Johnson County Heroically Holds Mill Levy Flat, Accidentally Raises Taxes by $20 Million
A Babylonian Bee–Style Report on the 2026 Revenue Neutral Meeting held August 25, 2026.
OLATHE, KS — In a stunning display of fiscal acrobatics, the Johnson County Board of Commissioners gathered Tuesday evening, August 25, 2026, for their annual Revenue Neutral Meeting — a ceremonial event in which elected officials bravely hold the mill levy flat while simultaneously increasing taxes by enough money to buy several small nations.
Residents were generously granted three full minutes to speak — a luxurious 180 seconds of democracy — before commissioners resumed their synchronized head‑nod routine, a choreography perfected over years of pre‑decided voting. All except Commissioner Michael Ashcraft, who sat blinking like the last lighthouse on a foggy shore, signaling warnings no one intended to heed.
Meanwhile, the other commissioners maintained their traditional posture: serene, unbothered, and deeply committed to the ancient art of pretending the vote hasn’t already been decided in a meeting no one will ever admit happened.
Do more with less, delay hiring, and adjust services until the numbers look good.
The Opening: A Word Salad Garnished with Bureaucratic Parsley
Budget and Financial Planning Director, Robyn Symes gives her opening report. Her power point looks good. I believe it’s a cut and paste from years past. She gives a soothing explanation of how new FTEs don’t really cost anything, because money was “shifted” from one place to another — a process residents recognized as the governmental equivalent of moving peas around on a dinner plate and calling it a diet. (FTE – Full-Time Employee)
She then displayed the three major roles of county government, which can be summarized as:
Things the state makes us do
Things the state makes us do but cost more
Things we decided to do because they sound fun
The public nodded politely, unaware this was merely the appetizer for the evening’s main course: the Revenue Neutral Rate, a mystical number that means “we promise not to collect more money than last year unless we decide to.”
The First Speaker: A Sobering Reality Check
Virtual caller David Hinton, Lenexa resident since 1972, opened with the line that would echo through the entire meeting:
“What can be done to reduce and rein in the ever‑increasing taxes and county expenses in Johnson County?”
He then delivered a statistical beatdown so thorough it should have required a permit:
Inflation‑adjusted per capita income up 1%
Property taxes up 28%
Staff proposing another $20 million increase
Total increase since 2021: 44%
County reserves: $500 million+
Commissioners’ cumulative tax increases since 1997: 378%
Sedgwick County staff: 59 employees
Johnson County staff: 148 FTEs (and growing)
Equivalent staffing if matched to Sedgwick ratio: 650 fewer employees
Savings: $50 million
Hinton concluded with a patriotic flourish:
“The greatest generation did it with less. I can’t wait.”
The room exhaled. The commissioners blinked. The head‑nod resumed.
The In‑Person Speakers: A Parade of Reality
Gene Senesac (19:36)
Gene, who spent 18 months attending meetings to prepare for a run at the Chair position, politely explained that:
The public doesn’t feel heard
Rising appraisals = rising taxes
“No taxpayer dollars were used” is a myth
The AAA bond rating means we have good taxpayer dollars or “we have lots of money to pay our bills” not “we are responsible” look at how we scored.
Commissioners nodded in unison, as if to say: We hear you. We will continue not hearing you.
Gaylene Vanhorn (22:28)
A veteran of budget analysis since 2023, Gaylene delivered the line of the night:
Her point in which her tone stresses “the county has 500 million in cash reserves. And 200 million is in the general fund. WE DO NOT NEED A PROPERTY TAX INCREASE. THIS COUNTY HAS A SPENDING PROBLEM AND NOT A REVENUE PROBLEM.”
(Applause followed — the kind that says finally, someone said it plainly.)
Gaylene’s point was simple, devastating, and mathematically irrefutable: If you’re sitting on half a billion dollars, maybe don’t raise taxes on people whose wages went up 3.2%.
Aaron Haffey (25:30)
Born, raised, educated, married, and now raising kids in Johnson County, Aaron explained:
“My income has not increased 600%. I don’t pay my property taxes with the equity in my home.”
He then noted:
County budget nearly doubled since 2020
140% increase in a decade
Population growth: 6% in five years
Services have not improved 140%
Commissioners nodded in the tempo of “we will absolutely ignore this.”
