cities consist of two houses. The German reader must not suppose that
these work together like the German magistrate and the municipal
representative assembly. Since in America the legislative and executive
are always sharply sundered, the heads of departments under the
executive—that is, the German Stadträte—have no place in the law-making
body. The dual legislative is, therefore, in a way an upper and lower
municipal representative assembly, elected in different ways and having
similar differences in function as the two chambers of Congress. Here
too, for instance, bills of appropriation have to originate in the lower
house. Oddly enough, the city legislative is generally not entrusted
with education, but this is administered by a separate municipal board,
elected directly by the people. One who becomes acquainted with the
intellectual composition of the average city father, will find this
separation of educational matters not at all surprising, and very
beneficent and reasonable.
In general, one may say that the mayor is more influential in the city
government than that body which represents the citizens; this in
contrast to the situation in the state government, where the governor is
relatively less influential than the legislature. The chief function of
the governor is really a negative one, that of affixing his veto from
time to time on an utterly impossible law. The mayor, on the other hand,
can shape things and leave the stamp of his personality on his city. In
the state, as in the city, it often happens that the head of the
executive and a majority of the legislative belong to opposite parties,
and this not because the party issues are forgotten in the local
elections, but because the methods of election are different.
The division of public affairs into city and state issues leaves, of
course, room for still a third group, namely, the affairs of communities
which are still smaller than cities. These, too, derive their authority
entirely from the state legislature, but all states leave considerable
independence to the smaller political units. In local village government
the historic differences of the various regions show out more clearly
than in either state or city government. The large cities are to all
intents and purposes cast in the same mould everywhere; their like needs
have developed like forms of life; and the coming together of great
numbers of people have everywhere created the same economic situation.
But the scattered population gets its social and economic articulation
in the North, South, and West, in quite different ways; and this
difference, at an early time when the problems of a large city were so
far not known, led to different types of village organizations, which
have been historically preserved.
When the English colonies were growing up, the differences in this
connection between the New England states and Virginia were extreme. The
colonies on the northern shores, with their bays and harbours, their
hilly country and large forests, could not spread their population out
over large tracts of land, and were concentrated within limited regions;
and this tendency was further emphasized by Puritan traditions, which
required the population to take active part in church services. There
naturally was developed a local form of government for small districts,
which corresponded to old English traditions. The citizens gathered from
all parts of every district to discuss their common affairs and to
decide what taxes should be raised, what streets built, and, most of
all, what should be done for their churches and schools, and for the
poor. In Virginia, on the other hand, where very large plantations were
laid out, there could be no such small communities; the population was
more scattered, and affairs of general interest had necessarily to be
entrusted to special representatives, who were in part elected by small
parishes and in part appointed by the governor. The political unit here
was not the town, but the county.
The difference in these two types is the more worthy of consideration
because it explains how the North and South have been able to contribute
such different and yet such equally valuable factors to all the great
events of American history. New England and Virginia were the two
centres of influence in Revolutionary times and when the Union was being
completed, but their influences were wholly different. New England
served the country by effecting an extraordinarily thorough education of
its masses by giving them a long schooling in local self-government;
each individual was obliged to meditate on public affairs. Virginia,
however, gave to the country its brilliant leaders; the masses remained
backward, but the county representatives practised and trained
themselves to the rôle of leading statesmen. Between these two extremes
lay the Middle Atlantic States, where a mixed form of town and county
representation had necessarily developed from the social conditions; and
these three types, the Northern, Southern, and mixed, worked slowly back
during the nineteenth century from the coast toward the West. Settlers
in the new states carried with them their familiar forms of local
government, so that to-day these three forms may still be found through
the country. To-day the chief functions of town governments are public
instruction, care for the poor, and the building of roads. Religious
life is, of course, here as in the city, state, and Union, wholly
separated from the political organization. The police systems of these
local governments in town and village are wholly rudimentary. While the
police system is perhaps the most difficult chapter in American city
government, the country districts have always done very well with almost
none. This reflects the moral vigour of the American rural population.
The people sleep everywhere with their front doors open, and everywhere
presuppose the willing assistance of their neighbours. It was not until
great populations commenced to gather in cities, that those social evils
arose, of which the police system, which was created to obviate them, is
itself not the least.
