Landon Morrison, a recovering addict, wanted to tell California lawmakers why they should support legislation he believes will hold troubled drug and alcohol treatment centers accountable.

He was told he would only get two minutes to speak, so he spent hours writing and rehearsing exactly what he wanted to say. But after getting on the road at 4 a.m. for the six-hour drive to Sacramento from Los Angeles County, Morrison didn’t get to say a single word because previous speakers talked for too long.

The committee’s Democratic chairperson, Sen. Caroline Menjivar of Van Nuys, ended testimony in support of the bill after five minutes.

“In a way, this kind of articulated the stigma of addiction. … I’m at the bottom of the line, you know?” Morrison said. “It was just kind of very disheartening.”

Morrison’s experience is hardly unique in the California Legislature as lawmakers try to jam through the more than 2,000 bills lawmakers have introduced so far this year. Over the past two months, CalMatters journalists witnessed more than a dozen examples of committee leaders cutting speakers off midway through their remarks or prohibiting them from talking at all because other people went over the few minutes that members of the public are given to testify.

Lawmakers say the rules are necessary to accommodate the armies of paid lobbyists, political activists and members of the public who flood the Capitol each year to jockey for and against legislation. Lawmakers say they do their best to ensure everyone gets their say while aiming to keep hearings from dragging on well into the night.

“Some bills you get dozens of people. Some bills you get over 100 people,” said Assemblymember Marc Berman, a Democrat representing the Palo Alto area who oversees the Business and Professions Committee. “There is a real attempt to be fair on both sides and to everybody.”

The public comment limits are yet another symptom of lawmakers rushing through thousands of bills in the few months they’re in session in Sacramento – and usually waiting until right before key deadlines to push through the largest volume of bills.

Some speakers get only seconds

To try to fit in all those wishing to speak, most members of the public who show up at the Capitol can only express their positions through what’s known as the “me too” portion of a hearing.

After the lead witnesses in support or opposition of a bill each get to deliver two minutes of testimony, others approach the microphone and state their name, organization and whether they support or oppose it. In 2023, legislative leaders stopped allowing people to offer their comments remotely via Zoom as they had during the pandemic.

Lobbyists and other insiders usually know the drill and keep their “me toos” to a couple of seconds so the committee leaders don’t cut them off.

But regular people who might not be familiar with the process regularly get shut down if they speak beyond a few seconds.

That happened to Albert Titman, Sr., a Native American man from the Sacramento area. He came to the Assembly Business and Professions Committee in late April to tell lawmakers why they should oppose a cannabis tax bill he thinks would harm disadvantaged tribal communities.

But he wasn’t designated as a lead witness, so when he tried to speak during the “me too” portion of the hearing, Berman, the committee chairperson, told him to wrap it up.

“Now we’re just at the name, organization and position,” Berman reminded him as Titman grew frustrated.

“There’s not one Native person here,” Titman shot back. “Not one Native person.”

Capitol security ushered Titman away from the mic.

“They shut me down, just pretty much telling me to shut up, you know?” Titman said in an interview. “I wanted to actually sit up there and present my argument, but they wouldn’t allow me.”

Berman said later that he “felt very bad” for how things went with Titman, and he noted he did give Titman a little more time than the other “me too” speakers had. But Berman said he was obligated to keep the hearing moving. If a committee runs too long, it can delay the subsequent committees scheduled to use the same room.

“I try to have a little flexibility, but you can’t let somebody talk for, you know, a minute who’s really just supposed to be providing their name, organization or affiliation and support or opposition to the bill,” he said. “Every time is a dance, and it’s not easy.”

Kathi Zollinger, a volunteer with the Lake Tahoe-based BEAR League, didn’t have security called on her last month when she approached the mic and tried to say why she opposed a  bear-hunting bill.

But she was still taken aback when Diane Papan, the Democratic chairperson of the Assembly Parks and Wildlife Committee, cut her off mid-sentence.

“I thought it was kind of rude,” she said afterward. Papan, who represents the San Mateo area, didn’t respond to an interview request.

One of the bear bill’s supporters, Elizabeth Washoe, took a day off work, filled up her vehicle with $5-plus a gallon gas before she left Modoc County and made the five-hour drive to the capital, only to be given a few seconds at the mic.

In an interview, she said that as a Native American woman from a rural area, she left feeling that those living in the far reaches of the state have a harder time having their voices heard.

