Reimagining Albuquerque

Monday night’s Albuquerque City Council meeting wasn’t just dysfunctional—it was a civic meltdown. What unfolded in the chambers was a disheartening mix of animosity, disrespect, and performative obstruction that left residents angry, silenced, and wondering whether their elected officials are capable of basic governance. At a time when Albuquerque faces urgent challenges, from housing instability to downtown disinvestment, councilors chose instead to bicker, posture, and openly insult the very people who came to participate in democracy.

A Slap in the Face to Farmers and Land Stewards

The evening opened with what should have been a routine, supportive action: renewing leases for farmers working with the city’s Open Space program. These farmers aren’t just growing crops: they’re restoring soil health, supporting native wildlife, and stewarding public land in ways that benefit the broader ecology.

But rather than appreciate or improve the partnership, several councilors, most notably Dan Lewis (District 5), used the opportunity to call the program’s process into question. Lewis suggested tossing the current leasing approach in favor of a more formal RFP process, a move likely to push out many current farmers and destabilize years of work. He even remarked that wildlife could simply be “placed” into the fields if needed—a comment so ignorant it bordered on parody.

Insulting Survivors in a Debate on Human Trafficking

Later, as the council took up discussion on regulating problematic motels—many of which are linked to crime, drug activity, and human trafficking—things took an even darker turn. Councilor Sanchez made a shocking statement, implying that survivors present in the chamber could have easily avoided their trauma if they had “just reported it” to the police.

This stunning disregard for the lived experiences of survivors was not just tone-deaf—it was cruel. It ignored everything we know about the complex barriers victims face, from fear of retaliation to lack of documentation. The room reacted with disbelief, but the council pressed forward without apology or acknowledgment of the harm caused to two survivors participating in the meeting in both the chambers and virtually.

A Rare Moment of Accountability—From the Administration

In what should have been a routine discussion about contracts for the Westside Emergency Housing Center (Now called Gateway West), the council’s ignorance around nonprofit work and contracting realities was on full display and not just from its usual antagonists.

Even councilors who are typically more cordial and measured joined in the spiral. Councilor Nichole Rogers (District 6), during questioning, launched into a misinformed critique of how homelessness services are funded, suggesting that too much money goes to staff and “not enough” to “direct aid.” The comment ignored the reality that navigating housing, ID recovery, employment, addiction, and trauma requires professional guidance and not just emergency items or handouts. Her framing inadvertently denigrated the very professionals doing this hard, complex work.

Similarly, Councilor Renée Grout (District 9) questioned why the contractor didn’t already have case managers ready; seemingly unaware that hiring specialized staff in this field is an uphill battle. These roles are notoriously underpaid, often face high burnout, and are difficult to fill, especially when city contracts offer non-competitive wages and unpredictable timelines—made worse by the council’s inability to govern.

In response, Chief Administrative Officer Dr. Samantha Sengel offered a rare and necessary rebuke. She reminded the council that the kind of “oversight” they claimed to exercise requires actual understanding. She warned that their behavior—questioning contracts while showing no grasp of nonprofit hiring realities or procurement law—was making Albuquerque a bad-faith partner. Her message was clear: this is not how serious cities govern.

The Collapse of a Vision: O-25-77 Gets Sabotaged

One of the most consequential agenda items was O-25-77—a proposal to place a Quality of Life Enhancement Fund on the November ballot. The fund would allow each district to direct local investments in public amenities, with catalytic projects like a Downtown Performing Arts Center proposed for District 2.

But rather than engage in serious debate, Councilor Lewis attempted to hijack the process—trying to force a vote before discussion could unfold. Councilor Peña insulted Councilor Baca. And in a dramatic twist, Councilor Fiebelkorn introduced an amendment that effectively gutted the bill: removing all district-specific projects and redirecting the entire fund toward affordable housing.

While the intent to fund housing is commendable, the move felt more like sabotage than strategy—transforming the bill into something unrecognizable and removing the momentum behind it. Rather than proposing a companion bill or seeking collaboration, the amendment derailed the measure entirely.

