Small states' outsized political power (Part II-A: Measuring the effects in the Senate)

The first post in this series summarized the history of small states' outsized political power. The Constitution embodies a number of compromises reflecting the concerns of the era. The Senate, which affords all states exactly two votes, reflects the Framers' concerns that populous states would overwhelm small ones. The House of Representatives was meant to expand over time, but its growth did not keep pace with the population, and its size plateaued a century ago. The Electoral College allocates president-choosing authority by amalgamating these two systems.

The second part of the series shifts the focus from history and design to present-reality and outcomes. (The third part will explore the implications of proposed reforms.) The analysis proceeds in the same format: Senate, House, and Electoral College.

Before diving in, some caveats. First, the analysis that follows relies heavily on Census data from the July 2016 survey. Not all people are voters, for diverse reasons having to do with age, former incarceration, immigration status, barriers to voter registration, and even apathy or intentional disengagement. Second, this evaluation risks conflating "rural" with both "small-state" and "Republican." This impulse is unpacked elsewhere in this blog, and this analysis is one among various that convincingly show a pro-Republican rural shift, at least in presidential politics. Additionally, the "rural" and "small-state" labels do overlap meaningfully, albeit imperfectly. (For more discussion of this, see here.)

The Senate

Viewed from any of several angles, small states enjoy outsized power in the Senate. The most obvious of these is mathematical: each state elects two senators, irrespective of its population. California, the nation's most populous state, had an estimated 2016 population of 39.3 million. The least populous state, Wyoming, comprised 585,000 people according to the same sample. Thus, the Senate-clout of the average Wyomingite was roughly 67 times that of the average Californian. If the U.S. population were spread equally across the 50 states, each senator would represent 3.2 million people, which is roughly what prevails in Indiana.

Although they may be in rapid decay, the Senate has historically adhered to strong internal norms, and seniority has been especially important. Thus, the longevity of senators is a crude metric by which we might measure states' power relative to one another. The two tables that follow perform just such a crude analysis:

Current U.S. Senators - Tenure of Office to 2016

Rank	State	Senator A Since	Years	Senator B Since	Years
1	CA	1992	24	2016	0
2	TX	2012	4	2002	14
3	FL	2000	16	2010	6
4	NY	2008	8	1998	18
5	PA	2006	10	2010	6
6	IL	1996	20	2016	0
7	OH	2006	10	2010	6
8	GA	2014	2	2004	12
9	NC	2014	2	2004	12
10	MI	2000	16	2014	2
11	NJ	2006	10	2013	3
12	VA	2012	4	2008	8
13	WA	2000	16	1992	24
14	AZ	2012	4	1986	30
15	MA	2012	4	2013	3
36	NM	2012	4	2008	8
37	NE	2012	4	2014	2
38	WV	2010	6	2014	2
39	ID	2008	8	1998	18
40	HI	2012	4	2012	4
41	NH	2008	8	2016	0
42	ME	2012	4	1996	20
43	RI	2006	10	1996	20
44	MT	2006	10	2014	2
45	DE	2000	16	2010	6
46	SD	2014	2	2004	12
47	ND	2012	4	2010	6
48	AK	2014	2	2002	14
49	VT	2006	10	1974	42
50	WY	2007	9	1997	19

The two halves of this chart indicate the fifteen most- and least-populous states. On a per-senator basis, the large states actually have a longer average tenure (9.8 years) than the small states (9.2 years). Seniority, described above as a key feature of Senate life, attaches to an individual senator, not his or her seat. It is beyond the scope of this series to analyze how much seniority figures into voters' choices and how the data above may have been affected by unique conditions in one or another election. 

In any case, the data are strikingly different when partisan alignment of these seats is tracked over time:

U.S. Senate Seats by Party-Control Lineage

Rank	State	Senator A Party	Same Since	Years	Senator B Party	Same Since	Years
1	CA	Democrat	1992	24	Democrat	1968	48
2	TX	Republican	1992	24	Republican	1968	48
3	FL	Democrat	2000	16	Republican	2004	12
4	NY	Democrat	1976	40	Democrat	1998	18
5	PA	Democrat	2006	10	Republican	2010	6
6	IL	Democrat	1996	20	Democrat	2016	0
7	OH	Democrat	2006	10	Republican	1998	18
8	GA	Republican	2002	14	Republican	2004	12
9	NC	Republican	2014	2	Republican	2004	12
10	MI	Democrat	2000	16	Democrat	1978	38
11	NJ	Democrat	1982	34	Democrat	2012	4
12	VA	Democrat	2006	10	Democrat	2008	8
13	WA	Democrat	2000	16	Democrat	1992	24
14	AZ	Republican	1994	22	Republican	1986	30
15	MA	Democrat	2012	4	Democrat	1978	38
36	NM	Democrat	1982	34	Democrat	2008	8
37	NE	Republican	2012	4	Republican	1996	20
38	WV	Democrat	1968	48	Republican	2014	2
39	ID	Republican	1968	48	Republican	1980	36
40	HI	Democrat	1976	40	Democrat	1968	48
41	NH	Democrat	2008	8	Democrat	2016	0
42	ME	Independent	2012	4	Republican	1978	38
43	RI	Democrat	2006	10	Democrat	1968	48
44	MT	Democrat	2006	10	Republican	2014	2
45	DE	Democrat	2000	16	Democrat	1972	44
46	SD	Republican	2014	2	Republican	2004	12
47	ND	Democrat	1968	48	Republican	2010	6
48	AK	Republican	2014	2	Republican	1980	36
49	VT	Independent	2000	16	Democrat	1974	42
50	WY	Republican	1976	40	Republican	1968	48

