Middle-of-the-road, in fact, is more or less the normal state of politics here in the Old Line (or Free) State. That status, as well as the two nicknames, reflect Maryland's geographic position among the original 13 colonies and the issue that divided them as well as the rest of the expanding nation, even to today: race.
Its northern border, part of the Mason-Dixon line (named for the two surveyors who created it to resolve a border dispute among four states) is now political shorthand for the divide within the nation over this issue. Maryland, in fact, was a state with slaves and slaveholders, kept in the Union at gunpoint by Lincoln in a battle that gave the state its official song, "Maryland My Maryland" (its original anti-Union lyrics long since politically corrected by our General Assembly). The zoning of Baltimore, the state's largest city, was designed to enforce the legal segregation of the races its white residents wanted. That zoning still strangles the development of the city. And yet, the proximity of Baltimore to other large, Northeastern cities such as Philadelphia, New York, and Boston brought a degree of liberal thinking and cosmopolitan social life to Maryland.
What has popularly become know as Maryland's "middle temperament" comes out of the close proximity within a geographically small state between liberal Baltimore and the more conservative counties surrounding it. Early in the state's history, the need to function socially and economically led its politically divided residents to work hard at avoiding conflicts and finding ways to cooperate peacefully. This pattern persisted well into the 20th century, which is why Maryland produced moderate governors of both parties such as Theodore McKeldin, a Republican, and William Donald Schaefer, a Democrat.
However, and with all due respect to the late Speaker of the House of Representatives "Tip" O'Neill, all politics in the United States are no longer local. Almost every aspect of our life has been nationalized to varying degrees, as the functions of national government have expanded into formally localized functions such as schools, and the operation of the economy has been restructured to favor large, nation-wide enterprises over local ones. As this has happened, Americans no longer discuss politics face-to-face. They discuss it media portal to media portal, through an endless barrage of cameras and Web sites that thrive on conflict, or at least the appearance of it.
And so, in the 21st century, Maryland politics has begun to reflect these trends. In this century, the state elected governors with more of a taste for combat rather than consensus: the sharp-elbowed Robert Ehrlich and the morally earnest Martin O'Malley, who, in very different ways, wore out their welcome in a state whose middle temperament had little stomach for being pushed in one direction or another.
Enter Larry Hogan, stage right. Very far right, in fact, but with some knowledge of how to conceal it. A political legacy, whose father (also a Republican) voted in Congress for the impeachment of Nixon. A supposedly self-made small-businessperson who is, in fact, worth millions of dollars by way of a commodity that practically sells itself with the right connections: real estate. A man with a slightly goofy, grinning public persona perfect for that cliched politician complement, a "guy you could imagine having a beer with." A man who would seem to be a perfect fit for a state with a middle temperament.
And a man who, to an electorate weary of conflict and accustomed to making choices based on style points, seems to be a kind of hero. How else to explain, in a supposedly "blue" state, his 16-point lead over his Democratic opponent for re-election?
But, in fact, Hogan is the political equivalent of the guy sitting all the way at the end of the bar, complaining that the beer is watered and the pretzels are stale, and demanding to pay less and get away without leaving a tip. A man to whom much has been given financially, who still doesn't feel that he's been given enough. A man who expects to be seen as a hero for being sick, but who doesn't see the irony in being saved by government-back health insurance not available to every citizen under his charge. A man who, in Oscar Wilde's words, knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. But also a man who knows, perhaps by way of his real estate experience, how to wrap up nothing and sell it as something. And so, he has positioned his likeability in such a way that it conceals the ineptitude and inherent racism of many of his policy choices.
How else to explain his decision to throw away a billion dollars in federal transportation money by cancelling the Baltimore Red Line project, which could have been the backbone of a real, city-wide commuter rail system and thereby cut through the legacy of the city's racist zoning practices? As a former state procurement officer, I personally know that Ehrlich, for whom Hogan worked as appointments secretary, believed in capturing every dollar Maryland could get from Washington. He would never have thrown away that money.
And the repercussions of this decision affect the whole state, since it makes getting additional federal moneys for transportation projects less likely. This is not just something we can ill afford; in fact, we can't afford it at all, given the current status of our infrastructure and commuting needs. All in the name of protecting the racial status quo. Cancelling the Red Line was not a decision that eliminated a fiscal "boondoggle"; it was a tightening of the white noose around the city's African-American residents. Take a look.
For that matter, how else to explain his bragging about cancelling O'Malley's so-called "tax on the rain," which in fact was a tax to fund the management of rain run-off from from the kind of rampant suburban development that helped Hogan make his fortune? He didn't eliminate the "rain tax" to help consumers; he did it because he felt it was picking his pockets, as well as the pockets of his like-minded cronies. Now, to protect the stapled-together, overpriced townhouses multiplying their way through Howard County, his Republican cronies in that county want to "save" historic Ellicott City by tearing it down, one block at a time.
This is their response, and Hogan's response, to the floods that have twice submerged the historic district and led to deaths on their watch, NOT to better regulate the development that led to the floods and the deaths in the first place. After all, it's not as if historic preservation is an economic generator that could, in fact, raise revenues and help pay for some of that regulation ... oh, wait!
Larry Hogan. Putting development over people's lives. Putting racism over ending poverty. Basically, a Maryland version of D****** T****. A man with a smile on his face and a shiv in his pocket for anyone who will stop him from lining it. Not a man with a middle temperament. And not deserving of a second term as governor.
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