Tom Keane

In casino case, SJC delivers a setback to all vested interests

Casino opponents and Martha Coakley’s gubernatorial rivals aren’t the only ones who should be pleased with last week’s big state Supreme Judicial Court opinion.

In allowing a question on repealing the state gambling law onto the ballot in November, the state’s highest court didn’t just give the attorney general an embarrassing election-year comeuppance. In a unanimous decision, the seven justices also dealt a blow to a worrisome legal theory — one that entrenched, government-entangled interests of all sort could try to apply in their efforts to thwart legal reforms and market competition.

In attempting to block the referendum, Coakley had ruled that it violated the Massachusetts constitution. From the first, the attorney general’s claims had a strained, absurdist quality. In her brief to the justices, Coakley observed that gambling firms had put up money to get their proposals heard before the state’s gaming commission. Because of that, she said, there was an “implied contract” that the state might award casino licenses. Since the referendum question would make casino gambling illegal, it undermined that implied contract and so was constitutionally impermissible. In effect, the state would be taking away something of value.

In a nutshell, Coakley’s case amounted to this: Having made a decision to allow gambling, the Legislature is not allowed to change its mind. Nor, for that matter, are the people, through the referendum process, able to override the Legislature. So much for democracy. Long live the dead hand of the past.

The Supreme Judicial Court zeroed in on one big, gaping hole in the attorney general’s logic: Under the law, the gaming commission has no obligation to award any casino license whatsoever. So even if Coakley were right and there were an implied contract to be heard, what does it matter if there is no subsequent requirement to award a license? Her response was almost laughable. She claimed that, even so, a hearing might give an imprimatur to a gaming firm — kind of like a Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval — that it could then take to other states and, in effect say, “See, Massachusetts thinks we’re a decent company.”

As the SJC opinion drily noted, “the Legislature established the commission as a licensing authority, not a validation authority.” In other words, the law was not set up to be the gaming world’s equivalent of Angie’s List.

But suppose that Coakley’s view of the referendum as a “taking” had held sway, and that the justices had agreed that history rules: Once a law is in place, those with a vested interest in a rule can stop it from being changed. Let’s say, for example, a Legislature passes a law asserting marriage is only between a man and a woman and must remain that way forevermore. Ten years later, a more enlightened body tries to reverse the law. Would Coakley side with aggrieved straight couples and say it couldn’t?

A century ago, the entire country decided to ban the manufacture and sale of liquor. Could existing breweries and distilleries have successfully stopped Prohibition, arguing that since past laws had allowed booze, it was no longer possible to reverse course?

Or, take an issue now in the news: taxicabs. Having established medallion systems that limit the number of cabs within their borders, are cities and towns now obligated to keep those rules in place and, indeed, required to ban the operation of competitive services such as Uber?

The answer to all of these is, unequivocally, no. A “Legislature cannot curtail the power of its successors to make whatever laws they deem proper,” the SJC said. Sure, sometimes the state can enter into long-term agreements — multi-year bonds, for example — that require future legislatures to cough up funds. But that kind of contractual obligation is explicit and far different from what Coakley was urging.

Indeed, the rebuttal to Coakley’s arguments was so obvious one has to wonder what the attorney general was thinking. Was her opposition to the referendum just an exercise of power — use any means possible to keep the gaming law alive? Did she really believe that voters shouldn’t have a say on the matter? Or did she actually believe that change and reform can be stopped by decisions made years or even decades earlier? These are questions that Coakley — and her rivals — should address.

This column originally appeared in the Boston Sunday Globe on June 29, 2014.

Busing wasn't about education

Hurrah! It’s time to celebrate Boston’s 40th anniversary of forced busing. This month marks four decades from the court decision that kicked off mandatory desegregation. September will be 40 years from when the first yellow buses started rolling. Expect to hear many conversations and reminiscences about Boston’s great social experiment: the racism it exposed, the trauma it caused, and how the city has since changed (or not).

