If you try to drive… I’ll tax the street
If you try to sit…  I’ll tax your seat
If you get too cold… I’ll tax the heat
If you take a walk… I’ll tax your feet
… Taxman!

-The Beatles

Governor Wes Moore once said raising taxes in Maryland would be a “high bar” for him. After this year’s legislative session, it seems the bar was not merely lowered, it was rolled into a ditch.

In a single session, Moore and his Democrats managed to assemble the most sweeping array of tax increases and new fees in a generation. They taxed your paycheck. They taxed your investments. They taxed your car, your ride-share, your vending machine snack, and your delivery package. They taxed your rental property, your cannabis, and—just for good measure—your next data and IT service invoice. Marylanders can be forgiven for wondering whether they will soon be taxed for breathing air east of Hoye-Crest in Garrett County.

The justification for this assault on taxpayers? A $3 billion budget shortfall. But rather than look inward—at the flabby mass of Maryland’s administrative bureaucracy, its duplicative programs, its gilded agencies—the Moore administration reached, predictably, for the taxpayer’s wallet. 

Not once in this budget cycle did we witness a serious effort to reorganize or reform government. Not one cabinet agency was consolidated. Not one sacred cow slaughtered.

Instead, the General Assembly raised income taxes on so-called “high earners”—code for small business owners, professionals, and retirees who saved a lifetime and now find Maryland penalizing them for their prudence. A 6.5% tax on income over $1 million may sound just to some, but don’t be fooled: when government needs more, that threshold will creep lower.

Capital gains? Now surcharged. Recreational cannabis? Taxed at a rate that would make a bootlegger blush. Even the Maryland Vehicle Emissions Inspection fee—previously a tolerable $14—was doubled, a punishment for the privilege of owning a car. And if you were trying to go green with an electric vehicle, congratulations: the state now charges you up to $182 a year for using fewer fossil fuels. That’s not policy. That’s predation.

All this might be more tolerable if these dollars were dedicated with discipline. Instead, they are poured into an ever-growing web of programs designed less to reform Maryland’s foundations than to cement political coalitions. A taxpayer-funded abortion fund. A reparations commission. A permanent young adult health subsidy. More consultants. More commissions. More bureaucracy.

What’s missing from all of this is the simple, bracing discipline of doing more with less. Maryland’s government has not been right-sized. It has not been restructured. No brave hand has reached into the bloated machinery of state to blare out, “Stop!”

And so, the taxpayer is asked again—and again—to carry the burden of Annapolis’ indulgences. The danger for the Governor and his Democrats in the Legislature is not only in what they’ve done… it’s what they’ll do next. 

Because if, in 2026, Governor Moore’s Democrats return to the citizens of Maryland and ask for more—more taxes, more fees, more patience—they will find none. They will find something else. They will find a voter who is fed up. A business owner who is closing shop. A retiree headed for Delaware. They will find a reckoning.

And when it comes, it will not arrive with a whisper—but with a roar loud enough to shake the marble columns of the Government House.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. is a life-long Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

Kent County is fortunate to have commissioners willing to lead. Let us give credit where it is due: the April 15 meeting called by the Kent County Commissioners was a textbook example of local government doing its job. As Kent County News reporter Will Bontrager chronicled in detail, Commission President Ron Fithian and his colleagues brought state and local officials into the public square and demanded accountability for the bureaucratic paralysis that is choking economic development in the county.

In twenty-seven years of public service, Fithian said he has never seen this level of frustration from constituents. And who could blame them? Contractors cannot build homes, developers are losing deals, and landowners are stuck in limbo—all because they cannot get a simple percolation test, the first step in obtaining a septic permit.

The permitting system is broken. And the Commissioners are saying so out loud.

The commissioners’ leadership in confronting the Kent County Health Department and the Maryland Department of the Environment (MDE) is a welcome change. The Commissioners will demand follow-through, and that is where the real test begins. Because while the commissioners have stepped up, the bureaucratic system beneath them must stop dragging its feet.

As Bontrager reported, Kent County has not had a licensed well-and-septic specialist on staff since June 2023. Meanwhile, MDE inspectors brought in to pick up the slack uncovered missing data, incomplete files, and inadequate recordkeeping going back decades. So yes, protecting groundwater is important—but what about protecting Kent County’s future?

Contrast this mess with what is happening just thirty minutes away in Middletown, Delaware. That once-sleepy town is now Delaware’s fastest-growing area, with a booming population, a thriving U.S. 301 commercial corridor, new housing developments, and even an Amazon fulfillment center. Middletown is attracting investment, families, and opportunities. Kent County, by comparison, is turning people away at the gate.

Builders here are losing business. Homeowners cannot rebuild on their own land. Developers cannot invest, because permits never arrive. A real estate agent testified to an eighteen-month wait for a single perc test—and no answers in sight. Middletown builds; Kent County waits. Middletown adds police forces and infrastructure; Kent County loses revenue and opportunity. Middletown makes growth work. Kent County makes excuses.

We are watching Kent’s economic engine sputter while Delaware accelerates past us. This is not theoretical. It is not a debate over policy. It is happening now—and we are falling behind fast.

To be fair, Health Officer Bill Webb and MDE’s Nony Howell have offered some interim solutions: clearer documentation, office hours for case-by-case issues, and continued state assistance while staffing shortages persist. These are fine first steps—but they are not structural reform. And they will not matter if the culture of delay, confusion, and cover-your-backside recordkeeping is not rooted out.

Bontrager’s reporting made it clear: Kent County residents are not objecting to environmental protections—they are objecting to incompetence. One cannot defend missing files and glacial timelines with appeals to “science.” And one cannot build a county’s future on a system that does not work.

The Commissioners have done their part by shining a light on this disaster. Now the agencies responsible must do theirs—and they must be held to it. Because right now, Kent County is becoming the place where projects die, and investments flee. And unless that changes, we will keep watching our growth, our jobs, and our young people disappear—heading north to a town that knows how to say yes.

