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TIME

November 9, 1998 Vol. 152 No. 19

Special Report/Corporate Welfare

 

Corporate Welfare

A TIME investigation uncovers how hundreds of companies get on the dole--and why it costs every working American the equivalent of two weeks' pay every year

 

By Donald L. Barlett and James B. Steele

 

 How would you like to pay only a quarter of the real estate taxes you owe on your home? And buy everything for the next 10 years without spending a single penny in sales tax? Keep a chunk of your paycheck free of income taxes? Have the city in which you live lend you money at rates cheaper than any bank charges? Then have the same city install free water and sewer lines to your house, offer you a perpetual discount on utility bills--and top it all off by landscaping your front yard at no charge?

 

Fat chance. You can't get any of that, of course. But if you live almost anywhere in America, all around you are taxpayers getting deals like this. These taxpayers are called corporations, and their deals are usually trumpeted as "economic development" or "public-private partnerships." But a better name is corporate welfare. It's a game in which governments large and small subsidize corporations large and small, usually at the expense of another state or town and almost always at the expense of individual and other corporate taxpayers.

 

Two years after Congress reduced welfare for individuals and families, this other kind of welfare continues to expand, penetrating every corner of the American economy. It has turned politicians into bribery specialists, and smart business people into con artists. And most surprising of all, it has rarely created any new jobs.

 

While corporate welfare has attracted critics from both the left and the right, there is no uniform definition. By TIME's definition, it is this: any action by local, state or federal government that gives a corporation or an entire industry a benefit not offered to others. It can be an outright subsidy, a grant, real estate, a low-interest loan or a government service. It can also be a tax break--a credit, exemption, deferral or deduction, or a tax rate lower than the one others pay.

 

The rationale to curtail traditional welfare programs, such as Aid to Families with Dependent Children and food stamps, and to impose a lifetime limit on the amount of aid received, was compelling: the old system didn't work. It was unfair, destroyed incentive, perpetuated dependence and distorted the economy. An 18-month TIME investigation has found that the same indictment, almost to the word, applies to corporate welfare. In some ways, it represents pork-barrel legislation of the worst order. The difference, of course, is that instead of rewarding the poor, it rewards the powerful.

 

And it rewards them handsomely. The Federal Government alone shells out $125 billion a year in corporate welfare, this in the midst of one of the more robust economic periods in the nation's history. Indeed, thus far in the 1990s, corporate profits have totaled $4.5 trillion--a sum equal to the cumulative paychecks of 50 million working Americans who earned less than $25,000 a year, for those eight years.

 

That makes the Federal Government America's biggest sugar daddy, dispensing a range of giveaways from tax abatements to price supports for sugar itself. Companies get government money to advertise their products; to help build new plants, offices and stores; and to train their workers. They sell their goods to foreign buyers that make the acquisitions with tax dollars supplied by the U.S. government; engage in foreign transactions that are insured by the government; and are excused from paying a portion of their income tax if they sell products overseas. They pocket lucrative government contracts to carry out ordinary business operations, and government grants to conduct research that will improve their profit margins. They are extended partial tax immunity if they locate in certain geographical areas, and they may write off as business expenses some of the perks enjoyed by their top executives.

 

The justification for much of this welfare is that the U.S. government is creating jobs. Over the past six years, Congress appropriated $5 billion to run the Export-Import Bank of the United States, which subsidizes companies that sell goods abroad. James A. Harmon, president and chairman, puts it this way: "American workers...have higher-quality, better-paying jobs, thanks to Eximbank's financing." But the numbers at the bank's five biggest beneficiaries--AT&T, Bechtel, Boeing, General Electric and McDonnell Douglas (now a part of Boeing)--tell another story. At these companies, which have accounted for about 40% of all loans, grants and long-term guarantees in this decade, overall employment has fallen 38%, as more than a third of a million jobs have disappeared.

 

The picture is much the same at the state and local level, where a different kind of feeding frenzy is taking place. Politicians stumble over one another in the rush to arrange special deals for select corporations, fueling a growing economic war among the states. The result is that states keep throwing money at companies that in many cases are not serious about moving anyway. The companies are certainly not reluctant to take the money, though, which is available if they simply utter the word relocation. And why not? Corporate executives, after all, have a fiduciary duty to squeeze every dollar they can from every locality waving blandishments in their face.

 

State and local governments now give corporations money to move from one city to another--even from one building to another--and tax credits for hiring new employees. They supply funds to train workers or pay part of their wages while they are in training, and provide scientific and engineering assistance to solve workplace technical problems. They repave existing roads and build new ones. They lend money at bargain-basement interest rates to erect plants or buy equipment. They excuse corporations from paying sales and property taxes and relieve them from taxes on investment income.

 

There are no reasonably accurate estimates on the amount of money states shovel out. That's because few want you to know. Some say they maintain no records. Some say they don't know where the files are. Some say the information is not public. All that's certain is that the figure is in the many billions of dollars each year--and it is growing, when measured against the subsidy per job.

 

In 1989 Illinois gave $240 million in economic incentives to Sears, Roebuck & Co. to keep its corporate headquarters and 5,400 workers in the state by moving from Chicago to suburban Hoffman Estates. That amounted to a subsidy of $44,000 for each job.

 

In 1991 Indiana gave $451 million in economic incentives to United Airlines to build an aircraft-maintenance facility that would employ as many as 6,300 people. Subsidy: $72,000 for each job.

 

In 1993 Alabama gave $253 million in economic incentives to Mercedes-Benz to build an automobile-assembly plant near Tuscaloosa and employ 1,500 workers. Subsidy: $169,000 for each job.

 

And in 1997 Pennsylvania gave $307 million in economic incentives to Kvaerner ASA, a Norwegian global engineering and construction company, to open a shipyard at the former Philadelphia Naval Shipyard and employ 950 people. Subsidy: $323,000 for each job.

 

This kind of arithmetic seldom adds up. Let's say the Philadelphia job pays $50,000. And each new worker pays $6,700 in local and state taxes. That means it will take nearly a half-century of tax collections from each individual to earn back the money granted to create his or her job. And that assumes all 950 workers will be recruited from outside Philadelphia and will relocate in the city, rather than move from existing jobs within the city, where they are already paying taxes.

 

All this is in service of a system that may produce jobs in one city or state, thus fostering the illusion of an uptick in employment. But it does not create more jobs in the nation as a whole. Market forces do that, and that's why 10 million jobs have been created since 1990. But most of those jobs have been created by small- and medium-size companies, from high-tech start-ups to franchised cleaning services. FORTUNE 500 companies, on the other hand, have erased more jobs than they have created this past decade, and yet they are the biggest beneficiaries of corporate welfare.

 

 To be sure, some economic incentives are handed out for a seemingly worthwhile public purpose. The tax breaks that companies receive to locate in inner cities come to mind. Without them, companies might not invest in those neighborhoods. However well intended, these subsidies rarely produce lasting results. They may provide short-term jobs but not long-term employment. And in the end, the costs outweigh any benefits.

 

And what are those costs? The equivalent of nearly two weekly paychecks from every working man and woman in America--extra money that would stay in their pockets if it didn't go to support some business venture or another.

 

If corporate welfare is an unproductive end game, why does it keep growing in a period of intensive government cost cutting? For starters, it has good p.r. and an army of bureaucrats working to expand it. A corporate-welfare bureaucracy of an estimated 11,000 organizations and agencies has grown up, with access to city halls, statehouses, the Capitol and the White House. They conduct seminars, conferences and training sessions. They have their own trade associations. They publish their own journals and newsletters. They create attractive websites on the Internet. And they never call it "welfare." They call it "economic incentives" or "empowerment zones" or "enterprise zones."

 

Whatever the name, the result is the same. Some companies receive public services at reduced rates, while all others pay the full cost. Some companies are excused from paying all or a portion of their taxes due, while all others must pay the full amount imposed by law. Some companies receive grants, low-interest loans and other subsidies, while all others must fend for themselves.

 

In the end, that's corporate welfare's greatest flaw. It's unfair. One role of government is to help ensure a level playing field for people and businesses. Corporate welfare does just the opposite. It tilts the playing field in favor of the largest or the most politically influential or most aggressive businesses. In the next story, and those that follow in the coming weeks, you will meet the beneficiaries of corporate welfare--and the people who pay for it.

 

 

States At War

 

Shrewd companies are increasingly pitting politicians against one another in a quest for bigger and better tax breaks. Yet rarely do these subsidies create jobs, and the incentives sometimes rob government coffers of funds that could be used to improve services for you and your neighbors

 

By Donald L. Barlett; James B. Steele

With reporting by Laura Karmatz and Aisha Labi, and research by Joan Levinstein

 

 

ARKANSAS

Ever Try to Drink a Potato Chip?

 

The water in Evansville, Ark., stinks--literally.

 

The town sits smack atop a geological formation where sulfur, natural gas and other petroleum products mingle with the groundwater. The result is a nasty mix that is unusable to residents. Many of the town's wells are also contaminated with potentially deadly E. coli pollutants. So a commodity most Americans take for granted simply does not exist in Evansville. "My five-year-old daughter doesn't know what it's like to get water out of a faucet," says resident Helen Martin. For the past five years, 200 families in this hamlet in the northwestern part of the state have sought $750,000 from the Arkansas Economic Development Commission for a new water system. Sorry, comes the reply, there is no money in the budget.

 

City water in Jonesboro, Ark., doesn't stink. In fact, even wastewater flowing out of the big, new Frito-Lay plant there runs through an expanded treatment facility in order to minimize environmental problems. That expansion was part of a multimillion-dollar incentive package the AEDC gave Frito-Lay to lure the company to Jonesboro. Frito-Lay is not exactly needy. It is a profitable subsidiary of PepsiCo Inc., the giant soft-drink and snack-food company that had sales of $20.9 billion in 1997.

