Punish corruption, but don’t weaken the Legislature
SO IT turns out Sal DiMasi was a crook. Now, as he awaits a mid-August sentencing, we’re trying to figure out what to do about it - with proposed solutions that range from the silly to the dangerous.
The silly includes an Onion-like suggestion from state Republicans that lobbyists be required to wear large name tags labeled “Registered Lobbyist.’’ (Nathaniel Hawthorne would be proud.) Another is a “snitching’’ rule requiring pols to out each others’ misdeeds. (What then? Reps wearing “No Snitchin’’’ T-shirts?)
The dangerous would seek to remake the Legislature altogether. For example, a recent Globe editorial argued that the former speaker’s conviction on multiple charges of corruption “should spell the end of the imperial speakership on Beacon Hill.’’ It’s a line reminiscent of that used during the Watergate scandal, when some claimed the real problem was Richard Nixon’s “imperial presidency.’’
The punishment for the corruption of one, apparently, is to take the whole institution down a peg.
All these ideas have a desperate quality to them. It is as if, stunned by DiMasi’s crimes, we’ll try anything, no matter how ill-thought.
A cynic might be prompted to note that successfully undermining the speakership and fragmenting power among many state reps would simply mean there were more people who have to be bribed. Maybe, in fact, the takedown of the imperial speakership is little more than a cleverly disguised scheme to spread the wealth: let’s give backbenchers the same opportunities for corruption as House leadership!
More seriously, weakening the House (or the Senate) is hardly in our long-term interest. As we found out in the wake of Nixon’s resignation - when both Presidents Ford and Carter sought to soften the power of their office - the opposite of imperialism is ineffectiveness. By the time the 1980 election rolled around, Americans were sick of milquetoast presidents and elected one, Ronald Reagan, who promised to reverse course.
The same applies to Massachusetts. The Legislature currently is a strong counterweight to the power of the governor. That’s a good thing. As Deval Patrick has learned on a host of issues, circumstances are rare when he unilaterally can dictate policy outcomes; almost any major initiative requires the Senate and House to agree. But if power were diffused among each body’s many members, it would be a simple matter for the governor to assemble coalitions through everyday horse-trading (a road in some rep’s district for a “yes’’ vote on casinos, for instance). If you want an example of this in action, simply check out the city of Boston, whose strong-mayor, weak-council form of government leaves Tom Menino in near absolute control.
In fact, we may not need some grand solution at all. When ordinary street criminals suffer little in the way of punishment, there is little incentive for them to stop committing crimes. Change the equation - impose consequences - and crime drops. The same is true with politicians. In the past, we have reacted to politicians’ crimes with little more than admonishments and slaps on the wrist. That no longer seems true. State Senator Dianne Wilkerson and City Councilor Chuck Turner are now in prison for crimes that once would have fetched mild reprimands. Almost certainly, that will be the case with DiMasi as well, who is looking at a 10- to 20-year sentence. It’s the kind of punishment that delivers a clear message that even a stunned DiMasi had to acknowledge after he was convicted: The rules are now different.
But I think also that part of the problem lies with us. In her column Love Letters (a guilty pleasure, I must admit), Globe writer Meredith Goldstein recently heard from a writer worried about her boyfriend’s “white lies.’’ The ensuing commentary was illuminating. For some, cheating on a supermarket checkout scanner was perfectly acceptable, almost a matter of personal choice. Others had no problem with lying on taxes. Receive too much change from a shop clerk? It’s your lucky day!
Politicians, in truth, are no different from the rest of us. The step from these small larcenies to something bigger is a difference in degree, not kind. If we really want to change the so-called “culture of corruption’’ on Beacon Hill, we need a blunt conversation about our own.
Originally published in the Boston Globe.