The Kent County Commissioners have made it clear: they will not tolerate this dysfunction indefinitely, and if meaningful progress is not made soon, they appear more than willing to pursue stronger, more decisive action to ensure their constituents are not left behind.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. is a life-long Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

When I wrote recently about the case of Abrego Garcia and the appearance of due process shortcomings that surround modern immigration enforcement, a volume of well-meaning comments flooded in, I invited thoughtful comments and criticisms, as the article showed my understanding of this complicated case and the governing law.  Several readers had valid criticisms (see postscript below).  All the comments demonstrated that on every segment of the political spectrum, this is an important issue for all of us to discuss.

Many readers asked some version of this question: “How can the government deport someone without giving them their day in court?”   It is a fair question. 

In the American imagination, due process means a judge, a jury, and a fair fight. But that is not always how it works—especially if you are an undocumented immigrant. The reality is that under laws passed with bipartisan support, and used by both Democratic and Republican administrations, the federal government has the legal authority to deport many people without a hearing before an immigration judge.

The modern framework for immigration enforcement comes from a law signed by President Bill Clinton in 1996: the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act. This law created a process called “expedited removal”, which allows immigration officers—not judges—to summarily deport individuals caught entering the United States without proper documents.

Initially, this power applied only to people arriving at ports of entry or caught within fourteen days of illegal entry. But every president since has either expanded its scope or sustained its use. President George W. Bush broadened it to people found within one hundred miles of the border. President Barack Obama used it selectively while focusing on high priority matters. President Donald Trump has attempted to unleash its full potential, expanding it nationwide to include anyone who could not prove they had been in the United States for two years or more.

In other words, the ability of the executive branch to bypass the courts and deport people on the spot is not a new invention. It is the product of nearly three decades of bipartisan policy.

Critics often ask how this process can be legal under the Constitution’s guarantee of due process. The answer is that non-citizens who have not been lawfully admitted to the United States have fewer constitutional protections, particularly in immigration proceedings, which are civil, not criminal.

Still, expedited removal includes a narrow exception: asylum. If a migrant expresses a demonstrable fear of persecution or torture, they are entitled to (1) a screening by an asylum officer and, if they pass that screening, (2) a full hearing before an immigration judge. But if they do not assert asylum—or do not know to ask for asylum—they may be removed in a matter of hours, without a lawyer or even a phone call.

Some readers might be surprised to learn that this system has not only been used by multiple administrations but has also been upheld as lawful by the federal judiciary. In Make the Road New York v. Wolf, 962 F.3d 612 (D.C. Cir. 2020), the D.C. Circuit Court upheld the Trump administration’s expansion of expedited removal to apply to undocumented immigrants found anywhere in the country who could not prove they had been in the United States for two years. 

The court concluded that the Department of Homeland Security had lawful authority to expand expedited removal under the Immigration and Nationality Act, and that such expansion was not subject to judicial review under the Administrative Procedure Act. Importantly, the court also held that the plaintiffs lacked a valid constitutional claim because individuals who had not been lawfully admitted to the United States do not enjoy full due process rights under the Constitution.

The Supreme Court declined to hear the case, effectively allowing that decision to stand. Thus, the courts affirmed that immigration officers—not judges—may carry out removals in these circumstances, with limited procedural safeguards.

That ruling was consistent with the Supreme Court’s decision just weeks earlier in Department of Homeland Security v. Thuraissigiam, 591 U.S. ___, 140 S. Ct. 1959 (2020). In that case, the Court held that a Sri Lankan asylum seeker apprehended shortly after illegally crossing the border did not have a constitutional right to full habeas corpus review or a judicial hearing before expedited removal.  The Court reasoned that individuals who enter the country unlawfully and have not been admitted do not acquire the kind of legal standing that would entitle them to the full protections of due process. The expedited removal statute, the Court concluded, does not violate the Constitution’s Due Process Clause or Suspension Clause when applied to recent unlawful entrants who lack lawful admission or significant ties to the country.

Taken together, these decisions reinforce a legal reality that many Americans do not fully understand: the federal government may lawfully remove certain undocumented immigrants without a judicial hearing, especially if they have recently entered the country and lack strong legal or physical ties to it.

What we now have is a legal process that permits what most Americans would find antithetical to their values: a system where liberty can be taken without trial, if the person is here illegally and falls within certain enforcement categories.

Whether one believes this system is necessary for border security or an affront to American values, it deserves an honest debate. It is neither accurate nor helpful to throw around accusations of fascism or authoritarianism every time a migrant is deported without a courtroom drama.  At the same time, those who champion strong immigration enforcement must grapple with the moral weight of a due process procedure that operates under Constitutional authority and laws upheld by the courts, which sometimes sacrifice fairness for speed.

If we are to be a nation of laws, we must also be a nation that understands the laws we pass and how they are used.  

Postscript: In the prior article discussing the case of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, I included a paragraph that several readers rightly noted lacked appropriate attribution to accessible public documents. The paragraph read:

“However, this legal sanctuary was not absolute. In June 2020, Immigration Judge Jones apparently vacated the 2019 ruling based on newly submitted derogatory evidence. The court purportedly reinstated the final order of removal to El Salvador. The specifics of this reversal are not detailed in public sources, but the court reportedly held a hearing, considered the evidence, and issued another decision—hallmarks of procedural due process.” 

Mea culpa. This content should not have been included without appropriate references to publicly accessible sources. I regret the error in judgment, and I apologize.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr., is a lifelong Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

If one were to believe Senator Chris Van Hollen, the tale of Kilmar Abrego Garcia is a constitutional melodrama fit for a Frank Capra screenplay—replete with high-minded allusions to liberty and due process, starring the senator himself as the stoic guardian of American ideals. But as with many modern tragedies staged for political theater, the facts—and the law—complicate the narrative.

Let us begin with the constitutional core: due process. The Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments guarantee that no person shall be deprived of “life, liberty, or property without due process of law.” That these guarantees extend to non-citizens is not speculative but judicially affirmed—Yick Wo v. Hopkins and Wong Wing v. United States remain stalwart precedents. And yet, due process is not an amorphous invocation. It is a defined standard, and its contours are best measured by the Supreme Court’s test in Mathews v. Eldridge.

