MARCH 23, 2009 POLITICS / JOHN MAGINNIS
A few months ago, Commissioner of Higher Education Sally Clausen got the presidents of the state's universities to agree in principle on a change to how colleges are funded. The idea, not a new one, is to reward schools doing better jobs of graduating their students on time and attracting competitive research grants instead of just allocating dollars based on enrollment, as is now the case.
The college presidents all held hands around the campfire in unity, with one caveat: that any new plan would only be implemented with increased public dollars, so that some schools would get more but none would get less. In other words, hold that thought until the state's financial picture improves.
So imagine the shock and dismay in academia when the governor's office, the day before it released its executive budget for the new fiscal year, informed college presidents that not only would they get 15 percent less state support, but that those fewer dollars would be distributed according to that brave new formula they were talking about, even if it wasn't finalized.
When there is not enough money to go around may seem like the right time to shake down the system and start anew, except to those who have to live with the consequences. Such is the cloud of angst hanging over college administration offices today.
For years, the common complaint of armchair governors has been that Louisiana has too many four-year colleges, some within a few miles of each other. In this big-picture view, a bunch could be closed, merged or made into cost-effective two-year community colleges, thus saving millions by reducing the number of high-salaried presidents, deans and what not.
While the tough-love approach to restructuring higher education sounds good and simple, there are more than the devil in the details, but whole sankepits and minefields awaiting the best-intentioned plans. Any official who has even uttered the name of an institutution as a candidate for closure, merger or down-sizing instantly has been besieged with irate phone calls and hate mail worthy of an AIG executive.
Take, for example, the most obvious case for merger. The University of New Orleans and Southern University at New Orleans sit side by side on Lake Pontchartrain. The UNO student body is mostly white; SUNO is mostly black. Both campuses were heavily damaged by Katrina--SUNO more so--and their enrollments have declined significantly.
Sounds simple just to put the two together. But to seriously propose such is to invite a firestorm of protest from both campuses, and probably an inquiry from the civil rights division of the U.S. Justice Department. And isn't that just what the city needs: another issue on which to divide along racial lines?
One could kick over a similar anthill in northeast Louisiana, home to three four-year ULS campuses, or anywhere else a university is targeted for demotion to a community college.
Yet passionate and parochial concerns should not defeat the big idea that higher education in Louisiana would better serve and be served by a well-thought-out reorganization of campuses. The population of high schoolers is dropping while the popularity of community colleges grows, with both trends working against the status quo among four-year universities.
Changing the funding formula for higher education seems like the best way to start, but the governor is putting Higher Education Commissioner Clausen in a very tough spot by calling for the new plan in the worst budget year in two decades.
The governor might wish for the Board of Regents, which Clausen answers to, to propose the higher education cuts for him, but the constitution does not so provide. It requires the Legislature to appropriate directly to the college governing boards, not through Regents.
That means college officials and boosters will be pressing their legislators to adjust the new funding formula--or to tap the so-called Rainy Day Fund--to keep their schools from being hurt. If so, not much will have changed where it matters.
The last time Louisiana had a single head of higher education, his name was Huey Long. If Bobby Jindal is serious about restructuring university systems--starting with a new funding formula--he needs to get directly involved: devils, snakes, mines and all.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
State Pockets Go Deep for Business
MARCH 16, 2009
By now, Timmy Teepell has learned more about the poultry
business than he ever wanted to know. The governor's chief of
staff has been the state's point man on a bold rescue plan for
a chicken processing plant to be closed next month in
Farmerville following the bankruptcy of its owner Pilgrim's
Pride. Not only would 1,300 workers lose their jobs, but 300
independent growers face economic ruin from debt incurred
upgrading their facilities to the standards required by the
company.
Teepell committed $20 million from the state to match that
amount from a California firm bidding to buy the plant, with
an agreement that the new owner maintain the workforce for
five years. When Pilgrim's Pride rejected the offer, Teepell
doubled the government's ante to $40 million of a $60 million
total, with reports the state could go higher still.
If a deal is struck, it would mark a blessedly happy ending
for employees and growers as well as state and local
officials. Happy, yes. Ending? Don't count on it.
