The Valley Viewpoint

Judge Kristina Karle may have been worried about a young woman’s life. That concern does not excuse what she did.

After learning that a friend’s daughter was facing arraignment, Karle contacted the court and then texted the judge handling the case. She identified herself as a judge and asked that bail be set so the woman could be held and directed toward treatment. The judge felt uncomfortable, sought ethics advice and withdrew from the case. Both judges reported the contact to the state Commission on Judicial Conduct. 

That was not a harmless expression of concern. It was an attempt to influence a colleague’s decision in a pending criminal case, made on behalf of someone with a personal connection to Karle. And she did it while invoking the authority of her office. The other judge was put in the position of receiving a private request from a fellow judge about what to do with a defendant.

The person facing arraignment deserved a decision based on the law and the facts before the court—not a special intervention from a judge who knew someone connected to her. So did every other defendant who lacked that access.

Karle’s motive may have been compassion. But judges cannot turn compassion into a back-channel appeal for someone they know. Their responsibility is to protect the fairness of the process, especially when emotion makes it tempting to bend the rules. A judge who wants to help can support the family outside the courtroom or direct them to proper resources. She cannot use her position to press another judge to set bail.

The Commission on Judicial Conduct admonished Karle, the lightest public sanction available. It also noted that she reported her own conduct and cooperated with the inquiry. Those facts matter, but they do not make the conduct acceptable. 

A judge’s office is not a private channel for helping friends and family. It is a public trust. When a judge uses the standing of that office to try to shape a colleague’s decision, the damage reaches beyond one case. It tells the public that some people may have a path into the courtroom that others do not.

That is precisely the appearance of unequal justice the rules are meant to prevent.

A Valley Viewpoint Narrative

The New York Post makes a useful point about this year’s midterms: national frustration with Washington does not automatically translate into a Democratic victory everywhere. In a state where Democrats hold power in Albany, voters have their own record to judge—on affordability, public safety, energy costs and the way government responds when people raise hard questions. 

But a campaign argument is only as strong as the evidence behind it. Candidates cannot simply point at high bills or rising anxiety and assume voters will blame the other party. They have to explain what they would change, how they would do it and why their approach would work.

The Sheridan Gorman case, discussed in the Post column, has become part of that debate. Her family’s grief deserves to be treated with care, not reduced to a campaign prop. Their questions about public safety and sanctuary policies also deserve direct answers from candidates. When voters ask where a candidate stands, silence and evasion only deepen distrust.

That standard applies across the ballot. Here in Dutchess County, voters will choose representatives in Congress and the State Legislature, a sheriff, county legislators and local town officials. Those offices shape daily life in ways that a national slogan never can: taxes, roads, public safety, land use and the services families rely on. 

A statewide election may be decided by huge margins in New York City, but the choices made in Dutchess County still matter. A wave—blue or red—is not a substitute for looking closely at the candidates. Who has done the work? Who answers questions plainly? Who understands the people and communities they hope to represent?

Voters can be unhappy with Washington and still question the party running Albany. They can also reject a Republican candidate who asks for their vote without earning their confidence. That is the part of the election no national forecast can settle.

The blue wave may come. It may not. Either way, New Yorkers should make their choice based on the people and policies in front of them—and remember that the local races on the same ballot deserve just as much attention as the contests at the top.

A courtroom can be open to the public and still leave people with only part of the story.

That question is now before the Sixth Circuit. Samantha Hallman says she sought recordings of court proceedings in Oakland County, Michigan, after becoming concerned about how a judge treated her brother during a hearing. Her allegations have not been decided in this lawsuit. The broader issue is whether the First Amendment protects public access to courtroom audio and video, or whether a written transcript is enough.

This question is personal to me. My family’s experience in federal court before Judge Victor Bolden has made me acutely aware of how much can depend on the official record. We have raised serious concerns about the accuracy of transcripts and the difficulty of getting clear answers about what happened in court. I know those are our concerns, and they should be examined on their own record. But the experience taught me that a transcript is not a minor administrative detail. It can shape how a family understands a proceeding, how it can challenge what occurred, and whether anyone outside the courtroom can fairly evaluate it.

