There’s a funny thing about government: the longer an idea sits on a shelf, the more some officials insist it’s “already decided.” Twenty years in a binder becomes holy writ. Consultants sign off, commissions nod, boards vote, and somewhere in Lansing a grant officer sprinkles “bike-lane” dust so the money moves. Presto—your town is “engaged,” your voice “heard,” and your job is to clap politely, no dissent, that’s negative, only troublemakers are negative.
Except Hillsdale isn’t ruled by decree. We live in a republic. And on Wednesday night, standing room only, people backed into the hall, crowed in doorways, showed up and proved it.
The meeting they didn’t want
City council members called it a “waste of time.” Road diet supporters dismissed it as “not needed.” But the people came anyway—business owners, homeowners, parents, grandparents. The irony? Only one pro-diet councilman, Wolfram, bothered to attend. All three opponent councilmen of the project came, listened, and spoke to their neighbors. The rest hid behind “the process.” It’s over, why start listening to your neighbors now?
If you want to know what democracy-by-decree looks like, picture this: a packed room of citizens pouring out stories and concerns while the majority of those who voted for the project couldn’t even be bothered to sit in the chairs provided for them.
Voices of the people
The beauty of this night wasn’t uniformity—it was variety. You could hear Hillsdale talking to itself. Politely, calmly, passionately. Things the missing council members fail at quite remarkedly.
- Luke Robson (downtown owner): Project funded by TIFFA, Renaissance, City; claims 36 new parking spaces; City pays $135k vs $250k the City would owe for required fixes anyway; killing it later would trigger an MDOT design reimbursement “likely over $100k” and “probably exceed $135k.” Frames Plan A (build) vs Plan B (kill & pay, get nothing).
- The resident on Broad Street shared tragedy: a dog killed by a speeding car, a road-rage crash scattering parts into his yard, a crosswalk he wouldn’t let his children use. For him, slower was safer.
- Penny Swan insisted the plan had been vetted for “nearly 20 years,” passed multiple times, and was no secret. For her, the issue was simple: respect the process.
- On the other side, Ginger from Howell Street shot back: move the trucks off Broad, they’ll pound Howell into rubble, and then the city will slap homeowners with $5,000 special assessments to fix damage they didn’t cause. That’s not safety—that’s punishment.
- Elizabeth and her husband, parents who once opposed the plan, described how they’d changed their minds. Safety mattered. So did the math: $800,000 in infrastructure work rolled into a $1 million project mostly paid by the state. “A 97% return on investment,” she called it.
- Joel Calvert came armed with a book on city planning, quoting studies that three-lane conversions don’t reduce capacity, and often move traffic better.
- Cindy at the Filling Station painted vivid pictures: semis smashing mirrors, plows ripping cars, seniors nearly creamed getting out with a cane. She called the bike lane label a gimmick—“it’s really just a buffer zone so people can open their doors.”
- Former mayor Greg Bailey urged trust in the process, arguing the loudest opponents were a vocal minority.
- Zack Stiger warned that Broad Street’s heritage and the specter of Lansing bike-lane politics mattered: Frames bike lane as ideological/political inroad; stresses democracy over technocracy.
- Middle-grounders like David Hamilton admitted grants are “Satan’s work” but saw value in the drainage fixes. He hated the rushed timeline, hated the sales pitch, but ultimately leaned toward yes, with a grimace.
- And then there were voices like CJ, torn between wanting added parking and fearing bike-lane collisions, and Tim Sullivan, an investor who loves Hillsdale enough to buy downtown buildings but still questioned how the process was rushed past residents.
On and on the stories came—personal, emotional, reasoned, skeptical. This wasn’t Lansing. It wasn’t Ann Arbor. It was Hillsdale.
The shifting price tag
Not even a month ago, residents were told the city’s share would be $200,000. Once Councilman Bentley pressed MDOT, suddenly that number doubled to $400,000. If the numbers are that slippery before a shovel hits the dirt, what do you suppose happens once the change orders start flying? The people deserve clarity—not a moving target that only grows when questioned.
