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Posts published in “Stapilus”

A significant day


Over the last week I've been re-reading The Final Days, the old Bob Woodward-Carl Bernstein book about the closing months of the Nixon Administration. So much of it rings bells in our present day.

The ringing got all the louder Tuesday with the conviction in one case and guilty pleas in another of two of this current president's once top men: his former campaign manager, Paul Manafort, and his (until recently) main personal counsel, Michael Cohen.

During the time stretch in Final Days, several of President Richard Nixon's former aides ere going through criminal trials, in some cases acquitted but in others convicted. The book did not much focus on them directly but rather on the Nixon White House, as it dealt with the fallout of the decisions made when Nixon, Haldeman, Erlichman, Dean and others all were still in place, and still a team.

But there was definite White House fallout from their legal troubles.

For one thing, Nixon himself was at least somewhat distraught. That's not hard to understand. He had hired these people, in a number of cases friends of his, to work in positions of high responsibility, and now directly as a result of choosing to go to work for and with him, they were being jump-suited and packed off to prison. Whatever else Nixon did or didn't feel guilty about, he surely felt some guilt over that, over bringing such a result to his friends and allies. Who wouldn't?

Which raises the question of, does Donald Trump? Does he feel what Nixon did?

We can ask that question in no less a serious way about everyone else working in and around the White House. Imagine this: You've gone to work for an important organization, doing important work, and then you discover that your predecessors, at least a whole bunch of them, are being laid law and slapped behind bars. Not just one or two, but a lot of them - and for reasons that stem directly from having worked for, and taken orders from and tried to please, the same boss you're now working for.

That might make me spooked enough to have, well, unfortunate side effects. It certainly wouldn't make me a more useful or helpful part of the organization, not when some significant part of the day is spent wondering if someone will be coming for me next, for having done something I didn't even quite see coming until it was too late.

Cohen and Manafort are two of the most important figures so far to be dragged in, but they're not the first and they won't be the last. Don't imagine this won't have a big effect on the White House. It may even have some effect on the elections now not much more than a couple of months away.

In crisis, cause for press hope


These can look like dark days for news reporting, and for our ability to keep track of and hold accountable those in power, who we most need to keep on a leash.

There are serious economic pressures, a dynamic underway for a generation now; business crunches that have wiped out massive segments of local and regional news reporting. Journalism in New York (mostly) and Washington, and other top centers, goes on. Beyond those places, far less of it is happening today than did a few decades ago.

There are newer political pressures, some of them coming from endless attempts from the White House to call out “fake news” that isn’t fake at all, in the perverse declaration of the press -- the best protector most of us have from the powers that be -- as the “enemy of the people.”

But under that, almost in the shadows, there are signs of hope. One is the nationwide uprising of newspaper editorials this last week, reflected in Idaho among other places, explaining just why an independent and free press really is important.

This message happened to be magnified for me, on a Northwest level, this week.

About five years ago a former colleague, Steve Bagwell (now a newspaper editor at McMinnville, Oregon), and I co-wrote a book, titled New Editions, about the Northwest’s newspapers, their history, present, and future. This week we were asked to revisit that in an interview for an article on a regional press, to bring up to date some of what we found in our research back then. It brought us to consider a more recent summing up.

We found, five years ago, that while the newspaper scene tended to be reduced to a stereotype of “bleak,” the actual picture is more complex. We found that the reality of newspapers and journalism, their condition and vitality, actually varies a lot between regions, types of communities, types of newspapers. That much seems to be just as true today. Not many definitive lines of description apply to all newspaper journalism.

Overall through the ‘00’s, many newspapers seemed to be crashing, to the point that trend lines (and many prognosticators) suggested most might not be around for long, that the print newspaper was close to extinction. But trend lines are often disrupted; the future isn’t so easily predictable. In the years since 2012, the newspaper industry, while still enduring hard time, has to a great degree stabilized at a smaller level. Layoffs have continued and news coverage is down. But those newspapers that were supposed to disappear en masse? Most are still there.

