Zoning regrets

We all know the story about the 18th Amendment. In January of 1919, Nebraska was the pivotal 36th of the 48 states to ratify the constitutional amendment that became prohibition, only to have that overturned with the passage of the 21st Amendment in 1933.

In 1974, Congress imposed a national speed limit of 55 mph to reduce fuel consumption, then in 1995 control was returned to the states, most of which immediately raised limits by 10 to 15 mph.

Daylight saving time (DST), first adopted as a wartime energy measure in 1918, has been extended, repealed, reinstated, and endlessly debated—leaving Americans to this day grumbling twice a year over a law few remember ever asking for. Nebraska is one of 30 states with efforts underway to repeal it again.

There is no shortage of laws that once seemed like good ideas, only to be overturned later due to shifting public sentiment or unforeseen consequences.

Our friends in Culbertson seem to be facing a similar dilemma.

If you frequent these pages, you are aware of an ongoing dispute between the developers of a proposed feedlot and the owners of neighboring properties. Most accounts agree that the developer is following the zoning and environmental regulations as written.

The opponents of the project believe that the regulations, considered and enacted by their elected representatives, do not adequately protect their rights as property owners. They have made that much perfectly clear.

We could ask where those neighbors were when the zoning regulations were adopted and point to this as a cautionary tale about the importance of civic engagement. We might also point out that our system of government allows us to change laws that we do not like, although until those changes are made, we are honor-bound to live with their consequences.

On the other side of the fence (literally), opponents of the project recognize that if the worst of their environmental fears are true, the effects of “grandfathering” this project will have long-lasting, or perhaps even permanent, impact on the surrounding community.

We do not envy Culbertson’s situation, but we have seen it before.

As individuals, we all have regrets. We do our best to mitigate the effects of our misjudgments on others and live stoically with any personal consequences. Governmental bodies are no different. There are missteps. There are corrections made and, sometimes, consequences to be lived with.

Disagreements like the one in Culbertson are not new, and they are not proof that something is broken. They are the natural result of a system that invites people to speak, to challenge, and—when necessary—to change course. Laws can be revisited and corrected. What matters is how we conduct ourselves in the meantime.

There is, unfortunately, a primitive satisfaction in reducing our opponents to villains. Social media and cable news thrive on that impulse. If ever a community needed to rise above that temptation, it is Culbertson.

The best laws are not always those written with the greatest certainty, but those revisited with the greatest humility. Culbertson’s test is not whether it gets this moment exactly right, but whether it can face disagreement without allowing it to harden into resentment. The future of any small town depends not just on good governance, but on the grace of neighbors who refuse to see one another as enemies.