New Hampshire is on the verge of solving one crisis by creating another. We have a housing shortage, and we need more homes, quickly. In the rush to act, though, the state is overriding one of our most fundamental principles: Local control. For generations, New Hampshire communities have shaped their own future through town meetings, planning boards, and local leadership. Yet with the passage of House Bill 631, the state is stepping in to make sweeping zoning decisions from the top down.

Beginning July 1, 2026, municipalities will be required to allow multifamily housing in commercially zoned areas where infrastructure exists or can be provided. On paper, that may sound reasonable. In practice, it strips communities of the ability to say where and how growth should happen. This is one of the most significant shifts of local authority to the state in decades. And while the state is mandating growth, it’s refusing to take responsibility for what that growth requires.

Roads, water systems, schools, and emergency services have real limits, and those limits vary dramatically across the state. What works in a dense city won’t necessarily translate to a small town with narrow roads, aging water systems, and volunteer fire departments. As both a legislator and a public health professional, I know that when infrastructure is stretched too thin, response times increase, traffic risks rise, and environmental quality suffers.

When a bipartisan group of legislators introduced practical, moderate proposals to preserve local input (HB 1349, HB 1065, and HR 30) those efforts were quietly sidelined. This legislation wouldn’t stop housing development, but they would have ensured that communities still have the tools and authority to manage growth responsibly.

Right now, we are asking local officials to comply with new state mandates while managing infrastructure they know may not be able to keep up. They are left to absorb the consequences of decisions they no longer fully control. Some towns are already reacting, exploring temporary growth restrictions or rewriting local regulations in an attempt to regain some footing. They do this not because they oppose housing, but because they’re trying to prevent chaos. Ignoring state law isn’t a real option; communities that push back too hard could face legal challenges, putting even more strain on local resources.

New Hampshire doesn’t have to choose between building housing and preserving local control. But doing both requires partnership, not mandates that override the very people responsible for implementing them. Right now, the state is sending the message, “We’ll set the rules, and you deal with the consequences.” That is not the New Hampshire way. If we want real, lasting solutions to our housing crisis, we need to stop sidelining local communities and start working with them. The strongest outcomes are built from the ground up, not imposed from the top down.

More than once this session, I’ve walked off the House floor after a vote and had Republican colleagues come up to me and say something like, “Hey, I appreciated that vote.” Sometimes it’s a longer conversation in the hallway. The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to say.

One of the Republicans I respect most has a phrase he likes to use. He talks about politics as the “red team” and the “blue team.” I appreciate the creativity, and I genuinely admire that he’s someone who wants to talk through the issues rather than shout past each other. When I think about why I’m here, though, I don’t really see myself on the red team or the blue team. I see myself as Team Rockingham 21. The people of Portsmouth and Newington didn’t elect me to win partisan games. They elected me to solve problems.

Party lines can be surprisingly arbitrary

Once you’re inside the legislature, it becomes clear that the lines between the “teams” can be surprisingly arbitrary. Take HB1773, relative to food and drink purchased under SNAP, the Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program. While this bill has drawn strong partisan debate, the underlying question is fundamentally nonpartisan: How do we make sure taxpayer-funded nutrition programs are structured to support both public health and responsible use of public funds?

Or SB402, eliminating certain non-compete agreements for physician associates. Workforce shortages in health care affect patients in every community, regardless of politics, and making it easier for qualified clinicians to practice where they’re needed most shouldn’t be a partisan goal.

I also cosponsored HR30, finding that planning, zoning, and related regulations have been and should continue to be the responsibility of municipal government. While debates over local control can fall along party lines, ensuring that communities have a meaningful voice in decisions that shape their growth and character matters to residents across the political spectrum.

None of these issues neatly fit into red or blue categories, yet inside the State House, legislation often get labeled as “Democratic bills” or “Republican bills” before anyone even debates the substance.

The process trap

One thing that surprised me when I arrived in Concord is how often good policy gets lost in process. Democrats sometimes fall into a trap: We become so focused on the process of getting a bill across the finish line that we lose sight of the people the bill is supposed to serve. We worry about whether leadership is aligned. We worry about committee strategy. We worry about messaging.

Meanwhile, the people we serve are asking simpler questions: Can families access the nutrition support they need? Can patients find a health care provider when they need one? Will their community have a meaningful say in how it grows? When legislation about nutrition assistance, access to health care providers, or local control over planning and zoning moves forward, it should be because it helps Granite Staters, not because it came from the “correct” team.