 

Evansville is one of the minor casualties in the war among the states over jobs. Money is lavished on would-be employers even at the expense of some citizens' basic needs. But in the minds of state politicians and economic developers, this is a small price to pay. From a purely economic point of view, they are dead wrong. But economics and politics are seldom a rational mix.

 

Jonesboro got its plant after the community and state agreed to enlarge the sewage-treatment facility and provide an array of other economic incentives. Exactly how much aid was pumped into Frito-Lay to build the plant is not easy to find out. A Frito-Lay representative said the information was "proprietary." An AEDC representative, Michaela Johnson, was equally secretive, saying, "That whole project's confidential. We can't divulge that."

 

TIME can. Based on reports published when Jonesboro was recruiting Frito-Lay, and on more recent information obtained from other sources, TIME estimates the value of the Frito-Lay aid package at more than $10 million. And that is in addition to $104.7 million in industrial-development revenue bonds issued by the city of Jonesboro to build and equip the potato-chip plant. The other incentives include the 140-acre plant site, a rail spur, road improvements, a construction grant, tax credits for new employees and a 20% discount on sewer bills for the next 15 years. That sewage-treatment plant, by the way, cost $7 million and is large enough to accommodate a second city the size of Jonesboro (pop. 50,000). So for each of the 165 workers at the plant, the government has invested $61,000--which is a lot of chips.

 

Lynn Markley, a spokeswoman for Frito-Lay, says the company selects the general region where it wants to locate a new plant. It then prepares a sort of shopping list of requirements for the facility and contacts states about incentives.

 

"When we need to...build a plant, say, in Jonesboro, [we] look at a 150-mile radius to the center of the market," says Markley. "We knew we needed a plant in the Tennessee-Arkansas-Missouri area. So with very detailed information, we contacted those states and gave them very specific details on what we needed... [And] based on that, the states compete."

 

Meanwhile, in Evansville the campaign for clean water goes on, and the citizens cope as best they can. Says Janie Watkins, who along with her husband runs the town's only grocery store: "If we take a bath, we don't wash clothes. If we wash clothes, you can't take a bath. Most people get a bath every day. We can't... You get [a bath] every two days or three days, you're lucky."

 

Christina Seward, mother of three small children, says her boys love to drink water. "But I don't have to tell them not to drink this water," she says. "The taste, the dirt--you wouldn't want to drink it. You put water in a glass, and you can see the dirt settle to the bottom. We don't know what's in it--we just know it's not safe."

 

Indeed, the Sewards' well was tested by the Arkansas Department of Health in 1996 and found to be contaminated with particles of fecal matter "too numerous to count." The Sewards use well water only to wash clothes, but not light-colored articles. The water turns "white things yellow," says Seward.

 

In order to drink, cook, bathe and wash, residents haul bottled water from nearby towns or load up on barrels from natural springs in the hills above Evansville. Since their campaign for water began, residents have appealed repeatedly to the state to provide a share of the $1.5 million project. "We've done everything they wanted us to do," says Kaye Trentham, who operates K.T.'s Cafe. "But we still don't have water."

 

The Evansvilles of America are growing in number as the job wars intensify. Since the 1980s, states have added one economic-incentive program after another to retain existing corporations and lure new ones. Even states that once refused to compete are reversing course. North Carolina, which had long shunned big-ticket deals, abruptly shifted gears last summer and enacted the Economic Opportunity Act of 1998. The first two beneficiaries:

 

--Federal Express, the global delivery service with headquarters in Memphis, Tenn., that had 1997 revenues of $11.5 billion, will receive $115 million in state tax concessions and other economic benefits to build a hub at Greensboro, N.C.

 

--Nucor, a company based in Charlotte, N.C., that operates steel mills in half a dozen states and had 1997 revenues of $4.2 billion, will receive $155 million in state economic assistance to build a mini-steel mill in Hertford County in the northeastern corner of the state.

 

Why has North Carolina joined in the great scramble to give away incentives? The same reason all the other combatants are in it: jobs. Or at least job announcements. As John Hood, president of the John Locke Foundation (a Raleigh, N.C., public policy institute that advocates individual liberty, a free-market economy and limited government), put it, "Creating jobs is not the goal of these [economic-incentive] programs. The goal of these programs is to create job announcements."

 

And create them they do.

 

Said David N. Dinkins (then mayor of New York City) in October 1993, on $31 million in incentives awarded to Kidder, Peabody Group Inc.: "The decision by Kidder, Peabody demonstrates in dramatic fashion that our job-retention strategies are working."

 

Said Jim Rout, mayor of Tennessee's Shelby County (where Memphis is located), in July 1995, on more than $20 million in incentives given to Birmingham Steel Corp.: "These are not expenses--they're investments. These kinds of investments will pay off... It represents skilled, well-paying jobs."

 

Said Frank O'Bannon, Governor of Indiana, in March 1997, on a $1.7 million tax abatement to Crown Equipment Corp. for a plant in Greencastle, Ind.: "With at least 200 good-paying new jobs, this expansion will be an important addition not only to Putnam County's economy but to all of west-central Indiana."

 

Said Christine Todd Whitman, Governor of New Jersey, in May 1997, on millions of dollars passed around to four large businesses under the state's new Business Employment Incentive Program: "This is what the BEIP was meant to do, create jobs and increase opportunities for New Jersey families... This is...a red-letter day for jobs [in New Jersey]."

 

Don't believe it.

 

Jobs are created, of course, by the American economy--not by this process.

 

TIME's investigation has established that almost without exception, local and state politicians have doled out tens of billions of taxpayer dollars to businesses that are in fact eliminating rather than creating jobs. Some of the money has gone to prop up individual companies and avoid the consolidation within industries that an unfettered market would bring about. Some has been pumped into profitable companies, making them more profitable. Some has been awarded to companies that have threatened to move if they don't get it. Some has been diverted to businesses that local politicians have somehow divined will be more successful than their competitors. And last, some has gone to entire industries that are shrinking.

 

Witness a $300,000 grant to Anchor Glass Container Corp. last year, described by Pennsylvania Governor Tom Ridge's administration as part of an effort "to retain 275 existing jobs" at the firm's Connellsville, Pa., plant.

 

Retain 275 jobs?

 

A decade earlier, in 1987, Anchor Glass employed 9,900 people nationwide--about 1,000 of them in Pennsylvania. By the time the company began seeking economic incentives, more than half the work force had vanished as employment plunged to 4,500. Two plants were closed in Pennsylvania. And just a few months earlier, the Connellsville plant had completed another round of layoffs, bringing the total for the year to 200. The company was telling the state all it needed to know about what kind of future it saw in Connellsville.

 

Cities go to extremes to keep jobs in the manufacturing sector, partially because they pay more than most service jobs. Here is how Edward G. Rendell, mayor of Philadelphia, explained why last year $307 million in local and state economic incentives in addition to $119 million in federal aid was being given to Kvaerner ASA, Europe's largest shipbuilder: "Those are good, honest jobs that pay a living wage and significant benefits. Jobs you can build a family on."

 

True enough. But Rendell cannot reverse the tide of economic forces. And no industry is a better example of the futility of subsidies than American shipbuilding. It has not been a vital U.S. business for decades. Yet surplus shipyards continue to be kept alive by subsidies from local and state governments, the Federal Government and sometimes all three. Without this aid, consolidation would have occurred long ago--as it has in virtually every other field, from defense to banking. Avondale Industries in New Orleans, for example, first went on the corporate-welfare rolls in the 1930s, when the state waived payment of personal property taxes. It's still on the dole today. Over the past decade, Avondale has been excused from paying $8 million in property taxes alone.

 

NEBRASKA

The Job Is Meaty; The Pay Is Not

 

Not long ago, the state of Nebraska created an authority to dispense corporate welfare. It's called the Nebraska Quality Jobs Board. So what does the board consider a "quality job"?

 

Well, when do you want to go to the bathroom? In the morning or the afternoon? Pick one or the other. Not both. That is your choice at Nebraska Beef Ltd., an Omaha beef-packing company and jobs-board beneficiary. Listen to a young Mexican worker--he has taken a few days off at the suggestion of a supervisor, who noted that immigration agents were coming to the plant to inspect citizenship papers. Listen as the worker describes his daily routine on the factory floor, where he wields a 6-in. knife, slashing carcasses on an assembly line that never slows:

 

"We tell the [supervisors], 'Hey, I want to use the rest room.' [They say,] 'O.K., 10 minutes. Go now.' [That's] only once a day [you can go]... I have to think if I can go drink some water because I know I'm going to have to go use the rest room." He continues: "We start at 6 o'clock in the morning. But I got there at 5 o'clock to just get ready, drink my coffee, work my steel... If we work 10 hours, they give us a break at 2:30. If we was going to go nine hours, they don't give us no break."

 

Nebraska Beef is the entity that got the breaks. The jobs board awarded the company an estimated $7.5 million in tax credits in 1996, as well as a laundry list of other benefits. The award was all the more curious because the company had started work on its new plant before the board even existed. Other aid has pushed the total value of giveaways to Nebraska Beef to between $24 million and $31 million.

 

An exact total is not available, since the state refuses to disclose the amount of taxpayer funds for this or any other approved project. But Nebraska does say that the tax credits were extended under programs that "could substantially reduce or even eliminate [a] company's tax liability."

 

When state lawmakers created the jobs board in 1995, they had in mind "major business expansion and relocation projects needed to stimulate the growth of populations and create better jobs for the citizens of Nebraska."

 

At Nebraska Beef, many of the workers are not citizens, in part because even hardworking Nebraskans aren't likely to come running for jobs that start at about $8 an hour for such grueling labor. Nebraska Beef employees can count on a raise of 25[cents] an hour every year they stay on the job, which means that in two years, a butcher is making $8.50. That is $17,680 a year for a 40-hr. week, about $1,200 above the poverty level for a family of four.