There are also counter-indicators.

One (the subject of a recent column) in Idaho is the growth of the Nampa Idaho Press newspaper organization, the expansion of coverage, hiring of new staff - what looks like an explosion of confidence in the future of newspapering.

A few miles across the Oregon line at the small town of Vale, look at the case of the Malheur Enterprise, a small, struggling weekly newspaper. Well, it used to be struggling. Now, under new owner Les Zaitz, a former Portland Oregonian investigative reporter, it not only is breaking important stories week after week, gaining not just local but even national attention, but it also is growing rapidly in circulation, adding staff and apparently prospering. Zaitz is now in the process of starting a new hard-news digital publication covering the state, based at Salem.

I should mention my own digital publication, the Idaho Weekly Briefing, which has been expanding and is working on its own new business model (involving online crowdfunding).

The times are difficult for journalism, and for people who want to follow serious news reporting. But hard times can make for some of the most creative solutions.

Review: Vanishing Neighbor


When we dig down into the substrata underlying our civic problems - our deep divisions, unwillingness to compromise, the too-deep untrustfulness and cynicism - we can see a range of prospective "root causes". For those of us around for enough years to recall a different kind of American society, one of the biggest of these is the loss of social ties and connections.

In a rough sense, that's the subject of The Vanishing Neighbor by Marc Dunkelman, a book that relies more on anecdote than statistics and wanders well afield in places. It does usefully highlight the need for careful parsing in this area, though, and teases out what we have and haven't lost.

Over the period since World War II, which roughly is the time frame Dunkelman scans, some types of contact and community have been lost, and others have not. Dunkelman sketches out three concentric circles of contact between people, and describes how each have changed. And each have, but in different ways, and one of them more dramatically than the others.

The inside, tightest, ring, of family members and closest friends, has changed but not drastically. Families are much more varied now than they once were, and divorce is certainly much more common now than in the immediate post-war period. That said, most of still are close to family and our closest associates. The arrival of digital communications has in some ways even enhanced some of that (parents tracking children via smartphone, for example).

The outer ring too has changed but in fewer sweeping ways than many people may think. Back then, most of us had networks and contacts, and we still do. More of those connections now may be of the digital variety, through social media and other connections, but the relatively far-flung links of yesteryear weren't necessarily a lot more solid. The ranging of networks may even be expanding.

It's the ring in the middle that's been changing a lot. These are the people who aren't in the category of our closest contacts, but they are personal - these are people we know face to face, come into regular contact with, influence and are influenced by. They might be the casual friends met for an after-work drink, or someone in the union hall (when there were such things), or someone in a local pickup sports activity. The book Bowling Alone focused on these kind of connections: People who are just far enough from us, in economic status or occupational interest or religious or political background, that we aren't tight with them; but just close enough that we learn how to socialize and connect with them, with - in other words - people who are a little different from us.

That puts a finer point on the increasing solidity of the bubbles so many of us now live within, the echo chambers so many experience when the only voices heard are of those who think like us.

The step between the formation of those bubbles and the walls between, for example, the reds and the blues, is short and obvious. The inner circle a group of people we do not choose lightly (or in the case of family may not have chosen at all) tends not to piece the bubble much, except in the case of things like family argument blowups at Thanksgiving. The outer circle, our network of loose connections, is too easily replaceable, with names dropping and out, or too focused on a narrow area of interest or commonality, to force us to communicate much with people who are not exactly like us.

We're missing that middle range, that middle circle, that helps us more than the inner or outer layers, to navigate a society where we're not all the same.

It's a useful point, and The Vanishing Neighbor makes it usefully.

Changing Bovill, among others


Bovill is a lot like many small towns in Idaho, and far beyond.

It was named for two of the earliest settlers, a couple who at the dawn of the twentieth century bought an earlier lightly-used homestead, and started ranching. Before long, timber production became dominant in the area, the couple evolved their activities into other local service businesses, and Bovill became a timber town. In the last generation, as timber has faded as an economic mainstay, Bovill has struggled.