Any one overlooking this interplay of public forces sees that in town
and city, state and Union, it is not a question of forcing
administrative energies into a prescribed sphere of action. They expand
everywhere as they will, both from the smaller to the larger sphere and
from the larger to the smaller. Therefore, the Union naturally desires
to take on itself those functions of state legislation in which a lack
of uniformity would be dangerous; as, for instance, the divorce laws,
the discrepancies in which between different states are so great that
the necessity of more uniform divorce regulations is ever becoming more
keenly felt. At present it is a fact that a man who is divorced under
the laws of Dakota and marries again can be punished in New York for
bigamy. A similar situation exists in regard to certain trade
regulations, where there are unfortunate discrepancies. Many opponents
of the trusts want even an amendment to the Constitution which will
bring them under federal law, and prevent these huge industrial concerns
from incorporating under the too lax laws of certain states.
Still easier is it for the states to interfere in the city governments.
If the Union wishes to make new regulations for the state, the Federal
Constitution has to be amended; while if the state wants to hold a
tighter rein on city government it can do so directly, for, as we have
seen, the cities derive all their powers from the state legislature.
There is, indeed, considerable tendency now to restrict the privileges
of cities, and much of this is sound, especially where the state
authority is against open municipal corruption. The general tendency is
increasing to give the state considerable rights of supervision over
matters of local hygiene, industrial conditions, penal and benevolent
institutions. The advantages of uniformity which accrue from state
supervision are emphasized by many persons, and still more the advantage
derived from handing over hygienic, technical, and pedagogical questions
to the well-paid state experts, instead of leaving them to the
inexperience of small districts and towns. There is no doubt that on
these lines the functions of the state are being extended slowly but
steadily.
Then again the cities and towns in their turn are tending to absorb once
more such forces as are subordinate to them, and thus to increase the
municipal functions. The fundamental principles which have dominated the
economic life in the United States and brought it to a healthful
development, leave the greatest possible play for private initiative;
thus not very long ago it was a matter of course that the water supply,
the street lighting, the steam and electric railways should be wholly in
the hands of private companies. A change is coming into these affairs,
for it is clearly seen that industries of this sort are essentially
different from ordinary business undertakings, not only because they
make use of public roads, but also because such plants necessarily gain
monopolies which find it easy to levy tribute upon the public. In recent
years, therefore, city governments have little by little taken over the
water supplies, and tend somewhat to limit the sphere of other private
undertakings of this sort—as, for instance, that of street-lighting. At
the same time there is an unmistakable tendency for city and town to
undertake certain tasks which are not economically necessary, and which
have been left hitherto to private initiative. Cities are building
bath-houses and laundries, playgrounds and gymnasiums, and more
especially public libraries and museums, providing concerts and other
kinds of amusements and bureaus for the registration of those needing
employment; in short, are everywhere taking up newly arisen duties and
performing them at public expense.
There is, on the other hand, a strong counter-current to these
tendencies of the large units to perform the duties of the small—the
strong those of the weak, the city those of the individual, the state
those of the city, and the Union those of the state. The opposition
begins already in the smallest circle of all, where one sees a strong
anti-centralizing tendency. The county or city is not entitled, it is
said, to expend the taxpayers’ money for luxuries or for purposes other
than those of general utility. It should be generous philanthropists or
private organizations that build museums and libraries, bath-houses and
gymnasiums, but not the city, which gets its money from the pockets of
the working classes. Although optimists have proposed it, there will
certainly be for a long time yet no subsidized municipal theatres; and
it is noticeable that the liberal offers of Carnegie to erect public
libraries are being more and more declined by various town councils,
because Carnegie’s plan of foundation calls for a considerable
augmentation from the public funds. And wherever it is a question of
indispensable services, such as tramways and street-lighting, the
majority generally says that it is cheaper every time to pay a small
profit to a private company than to undertake a large business at the
public expense. From the American point of view private companies are
often too economical, while public enterprises are invariably
shamelessly wasteful.