We also heard that turning down the project now could trigger a bill from MDOT for design work—numbers like $100,000+ floated at the mic—and that the city’s outlay is “only” about $135,000 for a project worth around $1 million once the outside dollars are counted.
Let’s speak plainly. Lansing doesn’t print money in Hillsdale. Grants are our dollars laundered through distance, then returned with conditions that reshape local life to fit someone else’s template. The sales pitch always sounds the same: “Say yes fast or you’ll lose out.” That’s not stewardship; that’s a used-car lot with a seal of approval.
If the state tied our hands with a reimbursement clause, that’s not a reason to surrender the town; it’s a reason to expose the clause and demand better terms. Don’t let “we might owe MDOT” become the new “you’ll own nothing and be happy.”
Consent vs. decree
Supporters of the road diet want to frame this as “the process has spoken.” But process without consent is not legitimacy—it’s paperwork. In a republic, consent is earned, not assumed.
What Wednesday night revealed is that the people still care. They still want a say. And under Michigan law and the City Charter, they can have one. A petition—filed by a single registered voter, signed by several hundred neighbors—can put this decision where it belongs: on the ballot.
Let the people weigh the promises against the costs. Let them decide if the “97% return” is real, or if the bill creeping from $200k to $400k is the real story. Let them decide if its “slowing traffic” or “increasing congestion”. Here’s a hint, MDOT sets the speed limit and it will not be lowered, this inconvenient fact is it well known and never once mentioned by a supporter.
“Bike lanes” or buffers? Words matter—and so do votes
Another favorite maneuver is the vocabulary flip. We’re told these aren’t “bike lanes,” they’re “buffers.” Fine. Call them jellybeans. The argument isn’t over paint color; it’s over consent. If downtown merchants want calmer traffic and better door clearance, make the case—to the people who live here—and earn a mandate the old-fashioned way. Stop fear mongering.
Supporters quoted books and studies saying three lanes with a center turn can move traffic as well as four. Maybe so, interesting that the plan is for two lanes not three. But in a republic, “expertise” informs the debate; it doesn’t end it. Let the book citations appear beside traffic counts, freight routes, and parking maps in a voter guide—and then let voters decide what trade-offs they accept on their own street. More trivia, did you know all the “data” being used is from the traffic during the middle of winter? It’s almost as if the people pushing this know the people of Hillsdale are very trusting people and don’t consider the information given to them by their government made up of their neighbors would ever purposefully give them misinformation….
“Representative government” doesn’t mean “don’t ask us”
Some argued we’re a representative democracy, not a direct one, so Council’s 5–3 should be the last word. That confuses the point. Representation is the method; consent is the authority. When representation drifts—especially on big, durable, quality-of-life changes—the people have tools to refresh consent. A referendum isn’t mutiny; it’s maintenance. It’s the citizenry saying, “We’ll own this decision together,” which is exactly how a free city stays free.
The conservative way forward
Here’s a settlement conservatives can live with whether the project passes or fails at the ballot. This is what consent looks like and Hillsdale is touted around the entire Country as the Premier Conservative bastion. So let’s practice what we preach, shall we?
- File the petition. Don’t wait. Start now.
- Lay the facts bare. Publish the true cost, the MDOT reimbursement clause, the parking counts, the truck-routing plan. No more numbers that double when questioned.
- Tie rhetoric to resolution. If savings are promised, bind them in writing to lower or kill SADs—not in press releases, in law.
- Vote it up or down. If the road diet passes, it passes with legitimacy. If it fails, fix Broad Street without Lansing’s strings, the City doesn’t have to pay a dime and we keep four lanes.
A Republic, “and four lanes” if we can keep it!
The packed meeting proved something hopeful: Hillsdale is still alive. Neighbors still care enough to show up, argue, applaud, and disagree without breaking the community. The only ones missing were those who voted for the project and didn’t want to face the music.
If you support the road diet, sign the petition—you’ll win legitimacy. If you oppose it, sign the petition—you’ll win your chance to stop it. Either way, Hillsdale wins when consent is restored.
Because we don’t live by city-hall decree. We live in a Republic. And in a Republic, the people always get the last word—if they demand it.
in Liberty,
Vice Chair: Lance Lashaway
The Hillsdale Conservatives.