Bertram's Blog

I had an exciting morning — a census taker came to my house, which had been selected as part of a randomly selected sample for the American Community Survey. It was my address that was chosen, not me, but still, they wanted my personal information. I don’t know why I hesitated to give my name, and in the end, I didn’t — the census guy said he could put down “lady of the house,” which I agreed to, but I felt silly. They had my address, obviously, and my phone number, so my name would be readily available if they really wanted it. Still, it was one of the few rebellions one such as I (a quiet person not given to demonstrations) is allowed.

I questioned if my participation was necessary, and he pointed to the paragraph that said I was required by law to respond to the survey. I was given a few options: talk to him, do it online, or do it by email. I gave in with good grace, and went ahead and answered his questions. And he answered mine as to the purpose of the survey.

Supposedly, it’s about trying to get people in rural areas a more equitable property insurance, that our insurance out here in the boondocks shouldn’t be dependent on the fires in other states and people in large cities. Which I agree with. People in rural areas, especially people who live in states where the power is centered in a couple of large cities with completely different values, have little representation. Almost everything that happens here is decided in the front range cities. Our vote counts for little in the state, and even in the federal government. Our senators come from the cities, and even the one representative we have doesn’t represent us, only herself. (When it seemed as if she would lose her bid for a second term in Colorado’s Third Congressional District, she moved to the Fourth District, to avoid a difficult rematch. So it’s readily apparent where her loyalties lie.)

After the survey, the census taker and I continued to talk about the problems of living in an area of little to no representation, and we eventually segued to talk of our non-representative’s bill to reschedule the repayment of the Arkansas Valley Conduit Project. He knows more about this region than I do, since he has lived in this area for most of his life, and his family before him. He mentioned the same thing I did — that in the decades since the project was first approved, the rural cities themselves put forth the money to build filtration plants, so the supposed 50,000 people the project is supposed to serve is probably half that. And, as he pointed out, with cost overruns and project delays, few people alive today will be around to benefit. And, considering that these distant rural areas are losing populations, there will be even fewer.

What we both wondered, is where the money is going. Since nothing that Colorado has done since I moved here has benefited this area in any way, the questions have to be asked — why here, why now?

It’s possible that our non-representative is trying to make herself relevant, but who knows. It’s this sort of insanity that creates conspiracy theories. But then, as a prolific reader of mysteries, I know to ask: cui bono. All I know, is it’s not I who will ever benefit.

I’m also sure that filling out the survey won’t benefit me — insurance companies, like states, don’t care about the far-flung rural residents who can’t benefit them, so chances are, nothing will change.

Still, it was an exciting morning. Maybe it wouldn’t have been for you, of course, but for me, who spends most of my time alone and in my own head, it was interesting to talk to someone who knew more of the truth than I do.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.