What won’t get much discussion is how busing was designed to help improve the quality of education in Boston. And for good reason. Busing — no matter which side you were on — was all about social engineering. Education, at best, was tangentially connected.

Busing per se, of course, isn’t a bad thing. If you want to go to a school and need a ride, it’s a decent way to get there. It became an epithet because it was the means used to comply with the state’s 1965 Racial Imbalance Act. The goal was to rid the state of segregation, and after a long series of court decisions a federal court found that the Boston School Committee (back then, a separately elected body) had intentionally discriminated against black students, creating what amounted to two segregated school systems. Schools serving white children were well funded. Schools for black children were short-changed, with crowded facilities, poor teachers, and second-rate materials. White kids were channeled toward the city’s college preparatory schools; black kids were pushed toward trade schools.

If the goal had been to bring education for black kids up to snuff — to provide schools in black neighborhoods with the resources needed to do their job — one could imagine a different result. The court might have insisted money be reallocated and policies changed to deliver a decent education to all. But school quality really wasn’t on the agenda.

Many opponents to busing had their own agenda too: neighborhood schools. Those, too, had little to do with education itself. In their conception, schools were social and cultural centers, places around which civic life revolved. Busing, they feared, would disrupt that, ripping apart the fabric of the community.

Both social engineering ideals have appeal. Schools ideally should be mixing bowls, where students learn about other kids and other families from far different backgrounds. And folks within tight-knit neighborhoods can support and help one another, creating community norms that pass on values from one generation to the next.

But while both are nice — bonus points, if you will — each is trumped by education itself. Look at what rich people do: They seek out the best possible schools for their kids. They may move to towns where school spending is high and hence the education thought better. Or they may send their children to private schools. I know of more than a few young couples who profess themselves ardent supporters of public schools until their children are born and, suddenly, they find themselves back-peddling. It’s perfectly understandable. When it comes to your own kid’s future, everything else is secondary.

Busing produced some good, notably in opening up the city and breaking down barriers, but overall it has to be judged as a failure. It was doomed to be so. For one, the real source of segregation is region-wide housing patterns, something busing kids in one relatively small city wouldn’t change. And more to the point, the key to wiping out poverty, ending discrimination, and giving all an equal shot at life is education — which busing and its aftermath effectively undermined.

Back in the 1960s and ’70s, Boston’s school system exacerbated segregation and poverty because it ill-served children from black communities. If things had been different, if those kids had had great teachers and plentiful resources, if they had graduated high school and then successfully gone on to college, where would they be today? Far better off, and undoubtedly so also would be their children and even grandchildren.

The take-away from our remembrances of busing should not be a rehash of the past, but rather a focus on the future: The best social engineering of all would be to give poor and minority kids the same kind of educations as children of the rich.

This column originally appeared in The Boston Globe on June 24, 2014.

Nice try, Ohio, but don't ban political lies

Ohio is an earnest state, and it likes its politics clean and proper: Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s the law, in fact. Political campaigners who fib, mislead, or stretch the truth could find themselves in jail. That’s right: If you’re a politician in Ohio, it’s illegal to lie on the stump.

It’s intriguing to entertain the idea of the state’s aspirations applying to other aspects of our lives: “Does this make me look heavy?” “I’m seeking other opportunities.” “It’s me, not you.”

OK, so maybe we need a few deceptions to sustain ourselves. Still, in this era of mud-slinging, dirty politics, and unsavory money, why not follow Ohio’s model when it comes to campaigns? Is it really too much to insist that politicians do such an elementary thing as tell the truth?

Ohio’s rules are not unique; a number of other states have in place various truth-telling requirements. But the state is in the news because the law is under challenge. Just last week it lost at the Supreme Court — in a rare unanimous vote — but the decision was procedural, handing the issue back to a lower court. So whether the law ultimately passes constitutional muster is still unknown.

Let me assure you, however: It won’t pass constitutional muster.