It’s a story similar in outline to that of many rural towns.

Not many years ago, a couple named Jeremy and Heidi Ritter and set up - in this case relocated from Moscow - a different kind of business in the central business area. It is the Camas Prairie Winery (a field covered with camas plants actually is located near town), and it produces wines and has a tasting room.

Not everyone is happy.

As the Lewiston Tribune reported, “Everything was apparently going along fine until earlier this year, when Camas Prairie Winery received a retail liquor license after another Main Street business, Bailey’s Bar, lost its license. Shortly thereafter, the winery (which previously had a wholesale license) was told it needed to make several changes to comply with the town’s building code.”

From there tensions and battles escalated into heated arguments about doorways and public records, well beyond what a simple adjustment to the building site would have suggested.

More is going on here than a simple building code issue. So what’s happening?

I cannot read the minds of the people in Bovill, but the overall dynamics sound familiar. I live in a small town, somewhat larger than Bovill but with a history quite similar. Mine is an agricultural community, situated amidst farm fields not far from foothills forests, founded a little more than a century ago, which later became a timber mill town (my house was once company housing built for mill workers), after which that faded (the mill closed) and the community started looking for other options.

Eventually it found them, in the form of wine. My community seized on wine production and sales, which were growing rapidly in the area, and embraced it. Now Main Street is packed with wine businesses, and visitors from afar stop into the tasting rooms and other spinoff businesses. The place has been growing, to the point that there’s concern about the growth that has materialized.

Not everyone is happy about it. Long-timers in town remember the way the community used to be, and the phrase “It’s a timber town, dammit!” is not unknown in city limits. The question of just how wine-friendly city officials should be is a permanent undercurrent in local politics.

This isn’t really a debate over growth, or exactly a debate over wine. It’s a debate over culture: A timber-based community, or any other based on more traditional resource industries, is going to feel and look different from one where the economic base is something like wine. You can tell the difference driving through, and it feels different living there, too.

It’s not just wine. Any kind of dominant industry in a community will leave its own cultural, political and economic stamp. If a high-tech business became the linchpin of a small farm town, that would change its character just as certainly.

Most likely, some of this is what some people in Bovill are reacting to. Change of one kind or another is coming.

But there’s a catch. Many small towns will have to change, in one direction or another, if they’re going to survive. Some will embrace change and prosper. Others . . . will not.

Lessons in Ohio


As I write this, the results aren't yet final in the super-close 12th congressional district in Ohio - the last congressional special election in the country. The lead between Republican Troy Balderson and Democrat Danny O'Connor has bounced back and forth enough that you have to wonder, realistically, if this thing will go to recount.

There are some thoughts about this final congressional special that do seem worth some reflection.

First, the fact that it's so close - much more than who wins it - is what's remarkable. This is a congressional district held for decades by Republicans, where Democrats should not have gotten close. An election as close as this is a serious indicator of what's ahead in another three months.

Second, both candidates will be back on the ballot in three months, whichever one gets the honor of serving in the U.S. House for the next 100 days or so. And the electorate will be a little different, and a little larger, then.

Third, this is not completely a two-way race. There is a third candidate: A Green Party nominee named Joe Manchik. His vote, only a sliver of what the other two have amassed, is nonetheless more - at least much of the time - than the gap between the other two candidates. Presumably, the Greens would rather see Democrats than Republicans win, but every vote they cast throws a wrench in that goal. (The same would be true, with show on other foot, if the third party contender were, say, a Constitution Party nominee.) If Balderson wins by less than the Green nominee, there's a place where fingers logically ought to be pointed.

Fourth, the voting pattern is a stunningly close match to what we've seen in district after district in elections this year. The close you get to urban areas, the more blue (Democratic) they are; the more rural, the more red (Republican). That shows up perfectly in not only Ohio 12 but in the Pennsylvania contest earlier this year and many others. It will be a template for races to come in November.

