Even as most congressional Republicans are avoiding their constituents, one has demonstrated an exceptional commitment to engaging with voters in the flesh: 61-year-old Mark Alford of Missouri held not one but 15 public events across his district this week, including five town halls. The second-term lawmaker is not an otherwise noteworthy member of Congress. He represents a safe Republican district, and has voted along party lines 89 percent of the time, according to Heritage Action. But in a moment when so few Republicans are making an effort to hear from the people who sent them to Congress, Alford has set himself apart. His forums, four of which I attended this week, offer a useful window into voters’ opinions of the current administration, and a preview of the biggest fights to come in 2026.
Alford, whose district spans 24 counties in west-central Missouri, is a former TV-news anchor with a square jaw and gray hair that make him resemble a slightly younger version of Pat Sajak. At each of his recent public events, which were announced weeks ago and were open to the press, Alford forwent the customary politician’s podium. Instead he perched on a stool to avoid the appearance, he told me, of “lording” over voters. In an interview, Alford said that he sees these public events as vital to the job. “That’s why we’re elected every two years—to be back in the district to listen to people,” he said. “I may not win them over, but I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing that I at least listened to them.”
Since March, when Republican leaders in Congress advised their members against holding town halls, most GOP lawmakers have been AWOL during each congressional recess—physically in their districts, maybe, but mostly inaccessible. A handful of lawmakers have flouted this new advice by holding one or two stand-alone town halls, while others have only dared to host virtual events with prescreened questions.
Alford declined to speculate about why so many of his Republican colleagues haven’t met with their constituents during the August recess. But the answer is probably that they don’t see much upside in being publicly heckled—which Alford was, often. Most of the attendees who showed up to the coffee shops and community centers where Alford spoke this week were not fans of his; several used the crowd mic to call the president a “dictator” and Alford his lackey. At Southwest Baptist University, in Bolivar, Missouri, a farmer named Fred Higginbotham asked the congressman repeatedly when he would take his “head out of Trump’s ass.” (At this, two older women near me gasped.) Alford mostly ignored these insults, although at one point, he distanced himself from the president: “I’m not the best of friends with Trump,” he told Higginbotham. “I met him maybe five or six times.”
Photograph by Arin Yoon for The Atlantic
A town hall hosted by Mark Alford in Lebanon, Missouri, on August 26
Photograph by Arin Yoon for The Atlantic
The town hall in Lebanon
Mostly, however, Alford’s events were civil, if tense. Some questioners focused on local issues, such as how Donald Trump’s tariffs have affected Missouri farmers. Several attendees asked Alford about Trump’s deployment of federal agents and the National Guard in Washington, D.C. In the city of Lebanon, a combat veteran named Josh asked whether Alford was prepared to stop the president from sending troops into Missouri. In St. Robert, a high-school government teacher asked Alford “what’s so conservative” about loosing troops on the U.S. capital. (Alford’s response was to suggest that cities should be grateful for the extra help. When Kansas City co-hosts the men’s World Cup in 2026, would Missourians not hope to see the National Guard helping out?)
A topic that rarely came up was Jeffrey Epstein. I’d expected more voters to ask Alford about the Justice Department investigation into the financier and sex offender. Few did. But in Bolivar, Don Bass, a Republican and a retired police officer, told me before Alford took the stage that he wasn’t happy to hear the president dismiss the people advocating for the Epstein files’ release. “I voted for him three times, and he calls me a ‘troublemaker!’” Bass said. “It’s frustrating.”
As has become clear in other GOP town halls and in recent polling, the issue that had Alford’s constituents particularly frustrated was the new Republican tax-cut-and-spending package—Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act. Among other provisions, the legislation makes permanent the president’s 2017 tax cuts, eliminates $1.1 trillion from Medicaid and other public-health programs, and reduces food assistance by $186 billion. Independent estimates suggest that millions of Americans, including children, will lose health-care coverage or food-assistance benefits in the next few years. At the Bolivar event, a woman named Samantha asked whether Alford had considered this. “My question to you is, how do we fix it?” The next day, in St. Robert, a constituent named Allison told Alford that she works with disabled children who rely on Medicaid and SNAP. “I’m looking at these kids that I treat, and I’m like, Who’s going to lose their food stamps? Who might lose their Medicaid?” she said, her voice wavering. “It seems like we didn’t even need to make those Medicaid or food-stamps cuts if we had just not extended that tax cut to the rich.”
Photograph by Arin Yoon for The Atlantic
Alford answers questions at the town hall in Lebanon.
Photograph by Arin Yoon for The Atlantic
A constituent speaks with Alford at a town hall in St. Robert, Missouri, on August 26.
To each questioner, Alford’s response was the same: There was waste in the Medicaid and SNAP systems, and Republicans were eliminating it. Because Americans with dependents will continue to receive coverage under the bill’s requirements, no children will go without health care or food, he promised, and he said that those suggesting otherwise are promoting “misinformation.” (Economists and health-care experts have argued that, despite children being covered on paper, the bill’s new work requirements and administrative hurdles will likely cause many to fall through the cracks.) Alford’s team has set up a hotline for constituents to call if they are unduly removed from the system. “If there is a child kicked off Medicaid or SNAP, I’m going to fight for them,” he said. He also acknowledged the “tough times ahead” for rural hospitals, but he pointed to the bill’s $50 billion fund for rural health care.
Similar back-and-forths have played out at Republican events this spring and summer, including at a viral town hall held by Representative Mike Flood of Nebraska, and another hosted by Senator Joni Ernst of Iowa, whose helpful response to concerns about cuts to Medicaid was: “Well, we all are going to die.” More than a month after the One Big Beautiful Bill Act’s passage, more people disapprove of it than approve, according to the Pew Research Center, and the president this week suggested a rebrand. “I’m not going to use the term ‘great big beautiful,’” Trump said. “That was good for getting it approved, but it’s not good for explaining to people what it’s all about.” Vice President J. D. Vance has been on tour to reframe the bill as a win for the working class. Alford is careful, too. When he talks about the bill, he refers to it as “HR 1.” I asked him whether this is a tacit acknowledgment that he sees the legislation as a political vulnerability. Alford said no. “One Big Beautiful Bill” is “a great name,” he said, but “why would I use something that is going to trigger” people?
Photograph by Arin Yoon for The Atlantic
Alford speaks with constituents at Bean Depot in Laurie, Missouri, on August 27.
Alford’s town halls are not exactly changing minds; the people I spoke with seemed to arrive and leave with the same feelings about their congressman and president that they entered with. At the St. Robert Community Center, Dawn, a retiree in a tie-dyed T-shirt who declined to share her last name, told me that she’d voted for Trump in 2016, but had changed her mind in the years since. She wasn’t happy about the 2017 tax cuts, she told me, and now she worries about Trump’s “blatant, wanton desire to just take over.” Dawn appreciated Alford’s willingness to listen, she said. “But will I vote for him? No.”
Still, Alford managed to hold a week’s worth of public events without screening questions or attendees. He de-escalated conflicts, and responded to substantive criticism from his constituents. “I’m not necessarily after their vote in the town-hall tours,” he told me. “I’m after their respect.” On this modest goal, Alford appears to have found at least some success. His Republican colleagues don’t seem interested in achieving the same.
