In an attention economy, information and sometimes the lack thereof can be one of the biggest differentiators of understanding the work of the public sector. For those of us still lying to ourselves about what an acceptable screen time threshold is, we’re pushed and pulled in various ways. 24-hour news cycles and highly intentional algorithms impact the way we view people, organizations and the civic experience.
When discussing advocacy, politics and government, the rules, processes and procedures are readily available, but still somewhat elusive. The three, while closely connected, are vastly different, but at the center of each remains what should be most important — people.
That distinction matters in an environment where how we receive information changes as quickly as the information itself. According to Reuters, in 2026, social media and video networks became the most-used source of news, with 54% of people surveyed saying they used them for news each week. That means more of our understanding of public issues is being shaped in spaces built to compete for our attention.
Advocacy helps shape the issues that enter the political arena. Politics can be most easily described as who gets what, when and how, lending itself to a means through which governing occurs. It is the process through which many of the choices of governing are made. And governing, much like leadership, is often about choosing between two imperfect options and making the best decision you can with the information in front of you.
That reality also shapes how we should think about the institutions responsible for making those decisions.
As the American experiment continues to evolve, the idea that government should be run like a business has a level of appeal. It suggests little to no bureaucracy, efficiency and it frames government operations with corporate-speak like Key Performance Indicators (KPIs) and stakeholder engagement. There are inevitably ways to pair organizational concepts across sectors, but to put it plainly — the reality of governance is just different.
Government must balance competing priorities within legal and logistical limits. There is no shortage of good ideas, but operationalizing those ideas takes work, and in the political arena, much of that work is compromise. It must also serve people who may not agree on the problem, much less how to define success.
At a foundational level, government cannot choose who it serves or walk away from core responsibilities when things get difficult. The recent once-in-a-generation flooding across Central Indiana is a reminder of that responsibility: when record waters rise, government has to respond regardless of cost, convenience or circumstance.
In moments like these, criticism often comes faster than the water recedes. The more important question is whether public institutions are capable of responding and meeting people where the need is greatest.
That does not mean government should accept inefficiency. It should learn from business and from the mission-driven work of nonprofits, specifically the task of merging the people component with data-driven metrics. Still, neither carries the same responsibility to serve an entire public.
Road funding is a useful example of what that looks like in practice.
If I were to put a poll in the field right now, I’d expect infrastructure and public safety to sit near the top of the list of concerns for cities across the country. Housing remains an urgent issue, and the rise of artificial intelligence will force us to confront questions we are only beginning to understand. But those issues can feel distant compared with the concerns that hit people most immediately. Am I safe in my neighborhood? Can I afford to live here? Can I get to work without dodging potholes or worrying about whether the basic infrastructure around me works?
My car is getting up there in age, but it has held me down for a decade of Midwestern winters, some much more ornery than others. We’ve seen our share of neighborhood streets along the way, from community meetings and campaign stops to weddings, house parties and late-night drives home. So, I understand the sentiment that our roads need work. There is broad agreement on that, but that agreement typically ends when the conversation turns to how we pay for them.
Throughout history, I’d imagine there are very few examples of people telling their governing body, “Please, raise my taxes.” That is part of what makes these conversations difficult. It also makes questions of accountability more important. People want to know what happened to the money already collected, whether government has spent it well and whether every reasonable option has been explored before asking for more.
Public budgets are not one large checking account where every dollar can be moved wherever the need is greatest. Are there ways to simplify the process? I’d imagine so. But creativity must still be paired with an understanding of the rules and constraints that govern how public dollars can be used.
Some funding is restricted by law, while grants are often tied to a specific purpose. One-time revenue may help solve an immediate problem, but it cannot always sustain an ongoing commitment. Many cities learned that lesson as federal ARPA dollars tied to the COVID-19 response began to wind down. That is why phrases like “let’s just find the money” rarely amount to a serious budget strategy.
The harder question is whether the funding can actually be used for the problem in front of you and whether it will still be there next year. A budget can look large on paper while offering far less flexibility once existing obligations are accounted for. Governing requires understanding those limits before deciding what tradeoffs are worth making.
But something else often gets lost when we talk about governing and budgets: the human element.
Much of our attention naturally falls on the decisions government makes and the people tasked with making them. What is easier to overlook are the thousands of public employees whose daily work gives those decisions meaning. Some have spent decades serving this city, preferring to stay behind the scenes as stalwart operators who simply get things done. Others are younger, just beginning careers they hope will make a difference. They answer phones without knowing what request will be waiting on the other end. When the first winter storm hits, they answer that call too, settling in for 12-hour shifts while most of the city is trying to stay home.
Their stories rarely make headlines. Yet, for the more than 7,000 people who work for the City of Indianapolis and Marion County, these debates are not abstract. This is not an ode to public employees or an argument against critique. Accountability still matters. But as budget hearings begin and difficult choices follow, I am mindful of the people behind the numbers. Their work may not be the most visible, but it is part of what keeps this city moving.
What we understand is often shaped by what captures our attention, and sometimes by what does not. Governing asks us to look beyond the headline and beyond the next scroll of our thumb. The work of government is rarely as simple as it may appear, but the consequences are always real for the people living with the result.