When area legislators, in a hearing at the State Capitol,
heaped praise upon the administration for stepping up to the
crisis, other North Louisiana members were quick to remind
that the wood products industry, hit by closures and idlings
of paper mills, is going through a slow-moving crisis just as
severe.
As the national recession creeps closer to Louisiana, how
long will it be before Teepell again dons his Superman's cape,
refills his briefcase with cash and darts off to the aid of
another state business in distress?
The administration's decisive and costly action is made
possible by the state's so-called Mega Fund, $414 million the
governor had set aside last year for incentives, such as
infrastructure improvements, to businesses looking to locate
here or to existing firms considering expansion. The Pilgrim's
Pride venture appears to create a new category of business
bailout.
Assuming the chicken deal works out, it's unclear what the
state gets for its $40 million-or-more intervention, besides
keeping 1,600 families whole. No ownership interest was
mentioned. Market conditions are questionable as its current
owner cites an industry-wide over-supply of chickens due to
people eating out less.
It still could be the right thing to do, but the governor
and Legislature need to decide some policy to guide future
corporate rescues, since this likely won't be the last.
Or the first. The state has been subsidizing businesses for
years, most famously the New Orleans Saints, due $23.5 million
this year and next to finish a 10-year, $186 million payout.
And the Saints have nothing on the new golden child of
corporate welfare: the movie business.
Through its Movie Production Tax Credit Program, the
state, in effect, covers 25 percent of a film company's in-
state expenses and 35 percent of its in-state labor. This has
brought producers flocking and has catapulted Louisiana to the
third leading movie-making state, behind California and New
York.
A state-commissioned economic study released last week
counted $462 million in direct spending on movie production in
2007, including 3,000 direct jobs paying on average about
$35,000 per year, a $105 million payroll.
On the other side of the ledger, the state paid out $115
million in tax credits to investors, who purchased them at a
discount from the movie producers. Minus state taxes paid on
film projects, the net cost to Louisiana was $101 million--or
about equal what those 3,000 direct jobs paid.
It's a new, clean, glamorous industry, but not cheap. A
bunch more economic development like it would break the state.
To save money, two years ago legislators decided to phase
down the credits, to 20 percent in 2011 and 15 percent in
2013, with the expectation that the movie industry would
better establish itself here by then.
But with other states now offering competing movie tax
breaks, creating what Economic Development Secretary Stephen
Moret calls an "incentive arms race," Gov. Jindal now proposes
keeping the credits at 25 percent, or $100 million or so a
year as long as the cameras are rolling.
He and the Legislature have little choice. Neither wants to
be known for losing Hollywood on the Bayou. Or the Saints. Or
the chicken growers. Or . . . who's next?
By now, Timmy Teepell has learned more about the poultry
business than he ever wanted to know. The governor's chief of
staff has been the state's point man on a bold rescue plan for
a chicken processing plant to be closed next month in
Farmerville following the bankruptcy of its owner Pilgrim's
Pride. Not only would 1,300 workers lose their jobs, but 300
independent growers face economic ruin from debt incurred
upgrading their facilities to the standards required by the
company.
Teepell committed $20 million from the state to match that
amount from a California firm bidding to buy the plant, with
an agreement that the new owner maintain the workforce for
five years. When Pilgrim's Pride rejected the offer, Teepell
doubled the government's ante to $40 million of a $60 million
total, with reports the state could go higher still.
If a deal is struck, it would mark a blessedly happy ending
for employees and growers as well as state and local
officials. Happy, yes. Ending? Don't count on it.
When area legislators, in a hearing at the State Capitol,
heaped praise upon the administration for stepping up to the
crisis, other North Louisiana members were quick to remind
that the wood products industry, hit by closures and idlings
of paper mills, is going through a slow-moving crisis just as
severe.
As the national recession creeps closer to Louisiana, how
long will it be before Teepell again dons his Superman's cape,
refills his briefcase with cash and darts off to the aid of
another state business in distress?
The administration's decisive and costly action is made
possible by the state's so-called Mega Fund, $414 million the
governor had set aside last year for incentives, such as
infrastructure improvements, to businesses looking to locate
here or to existing firms considering expansion. The Pilgrim's
Pride venture appears to create a new category of business
bailout.