Under Mathews, courts must balance three factors: (1) the individual’s interest affected by official action, (2) the risk of erroneous deprivation under current procedures and the probable value of additional safeguards, and (3) the government’s interest in efficiency and fiscal constraint. The application of this test in immigration matters has been clarified in cases like Landon v. Plasencia, which found that even returning legal residents must receive fundamentally fair exclusion procedures.

So how does Mr. Abrego Garcia fare under this framework? Let us examine the facts and the history of this case.

Kilmar Abrego Garcia, now 29, fled extortion and death threats from Barrio 18 gang members in El Salvador and entered the U.S. illegally around 2011 at age 16. He lived in Maryland for over a decade. In 2018, he moved in with Jennifer Vasquez Sura and her two children in Beltsville, Maryland, after learning she was pregnant.

In 2019, Immigration Judge David M. Jones granted him “withholding of removal” status, concluding there was a “clear probability of future persecution” should he be returned to El Salvador. The court found his testimony credible and documentation substantial. While this protection did not equate to asylum or citizenship, it did block deportation to El Salvador and permitted removal only to a third country willing to receive him. DHS did not appeal, and he received a work permit—living legally in Maryland.

However, this legal sanctuary was not absolute. In June 2020, Immigration Judge Jones apparently vacated the 2019 ruling based on newly submitted derogatory evidence. The court purportedly reinstated the final order of removal to El Salvador. The specifics of this reversal are not detailed in public sources, but the court reportedly held a hearing, considered the evidence, and issued another decision—hallmarks of procedural due process. [Citation: Matter of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, A 206 908 780 (Immigration Court, Baltimore, MD, June 5, 2020). Unpublished, but part of the administrative record reviewed by subsequent courts.]

In 2022, Abrego Garcia was stopped by authorities in Tennessee with eight passengers, all claiming the same Maryland address. Homeland Security suspected human trafficking. A 2019 Prince George’s County Police Gang Unit report identified him as a member of MS-13, and court records documented a history of violent domestic abuse.

On March 12, 2025, Abrego Garcia was detained by ICE outside an Ikea store in Prince George’s County after picking up his 5-year-old son from school. His wife was told to retrieve their son or Child Protective Services would be contacted. According to her, his last words were: “Si fueres fuerte, yo seré fuerte”— “I’ll be strong if you are.” He was not informed of the reason for his arrest.

Under the Trump administration, removal proceedings were reactivated, and Abrego Garcia was deported to Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (CECOT), El Salvador’s notorious mega-prison.

Senator Van Hollen soon boarded a plane to El Salvador, presenting himself as the constitutional conscience of the moment. He claimed Abrego Garcia had been moved to a milder facility in Santa Ana before his arrival and now enjoys a room with a bed and furniture. The senator asserted that the Trump administration had “defied court orders” and “denied one man his Constitutional rights,” casting Abrego Garcia as a civil rights martyr.

The case has since morphed into a confrontation between the judiciary and the executive. U.S. District Judge Paula Xinis and later the Supreme Court ordered the federal government to “facilitate” Abrego Garcia’s return. The Supreme Court has declared that the case must proceed as if Abrego Garcia had never been deported. 

But the practical and diplomatic stalemate remains.  Attorney General Pam Bondi declared that while the U.S. may lift administrative barriers, the final say belongs to El Salvador. El Salvador, under President Nayib Bukele, refused to return Abrego Garcia.

What a mess!

What is disconcerting is not that Senator Van Hollen intervened, but that his compassion appears so asymmetrical. In 2023, Rachel Morin, a Maryland mother of five, was murdered by an illegal immigrant. Her mother, Patty, still awaits a call from the senator.  The White House offered a visual contrast: Van Hollen, seated beside Abrego Garcia in El Salvador; Trump, consoling a grieving Maryland mother. The caption read: “We are not the same.”

The Due Process Clause is not a talisman to be invoked when politically convenient. It is a solemn guarantee, rooted in Anglo-American jurisprudence and clarified by generations of precedent. It applies to all persons—but it does not excuse all behavior.

Mr. Abrego Garcia may be the beneficiary of administrative procedural protections, but he is no martyr. If he is ultimately returned to the United States, let the immigration tribunals adjudicate his claims – once again – in accordance with Mathews and the Supreme Court’s order. But let us not pretend that the judicial process requires judicial sainthood. The Constitution is not a shield for predators, nor a sword for partisans. It is, in the final analysis, a mechanism to ensure that justice—blind, impartial, and dispassionate—prevails.

And if we are to mourn the deprivation of rights, let us begin with American citizens—like the late Rachel Morin, and all the taxpayers who bear the financial and social costs of illegal immigration. They are all too often the forgotten casualties in this politicized pageant.

This is my understanding of the history, facts, and posture of this case as well as the conclusions of law. I welcome all thoughtful commentary and criticisms.

 

It requires a certain species of hubris—rare even among the bureaucratic classes of Annapolis—to imagine that the State of Maryland, which struggles to teach its children to read and fill its potholes on time, is uniquely equipped to rehabilitate a century-old horse racing track and somehow turn it into an economic engine. And yet, here we are: the state has already embarked on a taxpayer-funded effort to revamp the Pimlico Racecourse, sinking public resources into a fading relic in the hope of reviving its former glory.

But that horse has left the barn.

The question now is not whether the state should redevelop Pimlico—it already in progress. The more pressing question, in light of Maryland’s looming multi-billion-dollar structural deficit, is whether the state should continue this quixotic endeavor. The answer is no. It’s time to cut bait, sell the project to a private developer, and let those with the vision, capital, and market discipline to succeed take over.

Let us speak plainly. Horse racing, once the “Sport of Kings,” is now the sport of a niche. The crowds have dwindled, the betting pools have migrated to digital bookmakers, and the cultural cachet of thoroughbred racing, outside of the brief flurry of the Triple Crown, has evaporated like cigar smoke in a stiff breeze. The average Marylander has as much connection to horse racing as he does to the sport of curling, and with considerably less interest. It no longer serves as a public good. It is, at best, a private indulgence.

And yet, the state persists in its delusion that it can restore Pimlico to its former 20th-century glory—not through market forces, but through force of public finance. This is not stewardship. This is a bailout, clothed in the language of tradition and civic pride.

