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CITY HALL - Last December, I dialed into an LA City Council meeting to correct a small but telling error: a typo misspelling Augustus Hawkins, California’s first Black congressman. Sixty seconds to honor history, to nudge the powerful toward precision. My reward? When the Council returned from recess, the public’s call-in option was gone—no vote, no explanation. Just silence.
This wasn’t personal. It was policy. Under Council President Marqueece Harris-Dawson, Los Angeles City Hall has steadily dismantled the public’s right to speak. First, virtual testimony vanished from committee meetings. Then, holiday shadows cloaked the end of call-in comments for full Council sessions. Now, a vague new rule bans “slurs” during public comment, voted on without debate. Is this about civility? Or is it about muting voices that dare to challenge the status quo?
Public comment isn’t just a microphone. It’s the heartbeat of democracy—a raw, messy chorus of Angelenos who show up not for clout but because they care. I’ve seen a teacher, still in her classroom cardigan, plead for safer schools. A woman in a wheelchair, victorious against City Hall’s neglect, rolling to the podium. Even the provocateur, lacing truth with profanity, exposing how insider nonprofits siphon public funds. These voices, once fixtures of our civic stage, are being pushed off.
City Hall’s response? Choreography, not democracy. Supporters—unions, advocacy groups—are ushered in, their praise filling time slots while dissenters wait. Meanwhile, the Council approves $6 million in legal settlements without a whisper of discussion. Homelessness festers. The 2028 Olympics’ costs balloon, unscrutinized. And the “progressives”—Nithya Raman, Eunisses Hernandez, Katy Yaroslavsky, Hugo Soto-Martinez—stay silent as access erodes, betraying the transparency they once championed.
This isn’t about one offensive speaker. It’s about power. When a citizen’s sharp truth stings, the Council doesn’t engage—they censor. My own crime was a correction, a nod to history. Others have been silenced for questioning sole-source contracts or unchecked budgets. The line between vulgarity and clarity is thin, and City Hall knows it. By policing words, they police ideas, shielding themselves from accountability.
I’ve spent years at City Hall, not as an insider but as a stubborn Angeleno who believes our government belongs to us. I’ve seen public comment spark change: a budget line reexamined, a policy reconsidered. Those moments—when a single voice pierces the chamber’s echo—remind us why democracy matters. But today, that echo is fading. The microphone is off.
This isn’t just LA’s story. Across America, local governments are wrestling with public participation in an era of division. But silencing the public isn’t the answer—it’s surrender. If Marqueece Harris-Dawson aspires to lead in the tradition of civil rights, he must remember what those before him fought for: a seat at the table, a minute to be heard.
Angelenos, we are not voiceless. We are teachers, workers, dreamers—the public. Our city faces crises—housing, safety, trust—that demand our input, not our exclusion. City Hall isn’t a private club; it’s ours. So show up. Attend the next Council meeting on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Call your councilmember. Demand the microphone be turned back on.
The last time I spoke, I honored Augustus Hawkins. Next time, we’ll all raise our voices. Because democracy doesn’t whisper—it roars.
(Eric Preven is a Studio City-based television writer-producer, award-winning journalist, and longtime community activist. He is known for his sharp commentary on transparency and accountability in local government. Eric successfully brought and won two landmark open government cases in California, reinforcing the public’s right to know. A regular contributor to CityWatch, he combines investigative insight with grassroots advocacy to shine a light on civic issues across Los Angeles.). Photo: Image used under license from Freestock.com