Viewed through a partisan lens, small-states' Senate tenure is significantly longer than that of large states. (Note that no "same since" date precedes 1968. Treating the 1968 election as a realigning one, I truncated party control to this year as a clumsy way of controlling for the shifting "meaning" of Democrat/Republican.) Single-party control of a Senate seat averaged 19.3 years for the fifteen largest states but 24 years for the smallest ones. Also, while Democrats currently control 19 of the 30 Senate seats in large states, in small states there is a 14-14 tie between the two major parties. (Maine and Vermont each have an independent senator who caucuses with the Democrats.)

Again, this is crude arithmetic which may or may not tell a meaningful story about political power. But one reading of these data is that small-state Senate contests allow Republicans as a whole to over-perform relative to large-state contests and then hold those seats for multiple terms.

A third way to examine this issue is to index Senate performance to presidential election results. This analysis argues that, while Senate Democrats out-performed expectations in the 2008, 2010, and 2012 elections, those were exceptions that proved the rule. "Republicans...start with a leg up in the Senate, because Democratic voters are concentrated in fewer states." This more-states-with-fewer-votes phenomenon was illustrated powerfully in the 2016 election, where Hillary Clinton earned nearly 3M (2.1 percent) more votes than Donald Trump, yet he carried 30 states to her 20.

A final view (though not the only one remaining) is this: it is possible for just 17 percent of the U.S. population to elect a majority of the U.S. Senate. It's the lowest such threshold in our nation's history, due to the continued growth of the population while the number of states (and therefore, senators) has remained fixed since 1959.

We should not forget that the Senate bestows this power on small states by design. However, as the country's population has increased by a factor of more than 80 and the number of states has nearly quadrupled since the Founding, what was once seen as a vital protection against inter-state caprice may now be a source of veto power in a constitutional system already rife with veto points.

Part II has been broken into two parts. The next section addresses effects of small states' power in the House and Electoral College.

Next Time: Part II-B, the House of Representatives and the Electoral College

Football: Collective expression of American ideals?

This past Sunday, February 5th, 2017, I joined 111.3 million viewers in watching the nation’s 51st Super Bowl. For those not in the know (I typically count myself among them), the Super Bowl is the annual capstone event of our nation’s favorite pastime. For days before Super Bowl Sunday, my newsfeed was flooded with game predictions, fiscal stats, advertising controversies, economic impact data for the city of Houston, and—perhaps least surprisingly—speculation about the political leanings of all involved participants. Most of this flood is par for the course for an event that holds the first, second, and third place titles for most watched broadcast in television history. But from the perspective of an outside observer with only a marginal interest (on the best of days) in football, I found one thing especially striking about the Super Bowl rhetoric: its emphasis on American nationalism.

Indeed, media pundits across the country seemed to conceptualize this exercise in organized sports as nothing less than the last expression of our nation’s collective "imagined community." Sports writers from Lincoln, Nebraska to Franklin, Kentucky casually described the Super Bowl as "an event that everybody can relate to . . . in an era when a lot of our national holidays have become polarized" and "an event that brings everyone together."

Concededly, in the post-game aftermath, much has been written about the politicization of this year’s game, and the appropriateness thereof. But the broader question still stands: In an era defined by "ideological silos" on both sides of the political spectrum, is football really one of the few remaining areas of common ground? And if so—common ground for whom? As I watched (albeit with my untrained eye) large, heavily-padded men pummel each other on Sunday . . . suffice to say, I was skeptical.

A few days later, with these questions still percolating in my subconscious, I stumbled upon an article about football in my home state. I am a (proud!) Coloradan by birth, a state with an estimated rural population of 696,435 (out of a total population of 5,029,196, as of the 2010 Census). On the eastern plains, representing “some of the most sparsely populated areas in the continental U.S.,” there is a town called Seibert.