Assuming the chicken deal works out, it's unclear what the
state gets for its $40 million-or-more intervention, besides
keeping 1,600 families whole. No ownership interest was
mentioned. Market conditions are questionable as its current
owner cites an industry-wide over-supply of chickens due to
people eating out less.
It still could be the right thing to do, but the governor
and Legislature need to decide some policy to guide future
corporate rescues, since this likely won't be the last.
Or the first. The state has been subsidizing businesses for
years, most famously the New Orleans Saints, due $23.5 million
this year and next to finish a 10-year, $186 million payout.
And the Saints have nothing on the new golden child of
corporate welfare: the movie business.
Through its Movie Production Tax Credit Program, the
state, in effect, covers 25 percent of a film company's in-
state expenses and 35 percent of its in-state labor. This has
brought producers flocking and has catapulted Louisiana to the
third leading movie-making state, behind California and New
York.
A state-commissioned economic study released last week
counted $462 million in direct spending on movie production in
2007, including 3,000 direct jobs paying on average about
$35,000 per year, a $105 million payroll.
On the other side of the ledger, the state paid out $115
million in tax credits to investors, who purchased them at a
discount from the movie producers. Minus state taxes paid on
film projects, the net cost to Louisiana was $101 million--or
about equal what those 3,000 direct jobs paid.
It's a new, clean, glamorous industry, but not cheap. A
bunch more economic development like it would break the state.
To save money, two years ago legislators decided to phase
down the credits, to 20 percent in 2011 and 15 percent in
2013, with the expectation that the movie industry would
better establish itself here by then.
But with other states now offering competing movie tax
breaks, creating what Economic Development Secretary Stephen
Moret calls an "incentive arms race," Gov. Jindal now proposes
keeping the credits at 25 percent, or $100 million or so a
year as long as the cameras are rolling.
He and the Legislature have little choice. Neither wants to
be known for losing Hollywood on the Bayou. Or the Saints. Or
the chicken growers. Or . . . who's next?
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Governor Has Speech to Overcome
MARCH 2, 2009 POLITICS / JOHN MAGINNIS
A very positive 60 Minutes profile of Gov. Bobby Jindal on Sunday took some of the sting out of his nationally televized belly flop last week. Enough has been said about his woeful response to President Obama's address to Congress, except to ask: what is he going to do about it?
Even supporters concede that Jindal bombed on style points, from the empty setting to his sing-song delivery. Opinion on the content of his remarks is divided along partisan, philosophical lines, but such was his task, to speak for the Republican party.
His argument, however, that government should limit its role in face of catastrophes, natural or financial, hardly squares with his state's receiving massive federal aid after the hurricanes and still seeking more--a point that post-speech commentators jumped on.
His talk improved as he went along, but it was too late by then. Beyond delivery and content issues, he made the strategic mistake of trying to do too much in one speech, none of it very well.
His opening biographical sketch of his family's immigrant experience in pursuit of the American dream is likely how he planned to begin his address to the Republican National Convention in September, had Hurricane Gustav not kept him at home. Having missed that opportunity to introduce himself to the nation, he should not have tried to shoehorn it into his response to the president.
He would have done better to lead off with his statement, which came midway, that Republicans, when they were in power, strayed from their small-government principles and thus deserved to be turned out by voters. By starting with that refreshingly frank assessment, which Republican leaders have failed to make, he would have turned heads that he instead turned off. Then he could have made the case that the Democrats are compounding past errors while Republicans are out to win the country's trust again--starting with a better directed alternative stimulus plan.
Critics still would have panned his delivery, but they also would have credited him for candor and for laying out a path for his party's future.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda, but now what?
Some would suggest he make light of the debacle and put it behind him, much like then-Gov. Bill Clinton did after his much-ridiculed bombast to the Democratic National Convention in 1988, four years before he was nominated. But there is a big difference. Clinton was a gifted speaker who just didn't know when to shut up. He struggled with brevity throughout his career, but managed to curb his verbiage and turn his tongue into a highly effective political tool.
Less talented an orator, Jindal needs to manage his weakness so that it doesn't bite him again. He does quite well in some settings, such as town hall meetings and rooms full of wealthy donors. He also thrives on the give-and-take of TV news interviews.
