When Legislators Pretend They Are Doing Something

Summary: Politicians push bills that scream “PROHIBITED!” in headlines but quietly use weak “may not” instead of ironclad “shall not,” turning bans into optional suggestions. It’s pure theater and wastes precious legislative session committee and floor time. They score political points, voters "feel" heard, yet nothing enforceable actually changes. Real reform needs real commands—don’t get fooled by legislative word games.

CIVICS - Legislators often craft bills with language that sounds decisive and protective—promising to stop bad practices, safeguard rights, or enforce fairness. Yet a closer look reveals a common trick: using permissive words like "may" (especially in the phrase "may not") instead of mandatory ones like "shall" or "must."

This subtle choice can turn what appears to be a firm prohibition into something optional, discretionary, or even meaningless in practice. The result? Lawmakers get to claim they've "addressed" an issue while leaving the door wide open for the very behavior they supposedly banned.

In statutory drafting, "shall not" creates a clear command—no one is allowed to do the prohibited thing, and violations carry weight. "May not," however, can be interpreted more weakly: it might mean "is not permitted to" in some contexts, but courts and agencies sometimes read it as "is permitted not to," making compliance voluntary rather than required.

Without strong enforcement teeth or clearer wording, these provisions risk becoming symbolic gestures—headline-friendly but practically toothless.

Recent Arizona proposals from the 2026 session illustrate this pattern vividly.

HB2903: The "Social Credit" Prohibition That Isn't Binding

Sponsored by Rep. Montenegro, HB2903 targets the use of social credit scores in lending. Its reference title reads "social credit; use; prohibition," and the core provision states that the state "may not require a bank or financial institution to use a social credit score" when evaluating loans.

On the surface, it looks like a strong stand against dystopian scoring systems that could punish people for their political views or behaviors. In reality, the "may not" language means the state simply isn't obligated to impose such requirements—it doesn't outright forbid the state from doing so if it chooses. As one sharp critic on X (@MerissaCaldwell) pointed out in response to the bill's introduction: "It says MAY, not SHALL. Pointless bill." Without the mandatory "shall not," the measure lacks real force, allowing potential loopholes or future backsliding.

SB1013: Merit-Based Hiring—Optional Edition

Sen. Shamp's bill aims to protect merit in public employment, declaring that "This state or a political subdivision of this state may not" establish policies requiring hires based on anything other than merit.

It purports to block quotas, favoritism, or non-merit criteria in government jobs. Yet the same permissive "may not" phrasing appears again. Instead of a binding prohibition ("shall not establish"), it leaves room for interpretation: agencies might argue they are merely not required to use non-merit factors, but could still do so if they wish. The bill generates the optics of defending meritocracy without guaranteeing it.

SCR1004: Banning Photo Enforcement Cameras—Sort Of

This concurrent resolution, backed by Sens. Rogers and Finchem, targets automated traffic enforcement: "A local authority or an agency of this state may not use a photo enforcement system" to catch speeders or red-light violators.

It sounds like a clear win for drivers frustrated with revenue cameras. But once more, "may not" softens the blow. Local governments could claim the language permits them to continue using the systems if they interpret the restriction as non-mandatory. A stronger "shall not" would have closed that ambiguity.

The Bottom Line

Beyond the weak language itself, these kinds of bills waste valuable committee and floor time in an already time-constrained legislative session. Arizona's 2026 regular session began in mid-January, with strict deadlines for bill introductions, committee hearings, and floor action—typically wrapping up by late April. Committees have limited meeting slots to hear testimony, debate amendments, and vote on dozens or hundreds of measures. Floor time for full chamber debates and votes is even scarcer, especially with rules limiting bill introductions and requiring timely committee action.

When legislators push forward bills that are performative—loaded with vague or optional wording that critics quickly flag as ineffective—they consume hours of public testimony, staff analysis, member questions, and procedural votes that could instead go toward substantive reforms with real teeth. Resources spent debating and potentially advancing "pointless" measures divert attention from pressing issues like budget shortfalls, infrastructure, education funding, or water policy. In a session packed with hundreds of bills, every hour on a toothless proposal is an hour not spent on legislation that might actually deliver change.

These examples show how easily well-intentioned (or politically expedient) ideas can be diluted through careful word choice. Voters hear "prohibited" or "banned" in press releases and summaries, but the fine print often tells a different story. When "may not" replaces "shall not," the legislature can pat itself on the back for "doing something" while the status quo quietly persists—and valuable legislative time gets squandered in the process.

The lesson is simple: read the actual text, not just the title or spin. Demand mandatory language in bills that claim to solve problems. Until then, many so-called solutions will remain little more than performative theater—pretending to act while changing almost nothing.

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