In 1838, a group of British reformers called the Chartists proposed several ideas so dangerous that most of them eventually became normal government practice. This is frequently what happens to dangerous ideas, provided their original advocates have been safely buried.
The Chartists took their name from the People’s Charter, which demanded voting rights for adult men, secret ballots, equal electoral districts, the removal of property qualifications for members of Parliament, annual parliamentary elections, and payment for MPs. They were largely a working-class movement with the radical notion that working people might deserve a little say in how the country was governed.
Paying legislators was particularly offensive to a system that had arranged matters so nicely for gentlemen who already had money. A wealthy man could afford to serve in Parliament without a salary. A carpenter might have difficulty explaining to his children why supper had been postponed until the conclusion of parliamentary debate.
The Chartists’ argument was reasonable: removing the legal barriers to holding office accomplished little if financial barriers remained. Being eligible for a job you cannot afford to accept is a rather decorative form of equality.
Britain eventually introduced regular salaries for members of the House of Commons in 1911, at £400 a year. That was seventy-three years after the People’s Charter, demonstrating the British talent for considering a proposal carefully until nearly everyone who proposed it was dead. By 1918, five of the six demands had been substantially achieved. Annual parliamentary elections remained unadopted, perhaps because even reformers have limits to their endurance. Annual elections would have meant year-round campaigning, something that even the most dedicated Chartist would find repulsive.
The British had no monopoly on the suspicion that government should be open to people without inherited estates. During the revolutions of 1848, demands for broader voting rights and more representative government swept across continental Europe. French reformers were not Chartists, but they confronted the same practical problem: allowing a workingman to become a legislator was not terribly useful if accepting the position required him to stop eating. Nor was paying representatives a brand-new British export. France had introduced legislative compensation during its first Revolution in 1789, before subsequent monarchies returned to the comfortable arrangement of leaving parliamentary service to aristocrats who could afford it.
After overthrowing the July Monarchy in 1848, France’s Second Republic restored payment for representatives at twenty-five francs a day. Its new constitution went further, requiring every representative to receive an allowance that he could not renounce. That prevented a wealthy member from ostentatiously serving for nothing while implying that colleagues who needed groceries were somehow less patriotic. France thus put the principle into practice more than sixty years before Britain introduced regular parliamentary salaries in 1911. Apparently, the French could dispose of a monarchy and establish a legislative payroll faster than the British could finish discussing the matter.
Which brings us to New Mexico, where we are still debating whether legislators should receive a salary. We like to call ourselves the Land of Enchantment (although, occasionally, the enchantment appears to involve stopping the calendar so that we can admire a glorious past that never was).
New Mexico is the only state in the nation that does not currently pay its legislators a salary. That does not mean they receive no money, as they receive per diem allowances and mileage, including payments for eligible interim committee work. Nevertheless, there is a respectable argument that the absence of a salary makes service harder for people who cannot simply leave their regular employment.
A legislature drawn exclusively from people who can afford to serve is absolutely not representative of people who cannot. On the other hand, if we paid our legislature on the basis of the results of their work, they would owe the electorate money.
Our neighbors settled the basic question long ago. California provided compensation under its 1849 Constitution. Texas paid its first state legislators in 1846. Colorado began at statehood in 1876, and Arizona did likewise in 1912. Their original payments were generally daily compensation for service, separate from travel allowances, but the payments increased over time.
But agreeing that legislators should be paid does not require approving whatever compensation arrangement happens to arrive wearing a respectable hat.
On November 3, New Mexico voters will consider Constitutional Amendment 4. It would provide legislative compensation tied to the state’s median household income, beginning with the Legislature seated in 2029. Using the Census estimate cited in discussions of the proposal, that means approximately $67,800 annually.
Notice the word “household.”
This is not the median income of an individual New Mexican. A household may contain two earners, or more, whose incomes are combined. Under this proposal, one legislator would receive compensation benchmarked to the income of an entire median household.
Apparently, election to the Legislature would allow one person to become a household for payroll purposes.
To be fair, the formal wording does say “median household income.” The word has not been concealed in invisible ink. But shorten that to “median income,” and voters could reasonably imagine the earnings of a typical individual worker. The household conveniently disappears while the household-sized paycheck remains.
That is the sort of technically accurate wording that can produce a thoroughly misleading impression. Whether anyone deliberately intended that result is another question. I will point out, however, that our state legislature has a long history of weasel wording such statutes.
There is another detail worth keeping in the same sentence: the salary would be in addition to existing per diem and mileage allowances.
Recent reporting puts New Mexico’s per diem at $247. At that rate, a thirty-day regular session produces $7,410 in allowances, while a sixty-day session produces $14,820. Add an illustrative salary of $67,816, and the totals become $75,226 and $82,636.
Averaged across the two-year cycle, that is approximately $78,931 annually before mileage, interim committee allowances, or special sessions.
Now compare that with an individual worker’s wages. New Mexico’s Department of Workforce Solutions reports a median annual wage across occupations of $45,870 for 2024. Our illustrative legislative salary-plus-session-allowance package would be about 72 percent higher.
In the short-session year, the difference would be approximately 64 percent. In the long-session year, approximately 80 percent. Evidently, representing the average worker could become considerably more remunerative than being one.
Even before allowances, the proposed salary would exceed current base legislative pay throughout our neighborhood. Texas pays $7,200 annually, Arizona $24,000, Oklahoma $47,500, and most Colorado legislators $47,561. Utah, touching us at Four Corners, pays by the legislative day. Colorado’s announced increase to $50,802 in 2027 would still leave it below the New Mexico figure.
That is a comparison of base pay. Different session lengths and expense allowances prevent an honest claim that every New Mexico legislator would receive more total money than every legislator next door.
Nor do our thirty and sixty-day regular sessions represent the entirety of legislative work. Committees meet between sessions, constituents have problems year-round, and studying legislation presumably takes time. At least, we should encourage the practice.
The strongest argument for salaries is that they could broaden the pool of people able to serve. That is worthwhile. It is not a guarantee that those elected will govern better.
The Chartists wanted ordinary people to be able to enter Parliament. They did not promise that everyone who entered would become extraordinary.
Pay legislators if that is the public’s judgment. But tell voters plainly what the salary would be, which income measure determines it, and what allowances remain on top.
If the proposal is good enough to pass, it ought to survive being explained.
No comments:
Post a Comment