In 1905, Gifford Pinchot became the first Chief of the U.S. Forest Service and established eleven maxims to guide the agency. One stands out today: "It is more trouble to consult the public than to ignore them, but that is what you were hired for." Over a century later, the Forest Service is testing whether Americans still believe that principle matters.

Ten Days to Speak Up About a Forest

On February 6, 2026, the Forest Service published a proposed rule that would slash public comment periods by more than half. Environmental Assessments, which currently allow 30 days for public input, would drop to just 10 days. Environmental Impact Statements would shrink from 45 days to 20. Forest Service Chief Tom Schultz defended the changes as necessary to "act swiftly to deliver projects that build healthier, more resilient forests and infrastructure."

The math tells a different story. Consider the Northwest Forest Plan, which covers 24.5 million acres of federally managed lands across three states. Under the old system, citizens had 45 days to review complex environmental documents, consult with communities, and submit informed feedback. Under the new proposal, they'd get 20 days—barely enough time to read the technical reports, let alone organize a meaningful response.

The proposal goes further. Instead of publishing notices in newspapers of record or notifying interested parties directly, the Forest Service could quietly post proposals on government websites. If you're not already watching, you might never know a decision is being made.

The Machinery of Democratic Input

Public comment periods rest on the Administrative Procedure Act, which requires federal agencies to publish proposed rules in the Federal Register and consider public feedback before finalizing regulations. This isn't a courtesy—it's the law. Agencies must review all substantive comments and respond to significant concerns.

The system operates through Regulations.gov, where anyone can submit comments without credentials or expertise. A rancher worried about grazing rights has equal standing with a PhD forest ecologist. Comments range from single sentences to thousand-page technical analyses. The variety reflects democracy's messy reality: policy affects people differently, and everyone gets a say.

But legal obligation doesn't guarantee genuine consideration. Agencies receive anywhere from zero comments to thousands on a single rule. The volume creates pressure to streamline review, which brings us to the Forest Service's other innovation: "expanding the use of modern technology" to process submissions.

Translation: artificial intelligence will read your comment before any human does.

When Machines Filter Democracy

The AI proposal reveals how public participation can be hollowed out while technically preserved. Yes, you can still submit a comment. Yes, the agency will receive it. But will a person with expertise and local knowledge actually read what you wrote? Or will an algorithm sort your concerns into categories, flag keywords, and generate a summary that strips away nuance?

Sam Evans of the Southern Environmental Law Center put it bluntly: "This idea that public input and opposition are process inefficiencies has become gospel with this administration."

The comment period exists not just to collect opinions but to create a factual record. When residents near a proposed logging project describe how previous operations affected their water supply, they're providing evidence that should shape decisions. When Indigenous communities explain cultural connections to specific groves, they're offering knowledge that technical assessments miss. Personal stories grounded in lived experience matter precisely because they can't be reduced to data points.

Feed those stories through AI, and they become text to be processed rather than voices to be heard.

The Exception That Swallows the Rule

The Forest Service changes fit within a broader pattern. On January 8, 2026, the Council on Environmental Quality rescinded key National Environmental Policy Act regulations, removing requirements for public participation in environmental reviews. A month earlier, President Trump issued a memo directing agencies to repeal regulations "inconsistent with his priorities" without traditional public input, invoking a "good cause" exception in the Administrative Procedure Act.

That exception allows agencies to skip public comment when it would be "impracticable, unnecessary, or contrary to the public interest." It's meant for emergencies—not routine policy disagreements.

The memo also claimed the Supreme Court's 2024 Loper Bright decision applies retroactively, giving agencies broad authority to reinterpret existing rules. Chief Justice John Roberts explicitly wrote that the decision is "forward-looking" and doesn't "call into question prior cases." The misreading isn't accidental. It's a strategy to expand executive power while minimizing public oversight.

Democracy Forward, a legal advocacy group, called the actions "unlawful and harmful to the public" and promised court challenges. But litigation takes time, and rules can be implemented while cases wind through the courts.

What Gets Lost in the Speed

Defenders of shorter comment periods argue that bureaucracy slows needed action. Forests do need management. Infrastructure does require maintenance. Climate change demands faster responses than 1970s-era procedures anticipated.

But speed and public input aren't opposites. They're in tension, which is different. Tension requires balance, not elimination of one side. When the Forest Service cuts comment periods by more than half while introducing AI screening, it's not balancing—it's choosing.

What gets lost? Civil rights advocates who need time to assess how policies affect vulnerable communities. Labor unions representing workers whose jobs depend on public lands. Environmental groups that provide technical expertise many agencies lack. Small-town residents who don't check government websites daily and rely on local newspapers for notice.

These aren't fringe voices. They're stakeholders with legitimate interests and valuable knowledge. Excluding them doesn't make decisions better. It makes them faster and less informed.

The Trouble of Consulting the Public

Pinchot understood something that seems forgotten today: consulting the public is supposed to be trouble. Democracy is inefficient by design. It requires listening to people who disagree with you, considering evidence that complicates your plans, and explaining your reasoning to citizens who have every right to question it.

That's not a bug. That's the entire point.

When agencies treat public participation as an obstacle rather than an obligation, they misunderstand their role. They're not private companies optimizing for efficiency. They're public servants managing shared resources on behalf of 330 million people with competing values and priorities.

Ten days isn't enough time for democracy to function. Twenty days for complex environmental decisions affecting millions of acres isn't reasonable—it's performative. And filtering public comments through AI before human review defeats the purpose of asking for input in the first place.

Pinchot's maxim remains true: consulting the public is more trouble than ignoring them. But that trouble is what public servants were hired for.