Access denied

Why won't the poster boy for open government release his own tax returns? Maybe because Secretary of State Jim Langevin is willing to embrace hypocrisy in his quest for higher office

by John Winters

Secretary of State James Langevin has pissed off some people -- important people you'd think even the leading statewide Democrat wouldn't want to mess with. But Langevin knows what he's doing. With an electorate that's suspicious of its leaders in general, it makes sense for an ambitious politician to separate himself from the pack, even if it means ruffling a few feathers in the home nest to do so.

And Langevin is nothing if not ambitious. During his first term, he has pushed plenty of hot buttons around the state capital, and was practically thrown out of the nest a few years ago. Even the casual observer can see that the 34-year-old Warwick native, who is careful to never define his political future without invoking that most potent of clichés -- "the public" -- has his eye on bigger, greener pastures.

"He's done some things that have been unpopular with the political establishment, and I think it boosts the public's respect for him," says Darrell West, a political science professor at Brown University. "At some point, I would guess he'd be a gubernatorial candidate."

Last month, when he announced his reelection bid for secretary of state, Langevin did indeed look like a man on the move. Flanked by family, friends, and supporters, he addressed the crowd from the wheelchair he's had to use since a 1980 gun accident left him paralyzed. During his speech, he reminisced about his accomplishments in his first term, and looked ahead to the promises of a second. Then Langevin watched as the highlight of the event was unveiled -- a short video that prominently featured the candidate with President Clinton, something that's de rigueur for any upwardly mobile politico.

But perhaps all you need to know about Secretary of State James Langevin, the politician, can be summed up by the tale of his tax returns. The man who, someday, may try to parlay his reputation as the hero who opened up state government into a run for the governor's office is not so open about his personal finances, it turns out. Langevin is one of four state pols who refuse to release their income-tax returns.

Langevin claims the information is available in the other disclosure forms all candidates must fill out, and says releasing his earnings would serve no meaningful purpose. "I comply 100 percent with the law," he says. "It [his tax returns] doesn't contain any information that a voter needs to know to evaluate my job performance."

But West says that tax returns contain more detailed information than the forms Langevin refers to -- information that voters have a right to know. "I think it's important in that it gives you a sense of where the person is coming from, how they've made their money, and what their financial holdings are," says West. "I think people would like to see that for themselves."

So the fact that the poster boy for open government is keeping such information secret is, at the very least, a contradiction. And, it would seem, it makes Langevin guilty of the same runaround he accuses the General Assembly of in his recent headline-grabbing report chronicling the legislators' methods of playing hide-and-go-seek with their agenda items.

Throughout most of his political career, Langevin has known where his bread gets buttered, usually placing himself squarely on the side of the public, even at the expense of angering the state's Democratic leadership. Indeed, while Senate Majority Leader Paul Kelly calls one of Langevin's recent moves "inflammatory," the secretary of state's maverick ways have made him the darling of citizen groups such as Common Cause and Operation Clean Government and have made voters sit up and take notice. A survey conducted by Brown University shows that 62 percent of voters think Langevin is doing an excellent or good job.

Langevin's 1994 election to secretary of statehood was a messy one, but it showed that even then, he knew how to make the most of his press clippings. His sound bites spinning state government the voters' way amounted to music to the ears of many, while a highly publicized lawsuit against his chief opponent, incumbent Barbara Leonard, gave him some additional name recognition. (Not that he needed it: Langevin spent about $200,000 during that campaign, much of it for television ads.)

The lawsuit was the first in a pattern of profile-building maneuvers by Langevin, for which he used broad, sweeping gestures that probably got him booted from many capital Christmas lists but paid big dividends in other ways.

Usually, the issues involved were ones easily understood by the average voter. For instance, during the '94 race for secretary of state, Leonard was accused of using state employees for personal and political errands and was being investigated by the state police and the Rhode Island Ethics Commission. Langevin filed a civil suit seeking records related to the incidents, which kept the issue front and center.

One thing Langevin says he has learned from his years of public service is that the public is now more involved. "I think politics has changed since I first started -- in a sense, for the better," he says. "I think people are much more intent on watching what goes on and not relying on the powers that be as much. People see they have a role."