Even if one were to indulge the fiction that Pimlico retains some cultural value to Marylanders at large, one must confront an even more inconvenient truth: it serves virtually no benefit to the people who live around it. The citizens of Baltimore—particularly those in the long-neglected Park Heights neighborhood—do not need horse racing. They do not derive employment from it, nor entertainment, nor any sustained civic benefit. They see, instead, a vast parcel of city land used for a handful of days each year, sealed off the rest of the time, insulated from community needs, and animated chiefly by people who come and go like the horses themselves.

This is not just a poor use of taxpayer dollars. It is a poor use of urban space.

Imagine instead a development vision that actually addressed the public interest: mixed-income housing, green space, athletic fields, small business incubators, medical clinics, cultural venues, and relatable events for the community—not for a roving national set of socialites and bettors. Pimlico, properly reimagined, could become a civic anchor. As it stands, it is an anchor in the more nautical sense: a drag on the city’s forward motion, held in place by the weight of nostalgia and the rope of political inertia.

Meanwhile, we are told that the Preakness generates economic activity. Yes, a burst of temporary revenue. But who profits? Not the local residents. Not the struggling businesses of Park Heights. The primary beneficiaries are the racing industry, visiting elites, and the various vendors who circle the event like camp followers at a traveling circus. That is not economic development. That is pageantry.

And then there is the matter of Maryland’s fiscal reality. The state faces a structural deficit projected to materially worsen over the next five years. Annapolis officials, with straight faces and open palms, are already hinting at the inevitability of new taxes to sustain basic government operations. In such an environment, a $400,000,000 public expenditure on a racetrack is not merely extravagant—it is fiscally grotesque.

Consider what that $400 million could do instead: repair dozens of crumbling schools in Baltimore City; expand broadband access across the rural Eastern Shore and Western Maryland; replenish the state’s depleted transportation trust fund; or invest in behavioral health infrastructure to address the fentanyl crisis. That would be public investment. That would be need-based budgeting. The Pimlico Racetrack project is vanity spending masquerading as vision.

It is the classic conceit of government to believe that because it can spend, it can manage. Running a racetrack is not the business of the state. Managing any enterprise involving marketing, real estate, event production, and private capital is precisely what the state has repeatedly demonstrated it cannot do. A legislature cannot horse-trade its way to a successful business model—though goodness knows it tries.

Let us suppose, for argument’s sake, that horse racing in Baltimore has a future. Let that future be built not by the Annapolis bureaucracy but by private actors who understand the sport and are willing to risk their own capital to see it succeed. A re-privatized Pimlico would live or die on its merits. And if it dies? So be it. That is the wager private enterprise is designed to make. The Preakness can be held at another racetrack.

The state has already done what the government does best: write checks. Now it should do what it rarely has the courage to do—walk away. Sell the property, transfer the risk, and let the market decide Pimlico’s fate. The people of Park Heights—and the taxpayers of Maryland—deserve more than a ceremonial money pit occasionally dressed up in seersucker and mint juleps.

Enough with the politics of nostalgia. Enough with the costly fantasy that government can do what markets will not. If Pimlico is to run again, let it run without taxpayer involvement.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. is a life-long Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

In recent months, with increasing Annapolis-imposed taxes and control over farmland for solar power generation, the call for Maryland’s Eastern Shore to secede from the rest of the state has gained some momentum, especially on social media. Proponents argue that the region’s distinct political, cultural, and economic differences with the more urbanized areas of Maryland make separation an attractive prospect. However, while the notion of secession may sound appealing to some, it is fraught with legal complexities, economic realities, and political barriers that make it highly unlikely, if not a waste of time.

Historically, the Eastern Shore has indeed had a unique identity. Its culture is rooted in Southern traditions, a vestige of Maryland’s once-Southern character, distinct from the more Northeastern influences that have shaped the Western Shore’s metropolitan areas. This divergence has often fueled talk of secession, harkening back to 1833 when a proposal to integrate the Eastern Shore into Delaware narrowly failed in the Maryland Senate. 

As recently as 1998, legendary Eastern Shore legislator Richard F. Colburn revived the idea of a referendum to allow the Shore to secede and possibly form a new state, “Delmarva.” While these initiatives generated some headlines, they have never come to fruition, and it’s unlikely they ever will.

My fellow Shoremen, to secede from Maryland and either join another state or form a new one, the Eastern Shore would have to navigate a series of legal challenges that make this pursuit appear more fantasy than feasible. The U.S. Constitution makes clear that no new state can be created from the territory of an existing state without the approval of both the state legislature and Congress (Article IV, Section 3). This means that even if Maryland’s General Assembly approved such a move, Congress would also have to approve the formation of a new state—a process fraught with political wrangling and uncertainty.

Beyond the legislative approval, the U.S. Supreme Court has already ruled on secession in the aftermath of the Civil War. In the 1869 case Texas v. White, the Court declared that secession was unconstitutional, reinforcing the idea that no state, or part of a state, can unilaterally break away from the Union. Legal challenges are virtually certain if the Eastern Shore were to pursue secession, and it’s highly probable that the courts would not favor this movement.

Even if the legal hurdles could somehow be overcome, the economic implications of secession would be dire. The Eastern Shore relies heavily on state and federal funding for everything from infrastructure to education and social services. If the region were to sever ties with Maryland, it would be responsible for managing its own services and public goods—an enormous financial burden for a region that, while rich in natural beauty and agriculture, does not have the same economic resources as the state’s larger urban areas.

Moreover, Maryland’s Eastern Shore is not a standalone economic powerhouse. It benefits from its connections to the state, particularly in areas such as agriculture, tourism, and fisheries. If the Shore were to become independent or align with another state, it could lose access to state funding, federal grants, and critical partnerships that support its economy. While some proponents of secession envision creating a self-sustaining, independent state, this vision fails to account for the financial realities of managing an entire state without the support structures Maryland currently provides.

Perhaps the greatest obstacle to secession, however, is political. The Eastern Shore, with a population of roughly 600,000 people, represents a small fraction of Maryland’s total population. The state’s urban centers, particularly in Baltimore and the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area, hold much more political influence. Any proposal for secession would face immense opposition from lawmakers representing these more populous areas, who would be reluctant to relinquish valuable territory and resources.

In addition, the broader Maryland electorate would likely resist such a move. While the Eastern Shore’s residents may feel disconnected from the state’s urban centers, the rest of Maryland has its own interests to protect, and the separation of the Shore would cause significant disruption to the state’s economic and political systems. It is hard to imagine that enough support could be mustered, either in the state legislature or among voters, to approve such a drastic change.

Instead of pursuing a doomed effort to secede, the Eastern Shore could explore more practical solutions for achieving greater political and economic autonomy. One possibility would be to push for a form of regional governance that grants the Shore greater control over its own affairs without the need for full secession. This could involve expanded home rule powers, similar to those held by larger counties like Montgomery or Prince George’s, which would allow the Eastern Shore to make more decisions locally, such as on zoning, taxation, and infrastructure.

Another potential path could be the creation of an “Enterprise Zone” for the Shore, which would offer tax incentives and regulatory flexibility to boost local businesses. This approach could foster economic growth without the significant disruptions and legal battles associated with secession.

In the end, while the idea of Eastern Shore secession may reflect a sense of political and cultural frustration, the practical reality is that it is highly unlikely to succeed. The legal, economic, and political obstacles are simply too great to overcome. 

Rather than pursuing an unattainable and unrealistic dream of independence, the Eastern Shore should focus on more feasible ways to increase its autonomy and influence within Maryland. Attempts at secession are, at best, a distraction, and at worst, a foolish folly that will only serve to divide the region from the rest of the state without offering any tangible benefits.

 

There is nothing noble about state officials stripping rural counties of their land use authority in the name of green climate policy and placing a heavy boot on the farming communities’ neck. In Maryland, the script is being written by urban Democrats who have never held a seed in their hand or watched a storm roll across a field with the worry of a yield hanging in the balance. Their latest affront is a legislative land grab cloaked in green virtue: the pre-emption of local zoning laws to ram through utility-scale solar farms, directed not by elected county governments, but by the unelected and unaccountable Maryland Public Service Commission.

This, dear reader, is not policy – it is plunder.

In the song “Where Corn Don’t Grow,” Waylon Jennings warned us about the mirage of easy progress, where the “weeds are high where corn don’t grow.” In Maryland, we are sowing weeds indeed. 

Urban legislators, intoxicated by climate platitudes and federal subsidies, have decided that Maryland’s breadbasket—the Eastern Shore—must become their energy pantry. Our farmland, cultivated through generations of grit and stewardship, is now being commodified by climate czars and solar salesmen with hundreds of millions to spend, aided and abetted by none other than Senate President Bill Ferguson, who moonlights—as luck would have it—as legal counsel for a solar company.

Scandalous? Only if you still believe Annapolis is anything but a racket.

Let us not beat about the bush. This is a systematic undermining of local control by urban politicians who believe virtue-signaling from a rowhouse stoop in Baltimore entitles them to dictate land use on the Eastern Shore. 

House Bill 1036 and Senate Bill 931 are nothing short of a war declaration against rural Maryland. Under these bills, the Public Service Commission—an entity whose members earn over $207,000 per year and answer only to the Governor at the end of their terms—has been legislatively given carte blanche to preempt county zoning, effectively deciding where solar arrays may sprout like so many metallic weeds.  

The urban progressives claim they need 18,000 to 30,000 acres for solar. But they’ve seized the authority to control far more—5% of all Priority Preservation Area farmland, which in Caroline County alone equals 8,800 acres. Across the Shore? Tens of thousands of acres. 

Meanwhile, a state bill to prohibit solar eminent domain was not only killed—it was opposed by the Maryland Energy Administration. The solar energy companies are offering seductively obscene high prices for leasing farmland – amounts that farmers will find hard to refuse and with no fear that local county governments can enforce their zoning laws or comprehensive plans.  

Connect the dots.  This is neither a compromise nor true freedom of choice. This is conquest.

What makes this all the more galling is that these solar fields are not even efficient. As I have stated in a prior article, “Maryland is not green; Maryland is irresponsible”. We’re racing to meet abstract arbitrary climate benchmarks, gutting food-producing land in the process, while refusing to require that solar installations first cover impervious surfaces, parking lots, rooftops, and brownfields—the very spaces urban Maryland controls in abundance. Why? Because it’s easier—and more profitable—to dump solar arrays in Dorchester County than in downtown Baltimore or Silver Spring.

The urban progressives lecture us rural Marylanders about climate justice while quietly dismantling the foundation of food security. One 216-acre solar project in Millington (a town in Kent County for those of you in the urban areas that have no idea about the real Eastern Shore) has already taken 2 million pounds of corn and over a million pounds of wheat and soybeans off the market. Multiply that by 25. Then by nine counties. This is not environmentalism – it is scorched-earth policy wrapped in silicon.

And who is at the center of it all? One such person is Senate President Bill Ferguson. But his fingerprints are all over more than just land policy.

Ferguson has made a habit of advancing legislation that creates a crisis and then proposing government-funded solutions that deepen it. His support for a law allowing utility companies to lock in multi-year rate plans has helped drive a wave of energy price hikes now hitting working families across the state. Households already struggling under inflation are now facing punishing power bills—with little relief in sight.

Instead of reversing course, Ferguson is championing the use of taxpayer funds to send out “rebate checks” to help cover these rising utility costs. But these are the very costs his policy helped create. And the money for those checks? It’s coming straight from a state’s taxpayer funded budget that’s already hemorrhaging money.

Maryland is facing a staggering $3.3 billion budget shortfall. Federal aid that was once promised—such as the $418 million intended for education—has been yanked back, leaving school systems in disarray. Temporary pandemic funding has dried up, and the positions it once paid for—teachers, mental health professionals, construction workers—are vanishing. The state is now scrambling to paper over holes it helped permanently punch into the fiscal wall.

This isn’t crisis management. It’s a cycle of dysfunction dressed up as public service.

And Ferguson isn’t alone. Delegate Brian Crosby played a role in enabling these utility rate hikes, while Delegate CT Wilson has routinely backed legislation that weakens transparency and circumvents local accountability. They are not governing—they are insulating themselves from the consequences of their own votes, all while feeding the narrative that they are “fixing” what they have broken.