One of those opposed is satirist P.J. O’Rourke, who submitted a friend of the court brief that, in essence, maintained that lying is a hallowed part of American politics. O’Rourke opened his essay with a series of quotes: “I am not a crook,” “Read my lips: no new taxes,” “I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” “Mission accomplished,” and, of course, “If you like your health care plan, you can keep it.”

Funny stuff. Yet are these lies we really want to defend? Wouldn’t we all be better off if Richard Nixon had admitted Watergate, George H.W. Bush had acknowledged the need to raise revenues, Bill Clinton had confessed infidelity, George W. Bush had said Iraq would be an interminable slog, and Barack Obama had described health care reform’s cons as wells as pros? Certainly our cynicism would have dropped a notch.

Ohio’s effort to promote honesty is far-reaching. Suppose you call your opponent a “nut”? The state prohibits falsely claiming someone has a “record of treatment or confinement for mental disorder.”

How about terming a state official an “ignorant hack”? That violates two sections — one about “formal schooling or training,” the other relating to occupations. The normal and glorious give-and-take of politics — insults, caricatures, and exaggerations — would disappear. Campaigns would become dull indeed. But maybe, you think, that’s a worthwhile trade-off: lose some rough-and-tumble and gain some civility in return.

The real problems with Ohio’s law are these: Who knows what the truth is? And who gets to decide?

Were all of the famous presidential quotes above really lies? Each permits a different interpretation. Nixon was blind to his flaws. H.W. changed his mind. Clinton was drawing the same line between sex/non-sex that teenagers have used for years. W. was referring to one phase of the Iraq adventure. Obama was glossing over details.

Agree or disagree with any of what those politicians said, it’s hard to imagine any of them jailed for making these or similarly questionable claims.

The details of the Ohio court case neatly illustrate the problem. The plaintiff, an anti-abortion group, wanted to post a billboard saying a congressman’s vote for national health care amounted to support for “taxpayer-funded abortion.” The offended pol threatened prosecution. The plaintiff backed off. The proposed billboard wasn’t a lie, per se — it was more just a convoluted argument. But the threat of prosecution was enough to shut it up.

Would Ohio also prohibit doubters of climate change from voicing their views? Would it have in the past refused to countenance arguments that marriage could be between those of the same sex?

The thrust of the First Amendment is that no one individual or government agency gets to decide the truth. If you think folks wrong, deceptive, or untruthful, speak up. Rebut them. Ultimately, speech competes against speech. If and when this case finally gets decided by the Supreme Court, Ohio will deservedly lose. The US Constitution protects lying because the alternative is worse.

This column originally appeared in the Boston Sunday Globe on June 12, 2014.

City Council’s transgender vote is a brave move

Last week the Boston City Council voted to require that city health plans cover “gender dysphoria” — the condition of either not knowing what gender you are or knowing with great certainty that you are different from how you grew up. It seems like a minor thing. The new rule covers only those who actually work for the city, and a handful of folks, perhaps, really stand to benefit.

But when it comes to certain issues, it’s the principle that counts. And the councilors’ vote stands as a sharp rebuke to other state politicians who should have known better but, when it came to a tough case affecting transgendered people, took the politically easy way out.

The subject of transgender identity is evolving, complicated and, for many, probably uncomfortable as well. Most of us have no recollection of becoming male or female; we were pronounced one or the other at birth, and that’s simply the way we are. But for some small portion of the population — perhaps 1 percent or less — things aren’t that easy, and their torment is intense. Rejected as oddities or freaks, they are often outcast and despairing, suffering high rates of unemployment and poverty, and far more likely to attempt suicide (41 percent versus just 1.6 percent for everyone else).

There are solutions. One is tolerance; it’s amazing what a bit of open-mindedness can accomplish. Others include psychological counseling, hormone therapy, and sex reassignment surgery. Some argue that such procedures are elective, as if they were little different from cosmetic surgery. Eventually, I think, they’ll be recognized as a basic human right. Why? It’s a simple matter of justice.

