Tom Keane

Are bans on sugary drinks really government business?

Cambridge’s proposed ban on sugary soft drinks — thanks for the idea, New York! — is no different from Middleborough’s ban on curse words. They both reflect the notion that — apparently unable to control our own bad urges — we need government to force us to behave.

That’s not a new idea. Despite the near-hysteria that has greeted both proposals — as if they each represent some extraordinary new extension of government power — they are really no different from what has gone on in generations past. Government has always tried to meddle in people’s lives: Prohibition, blue laws, and bans on non-marital sex are obvious examples.

Still, we have slowly been getting rid of those proscriptions, recognizing that people should in general be able to conduct their lives the way they wish. There is, as a result, something quite jarring about the fact that the same folks who would ardently defend a woman’s right to choose an abortion would not let her choose a Coke.

The meddlers believe there are compelling reasons for their new rules. In the case of big drinks, someone’s decision to consume too much sugar leads to obesity, which in turn leads to them becoming sick. One might think that would be it: If you want to make yourself ill, you’re the one who ends up suffering. But, health insurance — and especially mandatory health care coverage — introduces a new wrinkle. Health insurance spreads costs among everyone, which means that someone else’s illness becomes a financial burden on the rest of us. Put bluntly, if I have to pay the medical bills for your obesity, shouldn’t I have some say over whether you should be allowed to get fat?

There’s a similar logic in Middleborough’s bylaw that would fine residents for using bad words. The poor town’s scourge of cussing kids certainly makes the place sound unpleasant. Why should the quality of life of a vast majority of citizens be undermined by a nasty few?

In both cases, the argument is that the interests of the community at large trump individual freedom.

One can easily imagine how far the slippery slope of this logic can go. If shared health care costs are the rationale for limiting sugar in our diets, then that same rationale can be used to regulate every other kind of food we consume (in fact, New York is now also going after large tubs of popcorn). It can be used to justify banning people from participating in all sorts of dangerous activities, from mountain climbing to riding motorcycles. Indeed, almost every decision we make, from food to lifestyle to career decisions, has some influence on our health, meaning that there is no end to the number of things we could prohibit — or even require (mandatory Pilates, anyone?).

Similarly, if bruised sensibilities justify issuing a $20 ticket for saying “$#@&,” why not also issue $20 tickets for raising one’s voice in anger? Why not require people to greet each other with a bow and a “sir” or “ma’am”? That would certainly up the level of civility.

Is there a stopping point to any of this?

In the case of Middleborough’s ban, the answer is yes. The state attorney general has put the town’s new bylaw on hold pending a review of its constitutionality. It’s hard to imagine it passing muster. The First Amendment’s prohibition on “abridging the freedom of speech” seems pretty clear.

There’s no such constitutional protection for sugary drinks, however. Government routinely regulates the stuff we consume: Raw milk is banned; additives are restricted, warning labels are required. The only real limit on these bans is political — if enough people object, they won’t happen. Last month, for instance, Massachusetts public health officials tried banning cakes and cookies at school bake sales. They got a raft of criticism and eventually Governor Deval Patrick forced them to backpedal. I suspect that New York and Cambridge officials will ultimately backpedal on their much-mocked soda bans as well.

That would be to the good, but it won’t stop there. The meddlers aren’t confined to Cambridge and Middleborough. They’re everywhere, and the urge to tell people what do is a powerful one. The defense of freedom doesn’t only occur on battlefields. Sometimes it’s fought soda can by soda can.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on June 24, 2012.

Is good Gov. Romney still there?

The Mitt Romney who strides the national stage today is almost unrecognizable from the man who was once Massachusetts’s governor. He has lurched far right on a host of social issues, including immigration, abortion, and gay rights. He espouses a philosophy that demeans government and is far more skeptical — even cavalier — about the role of regulation in promoting a successful market economy. Romney now recalls his days as a “severely conservative” governor. Many remember something much different.

A case in point is Douglas Foy. In 2002, the freshly elected governor plucked Foy from his perch as head of the Conservation Law Foundation and, in effect, made him deputy governor, overseeing four state agencies (transportation, housing, environment, and energy). The position — titled Secretary of Commonwealth Development — was dreamt up by Romney as a way to coordinate the activities of different state agencies with often overlapping missions. “His idea of a superagency was really smart,” says Foy. Otherwise we get “silos” — agencies focused solely on their own agendas without regard for their effects on other state priorities.

It’s exactly the kind of smart thinking one would want in a president, too.

Foy had for 25 years run CLF, arguably the region’s most powerful environmental advocacy group. He was respected by all sides, in part because he was practical and data-driven. Far from being anti-business, Foy believed good environmental and energy policies could actually enhance economic growth. (CLF’s best-known case — forcing the state to clean up Boston Harbor — is a perfect illustration: The Harbor’s revival has led directly to a development boom now transforming the city.) Romney seemed like-minded, and he successfully pitched Foy on the idea of moving into government, working from the inside instead of the outside.

The two had a good working relationship. Foy admired the way Romney assembled a government. “He put together his cabinet personally and appointed terrific people,” says Foy, modestly excepting himself. Talent mattered back then; politics seemed a secondary consideration. (Foy is an independent and did not support Romney during his gubernatorial campaign.) Romney immersed himself in the detail of government; “he soaks up information very quickly,” Foy says. Unlike many ambitious individuals, however, he was not afraid of dissent. He surrounded himself with “potent, opinionated people.”