In the interest of full disclosure, though a native Coloradan, I’d never heard of Seibert before this article. A quick Google search reveals why: Seibert is a statutory town in Kit Carson County populated by a whopping 220 persons.

In terms of demographics, Seibert residents are overwhelmingly white, married, and Republican. The local government payroll lists two full-time employees and the average per capita income in 2015 was $17,239. As compared to other Colorado locales, Seibert’s median age (49.7 years) is significantly above the state average (36.4 years); its length of residency is significantly above the state average; and the percentage of persons with college or higher level degrees (12.7%) is significantly below the state average (16.5%).

Geographically, the nearest major city is over 100 miles away, as is the nearest college or university. The local yellow pages list 25 businesses, including one grocery store, one volunteer fire department, two churches, two taxidermists, and—most notably—High Plains High School.

The recent setting of a championship game between the Hi-Plains Patriots and the Cheyenne Wells Tigers, High Plains High School boasts a total enrollment of 45 students, 23 of whom play for the school football team. Cheyenne Wells, located roughly an hour southeast of Seibert, has an enrollment of 48 students, 16 of whom appear on the Tigers’ roster. For those of you football aficionados who are paying attention, you’ll notice a disparity in the numbers. Traditionally, a high school football team will have between 40 and 50 players. Like other similarly population-depressed places—e.g., rural South Dakota, West Texas, Nebraska, Montana, Wyoming, and Wisconsin—several rural Colorado districts have adopted six-man football.

In the aforementioned article detailing the six-man title game in Seibert, Pencils Robinson writes:

[There’s] something beautiful about small-school athletics, particularly 6-man football. . . . Can there be anything purer in an athletic sense than these kids who are not playing for scholarships or media attention but for the love of the competition and the pride they feel for their schools and communities?

Robinson further describes the scene: fans surround the field in their “pickup trucks, Camaros and big Chryslers”; a spectator dons a fur hat with ear flaps; and, at the end of the game, the announcer invites fans onto the field for prayer.

Most of the crowd accepts the invitation and joins the players. Although the towns are 70 miles apart, there is a sense of community on the field this afternoon. The spirit that existed throughout the game – I never heard a boo all day from either crowd, never a criticism of an official or an opponent – continues as the fans mingle and linger, reluctant to leave the moment.

. . . Now, it is certainly possible that Seibert’s experience of football can be extrapolated to the country at large. Maybe football is the last bastion of national community-building, a collective expression of American ideals. On the other hand, maybe Robinson’s article is just another example of sports reporting that idealizes rural America. Or, more cynically, maybe football is simply an "artful exercise of brand management" by the NFL.

Ultimately, it is not for me to say. What I am comfortable suggesting, however, is that Seibert’s experience tells us something else—and something arguably more valuable. The adoption of six-man football in rural America is an indicator of more than just patriotism and American pride. While admirably plucky on the part of rural athletic directors, the dearth of high school athletes in places like Seibert is part of a broader narrative of economic hardship, depopulation, and rural decline.  (For an interesting take on football as a "town's connective tissue," see this New York Times article, first mentioned in a previous post on this blog.)  Especially in discussions about national identity and American ideals, I think it is important to remember that access to the "American Dream," be that in terms of access to education, health services, or national pastimes, is compromised for many American people.

Tesla builds superchargers in rural northern California, and locals have mixed feelings.

I grew up in a small northern California town called Ukiah. A few years ago, I was driving through the streets of Ukiah's small downtown, when I encountered a bright red glow coming from a public parking lot at the center of town. I discovered that the light was emerging from several new Tesla supercharging stations brightening up the parking lot. At first, I laughed aloud: “Tesla” is not a word I have heard often on the streets of Ukiah, and I have never seen an actual Tesla in town.

After more thought, it dawned on me that the chargers aren’t for the locals. They were installed in my quiet northern California community for people traveling through from more urban centers, such as San Francisco and Palo Alto.

When the supercharger installation was proposed, Ukiah’s City Council had some concerns about allowing Tesla to install them downtown. There was concern about having a “billboard” of sorts, advertising only for Tesla, and some council members didn't want to maintain chargers that would not serve any other electric car. Further, these chargers would take up otherwise public parking spaces right downtown. Tesla was not interested in any other location, however, and it argued that the chargers would bring additional shoppers to the community. Petaluma, another northern California town, installed Tesla Chargers and saw about 1000 users per month, which translates into an added $12,000 to the local economy. Tesla paid for the installation and continues to pay for the electricity they use, so financially the installation and maintenance would not be an issue.