Dr. James Lucas (28:04): The Engineer Who Brought Actual Math to a Meeting About Pretend Math
Then came Dr. James Lucas, a man with multiple engineering degrees and the rare ability to do math without a government grant. He stepped up to the microphone and delivered what can only be described as a polite but devastating demolition of the county’s logic.
He began with the kind of calm, factual tone that makes bureaucrats shift in their seats:
“Just a little basic math. According to the Bureau of Labor statistics, American wages HAVE GONE UP 3.2%. Talking about social security increases, many of us. They are talking in that same range, 3.2%, so I got multiple degrees in Engineering. We are getting 3.2%, and you are wanting 5 ½, 6%, the math is not mathing.”
The room chuckled. Commissioners blinked. Somewhere, a mill levy chart quietly burst into flames.
But Dr. Lucas wasn’t done. He leaned in and delivered the kind of line that should have been embroidered on a county‑issued throw pillow:
“I know in your presentation that the money being brought in goes to OTHER people. Well, go back and beat them up and tell them they have to cut theirs back…”
Then he turned his attention to the county manager’s mill levy talking points:
“A reminder that the property tax vs. the mill levy per the county manager Ms. Ferguson did come down 9%? However, the mill levy works against the property valuation of your property values. You look — yours must be worth more. So, they say… a phoney bologna operation.”
He continued, now speaking directly to the commissioners’ obsession with their AAA bond rating:
“It is time to draw on reserves and people here do not care about the Triple A Bond rating. For you not to borrow money so you don’t have to worry about the bond rating…”
And then he delivered the line that became a running theme for the rest of the night:
“…and could you at least pretend to huddle together before you take a vote because many of us think this vote is already decided and a token stuff…”
Dr. Lucas was the first of many to point out the obvious: The vote appeared pre‑approved, pre‑packaged, and pre‑digested in some previous meeting held in a location known only to God and the county’s legal department.
Commissioners nodded in synchronized formation — the official gesture for: We hear you. We will continue doing exactly what you fear.
Bradley Steinmetz (32:57): The Guy Who Explained the $20 Million Tax Increase, Then Explained Why He’s Running for Office
Then came Bradley Steinmetz of Gardner — a man who walked up to the podium, took a breath, and delivered the kind of clarity that should have been printed on the county’s official website.
He began with the line that instantly cut through the bureaucratic fog:
“…let’s be honest about what a flat rate mill means in a year where property valuations jumped over 5%. It’s a functional $20 million tax increase. Keeping the rate flat allows the county to catch a massive windfall instead of lowering the tax rate to give U.S. citizens struggling to make ends meet.” He goes on to say the squeeze is also happening from his municipal government. The raising of sewer and utilities.”
Bradley continued, explaining that while families across Johnson County are tightening their belts, the county is loosening theirs:
“When the budget needs to be corrected, we do not get to artificially raise my income — but you (the county) do.”
He pointed out that when families face inflation, they:
Cut back
Draw from savings
Lose their homes
Meanwhile, the county:
Raises taxes
Raises fees
Raises spending
Raises staffing
Raises everything except accountability
But Bradley wasn’t finished. He went off script — and made sure everyone knew why:
“It did not matter what side of the political aisle everyone was on. Blue or Red. We are all citizens of this county. We need to come together.”
Then he explained why he was running for Gardner City Council:
“That is why I am running for city council of Gardner, because we have to have a voice!”
And then he delivered the local reality check that made half the room wince:
“In the town I live in, they are going to raise the health insurance for the city workers from 2.8 million to 3.2 million. They are going to raise the pool 3.5% and 4% for sworn officers and spend 300,000 on a phone system they don’t even answer right now.”
It was the municipal equivalent of saying: My town is doing the same thing you’re doing — and it’s not working there either.
Karen Crnkovich (36:10): The Candidate Who Brought the County’s Favorite Excuses in a Neat Three‑Point List
Then came Karen Crnkovich, running for Chair of Johnson County — a woman who has spent over a year listening to these meetings and finally decided to bring the county’s greatest hits to the microphone.
She began by explaining the three responses residents always get when they question skyrocketing property taxes. And she delivered them with the clarity of someone who has watched this movie too many times:
Lack of acknowledgement.“Turning a blind eye and saying ‘it’s only this amount.’ Pennies add up to dollars.”