And more bombshells were to come after the '94 election, with Langevin making the papers before he even settled into his new digs at the State House. In the largest forced exodus the office had seen in 11 years, he axed 21 of 47 employees in the Secretary of State's Office.

But the move was quickly cast as "streamlining," the inference being that it was tonic for the voters. (Note, however, that the number of employees Langevin has working for him now has climbed back up to 58. The secretary of state says these hirings were necessitated by new programs he has instituted.)

Sometimes, the headlines find Langevin. Two years ago, Democratic legislative leaders tried to boot Langevin from his State House office, along with Republican General Treasurer Nancy Mayer. The reason given was that legislators needed more space, but they also had denounced Langevin's plan to open a public information center in the basement of the building as a ploy to feather his own nest.

Once again, Langevin harnessed the power of the press by making a public issue of the whole affair. In the end, he not only won the battle, but he got his information center.

However, out of everything Langevin has done while in office, his "January surprise" is in a class by itself. For years, there were allegations that the General Assembly was playing fast and loose with the Open Meetings Law. Citizens groups and the local media were up in arms over the matter, but nothing changed -- until Langevin set his sights on the problem, that is.

The scenario had all the hallmarks of a Langevin win, with an issue at stake that was easy for voters to appreciate, and even easier for the press to play up. So, with characteristic disregard for party politics, Langevin dug in.

On January 5 of this year, on the eve of the opening of the General Assembly, Langevin's office, in conjunction with the Alfred Taubman Center for Public Policy at Brown University, issued a report of its findings, which chronicled the unposted meetings and hundreds of alleged violations of the Open Meetings Law by state legislators.

The name of the report, "Access Denied: Chaos, Confusion and Closed Doors," sounded like a segment from the tabloid show Hard Copy. It certainly made it sound like some sinister stuff was going on in the General Assembly.

In the end, one thing was for sure -- the date chosen for the report's release and the advanced copies given to the press assured Langevin that his good deed would produce the most bang for the buck.

For critics who say that all this maneuvering amounts to is runaway self-interest, it's instructive to remember that the General Assembly -- and everyone else -- should have seen this coming. Indeed, when Langevin set out to capture the office of secretary of state, he promised to "tell the people how government worked, how their legislators voted."

The Access Denied report, and most of the measures Langevin has instituted during the past four years, all fall in line with this goal -- because Langevin's mantra is that information is power. "Those that control that information have the power. Decisions are made here every day that affect Rhode Islanders, and they should be aware of these decisions," he says.

Also, real change resulted from the report. A bill is currently in the House that would bring Rhode Island up to speed with the Freedom of Information Act. And a few weeks ago, legislation was passed ensuring that police brutality reports would be available to the public.

Most people also concede that Langevin has revamped the office of secretary of state for the better. Before he arrived, the office was basically responsible for record-keeping. But Langevin has put information on the Internet and established a public information center and a "first-stop" business information center.

"Jim has really enlarged the office," says former governor J. Joseph Garrahy, who is acting as co-chairman of Langevin's reelection campaign. Langevin also is showing a surplus this year of $390,000, which will be returned to the state's general fund.

With all this and an upstart opponent in Republican Ed Lopez, Langevin seems like a shoo-in for another term. (Tim McKee, co-founder of the Rhode Island Green Party, is also running for the seat.) But beyond that, can Langevin attain the loftier heights he seems to aspire to without the staunch support of his own party? West says he thinks so.

"Party support is not very important," he says. "The parties aren't nearly as strong as they used to be. They control the endorsement process, but they don't control fund-raising. And that's the biggest component. If you have money, you can control your own campaign message."

Right now, West says, Langevin is the only member of his party positioned for a serious run at the governor's office. "If you look around, he is the only elected statewide Democrat. And, typically, those people are the ones who will be in a position to run for governor," says the Brown professor.

When asked about his ambitions, Langevin, who will be out of a job in 2002 due to to term limits, coyly admits that he would like to remain in politics beyond that. So, in a sense, the prince of populism already has tipped his hand. However, the most you'll get out of him now is, "I'd like to stay in government. I hope that lasts for a while."

In the meantime, Langevin will most likely have another four years to mend fences. But since going his own way has paid off thus far, his cozying up to his party brethren may not be in the cards.