Patrick Semansky/AP Photo
Outside the doors of the House of Delegates chamber at the Maryland State House in Annapolis
How many watchdogs does a government need?
Earlier this year, Maryland State Delegate Vaughn Stewart, a 33-year-old legislator representing the D.C. suburbs in Montgomery County, announced that his state, at least, could use one more.
He pointed to such recent state scandals as that of Maryland’s Republican Gov. Larry Hogan using an app that deletes messages to state employees after 24 hours, and Hogan’s administration waiting months before notifying residents they may have received spoiled vaccines. “If the pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that government effectiveness is a life-or-death issue,” Stewart stressed.
His bill, HB 152, would amend Maryland’s state constitution to establish the new statewide position of public advocate, an elected ombudsman who would “receive, respond to, and investigate ethics complaints” against state officials. The advocate’s duties would also include deepening public engagement with government by deploying measures like new complaint and comment tools and citizen assemblies.
The legislation, which is currently stalled in the House, is part of what Stewart and the Democracy Policy Network—an interstate coalition of democracy-minded legislators and advocates—hope will be just the first in a new push to catalyze public advocate posts across the U.S. In mid-December, the Network convened a virtual event pitching the idea to lawmakers, staffers, and activists; over 220 individuals RSVP’d from 42 states. In Pennsylvania, there’s also a legislative push to establish a health care–specific public advocate, someone who could investigate not only the government but also the private sector. The idea was inspired by similar health care–specific positions that exist in Nevada and Connecticut. So far, none of the attendees of the virtual event have yet run with the statewide idea, according to Pete Davis, the co-founder of the group. But his hope is to win in Maryland first. “It’s certainly exciting to be part of something that could spawn into a broader movement,” says Stewart.
The idea of a government ombudsman traces its roots back to the early 1700s in Sweden, when the king appointed an individual to oversee his ministers. “Ombudsman” comes from the Swedish word for “go-between” or intermediary. By the 1800s, the Swedish Ombudsman had evolved into a position appointed by the Swedish Parliament to “protect individuals against the excesses of the bureaucracy,” writes Mark Green, a former public advocate in New York City. It spread to Finland in 1919, Denmark in 1955, and then quickly across Europe and parts of Asia. By the 1960s—led by consumer advocate Ralph Nader—it gained traction in the U.S. The first state to have a classic ombudsman role was Hawaii in 1969, and by 1978, nearly half of the states had established similar roles.
Nader, who also led a push for a national ombudsman, says he faced great bipartisan opposition. “Every company in Washington would meet us to try to block it,” he recalls. “It’s the number one target for corporate lobbies—you think they want something interfering with their cushy regulators who then go into industry when their term is up?” He said federal lawmakers viewed it as “infiltration” but the opposition was a “testament to its own effectiveness.”
The public advocate’s duties would include deepening public engagement with government by deploying measures like new complaint and comment tools and citizen assemblies.
In the U.S., not many public advocates exist anymore outside of New York City. Jumaane Williams currently serves as New York City’s public advocate, a post which, uniquely, is an elected position rather than the appointed nonpartisan one. New York City’s was established in 1993, since which the city’s various public advocates have led efforts such as establishing a citywide 311 system, shutting down cigarette vending machines, and suing to obtain police misconduct records. At the Democracy Policy Network’s event last December, Williams reflected on his time in office and what he sees as the unique potential of a post like his.
“We take our lead from what’s happening on the ground; we hear from people on the ground, and then turn that into reports that we hope can help get legislation done,” he said, pointing to a report his office published in November 2020 that analyzed how the city government responded to the first COVID-19 wave and included recommendations for how it could act more effectively in the future. But if you’re looking to expand the public advocate model, Williams urged, make sure it’s properly resourced. “It took far too long for us to get an independent budget, and we’re still fighting for subpoena power,” he said. “Do it, but make sure it has the teeth it needs.”