Blame Topeka.“As if any of the people in Topeka have anything to do with the spending decisions YOU make.”
Play the shell game.“Every single dollar you spend comes from a taxpayer — whether it be state funds, federal funds, fees, or sales tax.”
The room nodded. Commissioners nodded. The head‑nod choreography reached Olympic precision.
But Karen wasn’t finished. She leaned in and delivered the line that made several commissioners shift in their seats:
“I question whether any of you have ever managed a budget.”
She explained that in over a year of listening to their meetings, she has heard:
Zero meaningful conversations about finding efficiencies
Zero meaningful conversations about synergies
Zero meaningful conversations about cost‑saving strategies
But she has heard:
How to write blank checks
How to expand spending
How to approve whatever staff puts in front of them
Then she delivered the knockout punch:
“We need to see an audit of what is actually spent — not what you put on paper and then spend in a different pot.”
It was the polite, Midwestern way of saying: Stop telling us you’re responsible when your spending habits say otherwise.
Phil Bauer (42:48): The Long‑Time Observer Who Finally Brought the County’s Excuse Chart Into the Light
Next came Phil Bauer, a veteran of Revenue Neutral meetings and a man who has watched the county recycle the same talking points year after year like a bad sitcom rerun. He stepped up to the podium with what he called the Excuse Chart — a tidy list of the Commission’s greatest hits.
And he went through them one by one.
1. “We’ve lowered the mill rate 7 of the last 8 years.”
Phil didn’t even blink.
“Yet you’ve increased taxes every single one of those years. Every year since 2013.”
Lowering the mill rate while raising taxes is the county’s favorite magic trick — the fiscal equivalent of sawing a woman in half and pretending she’s fine.
2. “We offer a tax relief program.”
Phil’s response was surgical:
“We would not need a tax relief program if you STOPPED RAISING OUR TAXES EVERY YEAR.”
He explained that the program is:
Funded by taxpayers
A rebate for those who jump through hoops
And costs $500,000 for everyone
Then he delivered the correction the county never admits:
“The tax relief program comes from reserves, so it’s not necessarily an extra tax. Although, it comes from reserves. That’s not entirely true. While it does come from reserves, those reserves are replenished every year from taxes.”
In other words: It’s still our money.
3. “We need more revenue because the county is growing.”
Phil smiled — the kind of smile that says “I brought receipts.”
“I like the way you use the word ‘revenue’ instead of ‘taxes.’”
Then he dropped the math:
County growth: 1% a year
Property tax increase this year: 5.2%
The county’s logic: If one new person moves in, raise taxes on everyone.
4. “We can’t stop delivering to the sick and elderly who can’t leave their homes.”
Phil didn’t let them hide behind compassion theater.
“We are not asking you to do that. We are asking you to stop your WASTEFUL spending.”
The room nodded. Commissioners blinked. The head‑nod choreography resumed.
5. “We need more money because inflation is so high.”
Phil delivered the knockout punch:
“It is interesting that I never heard you mention inflation when CPI increased to 5.2% in July of 2021 or when it soared to 8.5% in 2022. Who was the president back then?”
He paused.
“Now it’s only 3.4%. But you can’t stop talking about inflation.”
Then he delivered the line that made the room exhale:
“So even though the rate of inflation has decreased, it’s been killing us taxpayers since 2021.”
Phil’s point was simple: The county only talks about inflation when it helps them raise taxes — not when inflation was actually crushing residents.
Charlotte O’Hara (54:06): The Former Commissioner Who Brought Receipts, Blueprints, and a Calculator
Then came former County Commissioner Charlotte O’Hara, a woman who has spent years tracking Johnson County’s spending with the precision of someone who actually knows how budgets work. She stepped up to the podium and calmly laid out where “good money has gone wild.”
Her voice didn’t waver as she delivered the kind of specifics that make bureaucrats suddenly fascinated with their shoelaces:
“The 150,000 square foot new Public Health building out at Ridgeview and 119th. We are replacing a building built in 1997 and replacing it with 135 million — which is $109 a square foot, which it should be $106 to $107 and that’s on the high side.”
