Those of my Gentle Readers who read random lefty blogs (Your Humble Blogger has a shortcuts folder called "lefty blogs") will already be aware of this, I suspect, but Grover Norquist was on Fresh Air a while back. There's been some outrage over a few things he said, such as progressive taxation coming from a Holocaust mentality, or that he couldn't conceive of saying "we" and including the government. I noticed the following quote, though, which occurs about 20 minutes in to the interview. He'd been asked about government funds for Homeland Security, and had said, essentially, that the states had plenty of money and only incompetent governors or mayors would be whining for more. Then he says this:
About 20 minutes in. "One of the good things about the states, and I am a Ronald Reagan Federalist, meaning I like 50 states—not because they are closer to the people; that's nonsense, I'm not any closer to my governor than I am to the president—but there are fifty of them, and when they do something really stupid, you can move."
OK, there are a bunch of ways in which this is wrong-headed.
First, and most obviously, sure you can move if you've got the money. If you are fairly affluent and have access to liquid capital, you can vote with your feet. If ninety percent of your assets are in your house, you can't; you can sell your house and move, but it is a time-consuming and costly process. If ninety percent of your assets are in your car, I suppose you can change states easily, but I hope he's not talking about them.
What he's really talking about is that he can move his investments, he can incorporate in Delaware, or in Texas, or New Hampshire; he doesn't really need to have an office in any of those places in order to incorporate there, so he can "move" cheaply and easily. This, presumably, is the way he wants corporations, those that own factories and those that provide information services of various kinds, to think. And that leads me to the second big part of the wrong-headedness: it's astonishingly selfish.
Read it again. "If [the state government does] something really stupid, you can move." You don't need to change it, or act in any way to improve things. You just move somewhere else, and let your neighbors deal with the stupidity however they like. There is no responsibility to your community—heck, there is no community. If you think of yourself as a Virginian, or a Californian, you are just a sucker. That's just the way of keeping you from seeking the best deal for yourself. There is no sense that a person might lose something if they left their friends, their neighbors, their schools, but more than that, there's no sense that a person might be obliged to help their friends, their neighbors, their schools. It's an ugly and demeaning selfishness, and it isn't even particularly to most people's benefit.
And then there's another level. There wasn't anything in his words, or his tone (in my analysis), that allowed for the possibility of the state doing something good. There was the ever-present fear that the state might do something stupid, but no possibility of anything smart happening. There is no room in this mindset for accomplishments, for achievements, for vision. There is no way the government could build a bridge (literally or metaphorically). There is no way a government could put a man on the moon, or eliminate smallpox, or pave roads. This isn't conservatism; it's paranoia (well, and it's something like libertarianism, too).
Grover Norquist is terribly influential in state and federal government. He is not some random guy, ranting on in a blog about his perception of the universe. He is the guy who vets the candidates for lobbyist positions for the big associations; he meets regularly with legislative leaders and their aides, and with White House staff at very high levels. He heads an umbrella group of so-called conservative organizations, which act in concert under his direction. Just so you know.
Redintegro Iraq,
-Vardibidian.
I don’t know who Grover Norquist is, or if this is what he meant, but I’ve heard this sort of thing described before in terms of competition between the states. In that sense, the immediate point of moving is to get away, but the more long-term goal (or, at least, the more long-term effect) is to spur the state into reforming the policies that are driving away its citizens.
Cast it as a business, and it sounds just fine. If you don’t like the burgers at McDonalds, you can eat somewhere else; if enough customers do this, McDonalds will feel the pinch, and change for the better. Or, if McDonalds decides that it wants to serve a niche market of people who like the weird burgers they serve, they can do that too.
If you didn’t like the way a business was operating, would you take your custom elsewhere, or continue to fund the business while you (somehow) worked to try to change it? Voting with your feet is a powerful way to effect change, at any level. If you think Grover Norquist is an idiot, I doubt you’ll ever show him the error of his ways, but you can always just hang out with someone else.
Josh,
If you don’t like what your child is doing, would you abandon her? If your wife displeases you, would you walk out of the marriage? If your friend does something really stupid, would you break off your friendship?
