Fox12news – Ideas & Analysis

I spent fifteen years inside broadcast newsrooms before stepping into this role at Fox 12, and if there’s one thing viewers consistently get wrong, it’s how stories end up on your screen each night. There’s this persistent myth that a shadowy cabal of executives sits in a boardroom picking stories to push some agenda. The reality is far less dramatic and, honestly, far more interesting.

Every single broadcast news decision is the product of competing pressures, tight deadlines, resource limitations, and yes, human judgment calls that sometimes miss the mark. Let me walk you through what actually happens behind those closed doors.

The Morning Meeting: Where It All Starts

Most local newsrooms hold their first editorial meeting around 9:30 or 10:00 a.m. Attendees include the news director, assignment desk editors, producers, reporters, and often the anchors if they’re not already out on stories. Someone, usually the managing editor or assistant news director, runs through the overnight developments. The assignment desk presents what’s come in from police scanners, press releases, and tip lines overnight.

Here’s what people outside the business don’t understand: most days, the slate of stories practically writes itself. A house fire, a city council vote, a police shooting, a scheduled press conference. The real editorial muscle gets flexed on what we don’t cover and how we prioritize what we do.

During that morning meeting, someone will pitch a consumer investigation. Someone else will argue for more weather coverage because a system is moving in. A reporter will flag that they’ve been working a story that needs one more day. The news director has to weigh all of this against what the competition is likely to run, what viewers responded to the night before, and what resources are actually available. That last piece matters more than most people realize.

The Resource Reality Check

Let’s say three significant stories break at roughly the same time. A political scandal, a major business closure affecting hundreds of workers, and a developing weather emergency. In a perfect world, you’d staff all three with experienced reporters and live trucks. In reality, the newsroom has four general assignment reporters available that day, two photographers, and one live truck that’s already booked for a scheduled noon hit. Something has to give.

Those resource constraints shape coverage more than any ideological bias ever could. I’ve watched news directors make painful calls to pull reporters off important stories simply because there wasn’t another body to send. That’s not conspiracy. That’s arithmetic.

The Assignment Desk: Nerve Center of the Operation

If the newsroom has a heartbeat, it’s the assignment desk. This is where scanner traffic gets monitored, phone calls from sources come in, and the first intelligence on breaking stories gets processed. A good assignment editor can make or break a newscast.

The desk operates with one foot in the present and one in the future. While the morning show is on the air, the desk is already thinking about what leads the noon and evening broadcasts. They’re dispatching crews, confirming details with official sources, and keeping track of which reporters are where. The pressure is constant.

When a major story breaks, the desk makes the first call on deployment. Get a reporter to the scene. Find out if there’s a press briefing scheduled. Start making phone calls to sources who might have information. All of this happens before most of the newsroom even knows something is developing. According to the Radio Television Digital News Association, local newsrooms have lost roughly a quarter of their staff over the past decade. That means assignment editors are doing more with less, and some stories that would have gotten coverage ten years ago simply fall through the cracks now.

Ratings, Demographics, and the Bottom Line

Here’s where the conversation gets uncomfortable for some journalists. Broadcast news is a business. Stations exist to make money, and that money comes from advertising, and advertisers pay based on who’s watching. This is not a secret. This is how the entire industry operates.

News directors track ratings obsessively. Not just overall viewership, but specific demographic breakdowns. Advertisers covet adults 25-54, particularly women in that range. If a particular type of story consistently drives that demographic away, it gets shorter shrift regardless of its journalistic merit.

This doesn’t mean newsrooms ignore important stories that don’t rate well. But it does mean those stories get placed differently. A deep investigation into water quality issues might run later in the newscast, with less promotional support, while a sensational crime story leads the broadcast. That’s not because anyone in the newsroom thinks crime is more important than water quality. It’s because the ratings data shows that’s what keeps viewers from changing the channel.

The tension between journalism and commerce exists in every single newsroom in this country. Pretending otherwise is dishonest. The best news directors fight that battle daily, pushing for coverage that matters while making enough concessions to ratings to keep the lights on.

Breaking News: The Chaos Factor

Scheduled news is one thing. Breaking news is an entirely different animal. When a major story breaks during a live broadcast, the producer has to make split-second decisions about what to put on screen, how long to stay with the story, and when to return to regular programming.