Top place for most interesting result of the night, though, may come from Missouri, where voters are deciding whether to keep or throw out that state's Right to Work law. With 44% of the vote in, they were opting 64.2%-35.8% to throw it out. That result - the margin is much too large to realistically be overturned, or misread - is likely to be widely noted in the months and years to come.

Oh, and the Colyer-Kobach races in Kansas is fascinating too.

Building a perfect storm


What would it take for Democrat Paulette Jordan to win the governorship in November over Republican Brad Little?

You might inquire in response, why ask? Little is heavily favored to win, right? And yes he is; and none of what follows should be interpreted to the contrary. But likely is not the same as certainty. Just ask all those prognosticators about their 2016 presidential estimates.

In a batch of conversations around southern Idaho this last week, with some well-informed people in both parties, a common perspective emerged, which might be useful to consider as the campaign season unfolds.

First, the most favorable estimates of a Jordan win put it at about 10 percent: One chance in ten. Others figure the prospect at around five percent. No one went much lower than that, which means a consensus view that she has a small but not insignificant chance of winning.

They gave her a better chance than other recent Democratic nominees. Most people I talked to (opinions were not divided along party lines) thought Jordan was likely to get either the best percentage for governor, or nearly the best, of any Democratic nominee since Cecil Andrus in 1990. Most estimated percentages for her in the low to mid-40s; several thought percentages around 45 or 46 were plausible. That would imply a seriously close contest.

Why? One reason is that she’s a strong campaigner. Most than most Idaho candidates, she has presence and draws immediate attention where she goes, and voters tend to respond to that - and react to the response. The people I talked to in both parties had strong favorable opinions of Little - his character, knowledge of issues and of the state, skill as a leader, and overall probability that he’d be a good governor - except when it came to his role as a campaigner. There his skills were less obvious; he’s not the natural campaigner the current governor has always been. We’re now entering a space in the cycle where that may matter.

Both Jordan and Little emerged from contested primaries. But most people - not everyone but most - thought Little was at greater risk of losing some of his own party’s base because of dissatisfaction with the outcome of the primary. Specifically, the thought was that a number of backers of losing contender Raul Labrador, many of whom likely spent most of campaign season thinking their man would win the nomination, may be disgusted enough to not vote. If the election is otherwise close, that could matter. (There was some argument that dynamic could hinder Jordan too, but most thought that less likely.)

2018 may be a Democratic sweep year. That’s not a certainty, and political waves don’t splash the same everywhere; the waves in Idaho probably would be more like ripples than a tsunami. It would not, for example, come anywhere close to turning the Idaho Legislature Democratic; but a shift of five or six seats (out of 105) toward the Democrats might be a realistic prospect. That could slosh upward, adding a little more to the Jordan column.

Aside from national trends, there’s a local issue that could matter: The Medicaid expansion ballot slot. That might have the effect of drawing out a significant number of Democratic-leaning voters, and become a real factor in races that otherwise are close.

There’s also a strategic risk Little has to watch out for. His message and approach logically would involve staying relentlessly positive, making the affirmative case for the current administration and sticking with the course. He’s mostly been hewing to that tack up to now - excepting a few shots fired at competitors in the primary - and it’s the smart thing to do. But … if polling shows the race tightening closely toward the end, if voters are simply in a very dissatisfied mood, there would be a temptation to improve his position by going harshly negative on Jordan - to drive up the base and change the conversation and weaken whatever momentum she has. That would be a mistake and probably would backfire. Little probably won’t go there (it’s certainly not in his native temperament). But if the race tightens, the temptation would arise, and I’ve seen any number of campaigns that have given in to it, usually to their eventual regret.

A Jordan win would take a perfect storm in an alignment of stars. The odds are against. But don’t ignore this race; the raw materials for an upset may be widely scattered but they do exist.

Summer legislating


You may think of state lawmaking - the work most visibly done by legislators in their formal sessions, which in Idaho mostly run in January through March - as a winter time activity.

