Rob Christensen says electing the schools superintendent is "democracy run amok."
In a 2000 column, the longtime N&O reporter wrote that North Carolina and North Dakota have the longest ballots in the country, electing a number of positions that are appointed in other states.
He argued that there are good reasons to elect the secretary of state, lieutenant governor and state auditor, but not the agriculture, labor and insurance commissioners or the superintendent of public instruction. Those positions, he said, should be appointed.
The only reason why the long ballot has worked traditionally is that governors and other party leaders handpicked Council of State candidates—often when an incumbent died. The party leaders knew who had the smarts and character for the job and who didn't.
He noted that the Brookings Institution recommended making the positions appointed in the 1930s, but Democratic state officials balked.
The full column after the jump.
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Tar Heel democracy runs amok
By Rob Christensen, N&O, April 30, 2000
Quiz time, boys and girls.
1. Davidson, Guthrie, Powers, Rouzer, Tadlock and Troxler are a) members of a prestigious Raleigh law firm, b) stars of the Cobras, Raleigh's new Arena Football League team or c) the Republican candidates for state agriculture commissioner?
2. Doug Berger and George Parrott are a) singers in a new Chapel Hill rock band, b) DJs on a drive-time radio show or c) the Democratic candidates for state labor commissioner?
3. Richard S. James is a) a former salesman who wrote the best-selling novel "Message in a Bottle," b) a Democratic candidate for state treasurer or c) the front-runner to become chancellor at East Carolina University?
The answers are c, c, and b. But as informed citizens you already knew that, didn't you? Or did you?
On Tuesday, primary voters again will be asked to buy a pig in a poke when they choose the Democratic and Republican nominees for a long list of statewide offices known as the Council of State.
North Carolina and North Dakota have the longest ballots in the country, electing many officials that in most states are Cabinet positions appointed by the governor. Call it democracy run amok.
Perhaps there is an argument for voters to continue to elect the lieutenant governor, attorney general, state treasurer, secretary of state and state auditor.
But there is no good reason why voters should be choosing the agriculture commissioner, labor commissioner, insurance commissioner or superintendent of public instruction. These officials should be appointed by the governor.
Reformers have sporadically tried to dump North Carolina's long ballot since the 1930s, when Gov. O. Max Gardner asked the Brookings Institution of Washington, D.C., to examine North Carolina government. The legislature backed some of the proposed changes—such as having the state take control of the schools, roads and prisons—but balked at asking Democratic officeholders to give up their political fiefdoms.
The only reason why the long ballot has worked traditionally is that governors and other party leaders handpicked Council of State candidates—often when an incumbent died. The party leaders knew who had the smarts and character for the job and who didn't.
Appointed Council of State members such as Thad Eure, Edwin Gill and Jim Graham later won election and kept their jobs for decades.
But the days of powerful parties and one-party control are over. Now there is virtually no screening of candidates. As a result voters are being asked to make judgments about who should control important state agencies with very little knowledge about candidates' qualifications or character.
Political operatives are already cynically trying to take advantage of the public's ignorance. Earlier this year, a homeless person was put on the ballot in the Democratic primary for state auditor; he has since been disqualified for not meeting residency requirements. His sole qualification was that he had
the same last name as the incumbent state auditor.
Unless we change the system, it is now only a matter of time before we elect a kook, a crook or a homeless man to one of the state's top offices.