These decisions are made in real time with incomplete information. I’ve been in control rooms where the producer is juggling six things at once: the anchor’s script, live shots from the field, incoming phone interviews, social media reports that need verification, and a weather system that might require cut-ins. There is no time for careful philosophical deliberation about coverage priorities. You go with what you have, you correct mistakes as you go, and you hope you got it right.

The pressure during breaking news is immense. Get it wrong, and you’ve misled the public. Get it right but too slow, and viewers have already flipped to the competition. This is why you sometimes see stations report information that turns out to be incorrect. It’s not malicious. It’s the cost of speed in a competitive environment.

Corporate Influence: The Elephant in the Room

Most local stations are owned by large corporate groups. Those groups have their own priorities, and while they generally don’t dictate day-to-day editorial decisions, their influence is felt in subtler ways. Budget allocations determine staffing levels. Corporate directives about branding affect how stories are packaged. And yes, ownership changes can shift the tone and direction of a newsroom.

A Pew Research Center study found that local newsrooms owned by large groups tend to produce less original reporting and more shared content across stations. That’s not because the journalists are less committed. It’s because corporate ownership often means fewer resources per station, with content hubs producing stories for multiple outlets simultaneously.

The Producer’s Dilemma

Every evening newscast has a producer who builds the show. This person decides story order, how much time each story gets, which stories deserve live reporter coverage, and which get a brief anchor read. The producer operates under constraints most viewers never consider.

You have roughly 22 minutes of actual news content in a 30-minute broadcast. That’s it. Commercials, weather, sports, and teases eat the rest. Out of that 22 minutes, you have to cover your lead story, your secondary stories, any breaking developments, something lighter for the end of the show, and enough variety to keep different types of viewers engaged. Every minute given to one story is a minute taken from another.

Producers also have to think about what the other stations in the market are leading with. Not to copy them, but to differentiate. If everyone is leading with a crime story, the producer might decide to lead with a consumer story instead, hoping to catch viewers who are tired of the same coverage. These strategic decisions happen every single day.

FAQ: What Viewers Ask Most

Why does the news only show negative stories?

This is the most common complaint I hear, and it reflects a genuine misunderstanding of what news actually is. News, by definition, reports on what’s unusual or unexpected. If nothing bad happened today, that’s not a story. It’s the absence of a story. We cover crime, accidents, and conflict because those events disrupt normal life. That said, most newscasts include lighter segments precisely because producers know viewers need relief from the heavy stuff. But a positive feature story about a nonprofit doing good work will never lead a broadcast over a house fire where people lost their homes. That’s not negativity. That’s editorial judgment about what most directly affects the community.

How do you decide which stories to investigate?

Investigative stories require significant resources over extended periods. A typical investigative piece might take a reporter weeks or months, consuming time they’d otherwise spend on daily coverage. News directors greenlight investigations based on several factors: the potential impact on the community, the strength of the evidence already gathered, whether other outlets are working the same story, and whether the investment of time is likely to produce a result worth the cost. Not every good tip turns into an investigation. Some fall apart under scrutiny. Others get shelved because the newsroom simply can’t spare the reporter right now.

Do advertisers influence what stories you cover?

This question comes up constantly, and the answer is more complicated than a simple yes or no. Direct advertiser pressure on editorial content is a fireable offense in any legitimate newsroom. If a car dealer demands you kill a story about safety recalls, you don’t kill the story. Period. However, indirect influence exists. Stations that rely heavily on automotive advertising tend to cover car shows and new model launches more frequently. Real estate advertisers correlate with more housing market coverage. The influence is in what gets added to the roster, not what gets removed. And honestly, most of those added stories are legitimate consumer interest pieces that viewers actually want.

The Human Element

After all the meetings, ratings analysis, and resource allocation, broadcast news decisions come down to human beings making judgment calls. Those humans bring their own experiences, biases, and blind spots to the table. The best newsrooms have diverse editorial staffs who challenge each other’s assumptions and push for broader perspective. The worst newsrooms have echo chambers where unexamined thinking goes unchecked.

When you watch your local news tonight, know this: every story on that broadcast survived a gauntlet of practical constraints and editorial debate. Nothing ends up on your screen by accident. And while the system is imperfect, the people making these decisions are, by and large, trying their best to serve their communities with the tools and time they have available.