Almost unheard of for a governor, there was no patronage. Foy oversaw departments with over 11,000 employees, “and he never sent anyone over for a job.” It went even further than that. On one occasion, a major Romney contributor approached Foy for state financing. Foy turned him down and the unhappy contributor went to the governor’s political staff. Expecting pushback, Foy met with Romney to explain the situation. The governor’s response was withering: “I’ll never understand how people think a contribution to a politician buys them money from the state,” Foy recounts him saying. “You do what you think is best.” That was the last Foy heard from Romney on the matter.

“It was,” Foy says, “as clean an administration as could be.”

And, far from the popular caricature of Romney as the robo-candidate, Foy found the governor to be a “warm and funny” man. He was even an amateur magician, entertaining small groups with simple tricks. “He was the most gracious person you’ll ever meet,” Foy says. So too his larger family: “They are as nice as they seem.”

It was a great two years, but things changed in December 2005. National politics beckoned and Romney announced he wouldn’t seek a second term. He lost his focus on the state. The man with the common touch became stiff and uncomfortable. Eager to appeal to conservatives, his politics became more partisan and ideological.

For many, Barack Obama’s election was a moment of elation (Foy himself says he wept with joy that night), the subsequent reality a letdown. Particularly disappointing has been Obama’s handling of the economy. Would Romney do better? The pragmatic man who was once governor might; one feels less certain about the presumptive GOP nominee. “Power always reveals,” writes Robert Caro in his new book on Lyndon Johnson. It shows one’s true colors. Should he attain the power of the presidency, “I hope the Romney I knew,” Foy says, “is the Romney we get.”

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on June 17, 2012.

DeFranco could help Warren save her campaign

Elizabeth Warren should be wishing Marisa DeFranco well Saturday, hoping she makes it on the Sept. 6 Democratic primary ballot. Politicians don’t normally like challengers — indeed, Warren’s entire campaign has been all about clearing the field — but in this case DeFranco’s upstart campaign may offer something Warren desperately needs: A way to save her campaign.

Getting on a primary ballot requires two things: enough signatures and the party’s consent. DeFranco, an immigration lawyer from the North Shore, has already managed the first. And at the Democratic Party’s annual convention in Springfield today, she’s hoping for the second: approval from 15 percent of the gathered delegates. She may pass that hurdle — or not: Powerful forces in the state are allied against her.

Warren is in deep trouble, a predicament whose genesis begins about a year ago. Scott Brown, the miraculous winner in January 2010 against Attorney General Martha Coakley, was polling as the most popular politician in the state. A large field of Democratic challengers had started to form, one that included state Representative Tom Conroy, Alan Khazei (the founder of City Year), Setti Warren (the mayor of Newton), and at least four others, including DeFranco. Yet, before any of those candidates had even begun seriously to campaign, the conventional wisdom was that none of them had a chance of beating Brown. To national Democrats, who are singularly focused on keeping the Senate in Democratic hands, that was unacceptable.

In retrospect, the conventional wisdom is suspect. Brown had won his race by a narrow margin of just of 109,000 votes out of 2.2 million cast. His sky-high post-victory polls likely didn’t mean that the almost 1.1 million voters who supported Coakley were now GOP converts. More likely, it was simply a reflection of people’s take that — despite differing with him on issues — he was a likeable guy.

But polls change quickly when voters are confronted with a clear choice — candidate A versus candidate B. With the race still in its early infancy, Brown was in effect getting a free ride. That probably wouldn’t have been the case after a year of campaigning had produced a candidate the Democrats could unite behind. (Indeed, the fact that now it is Coakley who is the state’s most popular politician shows just how disconnected election results are from polls.)

Nevertheless, the national party wasn’t taking chances, and so unfolded an almost shameful tale. Warren, a hero to national Democrats (albeit unknown locally and a neophyte politician) was anointed their candidate. Those already in the race had little choice but to exit and dutifully, they did (the exception was DeFranco, apparently not the type to kowtow). In effect, Bay State voters were told that their opinion as to who should be their nominee was unwanted. The mandarins in Washington would choose for them.

That was a mistake. The mistake isn’t that Warren is a bad candidate — she’s actually potentially quite good — but that Democrats lost sight of the fact that primary contests aren’t mere procedural annoyances. They are critical tools for vetting, seasoning and strengthening a candidate. If Warren had been part of a robust primary, competing for voters’ favor against a large field of other credible candidates, she’d have had to learn how to be a candidate — a very different skill set from being an academic — and how to manage the rough and tumble of a dynamic, intense, and exhausting race. She’d have had to figure out how to persuade voters why she — and not her opponents — was best able to take on Brown. And when (what should have been a small) scandal came, as it did with her claims of Indian heritage, she would have been able to deal with it as part of the scrum — under some scrutiny, yes, but not the subject of unrelenting headlines day after day.

Admittedly, DeFranco is not the strongest candidate Warren might have had to face. Still, a genuine primary race would enable Warren to start fresh. Up to now, her candidacy has smacked less of democracy and more of a queen waiting for her coronation. If she is instead forced to earn her nomination, she’ll be the better for it.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Globe's op-ed page on June 2, 2012.