At the morning coffee this week, Lucius Flatley was musing about the processes of government, and he compared a couple of the methods by which laws are created here in Maine.
He dealt first with history. The original Maine Constitution, he said, owed far more to John Locke than it did to that libidinous fruitcake, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Between Locke and Rousseau is basically the difference between a republic and a pure democracy. In a republic, laws are made by elected representatives – people who are presumed to be a bit wiser than the average nose-picker and who can afford to devote themselves to public problems. Maine was born as a republic, but unfortunately (or fortunately, if that’s your view) a measure of pure Rousseau was added to the constitutional mix in 1908.
Around 1900, a “reform” – of providing direct citizen participation in the making of laws through petition and referendum – swept the country, and Maine had no intention of being left out of the excitement. It not only joined the crowd, it also went most everybody one better. In addition to providing for direct lawmaking by the initiative and referendum, it provided its citizens a “veto” over acts passed by the Legislature.
This “people’s veto” provided that 10 percent of the number of electors at the last gubernatorial election could sign a petition within 90 days of the passage of a law to which they objected and – presto! – the new law is set aside until a statewide referendum can be held.
Lucius compared the procedure with having teenagers as ushers in Nevada brothels, and quoted the recent people’s veto that struck down a beverage tax as being an example of such dubious employment.
Lucius said that when whiskey was made legal many years ago, those with a thirst paid something less than a dollar for a pint of the nectar. The same pint today is about $4. During that same time the minimum wage increased about 20 times. He asked his fellow thinkers: How come the price of liquor didn’t increase comparably with wages? Why wasn’t that pint of booze at least $15 or $20?
There were several ideas: more efficiency in manufacture, cheaper distribution, volume production, lower profit margins. But one reason stood out: taxes on liquor are relatively much less today. The tax on $1 booze in those halcyon days was about 50 cents. Today, the tax on the same booze is about a buck. Therefore, while the cost of the production and distribution of tasty liquid itself increased about 10 times, the tax only doubled. Either the state has long recognized the value of Johnny Rum and didn’t want to unduly hamper its sale and use – or, the booze industry has been uncommonly effective in fighting off taxes.
Flatley thought the latter to be more likely.
With the group in rapt attention, he continued his analysis of how the recent people’s veto was a clear illustration of how easily the “people” can be swayed – especially where the dread word “tax” appears. Rather than a genuine expression of considered opinion, the “yes” vote (which really meant “no”) on the proposed booze tax was a shining star on the escutcheon of the advertising profession. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, drawn largely from the deep pockets of the beverage industry, saturated the public with a “tax scare.” The opponents (health care) had no money and were not heard in the land. Even though taxes and death are two ideas that voters commonly reject easily, the constant din of paid persuasion sealed this particular question’s fate. The benefits and value of this particular tax were hidden under the murk of advertising fog.
Flatley asked the group to decide which is the better way to create law: the method prescribed by Locke, where representatives contemplate and debate, or the one prescribed by Rousseau where the people gather under the shade of a large oak tree while harassed with a torrent of fear and confusion.
As Hamlet said, “That is the question.”
Rodney Quinn, who lives in Gorham, is a former Maine secretary of state. He can be reached at rquinn@maine.rr.com.
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