The next time you see a story that makes you angry, or a story you think is missing, consider the mechanism that produced what you’re watching. Understanding how broadcast news decisions are made won’t make the news perfect. But it might make you a more informed consumer of it.

I’ve spent fifteen years watching local newsrooms shrink across this country. What started as budget cuts and buyouts has become something far more damaging: entire communities left with no one watching the store. We call them news deserts—counties and towns where not a single reporter shows up to the school board meeting, the city council session, or the county commission hearing. And the consequences are exactly what you’d expect when you remove the watchdog from the yard.

Let’s be clear about what’s happening. Since 2004, the United States has lost roughly one-quarter of its newspapers. That’s over 2,500 publications gone, according to research from UNC’s Center for Innovation and Sustainability in Local Media. The people who paid attention so you didn’t have to—they’re not there anymore. And when nobody’s asking questions, the people in power stop worrying about the answers.

What Exactly Is a Local News Desert?

A news desert is a community—usually a county or small city—that has no local news outlet providing original reporting. No daily newspaper. No local digital outlet doing real investigative work. Maybe there’s a weekly paper running press releases, or a regional TV station that sends a truck when something catches fire. But there’s no one doing the sustained, methodical coverage that keeps local government honest.

These deserts aren’t distributed evenly. Rural areas get hit first and worst. The American West and the deep South have been particularly affected. But medium-sized cities are now feeling the squeeze too—places that once had competing daily papers now have one struggling outlet, or none at all.

The economics are brutal and well-documented. Advertising revenue that once funded local newsrooms has migrated to tech platforms. Classifieds disappeared into Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace. When the money left, the reporters left with it. What remains in many communities is a shell—sometimes literally, with papers that still publish but have no editorial staff to speak of.

The Corruption Connection: What Happens When Nobody’s Watching

Here’s where the data gets uncomfortable. A study published in the Journal of Law, Economics, and Organization found that municipal borrowing costs increase when local newspapers close. Why? Because lenders recognize that without a local reporter scrutinizing city finances, the risk of fiscal mismanagement goes up. The market literally prices in corruption.

And it’s not just borrowing costs. Research from Penn State and the University of Chicago found that newspaper closures lead to increases in both government wages and the likelihood of government inefficiency. When reporters stop showing up, local officials increase their own salaries. Government spending per capita rises. The cost of corruption gets passed directly to taxpayers.

Think about how local corruption actually works. It’s not usually some grand conspiracy. It’s a zoning board member approving a friend’s development project. It’s a school district overpaying a contractor with connections. It’s a sheriff’s department with a budget nobody questions. These are the stories that require a reporter who knows the players, attends the meetings, reads the budget line items, and asks the uncomfortable questions in a public forum.

The Watchdog Function Isn’t Abstract

Let me make this concrete. In 2017, the Des Moines Register uncovered that a local school district had misspent over $1 million in federal funds. In 2019, the Charleston Gazette-Mail revealed that a pharmaceutical distributor had shipped 20 million opioid pills to a single pharmacy in a town of 3,000 people. These aren’t stories that materialize from thin air. They come from reporters who spend weeks or months pulling records, tracking down sources, and putting pieces together.

When that reporting capacity disappears, it doesn’t get replaced by social media or partisan blogs. Facebook groups don’t file public records requests. Twitter threads don’t sit through a six-hour county commission meeting. The watchdog function is specific, labor-intensive, and expensive. And when it’s gone, the people who benefit most are the ones who prefer to operate without scrutiny.

Voter Turnout: The Quiet Casualty

The corruption story gets attention, and it should. But the voter turnout story is just as significant—and in some ways more insidious, because it corrodes the foundation of democratic participation itself.

Studies consistently show that local news coverage directly correlates with voter participation. When people know what’s happening in their community—what the school board is deciding, how the city budget is allocated, who’s running for county commissioner—they show up to vote. When that information disappears, they don’t.

A 2018 study in the Journal of Communication found that voter participation in local elections drops significantly when local newspapers close. The effect is most pronounced in down-ballot races—school board, county commission, city council—where voters typically rely on local coverage to even know who’s running. These are the positions that most directly affect daily life: property tax rates, school curricula, zoning decisions, public safety policy.

Here’s the cycle: Local coverage declines. Voters become less informed about local races. Turnout drops. Elected officials face less accountability. Policy decisions become more susceptible to influence from well-organized special interests. The community loses agency over its own governance.

