ArcaMax

I've spent most of my career as a freelance writer being a generalist. You don't delve too much into one subject because, really, you can find an expert on a topic who would love to rattle on with acronyms for at least a solid hour.

It's been one of the privileges of journalism to meet with people who believe in your capacity to share their information for the greater good. There is an openness and appreciation that you might carry their message to the right people. However, as I've sat on the city council, I've started to wonder about a hesitancy of openness from experts in different fields, or worse, a feeling of "Trust me, bro" that I'm getting because some experts seem to be crafting a specific narrative for me to carry away.

It feels like a shorthand of politics and policy to say: Don't worry, the people on the ground have it handled. Sometimes I have to pry for an explanation or data. I ask: Are we talking to this logical connection I see as a layperson? No? You're all fighting for the same pool of money and don't want to share info? Oh, I see. Fun.

It's disheartening when those with letters after their names, or the high-priced consultants, or the agency representatives who should be knowledgeable, respond to a straightforward question with a polished shrug: "Trust me, bro, this is the best way forward."

That is not good enough.

Constituents are an integral part of the process. What they want and I want is what we all deserve: real answers. What's the plan? Where's the money? What are the tradeoffs? And yet, too often, the people charged with providing expertise hand us politicians talking points instead of information.

When experts gatekeep, they don't just frustrate politicians like me; they erode trust in institutions themselves. Because the public doesn't always reject expertise out of ignorance, they're rejecting being patronized. And who can blame them? If every solution boils down to "trust me, bro," why wouldn't people start tuning out, or worse, inventing their own conspiracies to fill in the blanks?

This is the paradox of local politics. Part of my job is to translate expert reports into reassurance for the public. But if all I've been handed is jargon and a smile, how am I supposed to go to a neighbor and say it with any integrity? I can't. Not if I want to be honest. Not if I want to be accountable.

And here's the catch: Challenging the experts comes with its own set of risks. Ask too many questions, and suddenly you're labeled as a 'meddler' or someone who doesn't respect knowledge. But that's far from the truth. Respecting expertise means holding it accountable to its core values: clarity, transparency, and rigor.

Real expertise doesn't fear scrutiny. It doesn't collapse under the weight of a follow-up question. It doesn't say, "Don't worry about it, we've got this," while keeping the details under lock and key. Real expertise lays it out: here's what we know, here's what we don't, here's what we're trying, here's how it could fail.

This is the culture shift we urgently need. Not politicians perpetuating the 'trust me bro' mentality, but experts who value the democratic process enough to show their work. Not polished shrugs, but clear, straightforward language. If I can't take an expert's explanation and relay it back to the public in a way that makes sense, then they haven't done their job. "Trust me, bro," isn't governance; it's avoidance.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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