Why ‘no’ sometimes means protecting our democratic process

by Tony Hudson, Stevensville

Montana’s political debates often assume a simple rule: if a bill is good, a good legislator should vote yes, and if a legislator votes no, something must be wrong. In many states, that logic holds. In Montana, it does not always.

Our state occupies a unique constitutional position. Because of how our courts have interpreted the Montana Constitution in recent years, certain legislation does not merely face the risk of repeal. It faces the risk of permanent constitutional entrenchment of the opposite result.

That reality creates a difficult truth that deserves to be said plainly: in Montana, passing the “right” bill at the wrong time can permanently remove an issue from democratic control.

This is not theory. We have already seen it happen. When legislation is advanced in a way that invites judicial review, and the court responds by constitutionalizing the issue, voters lose the ability to revise that policy through their elected representatives. The Legislature becomes secondary. Debate becomes symbolic. And future generations inherit decisions they cannot meaningfully revisit.

This places Montana legislators in a position unlike that of lawmakers in many other states. They are required to think not only about the moral appeal of a bill, but about its structural consequences. They must ask three questions, not one: Can it pass? Will it be challenged? And if challenged, will the court use it to set constitutional precedent?

When the third answer is yes, restraint may be the most responsible option available.

This kind of restraint is often misunderstood. It can look like weakness. It can look like compromise. In reality, it is often an act of constitutional defense. A legislator who chooses not to advance a bill in order to keep an issue within the reach of voters is not abandoning principle. They are protecting the people’s authority to decide.

This distinction matters, especially in an era when voting records are increasingly reduced to slogans. It is easy to attack a single vote. It is harder to explain the long-term consequences that vote was meant to avoid.

Montana’s founders understood this danger. That is why they placed lawmaking authority in the Legislature and warned against allowing courts to lock policy in place beyond the reach of elections. Self-government depends not only on courage, but on restraint, timing, and judgment.

This does not mean every “no” vote is wise, or that every delayed bill is justified. It does mean that Montanans should be cautious about condemning legislators who refuse to walk knowingly into constitutional traps, simply to appease a vote promoting scorecard.

There is a difference between moral conviction and strategic recklessness. One preserves self-government. The other hands it away.

If we want a Legislature that still matters, and a state that belongs to the people rather than to permanent interpretation of an overreaching Supreme Court, we must learn to recognize the difference.