01/24/2026
I decided in high school that I was going to go into public service. Not because I thought it would make me rich—it won’t—or famous—it rarely does—but because I believed then, and I believe now, that government at its best is one of the most powerful tools we have to improve people’s lives.
Nobody wakes up one morning and says, “You know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to work long hours, take criticism from every direction, and explain complicated decisions to people who may never agree with me,” unless they care deeply about the place they live. Public service isn’t about the paycheck. It’s about the promise. The promise that if you show up, do the work, and act in good faith, you can make your community a little fairer, a little stronger, and a little more just than you found it.
As a graduate student at Arkansas State studying public administration, you learn something pretty quickly: there are two sides to almost every argument. And here’s the part they don’t always tell you—sometimes both sides are right. Sometimes both arguments have merit. The job of good government isn’t to pretend that complexity doesn’t exist. The job is to wrestle with it honestly.
Public service teaches you humility. It teaches you that certainty is easy, but wisdom takes work. It teaches you to ask questions before you give answers, and to listen before you decide. And it teaches you that process matters just as much as outcome—because how we govern says a lot about who we are.
That brings us to where we are right now in Craighead County.
We’re in the middle of a conversation about combining two elected positions into one. And let me say this clearly: looking for ways to improve government, to make it more efficient, to be good stewards of taxpayer dollars—that is not just reasonable, it’s necessary. Any government that refuses to examine itself is a government that’s already started to fail.
But efficiency, standing alone, is not a virtue. Efficiency without accountability is just speed. Efficiency without transparency is just convenience. And efficiency without careful consideration can end up costing us far more than it saves.
When we talk about changing the structure of local government—especially when it involves elected offices—we have an obligation to ask hard questions. What problem are we solving? What are the unintended consequences? How does this affect checks and balances? How does it affect public trust? And perhaps most importantly: who benefits, and who might be left behind?
The questions that have been raised by myself and others are not political gamesmanship. They are not attempts to stall progress. They are the questions that public servants are supposed to ask. And as of today, those questions have not yet been fully answered by the current county government.
I hope they will be. I hope that if this ordinance passes and is placed before the voters in November, those answers come with it—clearly, transparently, and in plain language. Because the people don’t just deserve a vote; they deserve the information that makes that vote meaningful.
Public service isn’t about winning arguments. It’s about earning trust. And trust is built when leaders show their work, explain their reasoning, and respect the intelligence of the people they serve.
That’s why I chose this path. That’s why so many of us choose this path. We believe that government can be better—not perfect, but better—if it’s guided by integrity, curiosity, and a willingness to ask the uncomfortable questions.
In the end, public service is an act of faith. Faith that our communities are worth fighting for. Faith that democracy works best when everyone is informed. And faith that if we do this the right way—thoughtfully, transparently, and together—we can leave Craighead County stronger than we found it.
That’s the virtue of public service. Not the title. Not the paycheck. But the responsibility—and the privilege—of helping shape the future of the place we call home.