 

Not surprisingly, Nebraska Beef goes through employees the way it does carcasses: at one point, 50% of the workers who completed state training for their jobs were gone within 10 months. A review by the state auditor of public accounts showed that Nebraska Beef had used at least a million dollars in state funds in one year to train workers who eventually left their jobs. The audit noted dryly, "It would appear the number of employees no longer employed with the company and amount of money spent for job training on these individuals was not in the best interest of the state of Nebraska."

 

Nebraska Beef did not respond to our inquiries.

 

NEW YORK

When Factories Become Fixer-Uppers

 

Defenders of economic incentives like to say that safeguards can be built into the law, so that if companies fail to deliver on the promised number of jobs, they can be required to pay back the taxes that have been canceled. If you believe that, it might be worth pondering the story of ABB Instrumentation Inc. in Rochester, N.Y. The company, which makes industrial instruments, is a subsidiary of ABB Asea Brown Boveri Ltd., the giant Swiss and Swedish conglomerate with interests in power generation, transmission and distribution.

 

In 1991, ABB applied to the County of Monroe Industrial Development Agency, requesting tax breaks and other incentives to move from its aging downtown Rochester location into a new building in a suburban industrial park. The company explained that its plant, built in 1906, was in a "declining industrial neighborhood on the west side of Rochester." ABB said there had been "no significant cost improvements or modernization...since 1950," which threatened its "ability to compete in a tightening world market." In short, neither ABB nor its predecessor had spent money updating the plant.

 

Nonetheless, the company was quite blunt about what it would do if economic aid was not forthcoming: relocate to Ohio, or England, or even Mexico or Venezuela. Only then did COMIDA agree to issue $21 million in industrial revenue bonds, with ABB using the proceeds to erect a new building. COMIDA excused the company from paying sales tax on materials to construct the plant. And it waived a chunk of ABB's real estate taxes for 10 years. Overall, the tax breaks were worth about $5 million.

 

To secure a real estate-tax abatement, a company is required by Monroe County to guarantee that it will create 25 new jobs. If it fails to do so, it must refund a portion of the reduced taxes. ABB promised to boost employment at the new facility from 723 workers in the first year to 819 by the third. Instead, even before moving into its new building, the company began cutbacks. By December 1996, ABB reported that its work force totaled just 393. In short, rather than creating the 25 positions required by the county, ABB eliminated 426 real and projected jobs.

 

Then ABB cried poverty, telling the development agency, "If you rescind the tax exemption, we'll owe $1.2 million in taxes, which we can't afford."

 

To date, Monroe County has waived collection. Thus, a division of a multinational company--which had sales of $31 billion last year--received some $26 million in tax breaks and economic aid. For what? To eliminate 426 jobs.

 

ABB illustrates another corporate-welfare story that TIME encountered repeatedly. After failing to keep a facility up to date, a company claims a plant is "archaic" and threatens to close it unless government officials come up with incentives to help pay for modernization. That is what happened in Louisville, Ky., where a much larger conglomerate, General Electric Co., said that to meet profit goals, its plant had to be modernized--with taxpayer dollars. This from a company that appears at the top of the lists of the "best managed" corporations in America, whose revenue last year reached $91 billion and whose earnings topped $8 billion.

 

GE, which over the years had failed to update a washing-machine factory in Louisville--described as an "obsolete facility" that is "just one step above archaic"--threatened to close it unless state and local governments helped subsidize its modernization and 7,000 hourly employees agreed to cost-cutting work rules.

 

Faced with this threat, Kentucky officials hired Coopers & Lybrand, an accounting and consulting firm, to conduct a study--paid for by GE--on whether the company really intended to turn out the lights. The answer Coopers & Lybrand came up with: yes.

 

It is not clear why the state of Kentucky believed it was the responsibility of taxpayers to improve GE's profit margins. Nevertheless, in 1993, Kentucky granted $19 million in income tax breaks over 10 years to the washing-machine factory in GE's sprawling Appliance Park complex. The city of Louisville and Jefferson County kicked in an additional $1 million.

 

The tax break notwithstanding, employment in Appliance Park continues to fall. Last February, GE announced that over the next two years, 1,500 jobs would be eliminated as range and dryer production is phased out and moved to Georgia, where wages are lower, and Mexico, where wages are much lower. Today 6,200 people work in Appliance Park--down 72% from a high of 22,250 in 1973.

 

NEW MEXICO

Intel's Billion-Dollar Bunny Suits

 

With ABB and GE, the threat of losing jobs often became too much for a community to bear. The workers, their families and local politicians wanted to keep the jobs at all costs.

 

Yet the same hysteria flows when large, fast-growing high-tech companies start shopping around for new plant locations. Intel Corp. invited six Western states--Arizona, California, New Mexico, Oregon, Texas and Utah--to compete for a new computer-chip fabrication plant, or fab, and selected the winner in March 1993. A senior executive explained the decision this way to the San Jose Mercury News: "We're going to build where Intel gets the best deal."

 

And what a deal it got. New Mexico and the community of Rio Rancho, just north of Albuquerque, won the bidding war by showering Intel with tax abatements and other assistance. Sandoval County, where the company erected its fab, authorized $2 billion in industrial revenue bonds in 1993 and an additional $8 billion in 1995--the largest local-government bond offering in history. The county held title to the land, building and equipment, which it leased back to Intel.

 

Since governments are not taxable, this arrangement enabled Intel to escape property and sales taxes. Then there is the investment-tax-credit deal, which allows Intel to pocket a portion of the state income taxes withheld from its bunny-suited tech workers' paychecks. In addition, the state provided money to train workers. These and other benefits add up to a third of a billion dollars in aid for Intel.

 

From Intel's vantage point, that is simply the way the system works. A company spokesperson said that states offer incentives "because they want to compete, and they obviously want the project in their jurisdiction rather than somebody else's... They try to develop their incentive package around those specific industries...that they want to build."

 

In any event, when some local residents challenged the giveaways as too costly, a citizens group supported by Intel commissioned a study to determine the company's impact. It concluded that the incentives "resulted in a good deal for New Mexico" and that Intel's expansion had created 10,000 jobs statewide by 1995.

 

But a TIME analysis of federal tax-return data raises questions. Let's look at two four-year periods, before and after Intel's massive Rio Rancho project.

 

Between 1989 and 1992, the number of federal income tax returns filed by New Mexico residents who showed wage income increased by 35,770--or 6.6%. Between 1993 and 1996, when the Intel-related jobs were created, wage returns rose 40,551, or 6.8%, a marginal increase.

 

More significantly, tax returns showing wages in three income groups ($30,000 to $50,000, $50,000 to $75,000 and $75,000 to $100,000) went up at a faster pace in the 1989-92 period than in the post-Intel era. Only two income groups increased faster in the later years: those at the bottom, with earnings of less than $30,000; and those at the top, with earnings in excess of $200,000.

 

Even more telling is the jump in the number of federal tax returns from New Mexico claiming the earned income tax credit. That is the credit intended to supplement the income of the working poor. Between 1989 and 1992, the number of such returns went up 14%, from 112,334 to 127,900. But between 1993 and 1996, it climbed twice as fast, shooting up 31%, from 134,613 to 175,797.

 

And although Intel is one of the largest corporate income taxpayers in the state, it has fared well in recent years. Documents filed with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission show that in 1991, Intel paid corporate income taxes to state governments at an effective rate of 8.6%. By 1997, while the company's taxable income had spiraled upward 1,097%, its overall state tax rate had dropped to 4.8%.

 

Let's put those numbers in more personal terms. Suppose in 1991 you had a household income of $30,000. If your income had gone up at the same rate as Intel's, by 1997 you would have earned $359,100. Yet you would have saved $13,600 in state taxes. And you would owe it to the clout you exercise: the ability to demand and receive special tax treatment.

 

KENTUCKY

An Extra-Special Delivery for UPS

 

Among the variables that companies take into consideration in site selection is the labor pool. They are concerned not just with wage rates but also with the availability and quality of workers. So some states and municipalities, in partnership with business, have created industrial-education programs, mainly in community colleges. The schools' curriculums are often designed to train skilled workers for the area's most prominent industries.

 

The state of Kentucky took a different tack earlier this year when it agreed to create higher-education programs specifically designed to provide United Parcel Service of America Inc. with a steady flow of part-time workers to load and unload packages from airplanes and trucks.

 

Confronted with a need to build an international air-hub facility and with a shrinking supply of willing workers at existing pay rates, UPS advised Louisville and Kentucky officials that it would pull 15,000 jobs out of the state if it did not receive suitable aid.

 

Government officials complied. On top of the usual assortment of incentives, worth more than $80 million, they agreed to form a joint educational venture, a sort of UPS University, that will allow students to attend classes offered by the University of Louisville, Jefferson Community College and Kentucky Tech-Jefferson Campus. Students enrolled in what has been dubbed the Metropolitan Scholars Program will be able to earn technical certifications and two-year or four-year degrees.

 

Most important, college life will be designed to fit the needs of UPS. Student workers, the company says, "will experience a daily schedule that will essentially reverse their internal clocks. Class schedules, social activities and sleep patterns will evolve around the hours of the night shift at UPS." This means classes will be held between 5 p.m. and 10 p.m., allowing students to work through the night and sleep during the day. Classes cease between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, the company's peak delivery period. Special dorms will be built to accommodate the night-working students. Tuition will be free, with the state and other sources picking up half the cost and UPS the other half if "the student completes his or her work obligation."

 

To Kentucky Governor Paul Patton, this is one for the win column. "We will ensure that UPS has the workers it needs," he said. To fiscal conservatives, there is something wrong with this picture. If UPS wants to assure itself an adequate supply of labor, it might try raising wages. But with well-paying jobs now plentiful in the area, the company was having difficulty attracting a sufficient number of workers for part-time work, much of which is on the night shift. College students--the traditional source of night-shift workers for UPS--were not responding to the $8.50 an hour wage it offered, even with benefits. So the state will, in effect, create more college students.

