

A Pause with the Civic Sage

“People think doors matter,” the Civic Sage said. “Open, closed. As if ethics hinge on hinges.”

Elena smiled thinly. “But doors decide who learns the language.”

“Language is power,” the Sage replied. “Not because it hides truth, but because it shapes what counts as one.”

“They followed the rules,” Elena said. “Every step.”

“They followed the surface,” the Sage said. “Rules are vessels. Purpose is the current.”

Elena looked down. “If nothing improper happened, why does it feel improper?”

“Because administration is not morality-free,” the Sage said. “It only pretends to be.”

“So what should I have done?” she asked.

“Nothing heroic,” the Sage answered. “Heroics absolve systems. Understanding implicates you.”

Elena frowned. “That sounds like surrender.”

“No,” said the Sage. “It is responsibility without spectacle.”

“Is procedure enough?” Elena asked.

“It is necessary,” the sage said. “Never sufficient.”

Elena paused. “Then what changes anything?”

“Attention,” the sage replied. “Memory. The refusal to confuse fluency with legitimacy.”

She nodded slowly. “And silence?”

“Silence can be compliance,” the Sage said, “or it can be preparation.”

Elena considered this. “For what?”

“For the moment when language fails,” the Sage said. “And judgment begins.”

Elena whispered, “I will remember.” And keep counting, quietly.

The Loose Ends

This story illuminates a core dilemma: legality is not synonymous with legitimacy. Classical administrative theory emphasizes rule-following, procedural regularity, and neutrality, yet contemporary governance recognizes that power often operates upstream of formal decisions. Executive sessions illustrate how discretion migrates into spaces shielded by professional norms, legal language, and expertise. The absence of votes does not eliminate decision-making; it relocates it.

Elena’s discomfort reflects bounded rationality and institutional socialization: newcomers sense misalignment before they can name it, while veterans normalize practices through fluency. The Civic Sage’s counsel echoes democratic administration and public value theory, emphasizing judgment, attention, and accountability beyond compliance. Ethics here is not about whistleblowing or individual virtue, but about recognizing how routines structure outcomes.

In practice, this insight urges administrators to scrutinize not only whether procedures are followed, but how processes shape participation, transparency, and trust. Administration breathes through rules, but democracy depends.

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Author: S. Mohsen Fatemi is a PhD candidate in the School of Public Affairs & Administration at the University of Kansas, where his research examines energy governance, policy, and justice. He is the creator of Bedtime Stories for Public Servants. This narrative series blends storytelling, reflective dialogue, and research-based insights to explore the ethical and emotional dilemmas faced in public service. He can be reached at [email protected]. His website is www.mohsenfatemi.com, and his X/Twitter handle is @MohsenFatemiii.

 

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