In his influential 1971 book, “A Theory of Justice,” American philosopher John Rawls proposed a thought experiment. Suppose a group of people could get to design the kind of society they want and are then to be born into that world. However, as they work on their plans, they operate under a “veil of ignorance,” not knowing how they’ll end up: white or black, male or female, rich or poor. The logic of this approach has appeal across the political spectrum. Liberals embrace the notion that such a hypothetical society would prize equality under the law. For conservatives, it would be a society that would also maximize individual freedoms, giving people the opportunity to succeed or fail on their own merits.

And if there was a chance that you could be born into what seemed to you the wrong body, what kind of world would you want? Presumably one where you wouldn’t be mocked, where you would be accepted for who you are, and where personal wealth did not dictate access to the treatment needed to become the person you thought you should be.

Which brings us to the controversial case of Michelle Kosilek. Kosilek was born as Robert in 1949 and for years — beginning as a child, according to her telling — was seeking transition to a woman. Denied that, she went underground, trying to live as a man, getting married, fathering a son, and then — in 1990 — killing her wife.

There’s no doubt about the crime and no doubt Kosilek should be imprisoned. But since her incarceration, she’s been fighting to get sex reassignment surgery. Courts have been sympathetic to her arguments. To their shame, however, the prison system and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts have been going all out to stop her. And left-leaning politicians — including Governor Deval Patrick and Senator Elizabeth Warren — have opposed Kosilek’s quest as well.

Granted, it’s hard politics. Kosilek’s in prison, after all, and doesn’t make for a sympathetic character. Voters seem outraged at the idea. Still, the state would pay for other medically necessary treatments.

Boston’s city councilors took a different course. Their legislation, proposed by newcomer Michelle Wu and veteran Ayanna Pressley, passed unanimously. Mayor Martin Walsh says he intends to sign what Wu terms “a matter of equity and of fairness.” My guess is that someday the liberals who were quick to deny Kosilek her rights will be stumbling over themselves to make amends, much as Hillary Clinton is now trying to explain away her past opposition to same-sex marriage. Boston’s politicians won’t have to make such apologies. They did the right thing.

This column originally appeared in The Boston Globe on June 17, 2014.

Making the wrong leisure tradeoff?

Those silly Europeans. Life on the continent seems a concerted effort to avoid work. In France, the legal workweek is 35 hours.The Netherlands is down to an average of 29.Sweden’s pushing for six-hour days. China, India, and other upstart nations have to be loving this. It’s a lot easier to beat your competitors when your competitors aren’t trying that hard.

And then comes a widely publicized topper: France has passed legislation banning work-related e-mails between 6 p.m. and 9 a.m. Oh, la vache! How lazy are these people?

As it turns out, that story was an Internet version of the telephone game: It began with a germ of truth and then mushroomed into exaggeration. It wasn’t a law; it was a labor agreement. Only about 250,000 workers were covered. And there’s no mention of hours of the day. Still, wouldn’t it be nice?

For an enormous number of workers there’s no such thing as quitting time. The line between work and non-work has blurred so much so that the line has essentially disappeared. Leaving the office may be a change of place but not a change of status: You’re still on; still expected to respond to e-mails, texts, and posts; still assumed to be available for a discussion or a review. And that’s not only true after hours but weekends and vacations too. You go off grid at risk of reproach.

“I wasn’t able to reach you Sunday. Is everything OK?”

“I was at the beach.”

“So?”

“Swimming.”

“The whole time?”

It’s easy to blame technology. Computers, tablets, and smartphones: Our devices are always with us, everyone knows it, and there’s no compunction about reaching out. As a result, we’re working more. White-collar workers with smartphones are now dealing with work-related matters an average of 13.5 hours a day — 72 hours a week — according to a study last August by the Center for Creative Leadership. For many, including blue-collar workers as well, jobs have become a 24/7/365 proposition (with perhaps time off for sleep).

