It was once said by Justice Louis Brandeis that “sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants.” By that measure, the legislative process surrounding Connecticut’s House Bill 5002 must be considered a petri dish cultivated in permanent darkness.
What ought to have been exposed to the full glare of public scrutiny was instead drafted behind closed doors, shielded from daylight, and accelerated with minimal public awareness. The 160-page amendment—dropped with less than 24 hours’ notice before a potential full vote—did not so much revise state housing policy as it rewrote the long-standing relationship between towns like New Canaan and the state government. And it did so without transparency, without town input, and without the consent of those governed. This was not legislation in any classical sense. This was a bureaucratic ambush—meticulously timed to avoid scrutiny and designed to preempt resistance.
Let us be plain: this is not how a self-governing republic behaves.
Across Connecticut, and here in New Canaan in particular, citizens of every political stripe have voiced alarm—not over the need for housing reform, but over the method by which this bill was brought forward. Town leaders, local zoning advocates, and state legislators were left in the dark until the last moment. And when the final amendment appeared, it bore little resemblance to the so-called “study bill” that had initially passed with curiosity, if not support.
This was no accident. It was design.
There is no evidence that residents of New Canaan—or any town in Connecticut—called for this kind of centralized intervention. They did not ask for top-down mandates. They did not seek to be stripped of their local zoning authority. They were not clamoring for a wholesale reordering of their community’s carefully considered planning principles. What New Canaanites have always asked for is a voice. What they received was a decree.
This new legislation—wide-reaching, rapidly delivered, and procedurally opaque—sought no consensus because it welcomed no dissent. It relied not on argument, but fatigue. Citizens, civic leaders, and even seasoned legislators were not asked to help shape it. They were dared to stop it.
And when those across the state—from New Canaan to Bridgeport—asked the most basic question, Where is the bill?, they were met with silence.
That is not policymaking. That is manipulation.
The tragedy is not only that this was done. It is that this method of doing things—this legislative sleight of hand—is becoming routine. Laws written in secret, revealed at the eleventh hour, and rushed toward passage with no daylight between release and vote may still be lawful. But they are no longer legitimate.
New Canaan, a town with a proven track record of civic responsibility and smart planning, has worked in good faith to meet its housing obligations. We earned a moratorium by building and planning thoughtfully. But under this new process, those efforts are brushed aside.
The erosion of public trust in Hartford is not an unfortunate byproduct of haste. It is the predictable result of a governing philosophy that confuses fatigue for consent. The question New Canaan must now ask is not merely what this bill says. It is what precedent this process sets.
What happened was an assertion that decisions about the future of our town will now be made not here, but elsewhere. Not by us, but for us.
The people of New Canaan deserved an honest conversation. They were given a monologue instead.
This was not governance. It was orchestration. And if allowed to stand, it will not be the last.
We now wait to see what the Governor will do.