bearing blog: A parable.

Okay, let's say that the governor of a midwestern-to-southern state has an idea for a new, modest-cost, kind of feel-good sort of social program. Reading scores in his state are low, and especially there seem to be a disturbing number of children who grow up in "text-poor environments," meaning that for one reason or another there aren't many books or magazines or other reading material in their homes. The governor suggests, "Let's use taxpayer money to send a few new children's books home from the hospital with every new baby born in our state. It's a token, a small thing, but it will send a pro-reading message, and maybe it will do some good." The appropriation doesn't turn out to cost all that much, and the political/economic climate is one in which being seen as "anti-book" makes the legislators feel nervous, so the bill passes without much debate. A few grumpy letters are written to the editor about whether it's just a political stunt, or whether a handful of books will make enough of a difference to be worth the cost, but in the end, this is a small program, and so "Books for Babies" is launched. New parents love it, the program pleases librarians and educators, local authors are highlighted, it isn't all that expensive, and by and large it's pretty harmless. A minor kerfuffle ensues when homebirthing parents attempt to claim books for their kids, but it's all worked out by adding involving an alternate way to get books via a letter and a copy of a birth certificate. Everyone, it seems, is satisfied enough with this small social program to keep it going.

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Now let's say that a few years later, the governor of the next state over admires this program and announces a plan to establish a similar one in his own state. Only this time, things don't go so well in the legislature. Even though many of the same conditions exist which prompted the first governor to dream up "Books for Babies" -- reading scores, children who lack books -- the political situation is different. Government waste and corruption is more in the news, there is a larger faction in the governor's opposition party, there has recently been an expose of unforeseen expensive in innocuous-looking social programs, and people are in a cutting-back mood and suspicious of anything that smacks of feel-good political stunts. Even though it polls really well among mothers of young children, across all incomes, and especially well among Hispanic voters, this governor's "Texts for Tots" program dies an early death in committee.

But let's say that this governor is a true believer. He wasn't trying to put on a stunt -- he really thinks that free books for new babies is a great idea, and the polls have him convinced that if he can just get the ball rolling, public opinion will turn and everyone will see what a great win-win situation this is. Educational costs might even go down, if even just a few more kids on the margin arrive at kindergarten with a positive view of books and reading. So he looks for a way to do it that doesn't involve the pesky legislative process.

With a little research, an aide discovers some provisions that allow the state administration to set certain operating rules for businesses in the state, ostensibly to promote accessibility to various services. The law is broadly enough written that the governor's idea just might work: require booksellers to provide five free books to new parents on demand -- easy, the records office can just send a little piece of paper with the birth certificate, good for five books, any children's books the parents choose from any bookstore they like. If a parent reports that a bookseller won't honor the paper, the bookstore will have to pay a fine.

It's a great idea. So great, the governor wonders why he bothered with the "Texts for Tots" bill in the first place. Using a rule is so much easier: no debate, no votes, no argument. It's simpler, too -- hospitals don't have to stock books, there's no committee to choose which books will be featured, and parents even have the freedom to pick exactly which children's books they want, as long as they're in stock in a physical bookstore somewhere in the state. Why, some of them will surely become regular customers! The booksellers will probably make more money in the end. And if they don't, well, they'll just raise their prices. In the end, the cost will be borne by other book buyers, people who love books and certainly will be happy to see a few pennies of each purchase go to promote children's reading in the state.

The day after the rule is announced, hardly anyone complains. A state bookseller's association takes a hurried poll of its members and finds that an overwhelming majority want to express support of the bill. A few small independent bookstores express concern that they'll be swamped with requests, but they are drowned out. One crotchety old man, the owner of a tiny independent bookstore specializing in global environmentalism, argues that he should not be forced to reward people for reproducing. He is mostly jeered at, as being "against books for kids," and otherwise ignored. A few months later it goes into effect. New parents love it. Educators love it. Big bookstores love it and don't even have to raise prices. Small bookstores in some neighborhoods discover that when parents come in to get their five free books, they usually add several more to their orders. Small bookstores in other neighborhoods raise their prices and scrape by. All this without costing taxpayers a dime. It's perfect.

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The next governor has a different pet issue: chronic, expensive health problems in the state, especially an epidemic of diabetes. She wants to promote exercise and healthy eating choices, and it's in the news a lot and is a popular issue. Her program is impressive: tax breaks for new supermarkets in "food deserts," more tax breaks for quick-serve restaurants that include fresh vegetables and fruits in kids' meals, a revamping of the state school-lunch program, and various educational outreach programs. Research shows that among several key demographic groups in the state, many people cite "don't know how to cook from scratch" as a major reason why they rely on heavily processed foods that the state has identified as unhealthful. Wouldn't it be great to get some basic information into those folks' hands?

A popular local food writer, working with a local cardiologist, has recently published an award-winning cookbook that would fit the bill perfectly. It's expressly written for people who aren't used to cooking for themselves, and includes lots of basic information: how to select produce, and how to read labels, and how to plan balanced meals on a budget, as well as elementary cooking techniques for beginners -- it practically tells you how to boil water. Even a chapter on how to eat well if you don't have access to a full kitchen. And every recipe in the book is low in saturated fat and packed with nutrition. The language is clear, engaging, and uncomplicated. There are links to free instructional videos on the Internet. It's a stellar book. The governor begins to think that this is the book that she wants every family in the state to have on the shelf.

Now, how to do it... "Hey," suggests one staffer, "you remember how the last governor put out the Texts for Tots rule?"

There was practically no opposition to the requirement that booksellers give away a certain number of free books. How hard can it be to require them to give away a particular book?

Soon, in a speech to the state association of school nutritionists, the governor announces the new rule: Booksellers all over the state will be required to give away copies of the wonderful cookbook by the local food writer and the local cardiologist. If they refuse, they'll pay a fine. Obviously the booksellers will benefit, because the people who come in to get their free book will probably buy more. They can always raise their prices a few pennies a book to cover the immediate costs. The whole state will benefit in a reduction of long-term health care costs and improved quality of life.

The state booksellers' association hastily conducts a poll and, over a few minor objections, issues a statement in support of the governor's plan. "Healthy eating is good for everyone in the state," the press release reads. "We are proud to be a part of this impressive effort to educate the public."

In a tiny storefront a couple of doors down from the local food co-op, the owner and manager of a store that mainly sells nutritional supplements but also stocks a small selection of vegetarian cookbooks slits open a padded envelope. Out tumbles one copy of the governor's favorite book, plus a letter explaining the new requirement, the deadlines, a table that provides a suggested number of copies to have on hand, and information about the sliding scale of wholesale prices from the publisher. Also a couple of glossy brochures about healthy eating, picturing a smiling nuclear family of mixed ethnic heritage sitting down to a picnic lunch. At the sight of the photos the store owner feels an uncomfortable sinking feeling in his stomach. He cracks open the paperback book and as if it knew what he was looking for, it opens up to the chapter on delicious, low-fat recipes made with chicken and fish.

He thumbs through it. Yeah, there's some lip service paid to the benefits of choosing organic, free range chickens and avoiding overfished species. But there's no getting around it: most of the people who read this book are going to be buying conventional frozen boneless, skinless chicken breast from conventional caged chickens from conventional crowded farms, conventional fish from conventional stores. He has never -- never -- stocked any cookbooks except vegetarian cookbooks. Lately he's been forced to confront the inherent cruelty of conventional egg and dairy farms, and has been reluctantly facing up to the truth that his principles really are pushing him towards all-out veganism.

The store owner closes the book.

He's going to fight this stupid rule. Even if it means the fines are going to put him out of business.