Is Less Really More?

 

Our governor’s approach to economic development has prompted some folks to indulge in gallows humor.

 

After the State Ethics Committee ruled that the “Guv-mobile” (the Governor’s spiffy RV) can no longer be used at fundraising venues, a friend of mine sourly suggested alternate uses:

·        Use it as a mobile office to replace those being closed by the Bureau of Motor Vehicles;

·        Press it into service as an extra classroom, while school corporations engage in the lengthy new process of demonstrating to state bureaucrats that they really do need that new building;

·        It could be used as a mobile clinic for the folks who are being dumped from Medicaid;

·        It could be a mobile unemployment office, offering outplacement advice to laid-off state workers.

There were others, but you get the idea.

 

Fair or unfair, these gibes underscore an important difference of opinion on economic development strategies. The Administration clearly believes that the best way to create jobs is by cutting taxes and services to the bone. Make Indiana a cheap place to do business, the theory goes, and we’ll be more competitive. As a theory goes, it is certainly defensible. The problem is, it doesn’t work.

 

Take a look at the states that are cleaning our clocks when it comes to new job creation. They have tax rates considerably higher than ours—even our Midwestern neighbors. But they have something else—something those higher taxes have bought them: a level of public services that makes their quality of life better.

 

Think it doesn’t matter? Recently, several Southern states were in hot competition for a new Toyota plant. They offered tax incentives (reportedly worth hundreds of millions of dollars), and they offered low tax rates–the same strategies Indiana has been using. In June, Toyota announced that the new plant would be built in Ontario, Canada, despite the lack of incentives and higher tax rate. Why? Two reasons were given: the quality of the workforce and the quality of life.

 

Think about it. If you were an employer looking to locate a new facility, would you choose a site where taxes were lower, but the quality of the schools virtually guaranteed that you would have to spend money on remedial education, in addition to providing health care and other social benefits? Or would you opt for a location with a higher tax rate that did not require you to provide either education or health insurance?

 

Americans like to congratulate ourselves because we pay lower taxes than other industrialized countries. It doesn’t seem to occur to us that those lower taxes don’t save us money—we don’t pay the government for our health care, but we pay for it (in fact, we pay much more for it). We starve our schools, and pay not just for remedial education but for the costs of wasted human capital. We support cultural tourism, but not if it means paying librarians.

 

And then we wonder why no one wants to live here.

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What’s in a Name?

Quick—what’s the difference between civil liberties and civil rights?

 

If you aren’t quite certain, you have a lot of company. The distinction is lost on most of my students, and—far more troubling—on a good number of city and state legislators.

 

Civil liberties are rights that individuals have against government. Citizens of the new United States refused to ratify the Constitution unless a Bill of Rights was added, specifically protecting them against official infringements of their “inalienable rights.” Among our civil liberties are the right to free expression, the right to worship (or not) as we choose, and the right to be free from unreasonable searches and seizures. After the civil war, the Fourteenth Amendment added the Equal Protection Clause, prohibiting government from treating equally situated citizens unequally. The Fourteenth Amendment also applied the provisions of the Bill of Rights to all levels of government—not just the federal government, as was originally the case, but also to state and local government agencies.

 

Only the government can violate your civil liberties.

 

Civil rights took a lot longer, and were a lot more controversial. It was 1964 before Congress passed the Civil Rights Act. Civil rights laws protect people against private acts of discrimination—discrimination in employment, in housing or education. The original Civil Rights Act applied to businesses engaged in interstate commerce—businesses that held themselves out to be “public accommodations” but were, shall we say, “selective” about which segments of the public they were willing to accommodate. State and local civil rights acts followed. Civil rights laws generally include a list of characteristics that cannot be used to favor some people over others: race, religion, gender, and so forth.

 

There was a lot of resistance to civil rights laws, and there is still a widespread, if covert, attitude of “What business does government have telling me I can’t discriminate?”  That resentment has redoubled as new groups have lobbied for protection.

 

The fiercest resistance has come from people opposed to extending civil rights to gays and lesbians. Those opponents have taken advantage of the widespread confusion of civil liberties with civil rights to argue that the Fourteenth Amendment already protects gays, so amending Indiana’s civil rights law, or Marion County’s Human Relations Ordinance is unnecessary. (After all, that’s easier than taking a public position that “those people” don’t deserve equal civil rights.)

 

I remember the astonishment of one of my African-American students when she realized that, in Indiana, people can be fired just because they are gay. “There is still a lot of discrimination against black people,” she said, “but at least there are laws on the books! They may not always work, but they’re something.”

 

A few months ago, the Indianapolis City-County Council failed to pass a measure that would have made discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation a violation of the City’s Human Relations Ordinance. Several of those voting against it said it was “unnecessary” because the Fourteenth Amendment already protected gays.

 

They knew better.

 

      

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The Accidental Advocate

Governor George Ryan was a career politician dogged by accusations of corruption, a pro-death penalty Republican who inexplicably became a champion of abolition. What could account for his conversion? Could it be that, as Governor, he was forced to abandon ideology and confront the realities of capital punishment in America?
Continue reading “The Accidental Advocate”

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