But that’s not all, by a long shot. Lawmaking is going on now, even without factoring in initiatives like the Medicaid expansion measure just approved for the ballot.

There is also state administrative rulemaking, which goes on around the year, mostly when legislators aren’t in session. Summer is a relatively busy time.

State Representative Heather Scott, R-Blanchard, mentioned this in a recent constituent email. She wrote, “Remember that administrative rules are developed by bureaucrats and lobbyists on a monthly basis throughout the year and are required by law to take into consideration all public input and comments received. Citizens can even request public hearings in their communities to get additional information.”

She went on to sound a bit alarmist about some of it, noting that the state rules often incorporate language from federal or other sources outside Idaho. (That’s done so that Idaho can coordinate and cooperate with other states in commerce and other ways.) But she’s correct that rulemaking is substantial in scale, and in urging citizens to get more involved. Most are neither aware nor active enough about it.

Generally, state law (which legislators mostly work on) is intended to state a policy and general guidelines, but administrative rules fill in the gaps, provide the details the legislators didn’t address. Often new state laws specifically instruct state agencies to develop rules to carry out the law. The agency rules can become extremely detailed; the state administrative code, covering rules for most agencies, is many thousands of pages long.

Fortunately, it is available online (at, and updates appear in a regular place, the Idaho Administrative Bulletin, which is published toward the beginning of each month. The updates can be significant all by themselves; July’s is more than 200 pages long, which is not unusual for this time of year. (It goes relatively quiet while the legislature is meeting.)

Scott listed in her email some of the items covered in the most recent one, from the rules covering accountants, electrical inspections, pharmacist licensing, school math test requirements, examinations for professional engineers, small employer health reinsurance programs, sales tax provisions covering out of state sellers, sales tax refunds, permit fee prices at the Department of Parks and Recreation . . .

. . . temporary vehicle permits, government license plates, changing the funding rules for career technical schools, water quality standards in certain areas, property tax exemptions during construction, exemptions involving research and development at the Idaho National Laboratory, library grant requirements, commercial filming in state parks . . .

And a good deal more.

All of this is wide open to public comment and participation. Few people from the public actually do get involved. Scott is correct in noting that state agencies and interest groups (often represented by lobbyists) are most active and tend to determine how the rules are written. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

This may seem like dry stuff. But look through the rules and bulletin sometime. You may find some that affect you, and then it’ll seem dry no longer.

Idaho and Utah


Of all the states, Utah may be the most useful as a comparison point for Idaho.

The idea of comparing isn’t commonplace. People in most places think vertically - my community, state, nation, in a way sometimes called “stovepiping” - and not so much horizontally. But that’s often where some of the most useful insights can be found.

A group called Voices for Utah Children, based you can guess where, has recognized as much. In 2016 it decided to run a comparison between two states, theirs and Minnesota, to see how children fare in the two places, and why. Last year it compared Utah and Colorado. This year, in a report just released, it examined the similarities and differences with Idaho.

The Idaho comparison would be useful partly because the states are neighbors, but it’s not just that. The western states are all remarkably distinctive, each with their own character, but Utah and Idaho may be two of the most closely matched in demographics, economics, politics, and overall outlook. The link in religion is obvious enough, but so is the political stance (as one indicator, Republicans control the state legislatures by similar percentages) and the types and influence of business and commerce. (Did you know that the Latino share of the population in the two states is nearly the same?) These two states have a lot in common.

But there are differences.

The core VUC findings - remembering here that the focus is on children: “notwithstanding Idaho’s increasing economic vitality, the most noteworthy findings of this report is that Utah ranks far ahead of Idaho by key metrics of standard of living, including median household income, median hourly wage, and poverty rates. It should therefore come as no surprise that Utah also ranks far ahead for educational attainment and worker productivity.”

Worker productivity? The report cites a study (the stats come from the U.S. Department of Commerce) showing, “Utah lags behind most states in productivity per worker at 39th place, but Idaho is even further behind in 49th place.”