The Information Vacuum Gets Filled

One thing I want to be direct about: the information void doesn’t stay empty. When local news disappears, people don’t stop consuming information—they just consume different information. And what fills that void is often worse than nothing.

National partisan outlets step in, framing every local issue as part of a broader cultural war. A school board debate about curriculum funding becomes a referendum on critical race theory. A zoning dispute becomes evidence of government overreach. Social media algorithms, designed to maximize engagement, amplify conflict and outrage rather than context and nuance.

The result? People in news deserts often know less about their own community while simultaneously feeling more intense—often misplaced—conviction about national political narratives that have little connection to their actual daily lives. This is how you get communities where voter turnout in a mayoral race is 12% but participation in a presidential election is above 70%. The things that matter most to daily life get the least attention.

Who Pays the Price?

News deserts don’t affect everyone equally. Low-income communities and communities of color are disproportionately impacted. These are populations that already face systemic barriers to political participation, and the loss of local coverage compounds those barriers.

When a local newspaper closes in a wealthy suburb, residents often have alternative information networks—community organizations, parent-teacher associations, local business groups—that help fill some of the gaps. In lower-income communities, those networks are often weaker or nonexistent. The people who most need advocacy journalism are the first to lose it.

This isn’t theoretical. I’ve seen it happen in real time. When the only reporter covering the county courthouse takes a buyout, the next meeting happens with empty press seats. The decisions made in that meeting affect real people—renters facing eviction, parents navigating underfunded schools, workers dealing with unsafe conditions. Without coverage, those decisions happen in effective darkness.

What Can Actually Be Done?

I’m not going to pretend there’s a simple solution here. The business model for local news is fundamentally broken, and no single fix will repair it. But there are approaches worth paying attention to.

Nonprofit newsrooms are growing, supported by foundations and individual donors. Organizations like the Texas Tribune and the New Mexico In Depth have demonstrated that nonprofit models can produce serious local accountability journalism. But they tend to concentrate in states with large populations and donor bases—they don’t easily reach the small rural counties that need coverage most.

Public funding for local journalism has gained traction in several states. New Jersey established the Civic Information Consortium, a public fund supporting local news initiatives. Similar proposals have emerged elsewhere. The idea is straightforward: democracy requires an informed public, and an informed public requires reporting, and reporting requires resources. If the market won’t provide those resources, the public sector may need to step in—with appropriate safeguards for editorial independence.

Community-supported models, where local residents fund coverage directly, can work in communities with strong civic infrastructure. But they struggle to scale and often can’t sustain the kind of investigative work that holds power accountable.

None of these is a silver bullet. All of them have trade-offs. But doing nothing is a choice too—and right now, doing nothing is the option we’re collectively choosing.

FAQ

What qualifies as a local news desert?

A local news desert is a community—typically a county—that lacks any dedicated local news outlet producing original, verified reporting on local government and civic affairs. This means no daily or weekly newspaper with editorial staff, no local digital newsroom doing investigative or accountability journalism, and no consistent local reporting presence at government meetings or community events.

Does social media replace local news coverage?

No. Social media platforms distribute information, but they rarely produce original local reporting. Facebook groups and Reddit threads can share community updates, but they don’t file public records requests, conduct systematic investigations, or provide consistent coverage of government proceedings. Social media can complement local news, but it cannot substitute for the watchdog function of professional journalism.

How does the loss of local news specifically affect voter turnout?

Local news provides the information voters need to make decisions about down-ballot races and local ballot measures. When that coverage disappears, voters often don’t know who’s running for school board or city council, what those positions entail, or what issues are at stake. Research shows voter participation drops most significantly in local elections—school board, county commission, municipal races—where information about candidates and issues is primarily available through local news coverage.

The bottom line is simple: when the press isn’t there, the people in power operate with less accountability, and the people they serve participate less in their own governance. News deserts aren’t just a media industry problem—they’re a democracy problem. And until we treat them that way, the erosion will continue.

The Buyout Nobody Wanted to Talk About

By mid-February, the Office of Personnel Management had quietly tallied the damage. Approximately 75,000 federal workers had accepted the so-called “deferred resignation” buyout offer before the deadline passed. That’s not a typo. Seventy-five thousand people. Gone or leaving soon.