Voting the district, not the team

When I ran for office, I promised to approach legislation the same way I approach public health research: Look at the evidence, understand the real-world impact, and make decisions based on outcomes rather than ideology. Sometimes that means voting with Democrats, and sometimes it means working closely with Republicans. And sometimes…it means being the vote that makes both sides a little uncomfortable.

That can feel isolating. But if serving the people of Portsmouth and Newington means occasionally standing on a political island, that’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make. At the end of the day, I’m not here for the red team or the blue team; I’m here for Team Rockingham 21. And that’s the team I’ll keep showing up for.

But the bill was not about whether vaccines work. I’ve said it before: vaccines are one of the most powerful public health tools we have. That was never in dispute for me. HB 1811 was about the scope of government authority: whether the state should require specific medical interventions as a condition of attending public school or child care. You can support vaccination and still believe that questions about state power deserve careful consideration. In fact, legislators have a duty to ask those questions.

The problem wasn’t disagreement but mischaracterization. It’s much easier to attach a label to a person or a proposal than to wrestle with the substance of their argument. If someone raises concerns about mandates, they must be “anti-science.” If a parent hesitates, they must be “anti-vax.” If a lawmaker questions state authority, they must be indifferent to public health. Those shortcuts save time, but they corrode trust.

Once someone is labeled, we stop listening. And once we stop listening, we stop persuading. What’s left is tribal signaling: applause from our side, outrage from the other, and very little progress in between.

One of the most frustrating aspects of the HB 1811 debate was watching families with genuine questions dismissed outright. Most vaccine-hesitant parents are not ideologues who reject modern medicine. Many simply want reassurance, clearer communication, or more information. Some were shaken by shifting guidance during COVID. Some distrust large institutions, and others are trying to make sense of a complicated schedule of recommendations for their children. We can disagree with their conclusions. But if our response is to brand them with a pejorative label, we should not be surprised when distrust grows.

Asking questions about government authority is not the same thing as rejecting science. If we want better debates – not just about vaccines, but about any contentious issue – we need a higher standard. We should argue with the strongest version of our opponent’s position, not the weakest. Before condemning a motive, we should consider whether a more reasonable explanation exists. Before assigning a label, we should ask whether it clarifies or merely inflames.

On HB 1811, reasonable people came to different conclusions. Some believed the existing school vaccination requirements are essential and should not be loosened. Others believed the balance between public health and parental authority needed to be revisited. Those are legitimate policy disagreements in a free society. Reducing them to moral accusations does not protect public health; it undermines the trust that public health relies on. If there is one lesson from the past several years, it is this: policies imposed without trust are fragile. You can pass a mandate. You cannot mandate confidence. Trust is built when people feel heard, even when they are ultimately overruled.

We can strongly support vaccines and still debate mandates. We can protect vulnerable children and still respect parental concerns. We can disagree without resorting to caricature, but only if we commit to arguing with the points actually being made. If we want public health policies that endure, and a civic culture worthy of our state, we have to do better than labels; we have to listen first.

I represent two communities reflecting the tensions in our state and our country. Portsmouth is a vibrant, decidedly blue city energized by civic engagement and progressive values. Newington is smaller and more right-leaning, with an independent streak and deep respect for fiscal restraint. Holding both priorities together makes for effective representation. Despite their political differences, both communities share a commitment to safe neighborhoods, strong schools, accessible healthcare, and an economy that allows working families to thrive.

Our nation is proof of what happens when politics becomes a battlefield. Across the country, immigration debates rage in courtrooms and protest lines rather than through reasoned compromise. Rising costs squeeze working families, while Americans’ confidence in the future drops to near two-decade lows. Our national leaders often seem more concerned with scoring points than solving problems. In New Hampshire, people expect their representatives to show up in person, listen, and be accountable. The size of our House ensures that government stays close to the people, promoting stewardship over spectacle. Sitting in the literal center of the chamber shows me that durable policy is built in the space between the extremes.

In public health, we know that shouting doesn’t lower blood pressure, and inflammatory rhetoric doesn’t cure disease. The same principle applies to governing. We can – and should – debate passionately, but when disagreement turns into dehumanization, we weaken the democratic system we are sworn to uphold. Politics has increasingly adopted the language of combat, talking about “fighting,” “crushing,” and “defeating” the other side. Legislatures were designed to be deliberative spaces, though, not arenas. When we treat colleagues as opponents to be conquered rather than partners in governance, we sacrifice pragmatic solutions that best serve Granite Staters.

Operating toward the center means recognizing that no party holds a monopoly on good ideas. Representing Portsmouth means listening to constituents who are eager to innovate, while representing Newington means honoring a strong preference for careful oversight and local control. Holding both priorities together is what true leadership is about. From my vantage point in the center of Representatives’ Hall, I know that democracy works best when we resist the temptation to turn every disagreement into a collision. Contact sports have winners and losers. Governance, however, should aim for solutions that allow all our communities to thrive.