The room went quiet. Commissioners blinked. Somewhere, a construction cost estimate quietly died.
But Charlotte wasn’t finished. She moved on to the county’s favorite hobby: spending money on things that don’t actually exist.
“Not to mention money going to the pretend transit. With 8 million coming from the General Fund.”
Pretend transit — the county’s most ambitious imaginary friend.
Charlotte’s point was simple, devastating, and impossible to refute:
She can tell you exactly where the money is being put — and it’s not as fiscally wonderful and above‑board as the Commissioners wish for you to believe.
Ben Hobart (1:12:20): The Calm Voice of Budget Sanity Who Brought Charts, Facts, and a Gentle Rebuke
Finally, the room settled as Ben Hobart stepped forward — the veteran of Johnson County budget hearings, the man whose soothing voice has become a kind of ritual cleansing after an hour of bureaucratic fog. If the meeting was a storm, Ben was the lighthouse guiding everyone back to reality.
He opened with the kind of quiet truth that lands harder than shouting:
“You know you can control spending if you have a desire and if you care.”
Then he delivered the math — simple, devastating, and impossible to spin:
“Population growth from 2020 to 2027. The population growth is .87%. Three hundred more employees.”
He paused, letting the absurdity breathe.
Then he continued:
“From 2010 to 2020 population growth was 1.17% and only 33 additional employees. The difference is we had a fiscally responsible Chairman.”
The room absorbed it. Commissioners blinked. Somewhere, a staffing chart quietly burst into flames.
But Ben wasn’t finished. He moved from staffing to reserves, delivering the kind of fiscal reality check that should have been printed on the county’s website:
“The gains are being played in the reserves. Reserves going to 505 million to 530 million.”
He explained that with reserves ballooning:
The county could freeze property taxes
The county could do revenue neutral
The county knows it
But instead, they raided reserves for:
$20 million — Evergreen Living Innovation giveaway
$10 million — Health Services building
$293 million — a giant screen at Shawnee Mission Park
It was the polite, Midwestern way of saying: You’re spending like you found the county’s debit card in a parking lot.
Then Ben pointed out the newest bureaucratic trick:
“Now they want people to request budget documents by sending an email for FTPs.”
Which is government‑speak for:
If the data is bad, make it harder to find.
But the real hammer came when Ben addressed the Mill Levy Farce:
“They brought it down 1 mill right after Covid. Why? Because of the huge inflation even this county could not get away from it.”
He explained that:
No one did anything gracious
It was simply politically impossible not to lower it
And the county is still pretending it was benevolence
Then he delivered the line that made half the room gasp:
“You are not telling people about the fees.”
He laid out the truth:
Ambulance fees increased 36%
Billing rates increased 36%
And they did not even get a competitive bid
It was the fiscal equivalent of saying: You’re raising taxes without calling it taxes.
Ben’s calm delivery made the absurdity even sharper. He didn’t need theatrics. He didn’t need raised voices. He didn’t need to wave his arms.
He had facts — and the facts were brutal.
Commissioner Michael Ashcraft: The Lone NO in a Sea of Pre‑Approved Yeses
As the meeting drew to a close — after an hour of citizens delivering math, testimony, charts, and existential dread — one commissioner finally broke the synchronized head‑nod formation.
Commissioner Michael Ashcraft. The lone NO vote. The lighthouse blinking in a fog of bureaucratic certainty.
In a sea of pre‑approved decisions, Ashcraft’s vote stood out like a cartoon character holding a tiny sign that says, “Does anyone else see this?”
And when he spoke, he didn’t grandstand. He didn’t lecture. He didn’t deflect. He simply acknowledged what everyone in the room already knew:
“I would like to recognize the wisdom of the crowd. There has been a lot of things said this evening that I have had thought and other discussions and conversations with.”
It was the closest thing the meeting had to a moment of humility — a commissioner openly admitting that the public had made valid points, raised real concerns, and offered legitimate critiques.
Ashcraft’s words landed because they were sincere. They were grounded. They were the opposite of the bureaucratic fog that had filled the room for two hours.
He was the only commissioner who voted NO — the only one who broke from the pre‑decided script — the only one who didn’t treat the public’s testimony as background noise.
And that moment of clarity made what came next even more surreal.