 

Local authorities defend the deal with a rosy economic forecast prepared for Greater Louisville Inc., the metropolitan area Chamber of Commerce. The chamber study predicts that 6,000 UPS jobs "will spawn nearly 8,000 additional jobs" throughout the region. It is estimated that all those jobs in turn "will generate more than $477 million annually in payroll growth." As is the case with many economic-impact statements, the numbers are fuzzy. But whatever the case, growth would have occurred somewhere in the U.S., perhaps even in Louisville, where UPS is already heavily invested. To remain competitive, UPS had no choice but to build an air-hub facility somewhere, with or without taxpayer dollars.

 

ALABAMA

Singing Lessons from An Auto Company

 

There was no question that like UPS, Mercedes-Benz was going to build a plant someplace in this country. First of all, the U.S. is an important market for Mercedes; second, wages and more flexible work schedules make manufacturing costs lower here than in Europe.

 

Lower than Mercedes-Benz ever imagined. Alabama taxpayers essentially built and equipped a new plant for the company in the tiny town of Vance, a few miles east of Tuscaloosa. Mercedes received a package of incentives that totaled $253 million in value. For example, Alabama acquired and developed the plant site in Vance for $60 million. It used National Guard troops to clear the land and spent $77.5 million on utility improvements and roads.

 

The Mercedes-Benz plant illustrates a fundamental principle of corporate welfare: everyone else pays for economic incentives--either with higher taxes, fewer services or both.

 

To understand this, go to the Vance Elementary School, located a football field or two from the plant. Of course, you cannot actually see the school building. That is because it is surrounded by portable classrooms--17 in all. They are being added at the rate of two a year. Inside the school, the results of crowding 540 pupils (expected to be 700 to 800 within the next two years) into a building designed for 290 are readily apparent--a marked contrast with the roominess of the $30 million training school the state built for Mercedes. Throughout the school day, students stand in line to take their turn in one of the six tiny rest rooms serviced by a septic system, which produces its own unpleasant consequences on occasion, since the septic tanks were also built for 290 pupils. That contrasts with the new sewer lines the state laid for Mercedes. Then there is the cafeteria. Because of the overcrowding, lunch starts at 10:30 a.m.--soon to be 10:15--not long after many pupils ate breakfast. Last there is the safety issue. Vance and other schools in the area are in the middle of tornado alley. Whenever a tornado watch is sounded, the portable classrooms are emptied, and pupils are shepherded into classrooms in the main building.

 

To be sure, Mercedes is not responsible for all these deficiencies. Alabama traditionally has ranked near the bottom of the 50 states when it comes to education. But the presence of Mercedes has not added anything, except more students.

 

Nevertheless, at the elementary school, principal David Thompson is an unabashed Benz booster. When the school needed extra buses to transport pupils to the ballet, Thompson said, Mercedes provided them. And when the car company learned the school was mounting a production of Hansel and Gretel, it dispatched several of its expats to help the pupils learn German songs. The experience made a lasting impression on the students. As Thompson put it, "They couldn't tell you your multiplication tables if you asked them. If you say, 'What's 9 times 7?', they probably have already forgotten it. But they can still sing those songs in German."

 

OHIO

Does GM Mean General Movers?

 

Given the money politicians are willing to spend, it is no wonder companies have made their assets portable--game pieces that can be moved around the board of economic development. General Motors Corp. has played the game like a champion, a classic example of a company that has secured hundreds of millions of dollars in corporate welfare at the same time that it has eliminated thousands of jobs. And, according to business analysts, GM has to eliminate 50,000 more jobs if it wants to survive the next century.

 

In effect, the company is in the process of auctioning its surviving jobs to the highest bidders in the communities where it does business. Here's how it works: during the summer of 1997, GM let it be known that it was considering a $355 million expansion of an assembly plant in Moraine, Ohio, to build sport-utility vehicles. The decision would hinge on the size of tax breaks granted by the city government. After all, two other cities with GM truck plants--Shreveport, La., and Linden, N.J.--were vying for the new facility. At least that is what GM officials hinted to Moraine officials. And that is what the local newspaper, the Dayton Daily News, duly reported.

 

There was one problem. The story GM floated was not true. Company executives later apologized for any misunderstanding. Erroneous claims aside, Moraine agreed to exempt General Motors from taxes on $355 million worth of machinery, equipment and inventory for 10 years and to excuse the company from real estate taxes for 15 years on the planned $65 million building.

 

So how much did GM save? Moraine city officials will not say, but county officials estimate GM is off the hook for $30 million in real estate and personal property taxes. GM also put the touch on the county economic-development authority for a cash grant of $1 million.

 

GM extracted the concessions at a time when the company's profits for 1995 and 1996 totaled $11.8 billion. To put that figure in context, it would be enough money to run the West Carrollton schools, where most Moraine children attend classes, for the next 400 years. As 1997 gave way to 1998, GM dangled the possibility of yet another plant before the Moraine city fathers, and they jumped. This time the tax relief amounts to an estimated $28 million--or about $156,000 for each of the 180 new jobs to be created.

 

One final twist: Moraine employees will be hired under a new, three-tiered wage scale, with workers starting at about $9 an hour. Once upon a time, the starting wage for such jobs was in the double digits. Nonetheless, Mayor Roger Matheny said that "this offers us job security and lets us know GM is going to be here for a long while."

 

Not necessarily. Other communities have showered tax breaks on GM and its partners, assuming they would create or at least retain jobs. They were wrong. Volvo-GM closed a jointly owned plant (GM was the minority partner) in Orrville, Ohio, in 1996--just seven years after the county cut property and inventory taxes in half. Some 400 jobs were lost. The two automakers moved operations to Pulaski County, Va., where millions of dollars more in economic incentives awaited.

 

In 1984 and 1988, Ypsilanti Township, Mich., granted 12-year tax abatements on $250 million worth of new equipment and machinery that GM installed in its Willow Run assembly plant. On its application for the second tax abatement, GM said no new jobs would be created but 4,900 existing jobs "will be retained as a result of the project." A GM executive reaffirmed the company's commitment at a township board meeting.

 

But in February 1992, GM announced it intended to close Willow Run and move production to Arlington, Texas, where it got a better deal. The township countered with a lawsuit, charging that the tax abatements created a binding obligation. A local judge agreed, accusing GM of "having lulled" the people of Ypsilanti and then trying to skip town. The state court of appeals reversed the decision and concluded that "hyperbole and puffery" in seeking tax breaks "does not necessarily create a promise."

 

In interviews with TIME, GM executives say they merely do what everyone else does. Moreover, they say, local and state governments often come calling on them. As a GM official explained, when Saturn was conceived, it was a clean sheet, a new type of plant representing a huge investment. Once it became publicly known what GM was planning, he said, "we received proposals from every state in the union except Hawaii and Alaska. We had file cabinets full of material from every state... Every one had to be responded to. It took on a life of its own."

 

Yet there had to be states that knew GM could not build there just for logistical reasons, he said. Nevertheless, government officials submitted formal proposals so they could tell their constituents they had at least tried. "[A politician] always wants to be perceived as someone who tried to bring home the bacon, even if the bacon doesn't arrive."

 

And that is where the real blame for corporate welfare rests.

 

As Ohio state senator Charles Horn, a persistent critic of tax abatements, put it when commenting on concessions granted GM, "We know companies are manipulative, but it's the nature of business to go after every dollar that's legally available. Don't place the blame on the company; place the blame on government. This is government's folly."

 

--With reporting by Laura Karmatz and Aisha Labi, and research by Joan Levinstein

 

 

THE SCRAMBLE FOR JOBS

PLAYING THE ZERO-SUM GAME

 

If you have any doubt that the war among the states to offer tax breaks and other economic incentives is a zero-sum game that creates no jobs, consider the case of the Bagcraft Corp., based in Chicago. In 1993, Bagcraft, whose claim to fame is the doggie bag, let out word that the paper bag-making factory it had operated in Joplin, Mo., for more than 20 years would be replaced.

 

Six towns in Missouri, Kansas and Colorado jumped at the bait, offering the company free land, infrastructure improvements and real estate-tax abatements. Meanwhile, Joplin tried hard to keep Bagcraft in town, assembling what a city official described as the most aggressive incentives package in this small (pop. 45,000) city's history--tax abatements for as long as 12 years, plus a town-funded day-care center for Bagcraft employees. "When you offer a private company incentives worth $5 million, coming from the taxpayers, I don't know how much more you can do," said Joplin city manager Leonard Martin.

 

Neighboring Baxter Springs, Kans., came up with more--a lot more. Working with state officials, the town of 4,000 crafted a deal that included free land and a 10-year exemption from real estate taxes. But Baxter Springs trumped Joplin by finding a low-interest loan from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. The final tab: $15.8 million, or more than seven times the size of the town budget.

 

Not surprisingly, Baxter Springs won out. In 1994, Bagcraft closed the Joplin plant and moved 20 miles west across the state line to a new $12 million, 265,000-sq.-ft. facility.

 

All this was cause for celebration in Baxter Springs when, on Nov. 18, 1994, corporate and civic leaders gathered to dedicate the new plant. Of the participants, none was more pleased than then Kansas Governor Joan Finney. "Dreams are the seedlings of reality," she told the crowd. "Seeing what has been brought to reality here, through governmental cooperation at all levels with the company, is perhaps one of the best days I've had in 42 years of government service at different levels."

 

Let's hope not.

 

Baxter Springs did get 350 jobs, but Bagcraft did not create 350 jobs. Roughly half the work force transferred from the Joplin plant when it closed. Additional employees migrated from other Bagcraft plants that were closed.