“I would love to have more time to say something,” she said. “It’s not equitable representation for rural areas.”

Democrat blocks comment on transgender bill

Some people who get cut off believe it’s because a committee chair doesn’t like what they have to say. Opponents of a bill to allow transgender people to more easily change their names say that happened to them when the proposal was before the Assembly Health Committee on April 29.

The committee’s chairperson, Mia Bonta, a Democrat from Oakland whose husband is Attorney General Rob Bonta, refused to give the lead witnesses for opponents their two minutes each. Bonta told them they hadn’t properly registered in advance.

“I was very clear and the rules that the Health Committee adopted indicated that we needed to have registered opposition offering witness testimony,” she said. “And I reiterated that at the beginning of this hearing, and those are the rules of this committee.”

But the bill’s opponents said they could find no reference to the rules online.

After driving from San Francisco to testify, Erin Friday, president of the group Our Duty, was furious.

“Welcome to China,” she said. Another organization called Californians for Good Governance later filed a formal complaint over how the opponents were treated.

Bonta’s spokesperson, Daniel McGreevy, said in an email that Bonta’s actions were “consistent with updated guidelines which are established and read at the top of all recent hearings.”

In an interview, Friday said she regularly testifies in other states on similar legislation. She said no other state she’s been to is as restrictive about public comment in hearings.

“I’m a lifelong Democrat, so I find it really quite amusing when (California Democrats) talk about Republicans not wanting to play by the rules, or constitutional chaos, when we have no voice whatsoever,” said Friday, whose organization believes there “is no such thing as a transgender child.”

Are hearings political theater?

After CalMatters highlighted last year the consequences of rushing through too many bills at the last minute, legislative leaders slightly lowered the amount of bills each lawmaker could introduce during the two-year session that began in December. It’s helped a little. At the bill filing deadline earlier this year, lawmakers had introduced 2,278 bills – down from 2,640 at the start of the last session.

The committees are still jam-packed, such as in late April, as lawmakers butted up against a deadline to advance their measures. Two Senate Judiciary Committee hearings discussed a combined 106 bills. One of those hearings went 11 hours. The final votes weren’t tallied until almost 11 p.m.

The public comment limits also underscore another problem that CalMatters has pointed out. The Democrats who control the Capitol often make their decisions behind closed doors.

It’s a trend reflected in the Digital Democracy database. Last session, just 25 bills failed because a majority of lawmakers voted “no ” during a committee hearing or a floor session. Plenty of bills still die — 2,403 of them were killed during the last two-year session — but they’re almost always spiked through secretive procedural tactics that leave the public with little way of knowing who is responsible.

Critics say that makes commenting in hearings mostly performative since it’s so rare for bills to be killed in public.

San Diego Republican Assemblymember Carl DeMaio says he doesn’t bother bringing witnesses to testify because he knows what they say won’t change anyone’s mind — and there’s a good chance they won’t get to say all they came to say anyway.

It’s “all theater,” he said. “That’s irrelevant, because these politicians basically do their deals in back rooms, and they walk into the hearing already decided.”

Other ways to influence legislation

Legislators and Capitol insiders say people can influence legislation before committee hearings in plenty of other ways. Anyone can submit formal remarks on individual bills through the Legislature’s online position letter portal.

They can also write or call lawmakers’ offices and request meetings with them or their staff, or speak to the politicians when they do events in their district, which can be more effective than showing up at a hearing whose outcome could be predetermined.

Lobbyist Jennifer Fearing says she tells advocates that if they really want to be heard, facetime with a lawmaker in their district is best.

“You don’t have to change the whole system up here (in Sacramento) to have that kind of impact,” Fearing said. “A minute in a hearing is not a substitute for a relationship at home.”

For Morrison, a recovering addict, the trip to Sacramento wasn’t a total loss.

Sen. Tom Umberg, the bill’s author, felt badly that Morrison got cut off and arranged for him to speak on a related measure.

Umberg, a Democrat representing the Santa Ana area, said it was the least he could do for a “civilian” — his term for those who aren’t paid advocates. As chairperson of the Senate Judiciary Committee, he said he tries to prioritize bills with more “civilian” speakers.

Still, Morrison said that while Umberg treated him well, the experience was a letdown.

He thought testifying would be “an honor and a prestige.” Instead, “It’s like well, no, that’s really not that big a deal,” he said. “They slap you to the side.”

Ryan Sabalow and Hans Poschman are reporters with CalMatters.