A transcript can preserve words. It cannot always capture tone, pauses, or the way an exchange unfolded. Hallman’s lawyer put the tension plainly: “You have a proceeding that is open, transcripts are available, but recordings are secret.” Those missing details may matter when the public is trying to understand how justice was administered.

There are real concerns on the other side. Recordings can expose private information, affect witnesses, or complicate a fair trial. Public access should not mean every proceeding is automatically broadcast or shared without limits. But restrictions should answer a specific need, and courts should explain why less restrictive options would not work.

The legal question is unsettled. The Sixth Circuit has previously rejected a right to courtroom audio in a case where people could attend, obtain a transcript, or seek permission to record. Hallman’s appeal asks whether those alternatives are meaningful when an official recording exists but the public cannot obtain or share it.

My experience has left me wary of asking families simply to trust that the written record tells the whole story. That is not a judgment about the allegations in Hallman’s case, or a claim that every courtroom recording should be released. It is a reminder that transparency matters most when people have reason to question whether the available record is complete.

Courts ask the public to trust the process. That trust is stronger when people can see how the process works—and when the record is sufficient to assess it. A transcript may be part of that record. It should not automatically be treated as the whole of it.

A midterm election can look like a familiar judgment on the party in power: Are people satisfied with the economy? Do they trust the president? Are they ready for a change?

Victor Davis Hanson argues that this election reaches beyond those questions. He sees a deeper conflict over the country’s direction: the role of government, the strength of our institutions, and whether America will preserve the principles that made it exceptional. 

Those questions matter here in Dutchess County, too. Voters will choose representatives in all 25 County Legislature districts. Some of the contested races include Robert Gorman against Trevor Redl in District 1, Anne Burger against Emma Arnoff in District 2, and Tony D’Aquanni against Anna Shah in District 5. Sheriff Kirk Imperati is also on the ballot, though he is unopposed.

The choices extend to state and federal offices. In State Senate District 39, Lisa Kaul faces incumbent Robert Rolison. In the 18th Congressional District, Pat Ryan faces Jackie Mary Auringer. Many voters will also decide town contests, including the Pleasant Valley supervisor race between Meghan Borland and Mary Albrecht, and supervisor races in Dover, Hyde Park, Pine Plains, Town of Poughkeepsie, and Wappinger. 

These races may not draw the same national attention, but their consequences are close to home. County and town leaders make decisions about spending, taxes, public safety, roads, development, and the services residents rely on. We should ask every candidate how they will manage those responsibilities—and whether they will be accountable to the people they represent.

Elections are about more than slogans and personalities. They are a chance to consider what kind of country, state, and county we want to leave to our children: one that rewards work and enterprise, protects individual liberty, and expects government to serve the people.

Some elections carry consequences well beyond Election Day. This one deserves a careful look at the ideas behind the candidates and the future those ideas would create. The ballot is our opportunity to choose that future. Use it thoughtfully.

A Valley Viewpoint Narrative

In today’s America, the gap between what the law promises and how it’s practiced feels wider than ever. We see it in the spectacle of selective prosecution—where the same statute can be a weapon for one man and a shield for another. Justice, we were told, is blind. But lately, she seems to peek through her blindfold to check which party, platform, or paycheck stands before her.

This isn’t just cynicism. It’s the slow corrosion of trust. When citizens start to believe that outcomes depend less on facts and more on affiliations, the very foundation of the rule of law begins to crack. The courthouse steps, once symbols of equality, start to feel like gates to a system where who you are matters more than what is right.

And then there are the judges—the modern-day philosophers of law. Some see their duty as interpreting statutes as written, while others, armed with “living Constitution” logic, seek to shape society through their rulings. The result? A patchwork of precedent where the same law means one thing in one circuit and its opposite in another. Ordinary Americans can be forgiven for asking: how can a nation of laws survive when its meaning shifts with the bench?