The city pays too dear and borrows at too high a rate; in short,
regulates its transactions without that wholesome pressure exerted by
stockholders who are looking for dividends. Worst of all, the
undertakings which are carried on by municipalities are often simply
handed over to political corruption. Instead of trained experts,
political wire-pullers of the party in office are employed in all the
best-paid positions, and even where no money is consciously wasted, a
gradual laxness creeps in little by little, which makes the service
worse than it would ever be in a private company, which stands all the
time in fear of competition. For this reason the American is absolutely
against entrusting railroads and telegraph lines to the hands of the
state. When a large telegraph company did not adequately serve the needs
of the public, another concern spread its network of wires through the
whole country; and since then the Western Union and Postal Telegraph
have been in competition, and the public has been admirably served. But
what relief would there have been if the state had had a monopoly of the
telegraph lines, with politicians in charge who would have been
indifferent to public demands? The wish to be economical, to keep
business out of politics, and to keep competition open, all work
together, so that the extension of municipal functions, although
ardently wished on many sides, goes on very slowly; and it is justly
pointed out that whenever private corporations in any way abuse their
privileges the community at large has certainly plenty of means for
supervising them, and of giving them franchises under such conditions as
shall amply protect public interests. When a private company wishes to
use public streets for its car-tracks, gas or water pipes, or electric
wires, the community can easily enough grant the permission for a
limited length of time, reserving perhaps the right to purchase or
requiring a substantial payment for the franchise and a portion of the
profits, and can leave the rest to public watchfulness and to the
regular publication of the company’s reports. It is not to be doubted
that the tendencies in this direction are to-day very marked.
Just as private initiative is trying not to be swallowed up by the
community, so the community is trying to save itself from the state. So
far as the village, town, or county is concerned, nobody denies that
state experts could afford a better public service than the
inexperienced local boards, and, nevertheless, it is felt that every
place knows best after all just what is adapted to its own needs. The
closest adaptation to local desires, as, say, in questions of public
schools and roads, has been always a fundamental American principle.
This principle started originally from the peculiar conditions which
existed in the several colonies and from the needs of the pioneers; but
it has led to such a steady progress in the country’s development that
no American would care to give it up, even if here and there certain
advantages could be had by introducing greater uniformities. There is a
still more urgent motive; it is only this opportunity of regulating the
affairs of the small district which gives to every community, even every
neighbourhood, the necessary schooling for the public duties of the
American citizen. If he is deprived of the right to take care of his own
district, that spirit of self-determination and independence cannot
develop, on which the success of the American experiment in democracy
entirely depends. Political pedagogy requires that the state shall
respect the individuality of the small community so far as this is in
any way possible.
The relation between the city and the state is somewhat different; no
one would ask the parliamentarians of the state legislature to hold off
in order that the population of the large city may have the opportunity
to keep their political interests alive and to preserve their spirit of
self-determination. This spirit is at home in the streets of the great
city; it is not only wide-awake there, but it is clamorous and almost
too urgent. When, now, the municipalities in their struggle against the
dictation of the state, meet with the sympathies of intelligent people,
this is owing to the simple fact that the city, in which all cultured
interests are gathered generally, has in all matters a higher point of
view than the representatives of the entire state, in which the more
primitive rural population predominates. When, for instance, the
provincial members which the State of New York has elected meet in
Albany, and with their rural majority make regulations for governing the
three million citizens of New York City, regulations which are perhaps
paternally well meant, but which sometimes show a petty distrust and
disapproval of that great and wicked place, the result is often
grotesque. The state laws, however, favour this sort of dictation.
The state constitutions still show in this respect the condition of
things at a time in which the city as such had hardly come into
recognition. The nineteenth century began in America with six cities of
over eight thousand inhabitants, and ended with 545. Moreover, in 1800
those six places contained less than four per cent. of the population,
while in 1900 the 545 cities contained more than thirty-three per cent.
thereof. Since only a twenty-fifth part of the nation lived in cities,
the greater power of the scattered provincial population seemed natural;
but when now a third of the nation prefers city life, and especially the
more intelligent, more educated, and wealthy third, the limitations to
independent municipal rights become an obstacle to culture.
Finally, the states themselves are opposing on good grounds every
assumption of rights by the Federation—the same good grounds, indeed,
which the community has for opposing the state, and many others besides.
