Bedtime Stories for Public Servants: Just-Ish and Reasonable

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

By S. Mohsen Fatemi
September 22, 2025

The Public Utility Commission’s hearing room buzzed with whispers, paper shuffling and the clink of pens on binders. Fluorescent lights washed over utility lawyers in tailored suits, community advocates with worn folders and weary residents clutching bills like evidence. At the bench, Chairwoman Delgado adjusted her microphone.

“This session concerns establishing a compensation fund for intervenors—those who take part in our proceedings but lack the resources to match utilities’ experts. We will hear arguments on whether such a fund should exist and how it should be structured.”

Her words hung heavy.

Marjorie King, counsel for the state’s largest utility, rose first. Her voice was smooth, rehearsed, edged with steel.

“Commissioners, ratepayers already shoulder the cost of keeping the grid reliable. Now they’re asked to fund intervenors’ attorneys. Even pennies cut into fragile budgets. Utilities must serve everyone while intervenors cherry-pick cases and bill the public for inefficiency. This fund risks subsidizing litigation for its own sake.”

She sat, aligning her papers with practiced precision.

Across the aisle, Caleb Ortiz stood, shoulders hunched but eyes burning. He led a coalition of neighborhood groups, most of them renters from drafty apartments.

“With respect, Commissioners, utilities already recover legal and consultant costs through rates. Communities like ours show up unpaid, unarmed, unheard. Our stories are dismissed as emotion, not evidence. Without experts, our truth never enters the record. This fund isn’t charity—it’s the bare minimum to level a field tilted since the first docket was filed.”

The staff economist, Dr. Harris, clicked a remote. A bar chart flared on the screen.

“Based on our models, a surcharge under one percent would raise about four million dollars annually—roughly fifty cents a month per household. Enough to fund meaningful participation—analysts, translators, technical review—without real strain. A small trade-off in dollars but a large one in principle.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Some nodded, others frowned.

Commissioner Vaughn, arms crossed, leaned into his mic. His voice was gravel, worn by years of hearings.

“Who decides which groups qualify? What if this becomes a revolving door for the same nonprofits padded with consultants, while the people most affected remain voiceless? We risk creating a new gatekeeper class, paid from the pockets of the very families we claim to defend.”

Silence followed. Then, from the back row, a woman stood. Angela Price, sleeves rolled above work-worn arms, her face tired but unflinching. She hadn’t signed up to testify, but the Chair gestured her forward.

“I don’t know much about charts,” she said, her voice roughened by cold nights, “but I know what it feels like when your kids sleep in coats because the heat’s been cut. If the utility can pass its lawyer fees onto us, then we should have a way to pay for ours.”

The room stilled. Even Marjorie King lowered her gaze.

Chairwoman Delgado exhaled, her eyes sweeping the chamber.

“This is not about cents on a bill,” she said, voice deliberate. “It is about whose voices count as evidence and whose are dismissed as noise. We will deliberate further.”

She gathered her papers.

“This hearing is adjourned.”

A Pause with the Civic Sage

The hearing room lay empty, papers scattered across tables. In a side office, the commissioners slouched with fatigue, jackets loosened, voices fading.

A soft tap of a cane sounded at the doorway. The Civic Sage stood—unannounced yet unquestioned—as though he had always belonged. His presence carried the quiet weight of long familiarity.

“Strange, isn’t it,” he said calmly, “how the record can close, yet the hardest questions refuse to stay quiet?”

Chairwoman Delgado rubbed her forehead.

“Angela’s words won’t leave me. ‘If the utility can pass their lawyers’ fees onto us, then we should have a way to pay for ours.’ She’s right. But Marjorie’s point about cost… it gnaws at me too.”

Commissioner Vaughn leaned back.

“The utility framed it as pennies. But pennies stack. And when people live bill to bill, even small surcharges are hard to justify.”

The Sage settled into a chair, cane resting on the arm.

“Tell me, Commissioners: when you think of a surcharge, what do you see? Numbers in a spreadsheet or households choosing between groceries and electricity?”

Delgado exhaled.

“Both. And neither. The record gives us averages. It rarely shows what those numbers mean for a family in a drafty apartment.”

The Sage’s eyes warmed with a flicker of humor.

“Ah yes, the tyranny of the average—where no one lives, yet everyone is represented.”

Vaughn chuckled, then grew serious.

“Remember last year’s fixed-charge proposal? They wanted to triple the customer charge, from ten to thirty-five. On paper, it looked fair—everyone pays the same. But when intervenors ran the analysis, we saw the truth: low-income households, seniors, renters—they’d be hit hardest. Without them, we might have approved it and still called it ‘just and reasonable.’”

Delgado nodded.

“That’s the danger. The standard is only as strong as the evidence before us. If those impacts never reach the record, ‘just and reasonable’ becomes a revenue formula, not a measure of fairness.”

The Sage leaned forward, voice quiet but steady.

“The rule is not arithmetic. ‘Just and reasonable’ is a promise that the burdens of the system are shared equitably. When voices are missing, the promise collapses, and what remains may be lawful but never just.”

Loose Ends

Among the tools that broaden participation in regulatory processes is intervenor compensation, a mechanism giving community groups resources to engage in complex utility proceedings. Utilities routinely recover the cost of lawyers and experts through rates, leaving community voices disadvantaged. Compensation narrows this imbalance, surfacing impacts like the disproportionate burden of rate designs on low-income households that might otherwise remain hidden. But its significance extends further: it exposes the ethical core of regulation. When only utilities and well-funded actors shape the record, proceedings drift toward regulatory capture and “just and reasonable” risks become a revenue formula rather than a promise of fairness.

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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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