 

The bottom line for the company's payroll: in 1993 about 700 people were making bags and other paper products at four Bagcraft plants. According to a company spokesman, today that number is the same.

 

WHAT WAS PAID OUT

$15.8 million, including free real estate, a 10-year freeze on property taxes and a low-interest loan from HUD

 

HOW IT PAID OFF

It didn't. Bagcraft closed plants in Missouri, New Jersey and Georgia. New jobs created nationwide: zero

 

[SIDEBAR]

 

DURANT, MISSISSIPPI

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

 

In 1936, in the midst of the great depression, Mississippi fired the first shot in what is now an internecine, multibillion-dollar battle for jobs among the states. The idea was simple enough: lure businesses from the North with offers of cheap and abundant nonunion labor, low-priced land, minimal taxes and, for the first time, state-sponsored, tax-exempt industrial-revenue bonds. In other words, a coordinated effort to raid other states for their corporations.

 

The first beneficiary was Real Silk Hosiery Mills Inc. The company, based in Indianapolis, Ind., employed 4,000 knitting-machine operators who turned out half a million pairs of hosiery weekly, which were peddled door to door across the nation by 11,000 sales reps. Hurt first by the Depression and then by a bitter strike in 1934, Real Silk was working its way back to solvency in 1936 when Mississippi came calling.

 

The town of Durant (pop. 2,500), a farming community with more sidewalks than paved streets, was offering to issue $25,000 in industrial-revenue bonds to buy land and erect a 15,000-sq.-ft. building, which it would lease to Real Silk for 25 years for all of $5 a year. In addition, Durant would waive five years of county taxes on the building and property taxes on the machinery. On top of that, the city would provide insurance, set up a training school and even erect housing for workers. In a front-page editorial that sounds eerily familiar, the Durant News crowed that the project was a great deal for the town. In a special election, the town's voters approved the bond issue, 330 to 19. The people of Durant were in the hosiery business.

 

At least for a while. Indeed, nine years later, in December 1946, Durant's citizens approved a second bond issue of $60,000 to expand the plant. At its peak, the Durant factory employed about 150 people. They worked three shifts daily, turning out 84,000 pairs of hosiery each week.

 

By the mid '50s, all that came to an end. Before the first bond was due to be paid off, Real Silk shut all its factories, including Durant, sold off the equipment and became an investment company. The lesson, one that has been lost on generations of mayors, Governors and Presidents, is that capital ultimately ignores such incentives. It seeks its highest reward as dictated by market forces, not political ones. The building that was to put Durant on the industrial map still stands--empty.

 

And Mississippi? It was the poorest state in the nation when its corporate-welfare program began in 1936. Today, 62 years and hundreds upon hundreds of millions of dollars in economic incentives later, it remains dead last in per capita income.

 

[SIDEBAR]

 

TIME WARNER

WE PLAY THE GAME TOO

 

Like most major corporations, Time Warner Inc., the parent company of TIME, has received millions of dollars in tax concessions or free services from federal, state and local governments over the years. The benefits include:

 

--A $2 million-a-year exemption from Florida sales taxes on promotional items mailed from the Time Customer Service Center in Tampa, which sells and renews magazine subscriptions to TIME, PEOPLE, LIFE and SPORTS ILLUSTRATED.

 

--A five-year freeze on real and personal property taxes (a savings of $224,550) from Shelby County and Memphis, Tenn., on an operations center for cable installers.

 

--A rebate of $168,800 from Simi Valley, Calif., to defray construction costs of a warehouse for Warner/Electra/Atlantic Corp., a music subsidiary.

 

Time Warner is based in New York City, and the company is expected to ask the city for a large incentives package for building its new headquarters at Columbus Circle, on the southwest corner of Central Park. Known as Columbus Centre, the $1.3 billion project has been called by one developer the "Rockefeller Center of the 21st Century." Time Warner president Richard D. Parsons confirmed that the company would ask for tax breaks--though he emphasized that the project was not contingent upon receiving them.

 

If Time Warner gets a special deal from New York, it will join a host of media companies that have received tax relief and other incentives worth an estimated $400 million to build new offices or to keep their work forces in New York. The list includes Germany's Bertelsmann AG, which now owns Random House and Bantam Doubleday Dell; ABC, part of the Walt Disney Co.; Conde Nast; McGraw-Hill; NBC, owned by General Electric; the New York Times Co.; the New York Post and its parent company, the News Corp., which also owns Fox; Reuters; and Viacom.

 

 

 

Fantasy Islands

And Other Perfectly Legal Ways That Big Companies Manage to Avoid Billions in Federal Taxes

 

By Donald L. Barlett and James B. Steele

With reporting by Laura Karmatz and Aisha Labi, and research by Joan Levinstein

 

 

From her second-floor offices bordering the sparkling Caribbean at Charlotte Amalie, the capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands, Catherine Sittig presides over one of the corporate-welfare system's most enduring success stories.

 

Sittig's company represents hundreds of U.S. corporations--she won't say exactly how many--that have offshore affiliates in the islands. This isn't as demanding as it might sound. It's largely a matter of filing papers and mailing out invoices. After all, the companies she represents are just paper entities. But they have come to represent a drain, created by Congress and perfectly legal, of $1.7 billion annually on the U.S. Treasury.

 

It works like this:

 

A company sets up what is called a foreign sales corporation. Companies can form FSCs in 32 countries designated by Congress--among them Jamaica and Barbados--or in a U.S. possession like the Virgin Islands. The company then funnels its exports (or, more accurately, the paperwork for its exports) through its offshore FSC. Presto: no federal income taxes on a portion of those export profits.

 

Just about every large U.S. corporation has an FSC; Intel, Eastman Kodak, General Motors, Caterpillar, Union Carbide, Chrysler, R.J. Reynolds and Georgia-Pacific are just a few. And why not? A corporation with an FSC can shelter 15% or more of its export profits from federal income tax.

 

Like so many corporate-welfare programs, this one isn't available to all companies. It goes only to those that export. The truth is, most large corporations that use the FSC break are already robust exporters and don't need much encouragement to ship abroad. They would export with or without the tax break. In this decade alone, this single corporate-welfare program has cost U.S. taxpayers more than $10 billion, with about $8 billion of that flowing to the largest corporations.

 

FSCs are but one of scores of corporate-welfare programs run out of Washington. At any given moment, one U.S. agency or another is passing out money or tax breaks--to subsidize activities ranging from shipbuilding to coal research, from the sale of U.S.-made weapons overseas to peanut farming. Washington helps buy crop insurance for tobacco, builds roads into national forests for the timber industry, sells minerals on public lands at bargain-basement rates and offers cut-rate electricity for businesses like casinos. The Feds help shippers that use inland waterways and bail out American banks with loans gone bad in foreign countries. It's the U.S. government's cafeteria of corporate welfare, and it's draining more than a third of a billion dollars a day--more than $125 billion a year--out of taxpayers' pockets.

 

Sometimes the welfare benefits extend beyond the companies to include their executives. The next time you fly and pay the 8% federal excise tax on airline tickets, plus a $2 surcharge to pay for air-traffic-control services, think of America's corporate bosses. They don't pay the tax or surcharge if they're flying on company planes--for business or pleasure. Though corporate jets pay a fuel tax, these revenues do not come close to covering their share of air-traffic-control costs. It works out to a subsidy of upwards of $350 million a year to corporate America. So far in the 1990s, this particular corporate-welfare program has cost taxpayers about $3 billion.

 

Frequent passengers on company planes are members of the House and Senate, Democrats and Republicans both--the people who make corporate welfare possible. In fact, lawmakers seem to end up on the corporate jets of the very same businesses that contribute to their campaigns or seek regulatory favors. Like Jesse Helms, the five-term North Carolina Republican Senator, who flies about in R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. planes and often takes to the floor of the Senate to support the tobacco industry. Under congressional rules, House and Senate members are permitted to fly on company planes if they pay the equivalent of first-class airfare on a regularly scheduled airliner. That fee is but a fraction of the actual cost to fly a corporate jet. And even that does not begin to cover the air-traffic-control and other services provided by the Federal Government.

 

Not all the Federal Government's corporate-welfare programs started out as welfare. Some began as foreign aid and turned into long-term annuities for corporate beneficiaries. Typical is Bechtel Group Inc. (1997 revenues: $11.3 billion), the global construction and engineering giant owned by the Bechtel family. So far in the 1990s, Bechtel has received more than $2 billion in corporate welfare in the form of government insurance, loans and grants, in addition to foreign-aid contracts, one of which is now nearly 10 years old.

 

Contracts for what?

 

To assess the feasibility of using landfill gases to generate power in Brazil; to develop an electric-vehicle demonstration program for India; to improve energy efficiency in Egypt, according to a company brochure, by "encouraging Cairo's 2,500 bakeries to switch from filthy fuel oil to cleaner, more efficient natural gas." Nice, but should American taxpayers be paying for it?

 

Sometimes in its zeal to dole out corporate welfare, the Federal Government finds itself working at cross-purposes. In 1997 a government agency issued a $29 million insurance policy to protect a new garment-manufacturing plant built in Turkey by Levi Strauss, the world's largest apparel manufacturer. Meanwhile the U.S. Department of Labor was approving training grants and extended unemployment benefits for 6,400 workers whose jobs had been eliminated at 11 Levi's plants in this country--on the grounds that the layoffs were attributable to cheaper imports.