Meanwhile, the political class fans the flames. Each side accuses the other of “weaponizing justice,” and the public, exhausted by scandal and spectacle, stops believing in fairness altogether. The tragedy is that in tearing down faith in the system, we may one day wake up to find there’s no system left to defend us.

So yes—the law may be written by legislators and interpreted by judges. But it’s sustained, ultimately, by belief: the belief that justice, even if imperfect, is still worth the fight. Without that faith, all we have left is a stage where power replaces principle.

And maybe that’s the greatest unintended consequence of all: not that our laws are flawed, but that we’ve stopped believing they can rise above the people who enforce them.

A Valley Viewpoint Narrative

New York’s fracking ban is often treated as a settled question. It shouldn’t be. The policy may be more than a decade old, but its consequences are still being felt in the communities that sit above the Marcellus Shale.

A New York Post editorial today points to the contrast between Chemung County, New York, and neighboring Bradford County, Pennsylvania. Both sit above the same natural gas formation. Yet Pennsylvania permits drilling, and Bradford County receives millions of dollars in gas company payments, including royalties to landowners. The editorial also compares economic and social indicators in the two counties. Those differences have more than one cause, but the contrast raises a fair question: What opportunities has New York chosen to leave on the table? 

The argument for lifting the ban isn’t that energy development has no risks. It does. Groundwater, air quality, public health and the character of rural communities deserve serious protection. But those concerns call for strict standards, careful monitoring and honest enforcement. They don’t automatically settle whether New York should permanently prohibit an entire industry while its neighbors allow it to operate.

There is also a contradiction at the heart of the current policy. New Yorkers continue to use natural gas, but the economic activity and many of the benefits of producing it go elsewhere. A ban within our borders does not, by itself, end demand. It can mean that jobs, tax revenue, royalties and energy production move across the state line instead.

Gov. Kathy Hochul has declined to revisit the ban. That may be politically easier than reopening a difficult debate, but it leaves communities in the Southern Tier with little say over an economic opportunity that exists beneath their feet. The people who live there deserve more than to be told that the matter is closed.

New York should take another look—with independent science, strong environmental safeguards and direct input from the affected communities. If the evidence supports keeping the ban, make that case plainly. If responsible development is possible, explain why New York should continue to forgo the jobs and revenue its neighbors are receiving.

A policy should be judged by what it does, not just by the intentions behind it. New York’s fracking ban deserves a fresh, honest accounting.

The Appellate Division’s ruling in the Red Hook Boat Club case is more than a win for the Town Board. It is a failure of judicial scrutiny.

Four judges unanimously upheld the taking, accepting the town’s claim that the property should become a public waterfront park. They gave the Board broad discretion to choose the site and concluded that the club had not proved the decision irrational. That approach leaves the people whose property is being taken with a steep burden—and the government with little reason to fear a searching review. 

The warning signs were laid out years ago in Kelo v. City of New London. Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, joined by Chief Justice Rehnquist and Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas, warned that excessive deference could drain the words “for public use” of their meaning. Justice Thomas, in a separate dissent, argued for a stronger constitutional protection of private property. Their concern was that courts would accept a government’s declaration of public benefit too readily, allowing officials to decide whose property should be taken and why. 

The Red Hook case is not Kelo: the town says it will operate a public park, rather than transfer the land to a private developer. But the deeper warning still applies. A public-use label cannot substitute for judges independently examining whether this particular taking is justified. Here, the judges relied on the town’s stated purpose, its site-selection rationale and its environmental review, while insisting that a court should not second-guess the Board’s choices. 

That is precisely when judges must be careful. Eminent domain is the power to compel an owner to give up property. The courts should demand convincing evidence that the taking is necessary, that alternatives were fairly considered and that the asserted public benefit is more than a convenient justification. