Dr. David Lanoue

By David Lanoue

In the wake of the overwhelming defeat of Gov. Bob Riley’s tax package, many observers will no doubt argue that the plan was doomed from the start. They will tell us that the day that Alabamians vote for a tax increase will be the day that pigs fly, dogs talk, and Auburn fans dress in crimson. Alabama voters are too distrusting of their politicians. The state’s special interest groups are just too powerful. To paraphrase the old Jim Croce song, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t pull the mask off the Lone Ranger, and you don’t mess around with ALFA.

The truth, however, is less clear. As late as the end of July, one poll showed only a 10-point gap separating those who opposed the package from those who favored it. To be sure, the “no” side was ahead even then, and a 10-point difference is hardly trivial. Still, many analysts felt that the governor was within striking distance of victory, and that a strong mobilization effort might produce enough support among African-Americans and low-income white voters to close the gap.

Obviously, this did not occur. Instead, the pro-tax campaign lost momentum over the course of the summer, and by the end of August, even Mr. Riley must have realized that his tireless efforts to educate and persuade would end in failure. It would certainly be understandable if the governor now chooses to console himself by embracing the notion that defeat was inevitable. But such a conclusion, comforting though it may be, ignores the role that questionable campaign strategy, faulty political gamesmanship, and bad luck played in the electoral debacle of Sept. 9.

Gov. Riley started out hitting all the right notes when he introduced his plan on statewide television back in May. He had a vision for Alabama, one in which schools would be first-rate, law enforcement would be stronger, tax burdens would be more fairly distributed, and politicians and teachers would be required to meet new standards of accountability. It was a vision that appealed to the pride of Alabamians, and the governor calculated that voters were finally willing to pay the price to make their state the envy of the region. But Mr. Riley also knew that he had to contend with a cynical electorate, one that had been all too often disappointed by feckless and sometimes corrupt leadership. To have any hope of winning, it was vital that the governor keep his constituents focused on his vision.

But once the campaign started, the pro-Riley side failed to stay on message. Some advertisements attempted to sell the package as a tax cut, while others framed the issue as a populist battle between the people and the special interests. Then lawn signs began to appear across the state bearing the slogan, “Let’s do the right thing.” It was a wonderful sentiment, rooted in the sincere Christian values that motivated the governor and many of his supporters. Unfortunately, as a political message, it was a disaster. By implicitly emphasizing the costs of the plan rather than the benefits, it played into the hands of opponents who argued that the tax package was all pain and no gain.

Gov. Riley’s problems, however, went well beyond ill-advised slogans. The complexity of the plan itself allowed the “no” side to cherry-pick any number of potentially unpopular aspects of the package and attempt to persuade even low income voters that they would be worse off if it passed. Opponents argued, for example, that because Amendment 1 would increase taxes on automobile repairs, it would disproportionately hurt poor people, who tended to drive older cars. They further suggested that higher tobacco taxes would place a similar burden on those least able to afford it.

The claim that the Riley tax package would hurt the poor was, to be charitable, disingenuous, but polls indicated that it was surprisingly effective. With so many proposed new taxes being levied on, among other things, banking transactions, household repairs, mortgage deeds, and new car sales, it was easy for opponents to make the claim that everyone would suffer, either directly or indirectly. In the end, the governor might have been better off concentrating his efforts entirely on the “big ticket” items, the multi-million dollar income and property tax changes, rather than giving his foes so many targets at which to aim their fire.

Another serious misstep on the governor’s part was the ugly and unnecessary battle he fought with the state’s African-American political leadership over felons’ voting rights. During their special session in June, the state legislature worked out a delicate compromise in which two bills received majority support. The first, favored by Republican lawmakers, would require voters to show proper identification on Election Day. The second, supported by key African-American legislators, would make it easier for felons to have their voting rights restored after serving their sentences.

The governor presumably could have scuttled the compromise at its outset simply by sending word to the legislature that he was unalterably opposed to easing restrictions on felons’ voting rights. But he did not, leaving many to assume that he would sign both bills. When Mr. Riley decided to endorse the voter ID bill and veto the felons’ rights measure, African-American leaders cried foul, claiming that they had been double-crossed. At least temporarily, the governor had managed to alienate a constituency whose support was vital to passing his tax plan.

In fairness, not all of the governor’s problems were of his own making. His campaign strategists must have assumed that as the Election Day drew near, Mr. Riley would be on center stage and would have the (relatively) undivided attention of Alabama’s voters. Instead, his eleventh-hour campaign appeal was buried under a two-ton slab of granite.

The brouhaha over the removal of Roy Moore’s controversial Ten Commandments monument from the state judicial building dominated media attention during the critical month of August, sucking almost all the air out of the political conversation. Just when Gov. Riley most needed to be heard, his voice was drowned out by dozens of screaming protesters, a handful of federal judges, and one defiant and ambitious Chief Justice. By the time the hubbub ended, so had the governor’s hopes of receiving one last hearing from the voters.

Bob Riley will go down as one of the most courageous politicians in Alabama history. But the failure of his tax plan demonstrates that courage, sincerity, and hard work are rarely enough in politics. There was never any doubt that the governor faced an uphill battle in his struggle to remake Alabama. Nevertheless, there is some evidence that, with good planning and better luck, victory was not necessarily beyond his reach. At the very least, given a more sure-footed campaign, there is no reason why the loss had to be quite so one-sided.

Depending on one’s point of view, the vote on Sept. 9 was either an opportunity lost or a bullet dodged. It is now unlikely that serious politicians in Alabama will propose sweeping tax reform in the foreseeable future. But if they do, they should carefully study Gov. Riley’s experience for a road map of what to do—and what not to do.

Dr. David Lanoue is professor and chairperson of political science at The University of Alabama. This column originally published in the Mobile Register.