In some ways, the report acknowledged, Utah may not rate as high (relatively) as it should: “Utah’s recent decision (FY 2016) to invest state tax dollars for the first time in public preschool has yet to register in the national rankings, which always have a lag of a few years, leaving Utah behind most states.”

The take on children’s wellbeing brings a bunch of related factors into play, including economics and health. So we also get into subjects like these:

“Utah is the clear winner by most measures of wages and poverty. Utah’s median hourly wage was 5% higher than Idaho’s last year, though that advantage shrinks by about a fifth when adjusted for Idaho’s lower cost of living. Utah’s slightly higher median hourly wage is consistent with (though much smaller than) the state’s 17% advantage over Idaho in higher education attainment (Bachelor’s degrees and above) and 16% advantage over Idaho in worker productivity. By the poverty metrics, Utah leads in nearly every category. Idaho biggest advantage over Utah in the Standard of Living metrics is its
low cost of living. Idaho also enjoys better air quality and shorter commutes.”

Which state stands to benefit most over the long haul? We’ll see when a future version of this report comes out.

Uneven distributions


The latest data dump on population estimates running up through 2017 from the U.S. Census office offers, as usual, some numbers worth considering.

Two items in the latest round of Idaho statistics - you can see them at - seem especially worth pondering.

One of them is a chart showing the growth in Idaho population by raw numbers from 1969 through 2017 - broken out by county.

The differences are dramatic. Ada County had just over 100,000 people in 1969, and more than 450,000 now, a quadrupling of residents, which means the blue line on the chart zooms upward at better than a 45 degree angle. The growth in Ada in that time has been spectacular. The Census also reports the change in how much each county accounts for a percentage of the state’s population overall. Ada’s went from 15.6 percent in 1969 to 26.6 percent in 2017.

Below that on the county chart, a salmon line representing Canyon County rose about half as fast, from around 60,000 people to more than 220,000 - more than tripling. Kootenai County, which had about 35,000 people in 1969 - fewer than Twin Falls County - now has more than four times as many as it did back then. (For all the significant growth over the years in Twin Falls, that county now has about half as many people as Kootenai.) And Bonneville County has, in the last half-century, doubled its population.

But if you then look at the rest of Idaho’s counties, 38 or 39 of them, you see them all bunched together in something close to a straight line - almost no population change at all in 50 years. All that massive growth you’ve heard about in Idaho has happened in the space of only a few hundred square miles, a tiny sliver of the state.

We can parse this growth, in greater and lesser amounts, in lots of other ways too. One of them is by age.

While Idaho’s population has been growing overall different age groups have been growing at different paces. The state Department of Labor summarizes a piece of this:

“The number of Idaho’s seniors – people age 65 and older – grew nearly 8 percent from mid-2016 to mid-2017, the highest percentage of all age groups. Overall the state experienced a significant population increase of nearly 37,000 or 2.2 percent across all age groups for the same time period, according to estimates recently released by the U.S. Census Bureau. While the 2017 data shows Idaho’s senior group represented 33 percent of the total change in population, or one out of three people, all age groups experienced growth. The 19-and-younger age group and the 40- to 64-year-old groups grew by 1.5 percent each, while the 20- to 39-year-old age group grew 2.3 percent.”

But the impact of elder growth is not evenly divided among the counties. The report noted that, “Twenty-nine of Idaho’s counties had a median age above the state’s median age.”

And: “Adams County had the highest median age in the state at 55. Boise, Clearwater, Custer, Idaho and Lemhi counties, also has a median age older than 50. Madison County, home to BYU-Idaho, had the lowest median age in the state at 23, and Latah County, home to the University of Idaho, had the state’s second lowest median age at 29.” Put another way, the older-population counties are mostly the most rural.

So what’s the future for rural counties in Idaho? What’s the future for most counties in Idaho?

It may be time to start thinking not just about the future of the state, but about the future of its components.