Much of it passes quietly through what we call the consent calendar: a procedural tool that bundles “non-controversial” bills so they can move efficiently through the House with a single vote. On the surface, these bills can seem minor or technical. In practice, they often have the greatest impact on how state government functions and how resources are allocated locally. “Non-controversial” doesn’t mean unimportant, though. Consent calendar bills can:

• Fund programs and initiatives that directly affect communities

• Adjust regulations governing everything from local infrastructure to municipal services

• Fine-tune administrative processes that determine how laws are implemented

A small but illustrative example from February 5, 2026: HB 1503 allows the Department of Education to allocate funds to create a database of maps of public schools for emergency use cases. This bill represents a vital investment in the security of students, educators, and schools and was passed on the consent calendar.

The loud debates are easy to follow. But if you want to understand how government really works, this is where the action happens.

Civic engagement is about understanding the details that actually shape how our communities function, like:

• How does this affect my town?

• Will it improve the programs I rely on?

• Are there unintended consequences I should know about?

The bills you ignore often matter the most. Don’t let the quiet work go unseen; it’s what shapes your community, your services, and your future.

You can view bills on the consent calendar in the House calendars and journals.

Free speech is the bedrock of our democracy. But when it is used to obscure truth rather than illuminate it, it can also become a barrier to understanding. Last Friday, the State-Federal Relations and Veterans Affairs Committee heard testimony on HR 37, a bill recognizing the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights and urging responsible oversight of military equipment used by international allies, especially in Gaza. Let me be clear at the outset: I largely support the bill as written. HB 37 is not, in itself, antisemitic.

What troubled me wasn’t the language of the bill, but the testimony offered in its support. That testimony made clear that some proponents view this legislation as a vehicle to advance an anti-Jewish agenda.

This did not happen in a vacuum. Our state has repeatedly struggled to confront overt antisemitism, including the failure of political leadership to forcefully condemn Nazi protests at the State House. Against that backdrop, it is impossible to ignore how casually the word “genocide” is wielded to describe Israel’s actions while the atrocities of October 7, 2023, are minimized or avoided altogether.

On that day, Hamas — a U.S.-designated terrorist organization — carried out a massacre of Israeli civilians. Hamas’s charter explicitly calls for the destruction of Israel and the elimination of the Jewish people. Yet many who claim moral authority through human rights rhetoric refuse to acknowledge this reality.

At the hearing, I asked a speaker who is also a cosponsor of HB 37 whether the atrocities committed by Hamas on October 7 constituted an act of genocide. I asked twice, yet the speaker equivocated. If the deliberate mass killing of Jews for being Jewish does not meet one’s definition of genocide, then the term has lost all meaning. That kind of evasion is dangerous.

Equally troubling was testimony referencing the New Hampshire chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America adopting an explicitly anti-Zionist platform. Zionism simply refers to support for the existence of a Jewish state in the Jewish people’s ancestral homeland of Israel. Calling for the destruction of the world’s only Jewish state is not a neutral political position, but a call for genocide. History makes that painfully clear.

When I asked whether organizations including the World Jewish Congress, the Anti-Defamation League, and the American Jewish Committee are credible when they state that anti-Zionism is antisemitism, the response was astonishing: Yes, they believe those organizations have said it, but they believe those organizations are wrong.

The American Jewish Committee is clear in its stance:

When criticisms of Israel use antisemitic ideas about Jewish power or greed, utilize Holocaust denial or inversion (i.e. claims that Israelis are the “new Nazis”), or dabble in age-old xenophobic suspicion of the Jewish religion, otherwise legitimate critiques cross the line into antisemitism.

This is precisely what happened on Friday. Which leads me to ask, if Jewish organizations are not qualified to define antisemitism, then who is?

I agree with much of the substance of HR 37. But legislation cannot be separated from the movement advancing it. When human rights language is weaponized to deny or excuse violence against Jews, we must draw a line. Our legislature has a responsibility to confront antisemitism directly, not legitimize it under the guise of moral concern. Human rights should never be selective. And they should never be used as a shield for hatred. I will not be supporting HR 37, and those who support human rights should oppose it, too.

How public health prepared me

Think in systems, not sound bites.

Public health trains you to zoom out. You learn that outcomes (e.g., disease rates, mortality) are rarely the result of a single factor. They’re shaped by what we call the social determinants (or social drivers) of health – things like housing, education, income, and environment.