 

 

Paying A Price For Polluters

MANY OF AMERICA'S LARGEST COMPANIES FOUL THE ENVIRONMENT BUT CLEAN UP ON BILLIONS OF DOLLARS IN TAX BENEFITS

 

By Donald L. Barlett and James B. Steele

With reporting by Laura Karmatz and Aisha Labi, and research by Joan Levinstein

 

It was about 5 o'clock on Thursday afternoon in August 1996, when a dense gray cloud descended over Route 73, a two-lane road near Geismar, La., cutting visibility to zero and triggering a rear-end collision. As State Trooper Ross Johnson, a fresh-faced, 25-year-old Marine Corps veteran, drove toward the accident, he noted that every car headed his way had headlights on and windshield wipers flapping. When Johnson got out of his patrol car, he suddenly got hit by the heavy smell of ammonia. He ushered the drivers of the two cars out of the cloud and into a guard shack at an entrance to the Borden Chemicals and Plastics plant. "The fog was so dense I couldn't see the road," one driver told him. A plant safety officer had notified authorities about the chemical release, but had assured them "there was no off-site impact." By then, Johnson recalled, "there was a fog as far as the eye could [see]."

 

After Johnson left the scene, his "throat was really starting to clench, my eyes were starting to burn, and my skin was really starting to itch." Johnson later learned that the cloud was a witches' brew of toxic chemicals: ethylene dichloride, vinyl-chloride monomer and hydrogen chloride.

 

It had been just another day at the Borden Chemicals and Plastics plant. A month later, half a dozen similarly hazardous chemicals were released but remained on plant grounds. The following year, in July 1997, vinyl-chloride monomer and ammonia escaped from the plant and forced the closing of Route 73. In July 1998, a cloud of hydrochloric acid spewed out, shutting down roads in the area for about 20 minutes.

 

Back in 1994, at the request of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), the Justice Department filed a lawsuit against Borden Chemicals, accusing the company of a series of environmental-law violations. Among the charges: the company stored hazardous waste, sludges and solid wastes illegally; failed to install containment systems; burned hazardous waste without a permit; neglected to report the release of hazardous chemicals into the air; contaminated groundwater beneath the plant site (thereby threatening an aquifer that provides drinking water for residents of Louisiana and Texas); and shipped toxic waste laced with mercury to South Africa without notifying the EPA, as required by law. Last March, on the third day of what was expected to be a three-week trial, the company signed a consent agreement to settle the case. Without admitting any wrongdoing, Borden Chemicals agreed to pay a fine of $3.6 million--the largest in Louisiana history. The company also consented to spend $3 million to clean up groundwater contamination and stop injecting waste into underground storage wells, and to donate $400,000 for equipment for local emergency response units.

 

Don't weep for Borden Chemicals. It was able to pay the fine with just a couple of years' savings from abated taxes. For over the past decade, while the plant has been fouling the land, water and air in Louisiana, the state has excused the company from paying $15 million in property taxes as part of just one of its corporate-welfare programs. A Borden spokesman said even with the exemption, the tax the company pays in Louisiana is "about average" for Southern states. Without the exemption, he says, Louisiana would no longer be "competitive as far as trying to attract and retain" jobs.    

 

And who are the real beneficiaries of this welfare? One is the Wall Street buyout firm of Kohlberg Kravis Roberts & Co., one of whose affiliates "manages and controls the activities of the company," according to filings with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission.

 

Borden Chemicals, which years ago was part of Borden Inc., the milk-and-dairy-products company, is typical of scores of companies in Louisiana that receive tax abatements at the same time they contribute to the state's polluted environment. That pollution, in Louisiana and across the country, represents corporate welfare's greatest hidden cost. Chemicals, mining wastes and a broad range of other hazardous materials have fouled water, land and air across America. Billions have already been spent undoing environmental damage. Many more billions will be spent in coming years. Industry itself is footing part of the bill. But the largest chunk will come from taxpayers--a massive corporate-welfare program.

 

The Federal Government, for example, has spent $130 million so far to clean up the Alamosa River in Colorado, contaminated with cyanide and heavy metals from a gold mine abandoned in 1992. The final tab is expected to reach at least $160 million. The government will eventually spend more than $100 million to clean up a site in Wayne, N.J., contaminated with radioactive waste. The company has agreed to chip in $32 million. The government estimates it will cost as much as $200 million to scrub up a zinc-smelter site in Palmerton, Pa. The tab for cleaning up radioactive waste, at a site in Weldon Spring, Mo., is put at $800 million.

 

As is so often the case with environmental pollution, practices once deemed safe turn out years later to be hazardous. So it was with the PCBs used by General Electric Co. and other manufacturers of transformers. Now cost estimates for cleaning up GE's pcb contamination in the Hudson River alone range as high as $3 billion.

 

Add to these cleanup bills yet another cost from pollution: the billions spent on health care to treat conditions ranging from black-lung disease to asbestosis. These costs are yet to be counted; it often takes years, even decades, to document links between chemicals and other products and deadly or debilitating diseases.

 

A LITTLE START-UP CALLED EXXON

 

To better understand the link between corporate welfare and pollution, let's take a closer look at Louisiana, a state that hands out tax breaks to companies that have been repeatedly fined or cited for discharging hazardous chemicals or for generating large amounts of toxic waste. Louisiana has been canceling taxes owed by industry ever since the Great Depression. But, as elsewhere, the exemptions have soared over the past decade.

 

Thus far in the 1990s, a TIME analysis shows, the state has wiped off the books $3.1 billion in property taxes alone. That's 14 times the amount the state excused in the 1960s and doesn't include all the other types of tax breaks granted to corporations. That makes Louisiana No. 1 in terms of subsidies per capita. Some of the big beneficiaries include Lucent Technologies, Uniroyal Chemical, Willamette Industries, PPG Industries and Georgia Gulf Corp. Paul Templet, a professor of environmental studies at Louisiana State University, has measured business subsidies across the country. His sobering conclusion: "The states that offer the least subsidies are doing the best from per capita income, [low] poverty, you name it ... as the subsidies rise, the states essentially get poorer." What's more, Templet found, "as these subsidies rise, the income disparity ... between the rich and the poor rises."

 

Plenty of states pass out tax breaks, of course, even to polluters whose mess taxpayers must later clean up. But Louisiana's incentive program has an odd twist: the tax abatements are intended to help start-up businesses. The purpose of the industrial-tax-exemption program, in the state's own words, is to offer "to industry certain tax benefits at the most critical stage of any business endeavor--the beginning."

 

So what are some of these "beginning" businesses? Over the past 10 years the state canceled $213 million in industrial property taxes owed by Exxon Corp., a company that traces its origins back 116 years. It eliminated $140 million in taxes owed by Shell Oil Co. affiliates, a business whose roots in the U.S. go back 86 years. It erased $103 million in taxes owed by International Paper Co., which opened its doors 100 years ago. And it voided $96 million in taxes owed by Dow Chemical Co., which was established 101 years ago.

 

While government officials across the country publicly embrace tax-abatement programs like Louisiana's, the employees involved in the actual administration of them are often quietly critical. In Louisiana, as in other states, TIME encountered those outraged by the escalating handouts but fearful of losing their jobs and powerless to stop the process. A Baton Rouge state official, who agreed to talk anonymously, said some companies today practice a form of "extortion" in Louisiana--they demand tax breaks yet give back very little in return. At one time, he said, companies might actually create new jobs in exchange for the abatements. "Today the corporations may add one or two new jobs for every million [dollars in abatements they receive]," he said. "That's not fair." Even when a company does create "100 new jobs, [it] closes a plant somewhere else, and 150 people lose their jobs," he added.

 

But he is quick to say that Louisiana on its own cannot stop the handouts if other states don't join in. "We'd be killed."

 

TODAY'S LESSON: RATS DO BITE

 

When government distributes handouts to select companies, someone else pays, either in higher taxes or in reduced services. Among the nation's most innocent victims: children who attend public schools. In some Louisiana parishes (counties), 20% or more of the industrial property taxes goes to education. So every tax break granted to a company translates into less money for schools. Consider the consequences of that policy for the 56,000 students in the East Baton Rouge Parish school system, the state's second largest after New Orleans. Everyday, many of them face some or all of these afflictions: rat bites; roofs with holes in them; buildings whose antiquated wiring will not permit more than a few computers to work at one time; walls so damaged by water leaks that paint will not adhere to the plaster; floors so rotted that children put their feet through them; long lines to use outmoded bathrooms; sewage backups in classrooms; asthma and respiratory illnesses as a result of mildew and fungus in ancient air ducts; falling ceiling tiles; condemned rooms; collapsing partitions; unusable playgrounds; broken stairs; carpets that smell from the repeated leaks and flooding.

 

Cindy Jones, an assistant principal, says, "It's astonishing... that people actually have to come to work and to learn in this kind of environment." Adds John McCann, principal of the 1,000-student Woodlawn High School, arguably the most dilapidated building in the district: "Teachers, they get run-down. It hurts their morale. They're tired of coming to school and getting wet when it rains." McCann means, of course, that teachers are tired of getting wet inside the school--not outside.

 

Sometimes the flooding occurs at inopportune moments, like the time students sat down to take a state-required test that determines whether they will graduate. "We went to classrooms vacuuming out with those big wet vacs," McCann recalled. "The kids were supposed to be trying to take an exam to see if they can get out of school. Well, we had to stop [the test]...and we had to move some kids out of [the] classrooms."

 

McCann's school was built long ago on a geological fault and is now cracking--literally. The auditorium, band room and choir room are off limits because they have been condemned.

 

None of this is to suggest that corporate welfare alone is responsible for the plight of the state's schools. While it certainly is one of the contributing factors, there are others. For example, at the same time the state passes out tax breaks wholesale, it does not contribute one cent to building construction or other capital needs of schools, as many other states do. All of which helps explain why Louisiana ranks 45th in the nation in spending on elementary and secondary education.

 

As if conditions inside Baton Rouge schools were not bad enough, students and teachers must also contend with pollution alerts. Listen to assistant superintendent Christine Arab describe life amid the petrochemical plants:

 

"Certain schools are in wind patterns from chemical plants, and they have as part of their safety drill what's called shelter-in-place, where all the windows in the buildings must be shut, the doors sealed in a special way. No one can go outside. They stay right there until it's cleared.