That’s why, according to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, the United States ranks 29th out of 36 nations on a measure it calls work-life balance, in line with such not-so-fun places as Turkey and South Korea. Meanwhile, European countries rank far higher, arguably happier and healthier. We in the United States are grinding away, while the Europeans drink wine, discuss philosophy, and do other things that would make ordinary Americans blush. Is it time to follow their lead?

In the past, the United States kept workweeks in check by requiring that anyone working more than 40 hours be paid overtime. But there are broad and growing exceptions to that rule for white-collar employees and those in various professions (doctors and teachers, but also the tech savvy). The self-employed are exempt as well. The Obama administration is making an effort this year to get more covered, on the theory that the white-collar exemptions “have not kept up with our modern economy,” but it’s an uphill battle.

Why? Many people seem to enjoy structuring their workweeks as they want; offices, daily commutes, and a rigid 9-to-5 schedule seem so last century. Moreover, long workweeks are often a competitive necessity. Lawyers work all sorts of hours in part because their clients expect it. If they didn’t, they’d lose business to someone else. Similarly, the United States is all too aware of the global challenges it faces. The French may have a good work-life balance, but they also have an unemployment rate over 10 percent and per capita incomes well below Americans’ ($37,567 versus $52,547 in 2012).

Most important, though, work and individual accomplishment are part of our culture. Cadillac’s controversial ad for its luxury ELR makes the point and mocks Europeans to boot: “You work hard, create your own luck, and you got to believe anything is possible,” the ad says. And as for things money can buy? “That’s the upside of only taking two weeks off in August.” Perhaps someday Americans will decide to trade off a little wealth for some more free time. Until then, keep checking your smartphone.

This column originally appeared in the Boston Sunday Globe on June 15, 2014.

Lotteries — Robin Hood in reverse

When Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you,” who knew the Massachusetts Lottery would be around to make sure he was proved right?

Data collected by Globe reporter Catherine Cloutier show the Lottery is often a Robin Hood in reverse, taking from the poor and giving to the rich. Chelsea, for instance, is one of the state’s worse-off cities, with a poverty rate of 25 percent. Its residents spend an average $1,178 a year on lottery tickets. Meanwhile, those in ultra-wealthy Weston spend a scant $45 a year.

And who benefits? The whole point of the lottery is to generate money for municipalities. Certainly Weston does well. Its gambling-averse residents contributed just $100,519 in net lottery revenue last year, but received back state aid of $316,391. Meanwhile, Chelsea got back over $1 million less in aid than its citizens spent. A big shout-out from Weston: Thanks, Chelsea!

Shocked? Don’t be. These are the dirty secrets not only of the Bay State’s lottery, but of all government-sponsored lotteries. In the case of Massachusetts, we’ll probably see some minor re-jiggering of distribution formulas to get a little more money to worse-off towns. But the heart of the problem will remain: Lotteries prey on the gullible, desperate, and poor, amounting in essence to a highly regressive tax. True, unlike with taxes, no one is compelled to purchase a lottery ticket. But the distinction is hollow. For all intents and purposes, lotteries are used for the same purposes as taxes.

New Hampshire created the first modern-day state lottery in 1964. Today, 44 states have them, generating annual sales of over $68 billion. Most states use net earnings (that is, after winnings and administrative costs) to support popular programs such as the arts, schools, or aid to cities and towns. They build up strong constituencies: the beneficiaries, naturally, as well small retailers who rely on them as a mainstay for their business.

But, clever ads notwithstanding, they are a lousy deal for those who play. “Someone’s gotta win,” says the Massachusetts Lottery. “Get in the game!” urges New Hampshire. “Give your dreams a chance,” exhorts New Jersey. And, adds New York, “Hey, you never know.”

More like, “Hey, you know, never.” The chances of winning $1 million in Mega Millions, for example, are 1 in 18,492,204. How unlikely is that? The odds of you someday getting struck by lightning are 6,164 times greater. Unfortunately, that’s the way the numbers work; there have to be a lot of losers for there to be one big winner. True, the odds are better for smaller prizes, but even so, over time the average player must lose. The reason is that gambling is a negative-sum game. In the case of the Massachusetts Lottery, 28 percent of gross receipts are kept by the state.