This systems-level thinking is invaluable in the legislature. When a bill comes to the floor, I instinctively ask, “Who benefits? Who bears the cost? What are the downstream effects?” Public health made me comfortable with complexity and wary of supposedly “simple fixes” to deeply rooted problems. In a political environment that often rewards oversimplification, this perspective helps ground me in true problem-solving.

Be comfortable with complexity and tradeoffs.

Policy is complicated and requires tradeoffs. Public health prepared me to sit with that reality. I’m used to weighing costs against benefits, short-term investments against long-term savings, and individual choice against population-level outcomes. That’s especially important in conversations involving financing, the workforce, and infrastructure. This background helps me push back, calmly and consistently, when debates drift toward oversimplification.

Have a prevention mindset.

Public health is fundamentally about prevention; we invest upstream to avoid harm downstream. You see how much suffering (and spending) comes from waiting until people are already in crisis. This lens shapes how I approach policy across the board, whether it’s about healthcare access, education, housing, or climate resilience. Prevention isn’t always politically flashy; it often means spending money now to avoid costs (financial and human) later. Yet it’s one of the most responsible things government can do. Public health trained me to keep making this case, even when it’s unpopular or misunderstood.

Lessons learned

Politics moves at a faster pace.

Public health research is deliberate. You design studies, collect data, analyze results, and publish, which can often take several years. State politics, on the other hand, moves fast. Bills appear with little notice. Hearings are scheduled back-to-back. Decisions sometimes have to be made with incomplete information and under real time pressure. No graduate program prepares you for reading dozens of bills in a week, fielding constituent emails late at night, and switching from a budget debate to a local zoning issue in the same afternoon. The cognitive and emotional load of legislating has been – and continues to be – a steep learning curve.

Evidence alone isn’t enough.

In public health, evidence is the starting point. In politics, it’s often just one piece of a much larger puzzle. I’ve learned that data doesn’t persuade on its own. Policy decisions are shaped by who people know you to be, whether they believe you listen, and whether you’ve shown up consistently all shape what’s possible. Effective leadership requires translating evidence into language that connects with people where they are, not where experts may wish they were. Learning to invest time in relationship-building, not just issue expertise, was something I had to develop on the job.

The scale of responsibility is different.

Public health trained me to think in terms of population-level problems. In politics, those problems show up as individual stories shared directly with me by constituents. People come to their representatives when systems have failed them. That responsibility is deeply meaningful, but it’s also heavy in a way that academic training doesn’t address. There’s no IRB or peer review for sitting with someone’s fear, anger, or desperation and knowing that government can move slowly when people need immediate help. When someone shares their struggle to access food or afford medication, you carry that story with you into the policy process. The responsibility to get it right feels heavier, and it should.

Public health gave me tools: Data literacy, systems thinking, and a prevention mindset. Public service has taught me how to apply those tools in a complex, political, and deeply human environment. My goal is to bring the rigor of public health, the realism of governance, and the responsibility of representation to every decision I make.

Recently, a social media post made the rounds that paired two headlines: one celebrating New Hampshire securing a $204 million federal rural health care grant, and another pointing out that rural health care still faces serious challenges. The implication was that the first headline doesn’t really matter because the second one exists.

That’s not clever. It’s just wrong.

Anyone who has worked in health care understands that progress does not erase problems overnight.

Securing $204 million for rural health care is a big deal. It means real dollars flowing to hospitals, clinics, EMS providers, workforce programs, and telehealth. It is also true that rural health care is still under strain. Of course it is. These challenges didn’t appear yesterday, and they won’t disappear tomorrow. Presenting this as some kind of “gotcha” says more about the politics than it does about policy.

What really bothers me is the tone. Rural patients and providers are not political set pieces. They’re not something to trot out when it’s useful and ignore when it’s not. They’re people who have to drive an hour for care. EMTs covering huge geographic areas with limited backup. Hospitals trying to keep their doors open while recruiting staff in a national shortage. If your political argument requires minimizing real investments in their care, maybe your argument is the problem.

Funding builds capacity. Capacity improves access. Access improves health. This is the boring, unglamorous reality of system change. Anyone pretending otherwise either doesn’t understand public health or is banking on the audience not understanding it either.

I’ve worked with people from both parties who genuinely want to improve rural health care. I’ve also watched people from both parties torpedo progress because scoring a political point felt more important than being honest. That’s the part I’m over.

Rural health care deserves serious conversation, not social media snark. It deserves accountability and acknowledgment of progress. And it deserves leaders who can hold more than one thought in their head at a time. This shouldn’t be a partisan issue. It should be a maturity test. And frankly, we can do better.