To make matters worse, these amendments were delivered not through respectful disagreement, but through a tone of derision and condescension that was wholly unbecoming of the Council. Several other proposed amendments, including ones made in good faith, were never even given a chance to be heard, buried under procedural games and personal vendettas.

Throughout the debate, councilors repeatedly dismissed the importance of investing in Downtown—ignoring both its central role in the city’s economic health and the ways their own districts already benefit from its shared infrastructure, jobs, and amenities. The obtuseness wasn’t just frustrating—it revealed a dangerous unwillingness to understand how cities function as interconnected systems, not isolated silos.

The end result was a wasted opportunity and a shameful display of how not to govern.

A Violation of Public Trust

As if the dysfunction weren’t enough, Councilor Lewis then procedurally recalled the bill—without reopening it for public comment. In doing so, the council not only skirted the spirit of transparency, but outright revoked the public’s right to be heard.

Dozens of residents had waited for hours, many having rearranged their evenings, to speak in support of the measure. They came ready to participate in democracy. Instead, they were silenced by a procedural stunt that prioritized political gamesmanship over public input. The betrayal was immediate—and visceral.

When the companion bill was brought up shortly after (and was functionally doomed by the failure of the main measure), the public finally had a chance to speak. What they delivered was less testimony than collective indictment.

One speaker sarcastically thanked the council “for the entertainment.” Another voiced hope that the bill would return, while others expressed deeper frustration; arguing that Albuquerque’s inability to invest in itself is pushing professionals to leave and deterring new ones from coming. Several praised the intent of the bill, especially its shift toward local, council-directed investment instead of constant reliance on Santa Fe or Washington.

What was clear—both in the chamber and among those watching online—was that the council had failed to do the work of the people. They didn’t just vote down a bill; they insulted every person who showed up in good faith. And in doing so, they proved unworthy of the chairs they currently occupy.

The City Deserves Better

Throughout the night, what emerged wasn’t just policy failure—it was a collapse of civic maturity. Councilors insulted land stewards, survivors, public servants, and each other. They violated public process and turned serious proposals into political theater. The dysfunction didn’t just derail legislation—it eroded trust.

But amid the wreckage, residents continued to show up. They voiced hope for a better Albuquerque—one that invests in itself, welcomes growth, and values community partnerships. They reminded us that while the adults may have left the room, the public has not.

Albuquerque deserves a council that matches that commitment—one willing to listen, lead, and act in good faith. Until then, the public must hold them accountable. Because if last night showed us anything, it’s that we can’t afford to let this become the new normal.

Projection, Pettiness, and the Need for New Leadership

Underlying much of the night’s dysfunction was something deeper than policy disagreement: a simmering animosity toward Mayor Tim Keller and his administration that councilors could barely conceal. Councilors Louie Sanchez, Renée Grout, and Dan Champine repeatedly blamed the administration for issues they themselves failed to understand or resolve—projecting their own disorganization and bad-faith behavior onto a scapegoat.

At multiple points, especially during the Westside Shelter debate, this disdain boiled over into open contempt. But the irony was hard to miss: it wasn’t the administration fumbling procedures, insulting the public, or undermining debate. It was the Council. And no moment crystallized that clearer than when CAO Dr. Samantha Sengel firmly corrected their misrepresentations and reminded them—publicly—that real oversight requires real understanding. The adults in the room weren’t seated at the dais.

What this meeting revealed isn’t just a policy gap, it’s a leadership vacuum. If Reimagining Albuquerque has argued that YIMBYism and respect for best-practices in planning should be the baseline qualifications for public office in a city facing a housing crisis and an inability to retain talent, this meeting added another minimum requirement: emotional maturity and basic professionalism. If a resident acted like this in a public meeting, they’d be gaveled down. If a worker behaved like this in their own job, they’d be fired. And yet these are the people making decisions that affect hundreds of thousands of lives.

Let this be a reminder: local elections are this November. Several of the councilors responsible for this civic embarrassment will be on the ballot. November 4th cannot come soon enough.