Commissioner Julie Brewer: The Word Salad So Dense It Required a Translator
And then — immediately after Commissioner Ashcraft’s calm, grounded acknowledgment of the public’s wisdom — Commissioner Julie Brewer stepped forward and delivered what can only be described as a policy monologue written by refrigerator magnets.
Her remarks began with a stutter‑step into confusion:
“I did hear some comments and I just wanted to make one… one, I appreciate — How can we further reduce cost? Right? How can that have a measurable impact on residents?”
She continued, now drifting into housing policy:
“I too share that concern around, ‘How can we make sure people maintain and stablely housed?’”
Then she attempted to clarify revenue neutral — and instead clarified nothing:
“I wanted to make one clarification when we think about policy and sometimes policy sounds good but doesn’t mean how it sounds. And that is revenue neutral.”
What followed was a breathtaking journey through the Revenue Neutral Statute, delivered with the confidence of someone reading a map upside‑down:
“Revenue Neutral statute how it is currently in the statute books does not — meaning new business coming in. New housing being built. New tax revenue being collected.”
Then she explained her personal struggle with the law:
“I would like to see a policy. Today I have to look at if I see one dollar more regardless if I get 6500 more residents in a year, that is what I was quoted as our annual growth rate is about 1%. So that is about 6500 more folks a year.”
Then she pivoted to seniors:
“Or our fastest growing demographic is residents that is 60 and above. And I joined these ranks this year. And what that looks like for higher demand on services I can’t look at any of that.”
Then she circled back to revenue neutral:
“I can only look at Revenue Neutral. Meaning, if I spend $1 more than the previous year that does not excuse us from still looking at how we can reduce revenue…”
Then she attempted math:
“…and if I am looking at our numbers correctly from budget year to budget year 2026, we budgeted and anticipated total revenue of $1.350 million as our revenue. Not including the reserve carry over. And this year we are budgeting or projecting a budget of $1.330 million.”
Then she concluded with:
“So that is a $20 million dollar reduction in what we anticipate our revenue being from last year’s budget to this year’s budget.”
Then she attempted to summarize:
“I would love to see better policy on what revenue neutral really should be.”
Then she attempted to interpret public comments:
“Current policy, as I would say again, doesn’t reflect some of the comments that were made tonight.”
Then she attempted to interpret growth:
“I see growth in new business, should that allow you to be revenue neutral. I can’t look at any of that new growth, it’s not counted in when we talk about revenue neutral.”
Then she attempted to interpret policy:
“That is a policy difference. It may not address the lowering of revenue. Right? And collections.”
Then she attempted to interpret plain reading:
“But it is a policy interpretation that is different than I think most of plain reading is…”
And then she ended with:
“…and in the last two years. The input I get from my fellow residents about their interpretation of Revenue Neutral. Thanks you.”
The room sat in stunned silence — not because the message was profound, but because no one was entirely sure what had just happened.
It was at this moment that Commissioner Janeé Hanzlick stepped in like a translator at the United Nations.
Commissioner Janeé Hanzlick: The Emergency Interpreter
Sensing the confusion, Commissioner Hanzlick gently took the microphone and performed a rescue operation:
“The revenue neutral policy is set by the state and not this board. So, as they have said, we cannot look at growth or CPI. That really does impact our ability.”
CPI is Consumer Price Index such as
In other words: Groceries, Gas, Utilities, Housing costs, Medical care, Transportation, Clothing, Everyday consumer goods.
It’s meant to show inflation — how much more money people need to buy the same stuff they bought last year.
I end this account of the August 25, 2026 Revenue Neutral Meeting with the only tool citizens had left that night: sarcasm — the anger that does not need a gun, only a podium.
Because after two hours of charts, testimony, math, pleas, warnings, and common sense, the Board still voted exactly as everyone feared. Exactly as everyone expected. Exactly as if the vote had been sealed in some previous meeting no one was invited to.
And yet — something happened.
The next morning, on the Neighborhood App, a resident who attended the meeting posted their reaction. Not a politician. Not a lobbyist. Not a staff member. Just a citizen who sat in that room, listened to every speaker, watched every commissioner, and walked out with a conviction strong enough to write publicly.
A voice changing. A voice rising. A voice — hopefully — for the better.
This is where the article ends, and where the people begin.