Caroline County Commissioner Larry Porter said it plainly in a recent social media post: “If only 2% of farmland is needed, why take 5%?” Why would Annapolis progressives gut our preservation programs and preempt local zoning ordinances for solar developers? Why override rural voices? The answer: Because they can… and because they believe us “hayseeds” on the Shore will not notice.

But we do notice. We are from the Eastern Shore, but we are not stupid.  We know more than we say, think more than we speak, and notice more than the urban progressives realize. We see how the very people engineering the budget crisis are now asking for applause because they offer momentary relief. We see how Annapolis insiders treat the Eastern Shore not as a region of equal citizens, but as an extraction zone for urban fantasies.

Jay Falstad, the Executive Director of the Queen Anne’s Conservation Association, in a recent social media post, put it best: “Solar panels are not agriculture, and they do not belong on agricultural land.” This is not rural resistance. This is common sense.

And where is Governor Wes Moore in all this?  Silent – as usual – above the fray and unwilling to offend the powerful. But the people of Maryland are paying the high price—for their power bills, their classrooms, and their property.

Let’s be very clear: the budget crisis is not just an abstract number. It’s affecting our schools, our energy bills, and our state’s fiscal credibility. The same insiders who caused the crisis now want to be seen as saviors. And unless Maryland voters demand a reckoning, this cycle of ruin will continue.

Speaking of fiscal credibility, I wonder if the Wall Street bond rating agencies know about the State’s unfunded liability of the many brewing Maryland detention abuse cases.  This looming liability will be measured in billions of dollars and is something I bet was not disclosed to Wall Street.  But do not pay attention to this my Eastern Shore readers, for the progressive urbanites are telling us, “All is well and there is nothing to see here”.  I bet you that due to this progressive government’s malpractice, Maryland’s bond rating will be downgraded, and within 12 months your taxes will be further upgraded.  

Just like the “green agenda” energy crisis, this is another expensive problem created by the progressive Democrat supermajority and the silent sidelined Governor.  Who doubts me?

Because “where corn don’t grow”, weeds take root. Weeds like cronyism, cynicism, and centralized power.

And if Maryland keeps letting urban bureaucrats decide what grows on its farmland—both literally and politically—then the next thing to die will not be crops.  It’ll be the Eastern Shore’s local freedoms.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. is a life-long Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

 

One of my more inquisitive readers recently posed a question in the comments section, dripping with the sort of presumption that so often accompanies political discourse: “Can’t help wondering how Mr. Mitchell would propose to solve the $3 billion structural deficit that actually accrued under former Governor Hogan’s leadership?” I am, of course, compelled to reject the premise. Governor Hogan did not bequeath a deficit but rather departed Annapolis leaving behind a $5 billion surplus—a fact so indisputable that even Governor Moore, upon assuming office in January 2023, acknowledged Maryland’s “fortunate” financial standing. That this fiscal windfall has since deteriorated into crisis is a testament not to Hogan’s stewardship, but to the profligacy of those who followed.

If I was to write a full response on how I would propose to solve the $3 billion deficit, it would consume many hundreds of pages.  Instead, I shall offer just a few examples:

There is, to put it bluntly, something profoundly disturbing about a government so enamored with its own bureaucratic sprawl that it cannot so much as glance at its own expenditures without encountering redundancies thick enough to blot out the very sun of fiscal prudence. Maryland, the Old Line State, has become the Overlapping Line State, where agencies duplicate the functions of other agencies, where tax dollars hemorrhage in the service of inefficiency, and where reform is spoken of wistfully but never enacted. This condition is neither natural nor necessary. It is the predictable consequence of a government whose appetite for expansion exceeds its capacity for discipline.

One needs only to examine Maryland’s workforce development programs to appreciate the wastefulness of the current system. Here we have the Maryland Department of Labor overseeing job training, while the Maryland Department of Commerce, for reasons known only to the bureaucratic mind, also administers its own workforce grants. As if that were insufficient, the Maryland Higher Education Commission and local workforce boards run parallel efforts, their mandates overlapping like poorly laid shingles on an already leaking roof. 

The result? Administrative redundancy, programmatic inefficiency, and, worst of all, a workforce no better prepared than if a single competent entity had overseen the effort.

But let us not stop there. Consider the confounding patchwork of Maryland’s economic development initiatives, where no fewer than three separate entities—the Maryland Department of Commerce, TEDCO, and a constellation of county development offices—each claim to be the indispensable engine of business growth. Yet, despite their myriad grants, incentives, and tax credits, one struggles to discern a clear, unified strategy. Instead, what emerges is a bureaucratic hydra, each head snapping at the same objectives with little regard for coordination, let alone efficiency.

The absurdity extends to public safety, where law enforcement agencies multiply like rabbits under a full moon. Maryland State Police patrol the highways while the Maryland Transit Administration (MTA) Police patrol the railways—both under state authority yet functioning as distinct entities. Meanwhile, the Natural Resources Police conduct enforcement that, in many instances, overlaps with existing state and local law enforcement efforts. To the bureaucrat, this fragmentation is a virtue—a testament to the government’s commitment to public safety. To the taxpayer, it is an unmitigated scam, a fiscal sinkhole in which precious resources are lost in the abyss of administrative fiefdoms.

Health and social services are no better. Marylanders must navigate an array of agencies—the Maryland Department of Health, the Department of Human Services, and the Maryland Health Benefit Exchange—each overseeing different, yet eerily similar, programs. Medicaid, food assistance, and housing support are administered not through a streamlined and cohesive system, but through an obstacle course of redundant offices, each armed with its own budget and bureaucratic prerogatives. That this inefficiency persists in a state so heavily taxed is an affront to reason.

The same could be said of early childhood education, where MSDE, the Department of Human Services, and county-level agencies each assert dominion over pre-K and childcare subsidies. And yet, despite this bureaucratic overabundance, no one could seriously argue that Maryland’s educational outcomes justify the labyrinthine complexity. If anything, the confusion serves only to exacerbate inequality, as parents struggle to decipher which agency, which program, which level of government, will deliver the services their children need.