The press releases from Washington called it streamlining. Efficiency. Necessary reform. What they didn’t call it was what it actually is: the largest coordinated federal workforce exodus in decades, and one that’s now facing legal challenges from at least 19 state attorneys general who argue it violates basic congressional budget authority.

I’ve covered three budget cycles in this city. I know how municipal governments work. I know how fragile the infrastructure actually is when you strip it down. So when those 75,000 acceptances hit the wire, I didn’t think about Washington politics. I thought about the meat inspector who won’t be at the plant on Monday. The VA caseworker who won’t return your call. The Social Security office that’s already understaffed.

The Food Supply Chain Gets Real, Real Fast

Start here. The USDA’s Food Safety and Inspection Service issued a warning that meat inspection staffing cuts could create processing delays at more than 6,500 federally inspected facilities across the country. That’s not theoretical. That’s your grocery store. That’s the distribution hub forty miles outside the city. That’s restaurants.

I called a food safety consultant I’ve worked with before. She told me straight: inspection delays don’t just mean slower processing. They mean bottlenecks. They mean smaller meat distributors getting squeezed out because they can’t absorb the delay costs. They mean less competition. They mean, eventually, higher prices at your grocery store and your butcher shop downtown.

The CBO ran the economic numbers, and they’re not reassuring. Federal employment cuts could reduce GDP growth by somewhere between 0.1 and 0.3 percentage points in 2025. That sounds small until you realize it compounds. That’s less business activity. That’s fewer dollars circulating in local economies. That’s the small supply chain business that can’t make payroll in Q2.

The Veterans Affairs Gut Check

Here’s the number that keeps me up: the Department of Veterans Affairs employs roughly 480,000 people. That makes it one of the primary targets for DOGE’s workforce reviews. The VA is massive. It’s also the direct lifeline for millions of veterans, including the ones living in your community right now.

I have sources at the local VA clinic. They’re not panicking publicly, but they’re managing expectations. They’re already seeing delayed appointment scheduling. They’re already watching wait times creep up. The buyout program incentivized people to leave, and some of those people had critical institutional knowledge. Some of them were the only person in their office who knew how to navigate a particular benefits process.

When you cut staff at the VA, you’re not cutting bureaucracy. You’re cutting the people who help a 68-year-old former Marine navigate his disability claims. You’re cutting the counselor who talks someone through a benefits crisis at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. The impacts aren’t abstract. They land in someone’s kitchen.

The Legal Landmine That’s Still Live

Nineteen state attorneys general filed legal challenges against the buyout program by early March. Their argument is straightforward: Congress controls the power of the purse. Congress appropriates money for federal positions. The Executive Branch doesn’t get to unilaterally declare 75,000 of those positions redundant and pay people to leave without congressional authorization.

I called a government law professor at the state university. She said this case has real teeth. The courts have historically protected congressional appropriations authority. It’s one of the few areas where the courts actually say no to executive power. But litigation takes time. Years, probably. Meanwhile, those 75,000 people are already gone or scheduled to leave.

Read the details yourself. The OPM Deferred Resignation Program Details are public. So is the CBO Federal Workforce Economic Impact Analysis. The numbers are there. The questions are too.

What This Actually Means for Your City

Here’s what I’m watching in real time. The city’s Social Security office is running on a skeleton crew. Processing times for cases are already up. The federal courthouse is operating with fewer clerks. The EPA regional office that handles water quality permits just lost staff. The CDC field office that handles disease surveillance lost people too.

These aren’t Washington problems anymore. They’re the problems that show up when you need a permit processed and it takes three months instead of six weeks. They show up when a public health issue needs investigation and there aren’t enough people to investigate it. They show up when the invisible infrastructure that keeps a city functioning gets thinner and thinner.

I’m working three separate stories right now: one about delays at a local processing facility, one about the VA clinic impact, and one about a state attorney general’s legal strategy. If you’re seeing similar impacts in your community, I want to know. Call me. Email me. Text me. This is exactly the kind of story where the real reporting happens because someone on the ground noticed something broke.

The Numbers Tell a Story, If You Know Where to Look

I got a call last Tuesday from a city planner in Des Moines. She didn’t want to be named. She was calling because her grant coordinator position—federally funded, federally staffed—suddenly didn’t exist anymore. Not eliminated by her city council. Eliminated by the Department of Government Efficiency’s 2025 workforce restructuring. She’s not alone. The Office of Personnel Management data shows roughly 75,000 federal employees received either termination notices or buyout packages by February 2025. That’s not a reorganization. That’s a systemic shift with consequences nobody properly anticipated.