And who plays? Not those with high incomes and good educations; they figure the ladder to success is climbed in other ways. But people stuck in dead-end circumstances or working multiple jobs often see lotteries as their only way out — an idea the state commissions do a good job of promoting. It’s the poorest among us who buy the most lottery tickets; indeed, one study found individuals making $13,000 or less spend a shocking 9 percent of their incomes on lotteries.

Don’t get me wrong. If people want to gamble, by all means let them. But one can be a libertarian on this while at the same time believing that we cross an uncomfortable ethical line when we go from allowing individuals to gamble to setting up a vast marketing and distribution scheme urging them to do so. And, of course, here in Massachusetts we’re about to take that one step further, as the state prepares for casino gambling.

By rights, if we want to fund local aid or otherwise spend on pet projects, we shouldn’t do so by picking the pockets of the neediest. Rather, we should either increase conventional taxes or reduce other spending. But politicians lose their jobs when they raise taxes or cut programs. No one gets fired, however, when yet another new lotto game reaps millions more. It feels like free money, even though it comes at great cost.

This column originally appeared in The Boston Globe on June 10, 2014.

Bottle bill: End it, don’t mend it

Proponents for “updating” the Massachusetts bottle bill are surely right when they mock the distinctions the current law now draws: carbonated beverages are covered, non-carbonated are not. A container is a container, after all, whether it contains Diet Coke or Snapple. Their seemingly sensible solution — likely appearing on the ballot this fall — is to require deposits on some of these containers, too. But that begs the real question: Should we have a bottle bill at all? Three decades ago, deposits might have made sense. Today, there are other, more effective approaches.

The 1983 bottle bill had its origins in the days of public service ads featuring a Native American crying over a littered landscape. The fault supposedly lay with the beverage industry, which had recently abandoned returnable and reusable bottles. Environmentalists saw a mandatory deposit as a way of cutting trash and perhaps even forcing manufacturers to go back to the old reusables. A handful of states, including Massachusetts, latched on to the idea.

As it turned out, reusable containers never made a comeback; consumers liked the convenience of the lighter, one-time-use bottles and cans far too much. But, according to advocates, the new laws did help cut roadside trash. Back then the nickel deposit (worth 12 cents in today’s money) was lure enough to persuade many not to toss their containers out car windows. It also was lure enough to persuade others to collect any containers that remained. In retrospect, it’s worth wondering whether there might have been more efficient ways to reduce trash — say, by stiffening and enforcing anti-littering laws and paying work crews directly to clean roadsides. In any event, changing mores have also accomplished a lot; random littering is far less socially acceptable.

Another effect of the bottle bill was to increase the proportion of containers that were recycled. At the time, most rubbish simply went into landfills or was incinerated. Returned containers became the exception. They could be segregated, crushed, or melted down, and then re-made into something else.

Over time, though, the recycling movement grew. Many communities, including Boston, now have single-stream recycling. Everything from newspapers to bottles to plastics can be placed in familiar blue bins, where it is picked up and recycled. Other communities have gone further, imposing bag fees on trash but exempting recyclables. In towns with this system (known as “pay as you throw”), recycling rates climb dramatically; communities also save significantly on their waste-disposal costs.

The rise of everyday recycling means we now have two parallel systems. Consumers supposedly take back to stores bottles and cans subject to a deposit. Everything else that’s recyclable — paper, containers for non-carbonated drinks, milk cartons, wine bottles, and the like — gets put out in blue bins.

Logically, we should choose one approach or the other. For example, the November referendum question irrationally exempts containers such as wine bottles, milk jugs, and drink boxes. Why not subject them to a deposit, along with everything else we use, from newspapers to plastic yogurt containers? Seem crazy? Don’t laugh. A few years ago, a couple of Boston city councilors, upset about litter around convenience and liquor stores, proposed a nickel deposit on Lottery tickets.

