It is indeed a sad day when peasants in Russia have so much to
teach us peasants in California about social activism. But look
what’s happened in Moscow, where average folk got fed up with
priority access to the road system: in a textbook nonviolent
protest, the trigger point came when commoner Oleg Scherbinksy was
sentenced to four years in prison for causing an accident by
not getting out of the way fast enough when a government
official, commandeering the road, sped by. In response, a thousand
citizens in 500 cars took a Sunday drive, moving slowly through the
streets favored by the big shots. Silently, they demonstrated — as
authorities looked on to squelch any unauthorized “rally” — that
the elites have no special claim on the roadways.
Here too in Southern California, the elites have been hampered
by slow moving traffic — but a pesky two centuries of
egalitarianism has prevented them from doing anything about it.
Those Muscovite flashing blue roof lights and special license
plates signifying “out of the way — serf!” just won’t cut it in a
culture where tomorrow the guy cleaning your pool just might be
cast as the next James Bond. Over here, a more sensitive, greener,
and ideal-laden power grab was in order.
Call me Charlie Brown. Like that pathetic cartoon optimist
repeatedly eying a teed-up football, I tend to believe that Western
Civilization is always only one beau jeste away from
repair. Poor Charlie: he alone is convinced that this time
Lucy will actually let him kick the ball. And so, just a few months
ago, when traffic had gone from bad to terminal, I knew for
sure that we had reached the tipping point: this
time, common citizens would restore a sense of freedom,
commerce, and caprice to the Golden State. Like every other chump
in recorded history, I followed my heart and bet against the
house.
Every California social revolution needs a crisis, and now, with
perpetual traffic gridlock, we had ours. The Prop 13 tax revolution
was the result of a tax-the-middle-class flashpoint. The Davis
recall and Arnold election were a response to a scary state fiscal
meltdown. (Arguably, Gov. Schwarzenegger’s failure last November to
pass his ballot propositions was the residue of the fact that he is
doing too good a job, and hence the public was no longer
fearful and radicalized.)
As an un-appointed evangelist of rational allocation, I started
treating any social encounter as an opportunity to expand minds.
“We do not have a freeway shortage any more than we have a prime
rib shortage,” I would softly suggest. “Isn’t the problem really
that we are giving away something at a price [free] that attracts
too many willing buyers?”
It worked. Traffic nightmares had driven even congenital
tax-and-spend statists to wits end — there’s just so much NPR you
can enjoy each day. Desperate and testy, they warily heard me out
as I discussed the magic of the price mechanism.
Sure, I was mean — but only when I had to be. Isn’t the first
rule of persuasion to eviscerate your target’s existing
assumptions? It was fun, too, asking questions like “how is society
served when three undocumented gardeners with no license and no
insurance are able to blow past a neurosurgeon late to rescue an
aneurism victim?” Inevitably, someone would bring up the Curb
Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry David hires a prostitute
sit in his Prius in order to get to Dodger Stadium in the car pool
lane. They were getting it.
By my calculations, we were just months — weeks, maybe — away
from turning the choked San Diego Freeway into the wide-open Ayn
Rand Tollway. Thanks to other gas, parking and access situations,
the California public was now familiar with transponder technology.
They would be quite capable of wrapping themselves around the idea
of time-based variable entrance fees to the freeway system metered
by a device on their sun visor.
Even casual readers of the funny pages know what comes next:
Lucy snatched the football. The state government — in
cahoots with the Feds — came up with an exquisite way of rescuing
the NPR Nomenklatura from pesky stop and go driving while keeping
the rest of us crawling along like beetles. All you had to do was
think like they did — and be rich.
Their idea was both delicious and healthful-seeming — sort of
like when you trade in your Mr. Goodbars for carob-covered raisins.
Henceforth, the State declared, solo drivers in preferred vehicles
would be allowed access to the speedy, uncluttered carpool lane.
And by preferred vehicles, did we mean neurosurgeons rushing to the
hospital? Perhaps single moms dashing between childcare
responsibilities and work? Or maybe the perennial government
favorite, the actuarially challenged with diminished faculties who
need the extra navigational room and have less absolute time to
waste?
No. The government determined that the most entitled users of
scarce freeway lane space were those driving a specific few
“environmentally friendly” hybrids such as the Toyota Prius and
Ford Escape. Like the dwarf movie producers who suddenly morph into
alpha males when Lifetime Network picks up their next 13 episodes,
these ugly, underpowered, rolling scotch tape dispensers instantly
became the new desirable car. Suddenly, people would stop at
nothing — nothing — to possess them.
Make no mistake — California’s designated Prius Lane is
indeed a market solution. But even if you named Karl Marx as
commissioner of the Franchise Tax Board, he could not have
concocted a more punitive, confiscatory formula. The automotive
authority Edmunds.com recently calculated that, for a Prius to make
economic sense, gasoline would have to cost $10/gallon. So, for the
privilege, every time he fills up, the Prius owner is paying in
effect a more than seven dollar per gallon tax premium. In
addition, the consumer must absorb that hard to quantify but
tangible “cost” associated with leaving the comfort of one’s
previous fossil fuel Lexus.
Despite the hype and misinformation, consumers have, as usual,
reacted rationally. Sure, there are those rich or stupid enough who
choose to accessorize their life with this kind of mobile
demonstration of awareness and humility. But the Prius market
growth has come among the cash rich but time-starved elite, making
a devil’s bargain that they find about as bitter as devil’s food
cake. For someone shaving twenty minutes of each commute in the
Prius lane, the price premium is easy to monetize and even easier
to justify.
Though the idea is already spreading, please avoid the
temptation to write off the Prius Perk as simply one more
California affectation. The program exists to do far more than
simply spiff those among the fortunate affluent minority who think
correctly; this kind of obscene, un-democratic scam is actually
essential to the continuity of big government.
Statism cannot exist without targeted, adjunct programs that
opiate the elite from feeling the generalized pain of government
meddling. Perks for the noisy, pushy, and sometimes influential
elite are an essential component of preserving enveloping control
of everyone else. The cycle goes like this: first government
programs meddle with the market, creating either scarcity, poor
quality, or high prices. At some threshold, the public is
“outraged” with (you pick it) the high cost of health care, schools
that don’t teach, vagrancy, retirement savings, or traffic. That’s
where the opiating kicks in. Without threatening the ongoing
government program, the powers-that-be gingerly carve out a
special situation for the elites.
Thus, the lifestyle of the haves is enriched at the expense of
the have-nots through resource-transfer programs with virtuous
names: “livable environment” (curtailed homebuilding), “affordable
housing” (the highly-regressive mortgage interest deduction),
“quality public schools” (publicly financed charter schools for the
elite), “quality broadcasting” (burger flippers’ tax dollars used
to produce Masterpiece Theater), “affordable healthcare” (where the
haves “pay” for their healthcare with after-tax dollars, and the
middle class does not).
Last Sunday, before the Oscar Ceremonies, Hollywood celebrated
the fourth year of “Red Carpet, Green Cars” where Toyota Motors
provided hybrids to a gaggle of arriving VIPs, including Joaquin
Phoenix, Jennifer Aniston, and George Clooney. This pomposity is an
extension of behavior that Michel Medved has written about
regarding other pathologies: celebrities promoting lifestyles onto
the rest of us where they alone through wealth and fame are
insulated from any derivative negative outcome.
Nonetheless, the peasants ogled the cars, cheered the actors and
blew kisses. Shortly thereafter, these same common citizens
returned to their beat-up Oldsmobiles and Camrys, ascended the
onramp, and prayed.
