I recently went to two events during my time at my host office: the grand opening of a hotpot restaurant and a round of “mobile office hours” that Congressman Tran’s office holds for communities in our district.
I frequented this very hotpot restaurant with my friends back in DC, introducing them to a popular Asian dish that’s all about sharing and connecting over the meal together. The restaurant was packed with Electeds, Asian American community leaders, even student leaders. I was talking to a chief of staff who had a CAUSE intern before, too. Small world.
But then it got weirder. That night, my friend from Canada texted me a photo of the same event—apparently his dad’s friend had been there too. No context. Just a text: “Ellie was this where you were at by chance?”, with a blurry shot of the restaurant and a line of people I had just talked to in real life. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How does a random restaurant opening in the Westminster, California, end up in Vancouver?
Last Wednesday, we set up for mobile office hours in Fountain Valley. We had signs, resources, and even coloring pages for kids. We were ready to be in the community to talk to constituents and help with casework. The previous event the Congressman’s office had was buzzing, with lines of people and no time to break between filling out Privacy Release Forms.
But this time? Crickets. Some curious looks, some heads peeked into the room with our foldable table and chairs. A few constituents needed help, but there was no surge of people to talk to, to assist. I could count the number of people we helped on my hands, and still remember which agency each person needed help with.
The dissonance between the two events is something I’m still grappling with—community didn’t show up where I thought it would: how did more people become connected through a business opening than an event DESIGNED to meet people where they were at, to make government
accessible?
It made me wonder: was it the location? The timing? Were people unsure what office hours are for? Or was it more abstract—civic fatigue, a sense that these systems aren’t for them?
I don’t have a perfect answer. Perhaps because something’s meant to be accessible doesn’t mean it feels that way. A folding table and colorful flyers don’t automatically build trust, especially if people aren’t used to government being in the room for them.
Meanwhile, the restaurant opening wasn’t billed as civic engagement, but people actually showed up, connected, trickling all the way to Canada.
I learned that civic work does not always look civic. I can learn about federal agencies through doing USCIS paperwork and learn about the workings of city government over boiling broth. Both matter, and both are important. But if the hotpot place is getting more traffic than government services, we should probably ask why—and I’m keen to figure out what.