Yet the challenge of a formal speech eludes him, which he admitted at a Monday press conference. "I am not the best speaker," he said. Nor does it bother him to be called boring, or worse: "It's better to be compared to Mr. Rodgers than to some others."
Excelling at speechmaking apparently is not such a big deal to him, and he is not alone on that point. John McCain, who also struggled on big stages, might be president but for the economic meltdown. George W. Bush was elected twice, despite being borderline inarticulate, and now commands six-figure speaking fees. But the war hero and former president's son had advantages that Obama and Clinton, not to mention Reagan, made up for with their command of language.
The governor said he won't hire a speechwriter or even a part-time speech coach. Fine, but if he doesn't care to make his talks better, he should consider cutting them shorter. Or perhaps he failed to notice that he has been numbing audiences around Louisiana with stemwinders that are long on facts, short on vision and missing focus and feeling.
Gov. Jindal has his own compensating talents, mainly the mind to back up his voice. Yet while what one says counts for more than how one says it, an effective leader combines the two in order to inspire and to move people, and not toward the exits.
A very positive 60 Minutes profile of Gov. Bobby Jindal on Sunday took some of the sting out of his nationally televized belly flop last week. Enough has been said about his woeful response to President Obama's address to Congress, except to ask: what is he going to do about it?
Even supporters concede that Jindal bombed on style points, from the empty setting to his sing-song delivery. Opinion on the content of his remarks is divided along partisan, philosophical lines, but such was his task, to speak for the Republican party.
His argument, however, that government should limit its role in face of catastrophes, natural or financial, hardly squares with his state's receiving massive federal aid after the hurricanes and still seeking more--a point that post-speech commentators jumped on.
His talk improved as he went along, but it was too late by then. Beyond delivery and content issues, he made the strategic mistake of trying to do too much in one speech, none of it very well.
His opening biographical sketch of his family's immigrant experience in pursuit of the American dream is likely how he planned to begin his address to the Republican National Convention in September, had Hurricane Gustav not kept him at home. Having missed that opportunity to introduce himself to the nation, he should not have tried to shoehorn it into his response to the president.
He would have done better to lead off with his statement, which came midway, that Republicans, when they were in power, strayed from their small-government principles and thus deserved to be turned out by voters. By starting with that refreshingly frank assessment, which Republican leaders have failed to make, he would have turned heads that he instead turned off. Then he could have made the case that the Democrats are compounding past errors while Republicans are out to win the country's trust again--starting with a better directed alternative stimulus plan.
Critics still would have panned his delivery, but they also would have credited him for candor and for laying out a path for his party's future.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda, but now what?
Some would suggest he make light of the debacle and put it behind him, much like then-Gov. Bill Clinton did after his much-ridiculed bombast to the Democratic National Convention in 1988, four years before he was nominated. But there is a big difference. Clinton was a gifted speaker who just didn't know when to shut up. He struggled with brevity throughout his career, but managed to curb his verbiage and turn his tongue into a highly effective political tool.
Less talented an orator, Jindal needs to manage his weakness so that it doesn't bite him again. He does quite well in some settings, such as town hall meetings and rooms full of wealthy donors. He also thrives on the give-and-take of TV news interviews.
Yet the challenge of a formal speech eludes him, which he admitted at a Monday press conference. "I am not the best speaker," he said. Nor does it bother him to be called boring, or worse: "It's better to be compared to Mr. Rodgers than to some others."
Excelling at speechmaking apparently is not such a big deal to him, and he is not alone on that point. John McCain, who also struggled on big stages, might be president but for the economic meltdown. George W. Bush was elected twice, despite being borderline inarticulate, and now commands six-figure speaking fees. But the war hero and former president's son had advantages that Obama and Clinton, not to mention Reagan, made up for with their command of language.
The governor said he won't hire a speechwriter or even a part-time speech coach. Fine, but if he doesn't care to make his talks better, he should consider cutting them shorter. Or perhaps he failed to notice that he has been numbing audiences around Louisiana with stemwinders that are long on facts, short on vision and missing focus and feeling.
Gov. Jindal has his own compensating talents, mainly the mind to back up his voice. Yet while what one says counts for more than how one says it, an effective leader combines the two in order to inspire and to move people, and not toward the exits.
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