In Maryland, a hearing for Stewart’s bill was held on January 25, and included favorable testimony from groups like Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington and the United States Ombudsman Association. The Maryland Department of Legislative Services estimated the cost of establishing a public advocate, along with an assistant public advocate, two investigators, an administrative specialist, and one half-time assistant attorney general to be about $370,000.
The idea was met somewhat skeptically at the hearing, with other Maryland legislators unconvinced that achieving the objectives of a public advocate necessitated a constitutional amendment. Other lawmakers balked at the idea that they would need another person to push them to do their own jobs. “We are public advocates, that is our job too, that is exactly what we do,” said one Republican delegate.
Stewart defended the idea to his colleague, noting that a public advocate could expedite the kinds of investigations and reports that Maryland’s part-time legislature generally can’t afford to take on.
“I think the hearing went about as well as we expected,” he told me. “Anytime you propose a new idea that people have not really thought about before, it’s going to engender a lot of questions, especially when you’re trying to amend the state constitution.” Once the legislature is out of session, however, the balance of power shifts away from them with or without a public advocate. In 2020, the Maryland legislature adjourned its session early due to COVID, whereupon the legislators could do little but watch as the governor effectively made every major decision until they returned to Annapolis the following January. “It was the perfect encapsulation of why an elected public watchdog who is not part-time but performing his or her duties 12 months a year is necessary,” Stewart said.
In Pennsylvania, activists with Put People First! Pennsylvania and Partners for Dignity and Rights have been pushing for a new Office of the Public Healthcare Advocate, which grew out of a campaign they’d been waging for universal health care. Through that work, they were able to see more clearly how difficult it was for ordinary individuals to not only access care but get help with problems. “Our members and their communities were just consistently being denied health care, and I think just realized that some of these agencies have been effectively captured by the industries they’re supposed to regulate,” said Ben Palmquist, a program director with Partners for Dignity and Rights. “From that experience, Put People First! developed this vision, to create a single point of access for people having trouble in our fragmented health care system.” A bill to establish the office was introduced in the Pennsylvania legislature last year.
Palmquist sees their idea as complementary to the statewide public advocate being proposed in Maryland. “If the goals are to rebalance power and introduce more accountability, then ideally we’d extend this to the private sector,” he said.
How does a public advocate or ombudsman differ from an auditor, or a comptroller, or a GAO-type office?
Margie Sollinger, the city ombudsman for Portland, Oregon, who submitted testimony in support of Stewart’s bill, told the Prospect that while those oversight roles are complementary, they are not duplicative. “They differ in scope, the lens through which they evaluate information, and how they ensure that their recommendations are accepted,” she said. “Performance auditors, for example, tend to look at a program or department and assess its performance based on the established criteria and through the lens of efficiency and effectiveness.” Ombuds offices, by contrast, mostly focus on complaints from the public who feel they’ve been mistreated.
In some ways, Stewart and supporters of the public advocate role describe the job in rhetoric that is ill-suited for the modest size and budget of the office. If the goal is to have citizens no longer feel ignored by their elected officials, then a statewide post with a skeletal staff is probably not capable of delivering on that promise. “I think you caught me speaking out of both sides of my mouth,” Stewart said when I asked him about this. “I have to convince the Republicans this isn’t some example of bureaucratic bloat, where we’re tossing tens of millions of dollars into job creation, but obviously I don’t want the staff to be so tiny that they can’t fulfill their mission, so that’s an inherent tension.” Stewart says he doesn’t know how many staff would be ultimately necessary, and that the answer might evolve over time, depending on who held the office.
For now, the prospect of a statewide public advocate in Maryland faces long odds. Bills have to pass the House by March 21st, and while it’s not formally dead, the legislation still has not been assigned to a subcommittee since its hearing. If passed by the legislature, it would also still have to go before voters for ratification in November’s election. “It would be somewhat naïve if I had assumed any constitutional amendment would be easy to get through,” Stewart said. “But if it doesn’t pass this year, I’m introducing it again.”
