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Political Cups of Coffee
The Minneapolis-based think tank I lead, Center of the American Experiment, recently held two programs aimed at increasing the number of successful adoptions of American-born children by loving Minnesota families. The first was a roundtable for about 30 adoption insiders: judges, lawyers, social workers, legislators and the like. This was followed by a public luncheon at which approximately 130 folks heard a speech by Ann Kimble Loux, one of the earlier roundtable participants and the author of the most insightful and sobering book I've ever read on the topic: The Limits of Hope: An Adoptive Mother's Story. One of the Roundtable attendees was a DFL state legislator who was interested in also attending the luncheon. He chose not to, however, as he is a person of modest means and has made the understandable decision never to pay $17.50 for a noontime meal unless absolutely necessary. What, you say? American Experiment should have seen itself civically obliged to pick up his tab for lunch insofar as it would have been in the best interests of good government -- never mind in the best interests of real, live kids -- if he had a chance to hear from Professor Loux at greater length than was true in the morning? Of course we should have sprung, and I assure you we would have -- if it were legal to do so. But not only does Minnesota law prohibit an organization like American Experiment from buying hotel-priced meals for legislators, it likewise prohibits just about anyone from buying them a five-cent cup of coffee (if one were to still exist). Pity if I ever come upon a senator or representative shivering and in need of something hot. What, you say again? The law, which somehow passed in 1994, needs to be every bit this severe lest "special interests" such as American Experiment (as well as other problematic players like the Urban League, the University of Minnesota, and the Rotary Club up in Crookston) despoil "the process" by enticing politicians to be beholden to them? The obvious answer here is that it's hard to imagine any politician, no matter how thirsty or weak of constitution, falling into line because of a cheeseburger, much less a cup of coffee -- even a ritzy one from Starbucks. I, for one, have a tad more faith in Minnesota's 201 legislators than that. But the real point here lies not with the absurdity of the law's premise. It lies with the harm visited on effective governance by the law's unintended, but wholly predictable, consequences. How is this the case? In briefest outline, total gift bans subtract from the number of opportunities in which elected officials can meet and talk informally with constituents -- for example, at all manner of receptions. (Remember: Swedish meatballs are also verboten.) Similarly, legislators of all demographic sorts -- Republicans and DFLers, Twin Citians and rural Minnesotans, pro-lifers and pro-choicers, etc. -- wind up getting to know each other less well personally. Instead, because of fewer chances to socialize at dinners and other gatherings (yes, some of which are sponsored by certified "lobbyists" like myself), they are more likely to fall back on what they think they know about each other at legislative crunch times. This is generally not conducive to making politics more "enlightened" and less "political." What to do? A little reasonableness always provides a good start. A recent American Experiment study which covered a wide expanse of state government, the "Minnesota Policy Blueprint," argues that the legislature should establish a "commonsense limit on food, drink, and gifts to officeholders to encourage greater contact with constituents." This conclusion is grounded in justifiable faith that the "traditional system did a remarkably good job of ferreting out corrupt and abusive lawmakers." Election Day firings were the main method of this. The Blueprint doesn't quantify precise "commonsense limits." Rather, it talks more generally about making "extremely modest exceptions to this unreasonable and unyielding statute." So let me propose a rough rule of thumb. Any reform that permits legislators to attend events at which they may profit intellectually, or at which citizens can spend a few minutes chatting with them pleasantly, and for which nothing fancier than hotel chicken or church-basement Jell-O is served, is a good reform. What are the prospects of such an improvement during the 1999 legislative session? I suspect not terrific, not because most legislators don't agree with what I just suggested (I presume most do), but because there is more danger than potential gain in speaking up on the issue. A case in point. American Experiment held a panel discussion on the topic right before the 1996 elections at which two senior and respected legislators, a Republican and a DFLer, bravely pointed out, quite temperately, that some of the counterproductive results cited above really are happening. At no time did they come close to urging the revamping, much less the deletion, of the 1994 law. Still, the Star Tribune saw fit to beat the nachos out of them within hailing distance of November for their lack of purity. Most politicians are not silly. If they are going to take on the wrath of absolutists, be they in or out of the media, they are going to choose their battles wisely. The question of reasonable restrictions of gifts is, in fact, an important issue -- but not important or weighty enough to derail a career. All of which is to say, too bad for all of us. But, ironically, perhaps especially for those who worship most idealistically before the altar of "good government." Mitchell B. Pearlstein is president of Center of the American Experiment, a conservative think tank in Minneapolis. |