A Soft Voice with a Hard Edge
Lydia Tang and the (Un)Governable
It was the kind of meeting where silence did most of the talking.
On June 11, 2025, the RIOC Governance Committee met again to finalize the long-awaited bylaw revisions. Over a year in the making, they were supposed to be the blueprint for a more accountable future. But what unfolded felt less like construction and more like quiet demolition.
At the center of it all: Lydia Tang, committee chair. Calm, composed, impossible to rattle. If you only half-listened, you might mistake her tone for gentle consensus-building. But Lydia speaks the way a blade is sheathed—carefully, without apology.
She began by requesting that the legal team share board member comments onscreen. Simple, procedural. Except no one seemed to have the documents. Margie Smith and Audrey from Senator Kruger’s office flipped through their packets. Lada Stasko, RIOC’s Deputy General Counsel, stared at the monitor and hesitated. Conway Ekpo, committee member, offered a vague objection. Jeremy Steckel from the external legal team stepped in—first to summarize, then to agree: yes, the comments could be shared.
It was a moment meant for coordination. Instead, it exposed the cracks.
A Chorus of Shrugs
The substance of the meeting centered on a role RIOC has long lacked: treasurer. Not in name, but in function. Someone independent, ideally a board member, tasked with offering financial oversight. Not revolutionary. Just responsible.
Lydia supported it. Jeremy, the external counsel hired to help draft the bylaws, supported it.
But around the table, the air turned heavy.
Dhruvika Patel, Chief Financial Officer to RIOC, expressed concern. She preferred clearer definitions—but not necessarily more oversight. Fay Christian, not a member of the committee but never one to stay silent, questioned whether board members even had time for oversight. She turned to Conway Ekpo... a man so allergic to responsibility that he giggled when asked if he has time for oversight.
When Lydia gently noted that outside counsel recommended the treasurer role, Fay snapped back. "They recommend what you tell them to recommend," she said, eyes sharp.
Lydia didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to.
"Fay," she replied, "when you are chair of the governance committee, you can tell outside counsel what to do. You are not the chair of the governance committee."
It was a masterclass in precision. Words soft enough to float, sharp enough to leave a mark.
Fay Christian, in contrast, behaved like someone halfway through a PTA coup gone wrong. Fay muttered bitterly, "No, I’m not." The tension held. Lydia called her to order. Only then did Fay retreat.
A Voice That Trembled—Once
Eventually, Lydia returned to the core point. There have been, she reminded everyone, "many financial snafus over the years." RIOC’s history made oversight not a luxury, but a necessity. The treasurer role, even unpaid, would be a second set of eyes.
And then—just for a moment—her voice cracked.
Not in anger. In sadness. She had worked for over a year to get this far. And here she stood, still alone.
Jeremy nodded in agreement. A treasurer is a standard role—one held by hundreds of thousands of nonprofit boards across the country. It doesn’t require a CPA. Just care. Just a willingness to carry out basic fiduciary responsibilities with attention and integrity. There’s something almost Shakespearean about watching an experienced attorney try to explain the concept of fiduciary responsibility to people who actively resent being asked to do their jobs.
But the response from the room was tepid at best. The suggestion floated, unsupported.
A Quiet Ally
Audrey, until then mostly silent, finally spoke. “Doesn’t the audit committee only meet quarterly?” she asked. Like my favorite librarian offering me a mint.
It was subtle, but it mattered. She wasn’t opposing the board. She wasn’t defending Lydia directly. But she was inviting the room to remember that minimal oversight is not the same as sufficient oversight.
Conway, eager to stay aligned with whoever last spoke, nodded. He always nods. But by then, the wind had left the sails.
Dream on the Plaza*
It’s hot. It always is in the Church Plaza by mid-June. I’m sitting on one of those rusted benches—worn wood, chipped paint, older than most RIOC board members' ethics. David Krawt is beside me, drinking something green and judgmental.
We watch Fay Christian shuffle past us. She’s grumbling. Maybe crying. Hard to tell.
“I can’t wait to be done with those damn kids,” she huffs as she disappears into Rivercross.
“Charming,” David mutters.
“She used to teach my granddaughter,” I reply. “Was never very good at it. Always seemed miserable. Treated teenagers like bugs under glass. But the irony, David—the irony!—is that she’s become one. A moody, entitled teenager stomping through the halls of governance because she didn’t get her way.”
David smirks. “You think she’s harmless?”
“No,” I say. “I think she’s dangerous because she’s harmless. The kind of person who weaponizes her pettiness. Who disguises sabotage as concern. Who cries about time commitments while torching meetings for sport.”
We sit in silence.
“I used to think Roosevelt Island needed better people,” David says.
I laugh. “Now you know—it just needs people willing to show up and shut up long enough to let the adults work.”
They talked in circles... like a game of hot potato where the only prize is plausible deniability. I’ve typed enough for one day—and you’ve likely read enough too. Time for a cup of tea.
We’ll return to this meeting in the next installment. For now, sit easy knowing the bylaws—or what remains of them—have finally been updated.
In the meantime, I’ll be gathering my thoughts from one of the few benches on the Island that haven’t been barricaded or taped off. And next time you see a board member, try this simple question: Who benefits when responsibility is avoided?
*This is a work of narrative storytelling inspired by real events. Some characters, dialogue, and scenes are imagined to convey broader truths and do not depict actual conversations or individuals.
"She’s dangerous because she’s harmless. The kind of person who weaponizes her pettiness. Who disguises sabotage as concern. Who cries about time commitments while torching meetings for sport.” That's an interesting way of analyzing the damage done by the weak, the frail and the concerned.