It’s easy to feel disconnected from local politics. Life is busy—between work, family, and everything else, who has time to sit through board meetings filled with procedural discussions and technical processes, not all of which seem consequential? Even when major decisions are made, there’s little-to-no local press covering what happens at Village Hall every day, no investigative journalism breaking down how policies affect us, no real-time analysis of the long-term impact of board votes. Residents check out because staying informed is too difficult. They hear snippets from friends and neighbors and form opinions based on frustration, vague impressions, or a general sense that "things just happen" without much transparency. They assume the worst and begin to doubt any decision that is made. Village initiatives that directly impact a particular area—whether it’s a proposed housing development, a zoning change, or another policy shift—briefly galvanize small pockets of the community into action.
Maybe they attend a Village Board meeting (in Northbrook, these are held every other Tuesday evening at Village Hall) and leave feeling even more disenfranchised. Public comments are limited by strict time constraints, or—if submitted digitally—by character limits. There’s little back-and-forth dialogue, no real evidence of critical thinking, and a general sense that the process is performative, with outcomes seemingly pre-determined. Many are afraid to speak out, fearing retribution—real or imagined—for themselves, their families, or their businesses. They privately encourage others to step up, even as they maintain their silent frustration. Those who do raise concerns are branded as self-interested obstructionists who only care about their petty agendas, rather than the broader community.
And the cycle worsens.
Meanwhile, the people who do step up—those who volunteer their time on boards, commissions, and community groups—are often the only ones consistently engaged. They don’t do it for money or recognition; they do it because they care. But when the same small group becomes entrenched and makes decisions year after year amid growing, often muted, public disillusionment, the system becomes insular.
Elected officials brand those who disagree as fringe outliers and justify their decisions using whatever high-level data fits their narrative. Mistakes go unacknowledged—not because they don’t happen, but because admitting them is seen as political weakness rather than an opportunity for introspection and improvement. Bold plans are unveiled, but progress is rarely measured or reported, so those plans get repackaged into the next "bold" announcement. The process begins to feel less like democracy and more like a closed loop, one that residents feel increasingly powerless to influence.
To maintain control, elected officials surround themselves with more people who already agree with them. They seek counsel from allies, appoint supporters to open positions, and stack committees with like-minded voices. Dissenting perspectives are marginalized, and an echo chamber takes hold. Positions harden, trust erodes, and words like "toxic," "drama," and "dysfunction" become accepted descriptors of "the other side."
The irony is that while many residents feel jaded—believing elected officials only cater to a small core constituency—those same officials see opposition as uninformed armchair quarterbacking, a sign of ingratitude from people who criticize but refuse to truly engage.
Those jaded residents who do summon the courage to get involved—and let’s be honest, there aren’t many, because volunteer work can be thankless—face huge hurdles to making real change. They are told they are doing it wrong because they don’t follow the established process preferred by those in power. Perhaps they have not voted previously (after all, what's the point in voting in an election with no opposition or choosing between two candidates neither of whom you like?), and opponents try to use that against them. Prominent residents may agree with them but fear sticking their neck out. Many give up. Elections become rubber-stamp ceremonies, with incumbents and their chosen successors running unopposed.
What starts as benevolent volunteerism gradually solidifies into an entrenched political structure, where maintaining power takes priority over what’s best for the municipality.
And so, the cycle continues. People don’t vote because they feel like their voice doesn’t matter. But their voice doesn’t matter because they don’t vote. Challenger slates face uphill battles against inertia and an entrenched system, and each year it becomes harder to find people willing to step up to the challenge. In Northbrook, our reality is that apathy reigns supreme.
Consider this when it comes to our municipal elections: - There are around 30,000 registered voters in Northbrook, but a typical municipal election sees only about 3,000 people vote. - The highest voter turnout since 2009 was in 2021, with only 23.7% of registered Northbrook voters casting a ballot. (Saying it again—23.7% is the highest.) - No Caucus-endorsed candidate has lost since before 2009, often in unopposed elections. (I’ll touch on the Caucus in a later post, but in short, it’s a volunteer-led group that recruits, interviews, and endorses candidates for Village offices, including the Village Board, Park District, Library Board, and School Boards—and does the heavy lifting to get them on ballots and market their candidacies.)
That’s a problem. An embarrassing one. And I’ll own my part in it—I’ve never voted in a village election before and didn’t realize just how apathetic we collectively were until very recently.
The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second-best time is today.
So, in the April 1st election, I will vote.
In the meantime, I will continue to dig deeper into what is happening and post here—hopefully beyond just this next election. If even a few people read this and choose to get engaged, that will be a success.
Engagement doesn’t have to be in local government—there are countless volunteer opportunities that can help improve Northbrook. But I do hope that these efforts, along with the efforts of others, translate into much higher turnout at the ballot box in local elections.
A 50% turnout may seem daunting given our recent history, but it still only means half of eligible voters are participating—which seems more than reasonable as a near-term sign of progress.
In the end, a more engaged Northbrook is a better Northbrook.