Rubber stamps and executive orders

Executive orders are sometimes necessary, but they are never enough. When major national policy shifts come from the stroke of a pen rather than the scrutiny of a legislative body, they are not only fragile—they are undemocratic in the most literal sense. They bypass the very people elected to represent us.

Consider the case of the Keystone XL pipeline. Approved by executive order under one president, canceled by executive order under the next. Regardless of one’s position on the pipeline, the whiplash was real. Billions were committed, then wasted. Communities that prepared for economic growth were left holding the bag. This is no way to govern infrastructure—by impulse.

The Paris Climate Agreement is another example. Entered into by executive decision, withdrawn by the next administration, then re-entered again. These are not small symbolic gestures. These are global commitments with real economic, diplomatic, and regulatory consequences. Yet America’s position became a matter of presidential preference, not national consensus—a yo-yo of executive will.

Then there’s DACA—the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. Designed to offer stability to young people brought to the U.S. as children, the program changed thousands of lives for the better. It was also created entirely through executive action, and nearly dismantled the same way. That’s not policymaking. That’s policymaking theater, and the human cost is enormous.

What links all of these examples is not the issue itself, but the method. Executive orders invite reversals. They provoke court challenges. They can be undone overnight because when Congress is left on the sidelines, the public is, too.

There’s a deeper danger here. Executive action without legislative scrutiny is bad enough—but when elected officials fail to challenge or question those directives, they are not simply being polite. They are ceding the power that rightfully belongs to the people who elected them. A legislator who refuses to scrutinize an executive action is, in effect, disenfranchising their voters.

In Tuesday’s editorial, we reminded readers of the senator who warned that if lawmakers stop asking questions, the legislature becomes a “ceremonial echo chamber.” That warning applies here with equal force. When elected bodies act as mere validators of executive preference—rather than active participants in shaping law—representative government erodes.

Although these examples come from the national stage, the lesson is very much a local one. Whether the policy concerns energy, health care, housing, or schools, decisions made without public deliberation are decisions made without real accountability. Too often, local governing bodies follow the same path: letting board members, mayors, city managers, or administrators chart the course while elected officials simply nod along.

Public office is not a platform for spectators. It is a seat at the table. The scrutiny of executive action is not optional—it is one of the core responsibilities of representative democracy. When that duty is ignored, the consequences reach well beyond Washington and reach directly into our communities and into no less than the heart of our democratic process.