That idea got nowhere, for reasons that would apply to any dramatic expansion of deposits: The process would prove nightmarishly complex, expensive, and hard to administer. The alternative is to abandon deposits altogether and simply expand recycling programs. Granted, that’s what the beverage industry wants, and as a result some people might reject it out of hand. But keeping two systems in place makes no sense either. Other states have come to this conclusion. Only 10 states now have bottle bills. Delaware, for instance, got rid of its bottle bill in 2010, moving to a system that puts in place near-universal recycling. (Delaware is funding its program with a 4 cent tax on containers, which gets phased out over a period of years).

Of course, voters won’t see that choice or other alternatives when they read the November ballot. That’s the problem with the up-down nature of ballot questions. But voters may want to vote “no” anyway — not because they oppose recycling, but because there are ways it can be done better.

This column originally appeared in the Boston Sunday Globe on June 8, 2014.

Republican Charlie Baker is stealing a key progressive issue

Republicans don’t win in Massachusetts because the state is liberal and they’re conservative. The solution? Become progressive. I know, it feels like cheating. The Democratic Party is left-wing and the GOP right, and that’s the way things are supposed to be. But on a number of key issues, Charlie Baker — a very safe bet to be the GOP’s nominee for governor — is starting to look an awful lot like the very Democrats he might be facing.

Baker is pro-choice. He supports same-sex marriage. He thinks global climate change is real and favors renewable energy — including (in a reversal from four years ago) Cape Wind.

Most striking, however, has been his embrace of what has emerged as the signal lefty issue: income inequality. The concern surged to prominence with the 2011 Occupy Wall Street movement and has since been a national focus by Democrats such as Senator Elizabeth Warren and President Barack Obama. The basic argument is that there has been a “hollowing out” of the middle class, that the country is becoming increasingly divided between rich and poor. Connected to that is the idea that the American Dream — the opportunity to succeed — is ever less available to all.

The issue itself is debatable. Much of the data that underlies it is drawn from the last few years, years marked by the Great Recession. No question, jobs have been lost, wages have been squeezed, and family finances have become more fragile. That’s what happens during recessions. As the economic recovery takes hold, we may well find the American Dream restored.

On the other hand, there’s a credible argument that something deeper is at play. Rapid changes in technology have made obsolete many jobs that once required only basic skills and education, and that trend seems to be accelerating. Good jobs are available, but only for the highly skilled and highly adaptable. Others are increasingly out of luck, which may be the reason so many have now dropped out of the workforce altogether.

Whether the worrisome plight of the middle class is a function of recession or reflects something more structural, Baker has seized upon it, sounding on occasion like a full-throated populist. His acceptance speech at the Republican convention closed with a litany of those left behind: “single moms,” “parents who need good schools,” those facing “the sky-high cost of a college education” and people “who live on fixed incomes.” At a forum in late May he voiced a “two Americas” message reminiscent of one-time vice-presidential nominee John Edwards: “I think the most important thing we need to realize is that we very much have two economies, we have two educational systems, and we have two kinds of communities.” And he supports increasing the minimum wage.

I can hear the Democrats now: Hey, he stole our issue!

Indeed he did.

It’s smart stuff. I’ve written before that Massachusetts seems to be taking a sharp turn toward progressivism, our Scott Brown infatuation long behind us. With only 11 percent of the electorate registered as Republicans, Baker has to figure out how to attract a good number of Democrats and the unenrolled. Middle-class issues make a good lure.

But it’s smart in another way too: It boxes Democrats in.

If Democrats care so much about income inequality, Baker might ask, why have things gotten so much worse over the last eight years? The obvious answers: Maybe they really didn’t care that much or maybe they don’t have the ideas necessary to solve the problem. Either way, he can argue, more of the same is hardly a solution.