Beyond bureaucratic redundancy, Maryland is also burdened by a host of government-funded programs that would be far better suited for privatization or outright elimination. Consider Maryland Public Television (MPT) and the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra (BSO) – both entities that, while culturally valuable, should operate independently of state funding, sustained instead by private donations and sponsorships.

In particular, MPT is often defended on the grounds that it provides vital educational programming such as Sesame Street. Yet, this argument crumbles under scrutiny. Sesame Street is not a public service; it is a commercial enterprise. Sesame Workshop, the organization behind Sesame Street, generates enormous revenue through licensing and merchandising. 

In 2004, more than 68% of Sesame Street’s revenue came from toy and clothing sales. By 2005, licensing and international co-productions generated $96 million annually. Between 2008 and 2019, Sesame Street Muppets raked in $15 to $17 million per year in merchandising fees, with proceeds split between Sesame Workshop and The Jim Henson Company. In 2018, Sesame Workshop’s largest revenue source was royalties and distribution fees, totaling $52.9 million. This is not a struggling nonprofit in need of government assistance; this is a multimillion-dollar brand with extensive private sector backing.

Maryland taxpayers should not be forced to subsidize what is, in effect, a free advertisement for Sesame Street merchandise. If MPT provides value, let it prove so in the free market. There is no compelling reason why it cannot sustain itself through private sponsorships, viewer donations, and corporate underwriting, just as countless other media organizations do.

The same logic applies to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra (BSO). This is an organization that provides entertainment to an insular audience of citizens—a cultural function, not an essential public service. The BSO has received repeated taxpayer-funded bailouts despite its ability to generate revenue from ticket sales, private sponsorships, and philanthropy. 

Adding insult to injury, the salaries of BSO’s top executives further illustrate why public subsidies are unnecessary. For example, in 2021, the BSO’s President and CEO earned over $400,000 (more than the Governor), and other high-ranking executives commanded six-figure salaries. If the organization can afford to pay its leadership handsomely, it should also be able to figure out how to operate without dipping into the taxpayer’s pocket.

These are but a few examples of where Maryland could implement cost-cutting and privatization reforms. The opportunities do not end here. With new AI tools rapidly advancing, many ministerial duties currently performed by state employees could be automated. 

For instance, processing permits and licenses, a task that consumes countless hours of government labor, could be handled by AI-driven systems that review applications, check compliance, and issue approvals within minutes. Similarly, document classification and retrieval in legal and regulatory offices could be streamlined through AI-powered databases, eliminating the need for redundant clerical work and freeing up human resources for higher-value tasks.

These reforms, privatizations, and cost-cutting measures must be enacted before state leaders come back to the well in the 2026 Session, demanding more from Maryland taxpayers. The burden should not continually fall on citizens’ wallets when there is ample room for restructuring government operations to operate more efficiently and responsibly.

I have written before, in Fiscal Reform for Maryland, that the state’s budgetary trajectory is unsustainable. A government that fails to trim the fat will, in due course, find itself feasting on the substance of its people. Maryland must resist this course. What is needed is a top-down reorganization—one that consolidates workforce programs, eliminates redundant business incentives, streamlines law enforcement, and centralizes social services. The principles are simple: one agency per function, coordination instead of duplication, and efficiency over empire-building.  

Governor Marvin Mandel reformed and re-organized the state’s government over 50 years ago without the aid of computers or artificial intelligence and in an era where there were no departments and over sprawling 240 agencies.  Certainly, we can now reform state government, make efficiencies, and bring forth a working bureaucracy for the 21st century.

The time for half-measures has passed. If Maryland wishes to retain even a semblance of fiscal responsibility, it must rein in its bureaucratic excess. Let those who resist such reform be reminded: a government that exists to serve itself ceases to serve the people. And a government that ceases to serve the people is one that, sooner or later, the people will cease to support.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr., is a lifelong Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and the former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals. He is also the co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast, which discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

 

The moral imagination of Maryland’s governing class has suffered an embarrassing decline, leaving us with a legislature that has confused deception for discipline, cost shifting for cost cutting, and fiscal smoke and mirrors for sound governance. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the Budget Reconciliation and Financing Act (BRFA) of 2025, a piece of fiscal trickery that Governor Wes Moore and his allies in the legislature would like you to believe represents responsible budget trimming.

Thanks to the reporting by David M. Higgins, II, in the Southern Maryland Chronicle, we have a clearer picture of what is really transpiring in Annapolis. The state, staring down a staggering $3.3 billion shortfall, has opted for the path of least resistance: shifting financial burdens onto county governments while simultaneously engineering a tax grab that would make even the most committed Keynesian blush.

Maryland’s counties are being handed the privilege of plugging the state’s budget holes, courtesy of new unfunded mandates. The partial shift of teacher pension costs—initially proposed at $195.5 million but mercifully whittled down to $97.7 million—remains a significant encumbrance on counties that have no say in pension policy. Meanwhile, counties are now forced to pay 90% of the State Department of Assessments and Taxation’s (SDAT) $21.2 million annual cost, a program they do not control but upon which their property tax revenues depend. If there were a contest for the most cynical example of cost shifting, this might win it.

But wait… there’s more! Governor Moore and his legislative enablers have decided that counties should also foot half the bill for wrongful incarceration compensation settlements. This bill is measured in billions of dollars. 

It seems we have reached a point where the state can create obligations and then outsource the financial responsibility—an arrangement that would make any private-sector accountant recoil in horror.

As Higgins has reported, the Maryland Association of Counties (MACo) has rightly raised alarms over these fiscal acrobatics. Counties already contribute $1.4 billion more to public school funding than required under the Blueprint for Maryland’s Future, a shortfall exacerbated by state underfunding of special education and student transportation. That the state continues to lean on counties to shoulder even greater burdens is an admission of its own budgetary incompetence.

For those in Annapolis, the word “cut” seems to have lost all meaning. This is not budgetary restraint—it is a calculated effort to offload expenses onto local governments while maintaining the illusion that state spending has been prudently managed. Governor Moore is not reducing the size of government; he is merely hiding its growth by pushing the bill elsewhere.