I’m starting a series on this Substack to unpack some of my potentially “unpopular opinions” (aka votes against my party) and explain the reasoning behind them. I don’t always get it perfect, but I can show the evidence and thought process behind every decision. Here are three votes I cast on January 7-8, 2026 that might have surprised you:

HB 112-FN, requiring students in the university and community college systems of New Hampshire to pass the united states citizenship and immigration services civics naturalization test.

I supported this bill because I believe every student in New Hampshire’s public colleges and universities should graduate with a basic understanding of U.S. government, history, and civic responsibilities. By setting a clear benchmark for civic knowledge, we help ensure that graduates leave higher education not only with a degree, but with the skills and understanding to participate responsibly in democracy. I know some colleagues may worry this adds an extra requirement or question whether it should be mandatory, but I see it as a modest, meaningful step to strengthen civic literacy and prepare the next generation of engaged New Hampshire citizens.

HB 392-FN, directing the dissolution of the department of health and human services' office of health equity, department of environmental services' functions for civil rights and environmental justice, and the governor's council on diversity and inclusion.

As a public health professional, I supported HB 392-FN because it ensures that essential functions promoting access and equity continue while streamlining administration and safeguarding federal funding. Health equity means nothing if we do not have the funding to address it, and this bill aligns New Hampshire’s programs with federal requirements, protecting critical resources for vulnerable populations.

The functions of the dissolved offices, such as communication access, refugee support, and community engagement, will continue under more efficient structures like the Office of Health Access and existing agency frameworks. This allows us to focus resources directly on individuals with the greatest health needs, reduce unnecessary bureaucracy, and ensure compliance with federal law. Supporting this bill is a pragmatic way to advance health equity: it prioritizes real outcomes over titles or offices while maintaining the funding and operational flexibility necessary to serve all Granite Staters effectively.

SB 134-FN: relative to work requirements under the state Medicaid program.

I supported this bill because, while I am aware that work requirements can be costly, burdensome, and largely ineffective, New Hampshire cannot risk losing $91 million in federal Medicaid funding. This bill directs the Department of Health and Human Services to resubmit the 1115 waiver and provide annual reports to the Legislature, ensuring compliance with federal law while maintaining oversight. My decision reflects a pragmatic approach: balancing the potential harm of work requirements with the critical need to secure essential funding for the Granite Advantage Health Care Program and protect services for our most vulnerable residents.

Many of the problems I see exist on both sides of the aisle. That said, I am especially disappointed and discouraged by what I see within my own party. Too often, they prioritize party messaging and loyalty over genuine debate, compromise, and thoughtful policy-making. Worse, there is little willingness to acknowledge when their approach contributes to the breakdown of process or undermines good governance. This reluctance to self-examine makes it harder to address the very problems we say we want to solve.

Too often, the process shifts from problem-solving to message-making. Votes become a way to signal loyalty or score points, rather than to improve legislation. Getting people “on record” is treated as an end in itself, even though it cannot replace engaging with colleagues who hold different views, examining tradeoffs, and working toward workable compromise. Scripted talking points frequently take the place of careful, analytical discussion of complex policy issues.

Effective committee work and floor debate depend on the ability to ask serious questions and receive answers offered in good faith. When that expectation erodes, the quality of deliberation declines and it becomes harder to fully evaluate the consequences of proposed bills.

Here’s why this matters: When the process breaks down, legislation is more likely to be shaped by messaging rather than substance, unintended consequences become more common, and public trust in government suffers. In that environment, votes often reflect party strategy instead of policy outcomes, and that reality directly affects how I approach my role.

As a result, my future votes and actions will be guided less by party signaling and more by whether a bill has been meaningfully examined, debated in good faith, and improved through the process. I will continue to ask questions, offer amendments, and support legislation based on its merits, even when that means breaking with my own party or opposing bills advanced primarily for messaging purposes. When the process fails to meet these standards, I will be explicit about why I am voting no or choosing not to support a measure.

I may not be able to change the broader culture on my own, but I can be accountable for how I participate in it. I am committed to acting with principle, transparency, and a focus on results, even when it means standing apart from my party. This series is part of that commitment: documenting how bills move, what questions are asked, and why I ultimately vote the way I do. My goal is not to perform politics, but to practice governance — to ensure that every vote I cast, every amendment I propose, and every action I take serves the people of New Hampshire first.

The goal is straightforward: transparency, accountability, and a clear public record. You deserve to understand how your government functions and how your representative is acting on your behalf.

Here you’ll find transparent policy reflections without a partisan spin. Thank you for joining.