The Democratic response will be that Baker is just posturing, cleverly adopting a populist tone even as he holds to old Republican ways. In office, they’ll say, he’ll quickly shed the campaign rhetoric.

Even so, Baker’s progressive clothes give him appeal. Incumbent parties always face a conundrum: If there are still serious problems after they’ve been in power for a while, they need to find someone at fault. Elsewhere, it’s easy to lay the responsibility on your political opponents. Here in Massachusetts, where Democrats have had near-absolute control for eight years, there’s no one to blame but yourself. It makes for a powerful argument for change.

This column originally appeared in The Boston Globe on June 3, 2014.

In taxis’ battle with Uber, ugly endgame looms

It’s easy to mock the taxicab drivers who encircled Uber’s Boston offices about a week ago, honking horns and protesting the upstart’s presence in their midst. They’re like Luddites trying to stop the spread of machine-made textiles, typewriter manufacturers objecting to personal computers, or travel agents outraged by services such as Travelocity. It seems obvious how this story will end: The taxicab industry, eventually, will be no more.

Or perhaps not. Many people have a lot of money invested in the status quo. They will fight to keep what they can. If the taxicab industry is to die, its death will not be pretty.

“People say this is good old-fashioned American competition,” a spokeswoman for the protesting cabbies said, “but that’s nonsense, because it’s not a level playing field.” She’s right. Right now, and like many other cities around the country, Boston’s hackney carriage unit, part of the city’s police department, dictates the conditions of service, sets prices, and tightly regulates supply. (The number of cabs in Boston is fixed at 1,825.) In effect, the industry is a government-created monopoly. One consequence of the monopoly is that taxi licenses, or medallions, trade for upwards of $600,000. Up to now, individuals and corporations have eagerly paid that price since, by owning a medallion, they and only they could pick up folks looking for a ride.

Then along came Uber, along with other new competitors such as Lyft. They use technology — a smartphone application that summons a car — to create a service that mimics a traditional taxicab but seemingly doesn’t cross the line to being a taxicab itself. You can’t legally hail an Uber car from the street. But from a consumer’s point of view, the difference is inconsequential.

The result has been a better product. Uber isn’t perfect; like any new company, it’s learning, making mistakes along the way. But that’s the nature of competition. And consumers seem to love it, with the result being that business for traditional cabs is down about 35 to 40 percent. Undoubtedly, that means the value of a medallion is falling too. Indeed, should Uber and its ilk continue to grow and succeed, one can imagine a day in the not-too-distant future when a medallion is worth almost nothing.

Which is why, not surprisingly, the industry is so desperate to put a stop to Uber. In San Francisco, Chicago, and other cities around the world, cabbies are mounting protests, filing lawsuits, and lobbying local politicians.

When politics and business become enmeshed, the results are unpredictable. Many politicians will be sympathetic to the taxi industry’s arguments about drivers and dispatchers who might lose their jobs. Moreover, they’ll be sensitive to the economic claims of medallion owners, who will argue that they bought their medallions in good faith. If the rules change, they’ll say, shouldn’t they be compensated?

Using tax dollars to pay off medallion owners is almost certainly a nonstarter, however. Faced with this, the alternative will be to try to defend the taxicab industry: Load up the newcomers with stifling regulations; prohibit Uber cars from picking up passengers; impose mandatory pricing schemes.

Others will reject the industry’s argument that it deserves protection, arguing that taxicabs are like any other business, subject to the risks of marketplace changes. Medallions are like any other investment, with no guarantees about their value. There’s a precedent: Radio broadcasting licenses were once a kind of monopoly. But today they are worth far less because of competition from the likes of satellite radio and Spotify.

In the end, I suspect, most politicians will prefer to do nothing, letting the taxicab industry wither away amid ever mounting competition. But that outcome, which would ultimately serve the public good, is hardly certain. The industry is battling for its life, and the Luddites might well have their day.

This column originally appeared in The Boston Sunday Globe on June1, 2014.