Of course, no discussion of the BRFA would be complete without acknowledging the latest assault on Maryland taxpayers. With surgical precision, the state has carved out new revenue streams, each more insidious than the last. The 6.25% income tax rate for earnings between $500,001 and $1 million, coupled with a 6.5% rate above $1 million, is expected to drain $344 million from the private sector. The 2% capital gains surcharge? Another $367 million extracted from investors and entrepreneurs. Then, there’s the 3% sales tax on data and IT services, set to pull in a staggering $497 million—because nothing says “business-friendly” like new taxes on innovation and technology.

But wait—there’s even more! Increased vehicle excise taxes, doubled titling fees, surging registration fees, and an escalating cannabis sales tax round out this exhaustive menu of revenue grabs. It is a tax-and-spend bonanza that would make even the most avowed redistributionist beam with pride.

The Annapolis progressive elites have attempted to sell this package as a balanced, thoughtful approach to governance. They tout their supposed budget cuts as evidence of prudence. Yet, as Higgins’ reporting makes clear, these are not cuts. These are liabilities dressed up as savings, costs shifted downward so that Annapolis can pretend to be fiscally responsible while counties are left to either raise property taxes or slash essential services.

In the end, this is a story as old as government itself: the state expands, the burden increases, and the citizens—whether directly or through their local governments—are left holding the bag. Governor Moore and his allies will no doubt continue their rhetorical tap dance, assuring Marylanders that they are the responsible stewards of taxpayer money. But make no mistake: what they have produced is not fiscal discipline. It is an exercise in obfuscation, a cleverly packaged con that attempts to disguise tax hikes and spending shifts as responsible governance.

One can only hope that Marylanders—particularly those at the county level—recognize the deception for what it is. The legislature may be able to shuffle costs around, but it cannot change the fundamental reality: state government has failed in its duty to live within its means, and it is the taxpayers who will ultimately pay the price.

But hey, at least Annapolis gets to pretend it’s fiscally responsible for another year.

 

In the shadowed corridors of Annapolis, where budget discussions echo like the whispers of palace intrigue, Governor Wes Moore remains conspicuously absent. While legislative leaders, hands wringing and brows furrowed, haggle over Maryland’s spiraling fiscal woes, the governor has chosen to divert his gaze to the distant horizons of national prominence. It is a curious thing: when Marylanders require leadership most, their governor appears more interested in cementing a political brand than in confronting the financial crisis unfolding under his watch.

Gary Collins, of WBFF FOX 45, has aptly chronicled Moore’s national escapades—whether it be the gilded Gridiron Dinner in Washington or a leisurely Sunday appearance on “Face the Nation.” These engagements may flatter his ambitions, but they do little to assuage the anxieties of Marylanders who see their tax burden poised for yet another precipitous climb. 

Collins has been particularly diligent in exposing the administration’s reluctance to engage with local media on pressing financial issues, highlighting Moore’s preference for national exposure over state-level accountability. And climb it will, regardless of the semantic pirouettes performed by legislative leaders. Whether labeled a “business-to-business tax” or a “sales tax on some services,” Marylanders will soon feel the cold hand of government extracting more from their pockets.

Senate President Bill Ferguson assures us that we are “very, very close” to a budget framework. But to what end? The process is taking longer than usual, deadlines have come and gone, and the only certainty is that the taxpayers will foot the bill for the incompetence of single-party rule. 

The deficit has metastasized from a surplus of $5 billion to a shortfall of $3.3 billion—an astonishing reversal in just a short period of time. The Senate Minority Leader, Steve Hershey, sees this predicament with clarity: Maryland’s overreliance on federal largesse has left it vulnerable to the slightest tremors in Washington. The pattern is undeniable: crisis, federal bailouts, and an utter refusal to heed the warnings of fiscal reality.

Yet Governor Moore, despite his repeated assertions that he is “working very closely” with lawmakers, has done little to clarify his stance on the tax proposals currently under discussion. As Collins reported, Moore has declared that a broad business-to-business tax is off the table, but only in the sense that it must be accompanied by a broader tax on consumers and individual taxpayers. This is the governing equivalent of promising to hit the taxpayer with a left hook rather than a right. 

One imagines the Maryland Chamber of Commerce nodding along grimly, understanding that the distinction is largely academic. As Mary D. Kane, President of the Chamber, succinctly put it, “It’s the same problem in different packaging.”

Senator Hershey’s analysis is equally unflinching: Maryland cannot tax its way out of this deficit. Yet that is precisely what legislative leaders are attempting, while Governor Moore offers no resistance. Instead, he indulges in rhetorical hedging, allowing the legislature to move forward with tax increases while preserving a fig leaf of plausible deniability. The message is clear: he may not lead the charge, but he certainly won’t stand in the way.

Senator Justin Ready has articulated the frustration many Marylanders feel, noting that Moore seems more interested in “decisions he’s not making” than those he is. Del. Mark Fisher, never one to mince words, went so far as to accuse Moore of “ignoring Maryland” in favor of his national ambitions. Collins’ reporting underscores this sentiment, documenting Moore’s repeated absences from key budget discussions and his conspicuous silence on looming tax hikes. The governor’s office, when pressed, offered a response so perfunctory as to be insulting—boasting of in-state visits that do nothing to address the gaping chasm in the state’s budget.

It is telling that even as Moore decries the economic consequences of Trump’s tariff policies, his own administration is unable to substantiate the claim that Maryland’s port is suffering. On the contrary, recent data indicates an increase in car and container traffic. It is a curious thing, this compulsion to deflect blame to Washington, even when the facts are uncooperative. But in the absence of decisive leadership, misdirection becomes the next best strategy.

Tyrone Keys, a financial services and real estate expert, has cut through the smokescreen with admirable concision: “We can’t afford anymore.” And that, ultimately, is the reality that eludes Moore and his legislative allies. Marylanders are not an inexhaustible source of revenue. They cannot perpetually absorb the cost of government mismanagement. And they are right to ask: where is our governor?

If Moore harbors aspirations for higher office, he might consider that competent governance is the surest path to political viability. As things stand, his tenure is becoming an exercise in abdication—one where fiscal calamity looms, tax burdens rise, and Maryland’s governor is nowhere to be found.