A community of people is not a business. It’s not a family, either, but it’s a lot closer to it than the business analogy admits. And McDonald’s is a tendentious analogy, even within the flawed business analogy. If my local supermarket or local bookstore is doing things that I don’t like, I’ll tell them; I’ll work to try to change it, because it’s my neighborhood, and I want a) to be able to continue to live and shop in my neighborhood, b) to make my neighborhood a good place to live not just for myself but for others. And I may find out that they have good reason for doing something that doesn’t please me, and I can live with it, because it has benefits for others. It’s the very disconnection of a business like McDonald’s from the community in which it is placed that makes it easy to think about abandoning it for a better burger, or better yet, for some slow food instead.
Irilyth and Chris both point out something that I should have thought of: Grover Norquist doesn’t think of government as being essentially different from a business. The bottom line of a business is, well, it’s bottom line; there are variations on that as well, but in essence, a business is in business.
A state is a state. A state that runs a deficit forever, but educates its citizens, keeps the peace, provides for the general welfare, etc., etc., different but similar for each of its constituents, is a success. The reason not to run a deficit is not that the money lost gives negative victory points (as would be the case for a business) but that the debt makes it harder to do other things which do give victory points.
Ultimately, the point is that a business which loses money and fails is unfortunate for a few people, but a state which fails is dangerous for everybody. Furthermore, a business that succeeds is fortunate for a few, but a state that succeeds is good for most people.
R.I.,
-V.
It’s true that the state is not exactly the same as a business, but it seems a lot more like a business than like my wife and your friends. And although I won’t abandon my friends at the first sign of trouble, I did choose my friends in the first place: I sought out SWIL, and didn’t bind myself to my neighbors just because they were my neighbors. They were fine people, but they weren’t what I preferred, and so I voted with my feet and chose something else. And I’ve never been married, but both I and my girlfriends have broken up with each other because we no longer thought we were compatible. Loyalty is a virtue, but so is knowing when to move on. And likewise in business: If my favorite bookstore makes a few boneheaded decisions, I’m not going to just up and walk away. But if they consistently demonstrate that they’ve changed for the worse, I’m going to shop elsewhere. And finally, in spite of many of the boneheaded moves the state of California has made, you don’t see me leaving town here either… But if it got bad enough, I would.
As to failure: In a democracy, the failure of the state happens all the time — we call it “elections”. When the state isn’t serving our needs, we elect new heads of state to change the course.
As to failure: In a democracy, the failure of the state happens all the time — we call it “elections”. When the state isn’t serving our needs, we elect new heads of state to change the course.
When we changed our elected officials, their government fails, but the state does not: rather the state is preserved, and, perhaps, improved by the change of leadership. Unlike businesses, which fail all the time, states fail very seldom, and only with rather dire consequences to all involved.
But I’m curious, and puzzled, by this analogy between political entities and businesses. Is a town like a business? In some ways yes, but surely not in the most important ways. We have ghost towns, but not ghost businesses.
What other analogies and similes are out there that help to represent political entitites and business entities accurately?
Irilyth writes: It’s true that the state is not exactly the same as a business, but it seems a lot more like a business … I won’t abandon my friends at the first sign of trouble, I did choose my friends in the first place… and didn’t bind myself to my neighbors just because they were my neighbors. … Loyalty is a virtue, but so is knowing when to move on.
There’s a philosophic difference here: For me, it’s not about *I* it’s about *us*.
By this I mean that if I were to take my custom elsewhere (whether that is my pocketbook or my citizenship), what I keep is the illusion of not being responsible for (my part of ) the conditions (neighborhood, business practices) where I am. It is irrelevant, in this sense, whether a state is more like a business or more like a family (hyperextended or whathaveyou). What is relevant is what responsibility I have towards that which connects to me, to that in which I am a part.
What I tried to say yesterday:
In the “I” perspective, the person (who may or may not move) continues to believe he/she has little or no responsibility towards the community conditions. In the “us” perspective, the reverse is true.
It occurs to me (after discussion with my sweetie) that the municipal-entity-as-business analogy and the municipal-entity-as-parent/protector (of some or all) both can fit fairly well with the “I” perspective. But neither must lead to (or come from) the “I” perspective.