Editor's note: This week's Insights column is written by Warren Neel, Tennessee's outgoing Commissioner of Finance and Administration.
With my three-month old grandson Will cradled in my arms, I took the oath of office at Tennessee's Commissioner of Finance and Administration on July 1, 2000. During the ceremony, I said that I was an educator, that I had a particular interest in kids, and that I wanted to make a difference in the lives of our children. I acknowledged that I was from the world of ideas and had little experience in the rough and tumble world of politics.
Some thought my comments reflected my naivete. Others thought I had lost my mind to leave the comforts of an academic life to join the governor's cabinet, particularly with the financial issues facing the state.
So, I left the world of tweed jackets and sweaters. No more crisp fall mornings with young people eager to learn, at least for a while. But in embarking on this venture, I learned some harsh lessons in the world of public-policy making.
The reality of this experience came into focus as the Legislature, meeting into the summer of 2001, passed the education program, including a reading initiative and monies for higher education, but did not tie funding to it. I had participated in the tedious debate and answered countless questions that helped, in the end, to improve the proposal. I believed that implementation would give grandson Will and the rest of his generation a better chance to succeed in the knowledge based economy of the 21st century. Will's future indeed looked bright as I basked in the satisfaction of being part of an effort on behalf of all the Wills in Tennessee.
My euphoric moment was, however, lost, when irate citizens encircled the Capitol breaking windows and trashing the grounds. Car horns blared as talk show hosts rallied a band of protesters, urging them to vent their anger over the proposed tax plan to fund the budget. On that day, a vocal minority was heard above the many, and the education program died. Instead, there was to be no reading program and a significant increase in tuition for higher education. That was what we passed. The future of Will and of his generation, as I envisioned it, was in jeopardy.
August 2001 was a month of regrouping. Could we find a middle ground on the revenue proposal? What modifications could be made to improve the reading program? As we discussed the "art of the possible," we implemented the budget that passed, closing several state parks, reducing grants to various agencies, and delaying payments to local schools—all of which was necessitated by the budget that the Legislature had passed against our will. Meanwhile, revenue collections were falling, thus increasing the necessity for spending reductions.
My brief respite was shattered on September 11. The already weak economy was staggered further by the uncertainty accompanying the loss of almost three thousand lives to an enemy we did not know. Will's future was even more uncertain and beyond any concern for a reading program.
October found us preparing the FY 2003 budget, trying to make financial sense of an anticipated $600 million deficit. The budget hole was getting deeper—not just because of the economy and the dependence on a sales tax base, but because, during the previous year, we had masked the problem by using all the tobacco settlement monies and elevating revenue estimates beyond what was likely to happen. If Will's future was not addressed the previous year, this budget was to present an even greater challenge.
Will was in a Mother's Day Out program when I realized there was a greater outcry over parks closing than 60 faculty resigning from the UT Medical School for better-paid positions elsewhere. He was awakening to the newly discovered idea of playmates while I was receiving inquiries about the availability of boat ramps and swimming pools. Will was discovering a big new world while I was discovering the political realities of mine.
These realities showed a dismal picture of the state social and economic health. Almost one half of the kids in Tennessee's rural areas are taken care of by a head of household who does not have a high school diploma. Tennessee has one of the nation's lowest education attainment levels. Persistent unemployment follows the education pattern across the state, and many jobs are created to fit an untrained, uneducated workforce. As a result, we are rapidly becoming a two-class society with the underclass having less than adequate education and their children having no hope. This is why there was an outcry over parks and boat ramps but not a murmur over the loss of good faculty.
I knew that at some level of consciousness, but I refused to admit it. Rather, with renewed spirits, a new budget was submitted in February 2002, complete with a revised reading program and support for higher education. Practically everything else was the result of inflation or court order. The proposed funding increase was, for the first time in history, above $1 billion, since the Legislature had used so much "one time" monies to cover continuing obligations. As a result, the session revisited every program passed the previous year but with little interest in how to find funds for any activities. Revenue proposal after revenue proposal was entertained, some created by the Legislature and others by the administration.
We were well into the budget hearings when Will was learning a few words. He enjoyed having a book in his lap and looking at pictures, even showing some patience for a few words read to him. Music was also becoming a big part of his world and he showed signs of his own personality. Meanwhile, I was trying to avoid developing a personality reflecting the chaos in my world.
Hearing after hearing, meeting after meeting, tax plan after tax plan, on and on we went. May turned into June and then into July. Meanwhile the reading program floundered in the Legislature. Visiting Will, I knew he did not care one whit about my circumstance, as his world was growing beyond the bound of his play school. And for the brief time with him, I too forgot that a group of people in a big domed building on the hill in Nashville was acting on his future.
Like the previous year, horns honked, signs waved, and talk show hosts spent even more effort than before to gain market share. Passion had become, to some, synonymous with principle. Being louder equated to being more principled on an issue. The crowds were more mannered but the message was clear that tax reform to fund anything, even a reading program for Will and his generation, was not going to happen.
Many elected officials had the courage to stand up for Will. Others voted for nothing. In the final analysis the courageous voices did not prevail. Rather, we furloughed 22,000 employees before passing a one-cent sales tax hike. I visited Will about this time and he stole me away from the madness, brought me to his world of toys and his dog and his books. His chubby fingers grasped mine, and I looked into his face with wonderment at what his future will become.
In a few weeks someone else will sit in my seat. Maybe a newly elected set of leaders is the answer to Will's future. Maybe a fresh start will be good. There are still moments of despair when I see focus groups defining issues and polls directing decisions. Knowing the talk of the campaign will be tempered by the realities of the job, I still remain hopeful. But Tennessee deserves better. So does Will.
January 2, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 1
© 2003 Metro Pulse
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