It's hard to fathom now, but in the immediate aftermath of World War II, trust in the government had never been higher. The U.S. government had just annihilated two of the largest, most professional armies in the world, created a bomb that could destroy a city, built a 6,700-ship navy (including 28 aircraft carriers), a 300,000-plane air force, and a 12-million-person army.
The transition to a civilian economy wasn't easy, but the changeover was astonishing. More than 7.5 million houses and apartments were built between 1945 and 1950, with almost 2 million constructed in 1950 alone.
The U.S. economy added approximately 3 million nonfarm jobs and saw civilian employment grow by nearly 7.5 million people over these five years.
What was the trick? For one thing, the government only created the conditions for the boom. It didn't manage it. It didn't try to control it. It got out of the way after 1946 when the bottom dropped out of the labor market, as women went back home to have nearly 60 million babies by 1960.
Something horrible happened in the 1960s that changed everything, including the citizens' views on government. In a misguided effort to "fix" inequalities and historic injustices against blacks, minorities, and women, the left seized control of the growing administrative state and began to "reform" how the government operated from top to bottom.
There's no serious argument that reform wasn't necessary and overdue, but how that "reform" manifested itself and how it progressed over the decades has been America's downfall, leading to massive overregulation, procedural idiocy, administrative paralysis, and a loss of faith in government and American institutions.
Philip K. Howard of the Manhattan Institute, author of Everyday Freedom, believes that nothing less than a new model of public decision-making has to be created. One place to start is in improving infrastructure.
American governance nonetheless needs a new model of public decision-making—one capable of reversing over-proceduralization and its harmful effects. Howard argues, rightly, that someone must be empowered to make trade-offs in service of the national good. But who should decide between competing goods like environmental preservation and energy independence? And what guardrails and guidance can ensure that such decisions reflect the public will, incorporate legitimate opposition, and yet preserve enough discretion to avoid letting the system fall back into bureaucratic paralysis?
Ideally, Congress would serve its constitutional purpose to debate national priorities and regulate interstate affairs. For decades, though, Congress has mostly refused to lead, preferring instead to defer hard decisions to executive agencies and courts. Even if the Senate weakens or eliminates the 60-vote filibuster requirement long used to delay or block bills opposed by the minority party, it remains to be seen whether lawmakers will reject posturing and politicking in favor of making real trade-offs.
Howard proposes an interstate infrastructure improvement commission composed of experts chosen by both parties. "Executives would have broad discretion to deliver on the projects, subject to reasonable safety oversight," writes John Ketchum, director of cities at the Manhattan Institute. "Congress would waive procedural mandates, preempt state laws, and limit judicial review to whether officials on approved initiatives exceed the bounds of their authority."
The proposal would initiate something Howard refers to as "issue-based voting," which does not sound promising to me, as it would involve public debates on issues and perhaps even referendums on significant projects.
In our polarized time, national issue–based voting might not heal divisions; but it can shift attention away from political personalities and toward real trade-offs between competing goods. The U.K.’s referenda on Scottish independence and Brexit doubtless had their problems, including oversimplification of complex matters, but they succeeded in mobilizing millions to consider their nation’s future and tell their government what they wanted. Similar efforts in the U.S. should aim to inform voters as neutrally as possible about the trade-offs, hearing both sides of the argument from advocates and crafting clear, precise ballot language.
The idea presupposes sustained interest in an issue, which I have yet to observe, except in cases involving race or abortion. Americans aren't built that way, and the fact that manipulating and controlling the administrative state is far easier (and cheaper) to do makes any democratic solutions untenable.
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At least someone is thinking about it. This "issues-based voting" may not be the answer, but it points to the necessity for Americans to begin thinking of meaningful change.
Most of us could agree that we're running out of time for peaceful solutions to these problems.