It is felt that historically it has been the initiative of individuals
rather than of the central government which has helped the nation to
make its tremendous strides forward, and that this initiative should not
only be rewarded with privileges, but should also be stimulated by
duties. The more nearly one state is like another, so much the more
energetically does it forbid the others to interfere in its affairs; and
the more it is like the Union the more earnestly it seeks not to let its
distinct individuality be swallowed up. Besides the moral effort toward
state individuality, there is a powerful state egotism at work in many
states which makes for the same end. Back of everything, finally, there
is the fear of the purely political dangers which are involved in an
exaggerated centralization. We have seen in this a fundamental sentiment
of the Democratic party.
Thus at every step in the political organization centrifugal and
centripetal forces stand opposite each other in the Federal Union, in
the state, in the county, and in the city. And public opinion is busy
discussing the arguments on both sides. Every day sees movements in one
or the other direction, and there is never any let up. In all these
discussions it is a question of conflicting principles, which in
themselves seem just. There is, however, another contrast—that between
principle and lack of principle. In the Union, the state, and the city,
centralists and anti-centralists meet on questions of law; but in each
one of these places there are groups of people working against the law
and trying in every way to get around it. In these discussions there is
a true and false, but in the conflicts there is a right and wrong; and
here argumentation is not needed, but sheer resistance. If one does not
purposely close one’s eyes, one cannot doubt that the public life of
America holds certain abuses, which are against the spirit of the
Constitution and which too often come near to being criminal. One can
ask, to be sure, if that lack of conscience does not have place in every
form of state in one way or another, and if the necessity of developing
a sound public spirit to fight against abuse may itself not be an
important factor in helping on the spirit of self-determination to
victory.
Any one who should write the history of disorganizing forces in American
public life will have the least to say about federal politics, a good
deal more about those of the state, and most of all about those of the
city. Certain types of temptation are repeated at every stage. There is,
for instance, the legislative committee, which is found alike in
Congress, in the state legislatures, and in the city councils. Bills are
virtually decided at first by two or three persons who exert their
influence behind the closed doors of the committee room; and naturally
enough corrupt influences can much more easily make their way there than
in the discussions of the whole house. If a municipal committee has a
bill under discussion, the acceptance of which means hundreds of
thousands of dollars saved or lost to the street railway company, then
certainly, although the president and directors of the company will not
themselves take any unlawful action, yet in some way some less
scrupulous agent will step in who will single out a bar-keeper or hungry
advocate or fourth-class politician in the committee, who might be
amenable to certain gilded arguments. And if this agent finds no such
person he will find some one else who does not care for money, but who
would like very well to see his brother-in-law given a good position in
the railway company, or perhaps to see the track extended past his own
house.
Of course the same thing happens when a measure is brought before the
state legislature, and the vote of some obscure provincial attorney on
the committee means millions of dollars to the banking firm, the trust,
the mining company, or the industrial community as a whole. Here the
lobby gets in its work. The different states are, of course, very
different in this respect; the cruder forms of bribery would not avail
in Massachusetts and would be very dangerous; but they feel differently
about such things in Montana. As we have already said, Congress is free
of such taints.
Another source of temptation, which likewise exists for all American
law-giving bodies, arises from the fact that all measures must be
proposed by the members of such body. Thus local needs are taken care of
by the activity of the popular representatives, and, therefore, the
number of bills proposed becomes very large. Just as during the last
session of Congress, 17,000 measures were proposed in the lower house,
hundreds of thousands of bills are brought before the state legislatures
and city councils. There is never a lack of reasons for bringing up
superfluous bills. And since the system of secret committees makes it
difficult for the individual representative to appear before the whole
house and to make a speech, it follows that the introduction of a few
bills is almost the only way in which the politician can show his
constituency that he was not elected to the legislature in vain, and
that he is actually representing the interests of his supporters. A
milder form of this abuse consists of handing in bills which are framed
by reason of personal friendships or hatreds; and the same thing appears
in uglier form when it is not a question of personal favour, but of
services bought and paid for, not of personal hatred, but of a
systematic conspiracy to extort money from those who need legislation.
The milder form of wrongdoing, in which it is only a question of
personal favours, can be found everywhere, even in the Capitol at
Washington, and the much-boasted Senatorial courtesy lends a sort of
sanction to the abuse.