During recess, I was invited to speak to three congressional staffs in Washington, D.C.: one from a dark-red district, one from a light-blue district, and one from that rarest of all artifacts from our gerrymandered age, a deep-dyed purple district. The tactical advice was tailored to their different exigencies, but the core message, edited for this mature audience, was the same for all three tribes.

Number One: At the Beginning of a Session, When the Congressman Is Sworn in, Take Your Own Oath: The Hippocratic Oath

In the course of a Capitol day, you will hear from lobbyists. You will hear from the bureaucracy. You will hear from the media. You will even hear from a few folks back home: A constituent wants to get her granddad into a VA hospital; another wants you to track down his Social Security check; a third wants to get in on this loan-forgiveness thing.

You will not hear much of anything from what I hope is still the silent majority — the productive people back home. They are the people who voted for your boss. The people who pay the nation’s bills. The people, you might recall, who pay your salary. (READ MORE: I Love the States People Are Leaving)

Most of the people back home are not eager to hear from you. When they do, it’s usually bad news about the costs you impose on them: taxes, fees, and the only slightly disguised costs of inflation. Most productive people don’t complain. They cope. They work harder, they try to work smarter and, if all else fails, they cut their own compensation.

What productive people can’t cope with is the inexorably rising cost of compliance with government regulation. Most of the productive people don’t work for organizations with large staffs of government relations people, which is of course another cost of compliance only partially disguised.

So, please, when you research a new bill, when you review a draft, when you whip votes for it, and especially when you recommend to the congressman that he votes for it, ask yourself this question: Does this bill harm the people who sent your boss here to represent them? Does it make their life harder? Does it make it more expensive? Remember always the injunction given to the young doctor as he or she begins to treat patients: Primum non nocere. First, do no harm.

Number Two: Bring Your Personal GPS With You

You, Congressional staffers, are vastly outnumbered by lobbyists in the D.C. area. You see them around the office. You see them at receptions after work. As you head home at night, you may find that you have parked your VW in the space next to their BMW. And the next morning, while they are commuting from suburban McLean, you may be taking the scenic route from somewhere in the greater Leesburg metro area. (READ MORE: Despite the Harris Candidacy, I’m Actually Optimistic)

Over time, you can’t help but notice that a) lobbyists make three, five, or seven times more than you do, and b) they don’t seem to be any brighter or work any harder than you do. You may come to think of yourself as underpaid.

You are using the wrong GPS. This is the moment to check your personal GPS. It will help you to remember where you are in the scheme of things. You should know that many of the productive people back home look at you and your colleagues and ask, “What do all those overpaid people do all day?”

Number Three: What Should You Do When the Boss Is Wrong?

We will stipulate that your congressman is as smart as a whip, but we must also acknowledge that he is human and that, on those exceedingly rare occasions when he is about to make a mistake, you must decide: What should you do about it?

I have pertinent experience with this question. All of it is bad.

In 1971, when I caught wind of Richard Nixon’s plan to impose wage and price controls, I wrote him a memo setting out the history of controls and the damage, both political and economic, likely to result from their imposition. That was too little, too late. In 2002, determined not to repeat my earlier mistake, I took to the media to express my opposition to George W. Bush’s upcoming “discretionary war” in Iraq. That was too much, too soon. (READ MORE: The Sacred Duty of Skepticism)

My suggestion is that you proceed as follows. First, consult your oath. Is the proposed legislation likely to wing, even inadvertently, the good folks back home? Or is the legislation likely to diminish the congressman’s prospects? Research the matter from every angle. Reach your conclusion firmly. Then ask for a few private minutes with the boss and present your case. If he agrees with you, the public credit is and of right ought to be his. If he disagrees with you, you should either fall in line quickly or, if the issue is of sufficient moment as to weaken your commitment to the job, you should resign.

Number Four: Seize the Serendipitous Opportunity

It has long been Democratic orthodoxy to regard a crisis as a terrible thing to waste. It has become Democratic orthodoxy in recent years to confront crises well before they materialize. Can anybody remember what crisis we were addressing when we passed the obscenely profligate American Rescue Plan? Or the Inflation Reduction Act?

It is more terrible still, however, to waste an opportunity that arrives unbidden and unannounced. Consider the opportunity laid at your doorstep by the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn the Chevron doctrine.

For decades, the administrative state has expanded in size, budget, and, most consequentially, in its role as the ultimate regulator of American life. Capitol Hill, home to the legislative branch, has inched outward over the years. The administrative state has taken over the rest of the city, block by block, neighborhood by neighborhood, as its resources mount and its mission creeps ever onward.

The alphabet agencies of the administrative state may have gone unmentioned in the Constitution but they have assumed a massive role in contemporary government. They now “interpret” the laws passed by our representatives, with the result that legislation now tends toward the merely aspirational and all parties understand that bureaucratized regulators will fill in the blanks. The bureaucrats, that is, now tell the legislators what they really meant to say.

My advice is that you seize the opportunity given to you by the Chevron decision. It’s time to redress the imbalance between the legislative and administrative branches of government. It’s time for you, the elected legislators, to tell the regulators, the unelected bureaucrats, exactly what you mean to say. Fill in your own blanks.

Number Five: Remind Yourself Why You Wanted to Work In Washington

You came to Washington, at least in part, to advance your beliefs. You thought that public service was a vocation. You wanted, in some way, to serve your country.

Those are laudable beliefs and laudable ambitions. Hold them close. They will serve you well as you make your way through the rhetorical fog of Washington.

Godspeed to you all. You are doing the people’s business.