Eventually, after some debate, Tesla’s proposal passed in Ukiah, but only narrowly. The Mayor, Doug Crane, argued in favor of the chargers, saying that the city needed to make a “leap of faith” in order to support the growing business of electric cars. Indeed, Teslas are environmentally friendly, but they are also expensive. With available models priced between $68,000 and  $138,000, the choice to purchase a Tesla is not an option to just any passionate environmentalist.  Ukiah has a median household income of $42,237, and 39.26% of the population makes $30,000 or less per year. Hence, purchasing a Tesla is not a decision that most Ukiah residents are able to make, regardless of their commitment to the environment.

After the debate and approval in the City Council, Tesla forum users held an online discussion about Ukiah and about the concerns both the public and council members raised about the superchargers. One user called the resistant city council members “ignorant” and chastised the opposition to the superchargers, saying: “This will be the biggest draw in their city, they should be paying Tesla for the privilege of having it.” Another forum attracted similar comments. “Perhaps money spent elsewhere would be better rewarded.” Said another user, “Never been there and now we certainly won’t.”Yet another user speculated that the parking spots were used by employees from surrounding businesses, and wondered why those employees couldn’t just park elsewhere and walk a little farther to work. This user callously said: “I wonder what the obesity rate is in Ukiah.” Still another user wrote: “Unenlightened people resent the incentives granted to encourage adoption of [electric vehicles]. I thank the visionaries… for leading the way.”

These were not the only unkind comments about Ukiah locals on the Tesla forums. Perhaps these users are just trolling, and I shouldn't take them seriously.  I must point out, however, that just because locals were concerned about Tesla's superchargers in Ukiah does not mean that they are against electric vehicles, innovation, or environmentalism.  Similarly, those who opposed the superchargers are not automatically “unenlightened.” To some, Tesla as a company may even symbolize an affluent group of people who have more resources than those in Ukiah do, locals may fear that their community could be looked down on. All this is to say: this issue is about more than just a few parking spaces. There are a lot of possibilities that could lead someone to oppose Tesla's proposal, many of them specific to the values and the identity of the community.

Too rural for government? The unincorporation of Seneca, Nebraska

One of the overarching themes we have discussed in this course, especially in the wake of the last election, is rural communities' mistrust of the government. Rural communities may not identify with the policies and initiatives pushed by the people who live in cities, and as a result feel alienated. One article explains that, "[t]o rural Americans, sometimes it seems our taxes mostly go to making city residents live better." Cities are where government officials make decisions and where most of the tax dollars are spent. 

Other rural residents may feel that the government is unwilling to make policies that favor them. In exploring this tension, sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild posits that red states see government as "an instrument of their own marginalization" because they feel that the government has "favored blacks, women, immigrants, refugees" and these groups are "getting ahead of them, as almost like line-cutters, pushing them back in line." This can make rural residents feel like the government doesn't work for them. But what is the alternative?

I recently listened to a podcast about Seneca, Nebraska-- a town that voted itself out of existence. No longer a town, Seneca is an "unincorporated community" in Thomas County, Nebraska. In many ways, Seneca was a typical example of "rural America." It was a remote town with fewer than 40 residents and far from major airports. Once a bustling stop on the Burlington Northern Railroad line, Seneca's economy and it's declining population mirror each other.

In 2013, the town board passed an ordinance prohibiting livestock. This was a strange response to resident's concerns about the sub-par living conditions of a couple of horses in the city center. Instead of creating a remedy for those particular horses, the town board passed a sweeping ordinance that affected many other residents.

In response, a small group of residents began a petition to unincorporate Seneca. They saw this as the best way to respond to their dissatisfaction with the town board. If Seneca were not a town, there would no longer be a town board, and those few people who passed the ordinance would not be able to make decisions like that for the rest of the town.

The tiny population of Seneca voted 17-16 in favor of unincorporation, and they dissolved the town at the end of June 2014. Without its town status, Seneca's streetlights have gone dark, the snow plow used to the clear the streets was auctioned off, and the city park no longer has running water.

When questioned about why they signed the petition to dissolve the town, local residents responded: “We just don’t want people telling us what to do,” and “...we just want to be left alone.” There are still strong feelings about who voted for or against the unincorporation. The podcast features comments from a number of residents who have strong personal feelings about the individuals who voted differently than they did. It sounded more like a family fight than a political disagreement. The podcast suggests that this story of a small town could teach us all about the recent election through a focus on the relationships between residents and how it appears this vote tore the town apart.

Residents clearly had a deep mistrust or animosity against the village board, which voted to pass the livestock ordinance. These issues seem to echo the stories we've read of how Trump voters maybe just want to throw a brick into a system that they don't see working for them.

Seneca residents threw a huge brick. It seems fitting for this example that the ordinance was directed at livestock-- a hallmark of rural identity and economy. While it was extreme to unincorporate the whole town because they didn't agree with one ordinance, this story could shed light on the importance of rural identities when they are at odds with governance.