More and more, the job of running a municipality seems better-suited to a professional manager.
Eighty-six percent of Boston voters didn't show up at the polls in November, a fact that infuriates me, until I begin to wonder if perhaps the no-shows have got it right. Maybe local politics really doesn't matter after all.
When Ray Flynn was elected mayor in 1983, 70 percent of the city's voters turned out. In a recent column for a community newspaper, he agonizes over the drop. Something must be to blame. Is it the media's fault? The fragmentation of our communities? Are we all so busy with our Second Life that we no longer have time for the first? 
Or is it none of that? After all, we still seem engaged in statewide and national politics (the February presidential primary saw Boston's turnout almost triple). Could it simply be that the task of running a city or town these days is less political than it is managerial, less ideological than it is technical – and that voters have finally figured that out?
Imagine you're a local pol. You have no control over town revenues. The property tax is subject to the stringent limits imposed by 1980's Proposition 2 1/2, and state aid amounts are dictated by Beacon Hill. You're perpetually short of money, but state law prohibits you from coming up with new taxes of your own.
The decisions you make are rarely political. Snow removal and crime fighting are hardly controversial; no one has ever successfully campaigned against either. The measures of success are innovation and efficiency. They have to be. With money short, your grim days are spent less on "What do I fund?" than on "Where do I cut?"
And the big, fun clash-of-values issues? Cities were once the battlegrounds of powerful ideological struggles. Now, those fights are at the State House or in Washington. Even rent control – a longtime local concern – is subject to (and banned) by state law.
At least, you think, I can get my friends jobs. Oops. Not true. In the Bay State, it's now largely illegal. Civil service rules mean that, aside from a few close staff, the only things you're handing out are invitations to your next fund-raiser.
These changes may help explain why so many Massachusetts towns – 305 out of 351, according to the Massachusetts Municipal Association – don't have elected mayors and rely on professional administrators instead. Even some of those with mayors (Lowell, Cambridge, and Worcester) have what are called "weak mayor" governments, where the mayor is mostly a figurehead and the real power lies with the city manager.
And why not? There's a lot of research that suggests professional administrators do a better job than elected officials when it comes to delivering services effectively. For one, they actually go to school to learn their jobs, getting degrees such as a master's in public administration. They're hired under long-term contracts, and because they don't have to worry about elections, they're not constantly trying to placate interest groups. That means, for example, that they can negotiate with public employee unions without fearing their opposition come the next election.
I raise this with smart people who study this stuff, and they point out counterexamples. While the general trend is toward hiring career professionals, says Geoffrey Beckwith, executive director of the MMA, there are a number of municipalities that have opted for an elected mayor instead, including Braintree, Amesbury, and Greenfield. Wilbur Rich, a political science professor at Wellesley College, argues that sometimes municipalities need mayors. When populations are divided – newcomers versus old-timers, for instance – elected politicians can bridge the gap. And mayors with sufficient power can better deal with a political crisis or help promote the city to outsiders.
I'm unpersuaded. Granted, sometimes politicians can do things managers cannot. But as cities and towns find themselves, for good reasons and bad, with ever less power and discretion, local politics seems ever more irrelevant. A big city like Boston will, if only for tradition, probably never stop electing a mayor (although Menino – whom Rich calls a "good housekeeping mayor" – perhaps proves the general point that residents care more about efficiency than they do politics). I sympathize with Mayor Flynn's lament, yet think he's mistaken to believe the halcyon days he remembers will ever return. Local politics was once this region's favorite sport. No more.
Originally published in The Boston Globe Magazine, March 2, 2008.