To the Editor:
Then — May 2025
I was at a Democratic City Committee meeting the other night. One of the leader’s posed a question — how do we connect with the people? Which, in local party speak, really means: we know we’re out of touch. How do we pretend we’re not?
An older Black woman on the committee — this matters, trust me — offered what I think they wanted to hear. She said the issue was messaging. That Democrats needed to reach people where they are: on Instagram, on TikTok. That the other side — rude, crude, and relentless — manages to get their message across with shocking ease.
And I sat there thinking, That’s not the problem.
So I said it:
“I don’t think Democrats have a messaging problem. You all speak very well. But the difference between you and your opponents is — they do what they say they’ll do. Doesn’t matter how outrageous or offensive it sounds — they follow through. People trust that. Because actions still mean more than words.”
No yelling. No dramatics. Just a calm truth.
And what did I get in return?
A book recommendation.
They told me, nicely, that I should read Abundance — couldn’t even name the author — and that if I did, I’d understand just how much they’re actually getting right.
Because in Stamford, that’s what accountability looks like in 2025: a suggestion to read a book. Not a conversation. Not a reckoning. A reading list.
It’s an election year here, and the machine is starting to hum. The glossy campaign flyers will be hitting mailboxes any minute now. They’ll knock on doors. Shake hands. Smile wide. Tell us how much progress we’ve made. Tout their record. Pose for pictures in neighborhoods they rarely visit outside election cycles. Because that’s what campaigning means here — showing face, not changing course.
They don’t have to work hard. Most people in this city vote Democrat automatically. Not because they’re excited. Not because they’ve seen results. But because they believe the alternative is worse. It’s not loyalty — it’s survival.
And while the campaigns warm up, two massive storms are already overhead.
The first is at the Board of Education, where they’re pushing a “block scheduling” proposal that students, parents, and teachers have overwhelmingly rejected. Public comment after public comment has begged them to reconsider. They nod. They listen. And then they do whatever they were going to do anyway. Because here, process is theater and public input is just an intermission.
The second is quieter but more insidious: the University Research Overlay District. Sounds harmless. Academic, even. But beneath that sterile name is a coordinated displacement effort. Whole communities — low- to moderate-income households — are being pushed out to make way for students, faculty, and staff from the University of Connecticut. A state school.
And the city? It’s entertaining it.
There’s been no referendum. No town-wide discussion. No mass mobilization — because most residents don’t even know it’s happening. And that’s by design. The city cloaks these policies in jargon and technicalities so the people most affected never have the language — or the access — to fight back.
So when I speak up in a committee meeting and say, “People don’t trust you because you don’t do what you say,” and the response is “read this book,” what I hear is:
Stay in your lane.
Trust us — we’ve got it handled.
You just don’t understand.
But I do understand.
I understand that if you have to bury your policies in zoning maps and research overlays, they were never meant to be seen.
I understand that if you keep asking how to “connect with the people,” maybe you’ve already lost them.
And I understand that if the only answer to honest critique is a reading assignment, you’re not interested in accountability — you’re interested in control.
So no, I’m not reading Abundance.
I’m reading the room.
And what I see is a party preparing to campaign in a city it no longer serves. I see leadership more invested in perception than protection. I see a Democratic stronghold acting with the entitlement of invincibility, assuming that no matter how many families are displaced or ignored — they’ll still get the vote.
And maybe they will.
But they won’t get our silence.
Not this time.
Now — October 2025
Five months later, everything I wrote still holds true.
Since then, the 2035 Comprehensive Plan was passed — rushed through despite residents’ pleas for transparency and inclusion. Citizens filled hearing rooms and inboxes with objections. They were thanked for their input, then quietly overruled.
That night back in May, when I said the problem wasn’t messaging but action, I didn’t know it would become the defining theme of the year.
In Stamford, people are done being managed. They’re ready to be represented. They don’t want slogans or speeches — they want honesty and follow-through.
That’s what my post was about then. And it’s what this reflection is about now.
Because real accountability doesn’t start at a microphone. It starts with listening — and the courage to do what you say.
So no, I still haven’t read Abundance.
But I’ve been reading the city ever since.
And the story it’s telling is one of frustration — and hope. Hope that, this time, someone’s finally paying attention.
Brittany Lawrence
Stamford, CT
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Lawrence is a resident of Stamford and an Independent Party candidate for the Board of Representatives, District 10