 

"Well, we had a barge overturn up on the north end of the river last year that was about a three- or four-day emergency, and we had kids sheltered in place for hours and hours and hours and had to wait for the wind to shift so we would be permitted to take the buses in and get out as many children as we could before the wind pattern changed again. Amazing. I thought to myself, I didn't know when I took this job that I would be issued a hard hat and a gas mask."

 

VERY BLACKENED REDFISH, ANYONE?

 

Each year the EPA compiles a catalog of the toxic chemicals discharged into the environment. Congress ordered the accounting after a deadly cloud of chemicals escaped from a Union Carbide plant in Bhopal, India, in 1984, killing thousands of people--and after the company released a smaller quantity of an equally toxic gas from its plant in Institute, W.Va., less than a year later.

 

Let's look at five companies in Louisiana that have earned spots on the EPA's list of the Top 50 companies measured in volume of chemical releases across the country. The five also happen to be beneficiaries of direct corporate welfare.

 

--Cytec Industries Inc. ranked No. 1 in the release of toxic chemicals in Louisiana during 1996. The company pumped 24.1 million lbs. of chemicals into wells and the air. The company also ranked No. 5 on the EPA's Top 50 list of companies that spew out the largest volume of toxic materials nationwide. Cytec, based in West Paterson, N.J., is a global chemical company with sales of $1.3 billion. And it has a friend in Louisiana, which has excused it from paying $19 million in local property taxes on machinery and equipment over the past decade. Records of the State Department of Economic Development show that the company created exactly 13 jobs during that period--meaning taxpayers shelled out $1.5 million for each additional person hired by Cytec.

 

--IMC-Agrico Co., at 12.8 million lbs., placed No. 3 on the EPA list of largest generators of toxic chemicals in Louisiana. Nationwide the company ranked No. 20. Louisiana has excused the company from paying $15 million in property taxes over the past decade. IMC-Agrico is a subsidiary of IMC Global Inc., a firm with sales of $3 billion in 1997.

 

--Rubicon Inc., a Geismar, La., chemical company, ranks No. 4 on the EPA's Louisiana chemical-release list--No. 34 nationwide--at 8.4 million lbs. Louisiana has exempted the company from payment of $9 million in property taxes over the past decade. Rubicon is a joint venture of Uniroyal Chemical Co., with 1997 sales of $1.2 billion, and Imperial Chemical Industries PLC of London, with sales of $16 billion. Uniroyal itself has received $20 million in tax abatements on its Louisiana plant.

 

--Monsanto Co., the global chemical and pharmaceutical company, holds fifth place on the Louisiana toxic-chemical-release chart at 7.7 million lbs. Nationally the company ranks 39th. Louisiana has excused Monsanto from payment of $45 million in property taxes over the past decade.

 

--Angus Chemical Co. placed No. 6 on the Louisiana chemical-release list at 6.3 million lbs., and No. 49 nationwide. Louisiana has excused Angus from payment of $12 million in property taxes over the past decade--peanuts compared with some. But Angus has a special distinction: in 1991 an explosion ripped through the Angus chemical plant in Sterlington, La., killing eight workers and injuring more than 120. Clouds of toxic gas filled the air, and shock waves damaged a nearby hospital, a school and homes.

 

In addition to saving $100 million in property taxes, the five companies--along with thousands of others--have profited from the failure of federal and local governments to impose more stringent controls on the release of lethal chemicals. Count it, at the very least, in the tens of millions of dollars.

 

 

TIME

November 23, 1998 Vol. 152 No. 21

Special Report/Corporate Welfare

 

Sweet Deal

WHY ARE THESE MEN SMILING? THE REASON IS IN YOUR SUGAR BOWL

 

By Donald L. Barlett and James B. Steele

 

Occupying a breathtaking spot on the southeast coast of the Dominican Republic, Casa de Campo is one of the Caribbean's most storied resorts. It bills itself as "a hedonist's and sportsman's dream," and that's truth in advertising. The place has 14 swimming pools, a world-class shooting ground, PGA-quality golf courses and $1,000-a-night villas.

 

A thousand miles to the northwest, in the Florida Everglades, the vista is much different. Chemical runoff from the corporate cultivation of sugar cane imperils vegetation and wildlife. Polluted water spills out of the glades into Florida Bay, forming a slimy, greenish brown stain where fishing once thrived.

 

Both sites are the by-product of corporate welfare.

 

In this case the beneficiaries are the Fanjul family of Palm Beach, Fla. The name means nothing to most Americans, but the Fanjuls might be considered the First Family of Corporate Welfare. They own Flo-Sun Inc., one of the nation's largest producers of raw sugar. As such, they benefit from federal policies that compel American consumers to pay artificially high prices for sugar.

 

Since the Fanjuls control about one-third of Florida's sugar-cane production, that means they collect at least $60 million a year in subsidies, according to an analysis of General Accounting Office calculations. It's the sweetest of deals, and it's made the family, the proprietors of Casa de Campo, one of America's richest.

 

The subsidy has had one other consequence: it has helped create an environmental catastrophe in the Everglades. Depending on whom you talk to, it will cost anywhere from $3 billion to $8 billion to repair the Everglades by building new dikes, rerouting canals and digging new lakes.

 

Growers are committed to pay up to $240 million over 20 years for the cleanup. Which means the industry that created much of the problem will have to pay only a fraction of the cost to correct it. Government will pay the rest. As for the Fanjuls, a spokesman says they are committed to pay about $4.5 million a year.

 

How did this disaster happen? With your tax dollars. How will it be fixed? With your tax dollars.

 

It is not news that sugar is richly subsidized, or that the Fanjuls have profited so handsomely. Even as recently as 1995, when Congress passed legislation to phase out price supports for a cornucopia of agricultural products, raw sugar was spared. Through a combination of loan guarantees and tariffs on imported sugar, domestic farmers like the Fanjuls are shielded from real-world prices. So in the U.S., raw sugar sells for about $22 a pound, more than double the price most of the world pays. The cost to Americans: at least $1.4 billion in the form of higher prices for candy, soda and other sweet things of life. A GAO study, moreover, has estimated that nearly half the subsidy goes to large sugar producers like the Fanjuls.

 

A spokesman for Flo-Sun, Jorge Dominicis, said the company disagrees with the GAO's estimate on the profits the Fanjuls and other growers derive from the program.

 

"That is supposed to imply somehow that our companies receive $60 million in guaranteed profits," he said, "and that is flat-out not true. Our companies don't make anywhere near that kind of profit."

 

Dominicis, like other proponents of the sugar program, contends that it doesn't cost taxpayers a penny and is not unlike government protection of other American industries. "If our [sugar policy] is corporate welfare, which I don't believe it is, then all trade policy is corporate welfare," he says.

 

Flo-Sun is run by four Fanjul brothers, Alfonso ("Alfie"), Jose ("Pepe"), Andres and Alexander. Their family dominated Cuba's sugar industry for decades, and they came to this country with their parents in 1959, after Fidel Castro seized power. The Fanjuls arrived just as a U.S. Army Corps of Engineers project to control the flow of water in the Florida Everglades made large-scale development possible. The total acreage planted in sugar cane there soared--from 50,000 acres in 1960 to more than 420,000 today.

 

Within that swampy paradise lies yet another subsidy. Each year, according to a 1997 estimate, the Army Corps of Engineers spends $63 million to control water flow in central and south Florida. This enables growers to obtain water when they need it or restrain the flow during heavy rains. Of the $63 million, the Corps estimates $52 million is spent on agriculture, mainly sugar-cane farmers, in the Everglades.

 

Even with the additional production from the Glades, propped up by price supports, the U.S. can't produce all the sugar it needs. The Federal Government rations access to the lucrative U.S. market by assigning quotas to 40 sugar-producing nations, most of them developing countries. And, remarkably, the Fanjuls have found riches here too. Every year, the country that receives the largest sugar quota is the Dominican Republic. With a per-capita income of $1,600 a year and an unemployment rate hovering around 20%, that Caribbean nation needs all the economic help it can get. And who is the largest private exporter of Dominican sugar? The Fanjuls, thanks in part to their long-standing relationship with the Dominican Republic's politicians. Through a subsidiary, Central Romana Ltd., the brothers grow sugar cane and operate the world's largest sugar mill there. The profit margin is substantial, partly because cane cutters on the island earn about $100 a month, making production costs much lower than in Florida. From their Dominican plantation the Fanjuls export roughly 100,000 tons of raw, duty-free sugar each year to the U.S.

 

Whether they sell sugar from their holdings in the Everglades or from their mill in the Caribbean, the Fanjuls are guaranteed a U.S. price that is more than double anywhere else in the world. As might be expected, having it both ways has propelled the Fanjuls into the ranks of the richest Americans. Their wealth is counted in the hundreds of millions of dollars.

 

And although they appear frequently in the society pages, the Fanjuls won't be caught dead in the financial section. As Emilia Fanjul, the wife of Pepe, once confided to a society reporter, "We like to be private about the business."

 

Depending on the season, the Fanjuls can be found shooting game in Scotland, skiing in Switzerland or relaxing at their spectacular Casa de Campo. These 7,000 acres overlooking the sea have long been a favorite playground of the wealthy. But Palm Beach is still their real home, and Florida is still the heart of their financial empire. They now farm an estimated 180,000 acres of cane-producing land in the Everglades--43% of the total--making them one of the two-largest sugar growers in the state.

 

For decades, this region has been home to one of the worst jobs in America--hacking cane with a machete. Until the work was mechanized in the 1990s, the growers had to bring in thousands of cane cutters from the Caribbean every season. Yet in preserving the subsidy that has made millionaires of the Fanjuls, Congress has cited the fact that it saves American jobs.