Here’s where the story gets interesting. When I started pulling threads on this, I called three city finance directors, two state budget analysts, and a Congressional Budget Office researcher. The pattern they described wasn’t chaotic. It was predictable. Predictably devastating.

Following the Money (And Watching It Disappear)

The National League of Cities released its 2026 Federal Funding Report in January, and the data hit harder than I expected. The average municipality dependent on federal grants faced funding gaps of $4.2 million in fiscal year 2025 alone. Let me translate that from budget-speak: potholes. Delayed affordable housing projects. Community centers running on outdated equipment. People working in city hall scrambling to cover jobs that used to have dedicated federal staff.

One program got gutted specifically. HUD’s Community Development Block Grant program—the mechanism that funnels roughly $3.3 billion annually to local governments—saw its administrative staff cut by 40 percent under DOGE restructuring. When I called the HUD regional office, I got a lot of “no comment” responses. So I called the mayors instead. That’s where the real story lives.

I reviewed the National League of Cities 2026 Federal Funding Report line by line. Every municipality I contacted verified the same pattern. Applications stalling. Approvals taking three times as long. Guidance documents that stopped being updated. The infrastructure isn’t broken. It’s understaffed to the point of malfunction.

The Real Cost: What Gets Lost When Coordinators Disappear

Columbus, Ohio’s mayor didn’t go public with complaints for political theater. Neither did Albuquerque’s. At least 14 mayors, including these two, sent a joint letter to Congress in December 2025. The message was stripped of diplomatic language: federal coordination staff reductions would collapse local service delivery. Not might collapse. Would collapse.

These weren’t hypothetical concerns. A city housing coordinator told me she used to receive weekly calls from federal program officers. Now? Radio silence. She’s managing the same grant programs with no federal guidance. “I’m making decisions I shouldn’t have to make,” she said. I didn’t include her name in my notes because she feared retaliation from city leadership already under pressure to find funding.

The Congressional Budget Office released its Federal Workforce Analysis in late 2025, and the projection lands hard: federal workforce reductions will shift an estimated $12 billion in administrative burden to state and local governments over five years. That’s not abstract economics. That’s your tax money redirected. That’s city staff doing double duty. That’s grant applications sitting in piles because there’s nobody on the federal end to process them.

How Information Gets Lost in Translation

This is where my training as a journalist matters. The story isn’t just what happened. It’s how we know it happened. I reviewed that Congressional Budget Office Federal Workforce Analysis 2025 three times because I wanted to understand their methodology. They modeled the cascading effects. They didn’t speculate. They calculated.

But here’s what troubles me. Most local news outlets didn’t cover this story. Not because it wasn’t newsworthy. Because it doesn’t fit neatly into a single news cycle. Federal budget cuts are abstract. City potholes are concrete. A grant program stalling isn’t dramatic. A crumbling street is. By the time citizens see the actual impact, the cause has disappeared from the news cycle.

When I spoke with state budget analysts, they described a different problem. Information about federal cuts wasn’t traveling to them through official channels. They were learning about staffing changes from panicked city managers. The federal agencies themselves weren’t communicating clearly because the communication infrastructure had been dismantled. That fracture makes it harder for local governments to respond, and harder for anyone to track what’s actually going wrong.

What Happens Next Depends on What We Do Now

The mayors’ letter to Congress wasn’t just a complaint. It was a warning that the current system can’t function without coordination between federal and local government. That coordination requires people. It requires communication. It requires infrastructure that takes years to rebuild once it’s dismantled.

I don’t have all the answers about what should happen next. But I know what questions need asking. Are your city officials tracking these federal staffing changes? Are they estimating the actual cost to your municipality? Are they talking about it publicly? Because if they’re not, the federal workforce cuts become an invisible crisis. The systems fail quietly. The services degrade without explanation.

If you work in local government or know someone who does, I want to hear from you. Not for attribution if you need protection. But I need to know what’s actually happening in your city. What programs are stalling? What are your coordinators telling you about the federal side? The story the mayors told Congress is real. But it needs verification at the ground level, where you live. Send me what you know.