State Capitol observer and nonprofit leader Shannon Watson will provide occasional Voices commentaries during the 2026 legislative session.

The first weeks of any legislative session are a study in contrasts: the ritual formality of the first day paired with the chaotic scramble the rest of the session as legislators, lobbyists, staff and the public try to figure out, “What’s going to happen?”

In Minnesota, that question is especially interesting right now — not just because it’s an election year, not just because the interim was full of emotional situations, but because the two chambers are operating under two very different sets of rules and customs.

The real story of any session isn’t the rules. Rules are good guardrails, but they can’t substitute for functioning relationships and the trust between members that make the difference between collaboration and gridlock. This session is no different, and if you watch closely you can see hints of tension already starting to surface between some of the members. 

In the Senate, the dynamics are what we think of as the norm. There is a majority party and a minority party, and even while the margin is slim, the structure is clear. The majority chairs the committees, determines the schedules and controls the flow of legislation. They negotiate their deals in caucus, decide what they can pass and — most of the time — have the votes to do it by themselves. 

Related: 3 (quite) unrelated but meaningful developments from the start of Minnesota’s Legislative session

The minority, meanwhile, has two basic strategic lanes. One lane is to work in good faith to improve the bills moving through the process, either through behind-the-scenes conversations with majority party colleagues or by offering amendments. The other option is to slow things down. That lane can look like long floor speeches, procedural maneuvers, or what insiders call “throwing sand in the gears.” None of this is new. It’s part of the choreography of a chamber where power is unevenly distributed and everyone knows it.

Amendments are where these dynamics show up most clearly. Amendments are the procedural way to address “what about…?” or “yes, and…” thoughts about a proposed bill, or law as it exists. Most amendments are genuinely meant to improve a bill. Some are meant to make a small but meaningful change. And some are “gotchas” — designed to force an uncomfortable vote, expose a contradiction or create an unintended consequence that weakens the bill.

Every legislator knows this playbook. It’s a normal part of the process, even if it occasionally makes for tense committee rooms. (Here’s an insider tip: the most benign changes agreeable to both parties are usually accepted without a lot of discussion. For some amendments presented in committee or on the floor, especially if a roll call vote is requested, the recorded vote is important for political uses, not for governing.) 

But the House this year is a different story entirely. With a 67–67 tie, there is no majority party and no minority party. The chamber’s rules, committees, floor schedule and entire operating system depend on members from both sides of the aisle choosing to behave as if they want the institution to function.

Last year showed how fragile that choice can be. Some pairs of committee chairs found a rhythm and completed their budget bills. Others struggled. The difference wasn’t always ideology or even personality. It was trust. When members trusted each other enough to assume good faith, they could negotiate, compromise, and move bills. When they didn’t, even routine decisions became difficult.

One of the most effective norms to emerge last year was the infamous “no shenanigans handshake” agreement between then-Ways and Means co-chairs Zach Stephenson and Paul Torkelson — part joke, part social contract. It meant: don’t surprise me, don’t set traps, don’t use procedure as a weapon unless you absolutely have to. In a tied chamber, that kind of commitment matters more than any rule in the book. As former Speaker Melissa Hortman put it at the end of the 2024 session, “relationships are more important than rules.” In a 67–67 House, that isn’t just a philosophy — it’s a survival strategy.

Related: A Capitol confrontation illustrates Minnesota’s impasse over fraud

This year, the trust deficit is already showing up in committee work. Take the Office of Inspector General bill, a complex proposal with wide‑ranging implications that passed the Senate in 2025 with overwhelmingly bipartisan support. It is currently stuck in the House State Government committee. The House author and other members have had many proposed amendments fail to advance. Because trust is low, members hesitate. Are amendments a genuine improvement? Are they a setup? Is there something buried in the language that they’d not want to support? Some smaller amendments passed, but others stalled because members needed more time (away from the cameras) to make sure they weren’t walking into a trap.

In the Elections Committee, I watched a member say out loud to a member across the aisle, “We want to help you do a good thing here.” That sentence is both reassuring and revealing. It signals a willingness to work together, but it also acknowledges how much suspicion has crept into the process. Positive intent isn’t the standard. 

The irony is that the tied House hasn’t had enough time to break free of the very dynamics that usually define majority‑minority relationships. Members are watching each other for signs of gamesmanship. They’re scrutinizing amendments for hidden motives. They’re reacting to the possibility — not the certainty — of shenanigans. In other words, they’re behaving like a chamber where power is uneven, even though the numbers say otherwise.

If this session is going to succeed, it won’t be because one side outmaneuvers the other. It will be because enough members choose to treat each other as partners rather than opponents. The most important variable in policymaking right now isn’t ideology or procedure. It’s trust — who has it, who doesn’t and who is willing to build it. And then, who is willing to take that trust into the 2027 session, where another tie is highly unlikely.

Shannon Watson is the executive director of Majority in the Middle, a St. Paul-based nonprofit.

Related