 

Migrant-labor organizations and legal-aid groups in Florida have long waged an ongoing battle with the Fanjuls and other growers over the abysmal conditions. Greg Schell, an attorney with the Migrant Farmworkers Justice Project in Belle Glade, Fla., contends that of all the growers, the Fanjuls have treated their workers the worst. "They are in a class by themselves," he said. A lawsuit seeking back wages and benefits is expected to go to trial next spring.

 

Every few years, critics of the sugar program attempt to roll back the subsidy that has enriched the Fanjuls and kept sugar prices high. And every time they fail, largely because of the power of the sugar lobby, which includes not just large growers like the Fanjuls but thousands of small sugar-beet farmers in other parts of the nation.

 

Though by no means the largest special interest in Washington, the sugar lobby is one of the most well-heeled. And among growers, the Fanjuls are big givers. Family members and corporate executives have contributed nearly $1 million so far in this decade, dividing the money fairly evenly between political parties.

 

This knack for covering all political bases carries all the way to the top of the Fanjul empire. Alfonso Fanjul served as co-chairman of Bill Clinton's Florida campaign in 1992. His brother Pepe was national vice chairman of finance for Bob Dole's presidential campaign in 1996 and was host to a $1,000-a-head fund raiser for Dole at his Palm Beach mansion. After Clinton's 1992 victory, Alfie was a member of the select group invited by the Clinton camp to attend the President-elect's "economic summit" in Little Rock, Ark.

 

Careful readers of Kenneth Starr's impeachment report to Congress will note that on Feb. 19, 1996, Alfie called President Clinton while the President was closeted with Monica Lewinsky in an emotional meeting in the Oval Office. After breaking the news that "their intimate relationship" would have to end--temporarily, as it turned out--the President returned Fanjul's call; Lewinsky left. The two spoke for 22 minutes. The topic: a proposed tax on sugar farmers to pay for the Everglades cleanup. Fanjul reportedly told the President he and other growers opposed such a step, since it would cost them millions. Such a tax has never been passed.

 

That's access.

 

 

TIME

 

November 30, 1998 Vol. 152 No. 22

Special Report/Corporate Welfare

 

Five Ways Out

THERE ARE SOLUTIONS TO THE CORPORATE WELFARE MESS--BUT WHO GOES FIRST?

 

What's a mayor to do?                  

 

A major employer wants to expand or build anew. Rather than simply doing so, the corporation stirs up a bidding war to see which city and state will pony up the most cash, loans and tax breaks in the form of economic incentives. If you're the mayor and the facility means jobs and income for your town, do you play hardball and risk losing the plant and the jobs? Or do you give in and hand out tax money, only to face a never-ending string of similar demands from others?

 

Right now it's not much of a debate: the mayors cave.

 

The eagerness with which many states and cities routinely cancel taxes and distribute free services and grants to corporations puts enormous pressure on every other public official to do the same--even those who don't want to.

 

TIME has found many public officials deeply upset at the ultimate cost of the giveaways to their communities. Inevitably, tax rebates to a selected few lead to higher taxes for others and to cutbacks in essential services.

 

Can anything be done to stop the inequities? Absolutely.

 

But first, forget about cooperative agreements among states to stop the war of incentives. They've been tried, and they don't work. In October 1991, New York City, New York State, New Jersey and Connecticut agreed that a series of costly bidding wars to attract corporations was ruinous for all concerned. The four governments signed what was described as a nonaggression pact. Less than a year later, the truce was in tatters. New Jersey fired the first shot; among its targets was the New York Mercantile Exchange, which it tried to entice across the Hudson to Jersey City. Piqued New York City officials groused that because of New Jersey's wooing, the city was forced to come up with an extra $30 million to keep the exchange in Manhattan.

 

Next, in January 1994, New Jersey's newly elected Governor, Christine Todd Whitman, and New York's new mayor, Rudolph Giuliani, both Republicans, promised to end the border war. "We're not interested in stealing from each other," Whitman said.

 

But then, in September of that year, in what a deputy of Giuliani's called a "shameless raid," Connecticut lured Swiss Bank Corp. from Manhattan to suburban Stamford with $120 million worth of incentives. 

 

Today, seven years after the first cease-fire, there isn't even a pretense of a truce. The latest poker game revolves around the new home of the New York Stock Exchange. Now in cramped quarters on Wall Street, the exchange has hinted that cheaper New Jersey real estate looks awfully good to it. In a knee-jerk spasm, New York City and State offered $600 million in incentives--more than twice the amount ever offered to keep a company in New York--to keep the exchange in Manhattan.

 

Which brings us to: 

 

Solution No. 1 for ending corporate welfare at the state and local level: the levying of a federal excise tax on incentives. Under this proposal, Congress would enact a law imposing a tax equal to the value of the economic incentives granted to a company. In other words, if New York City and State governments were to give $600 million to the New York Stock Exchange, the Federal Government would hit the stock exchange with a $600 million federal tax. Hence no more value to economic incentives. No more bidding wars among governments. 

 

"You have to make the tax confiscatory, a 100% tax, to take away the incentive," says Arthur J. Rolnick, senior vice president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, Minn. "Then there's no reason for a company to come knocking at your door. Some [public officials] have criticized [this idea], saying, 'We don't want another tax.' And we tell them, 'This is a tax you'll never have to collect.'"

 

The Federal Government has the authority to impose such a tax under the commerce clause of the Constitution, which gives Congress the power "to regulate Commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states."

 

That doesn't mean it would be easy. There would be strong opposition from the corporate-welfare bureaucracy: the tens of thousands of economic-development specialists, consultants, lawyers, accountants, conference planners and others who earn their living by giving away taxpayer dollars. Accounting and consulting firms in particular, says Ohio State Senator Charles Horn, work "both sides of the fence." They help communities dream up incentive programs, then bring them clients to collect the incentives.

 

What happens if Congress lacks the will?

 

Solution No. 2 A lawsuit to have incentives declared unconstitutional. Legal scholars believe the practice violates the Constitution's commerce clause. Indeed, the Supreme Court has said as much in several cases. In 1977, for example, the court struck down a New York law that provided for lower taxes on securities transactions processed by brokers in New York. The state pleaded that it needed the tax break to keep brokerages around. The court didn't buy it. 

 

Even groups that usually oppose federal oversight of local affairs are calling for it in this case. The nonpartisan John Locke Foundation, a libertarian think tank in Raleigh, N.C., is a case in point. "We are a sort of right-of-center conservative organization, and what we are basically arguing is that the Federal Government should intervene," says John Hood, president of the foundation, which is readying a federal lawsuit to challenge state subsidies as violations of interstate commerce. 

 

Hood says it's personally "troublesome" for him to call for a federal solution, but he and others in the foundation have come to believe it's the only way to end state subsidies to favored businesses.

 

Corporate welfare at the state and local level would end if either the Locke Foundation's proposed lawsuit succeeded or Congress accepted the suggestion of the Minneapolis Federal Reserve's Rolnick and enacted an excise tax. But what about all the incentives the Federal Government passes out? Many members of Congress, after all, build their careers on government handouts to corporations, which add up to two weekly paychecks for every working person in America every year. 

 

Solution No. 3 Creation of a special commission that would study federal programs and propose which should be scrapped. That list would go to Congress, which would be forced to vote either to kill or preserve the programs listed.

 

In 1997, Senator John McCain of Arizona, along with other Senators, introduced legislation calling for the creation of an independent federal commission to eliminate "unnecessary and inequitable federal subsidies" to private industry. Both Congress and the President would be required to act on the recommendations of the commission--either by accepting them or rejecting them. "Unless Congress is forced to act to eliminate programs, it will not," McCain noted when he introduced the bill. "Perhaps independent commissions are the only fair way to ensure that neither side is given an advantage to protect its...corporate pork."

 

Of course, any such effort will be greeted with stiff opposition from yet another entrenched bureaucracy. Those are the agencies, departments and special-interest groups that profit from the existing system. There would be a spirited fight led by large corporations to preserve the Exim Bank, the Overseas Private Investment Corp. and the Foreign Sales Corporations, to name just three.

 

Solution No. 4 Shut off the flow of low-cost loans from the Department of Housing and Urban Development that have helped fuel the competition to snag companies. These loans date from the Housing and Community Development Act of 1974 and were aimed at "eliminating slums and blight." Today, TIME has found, HUD loans help bankroll such projects as a waterfront restaurant in Jacksonville, Fla. (it later went out of business), a downtown hotel in Philadelphia and an upscale fashion retailer in Spokane, Wash. In that case, a $24 million HUD loan arranged by the city of Spokane will go to construct a new store and enlarge a parking garage for Nordstrom Inc. 

 

And if these four solutions are rejected? 

 

Solution No. 5 is rooted in what has become the American way of late: sue. That's the course advocated by Dwight D. Brannon, a Dayton, Ohio, lawyer, who is suing state and local officials and a onetime Dayton-based company on behalf of its former workers.

 

The company is Hobart Corp., part of an international conglomerate with sales of $2.4 billion in 1997. Hobart produces commercial equipment for food preparation. Ever since the Great Depression, the company had operated a plant in Dayton. But in 1995, Hobart pulled up stakes and moved 30 miles to the north, to Piqua, Ohio, which offered $2 million in incentives. In July, the company informed its 66 hourly employees in Dayton, many of whom had worked at the plant for years--their average age was 52--that their jobs would be terminated in three days. According to the suit, Hobart staffed the new location with part-time workers--average age 34--from a temporary firm.

 

During a hearing in the lawsuit pending in U.S. District Court in Dayton, the company's lawyer explained it this way: "Every action [Hobart] has taken is motivated by sound economic or operational rationale."

 

Exactly. And until governments figure out a way to end the practice, corporate welfare will flourish.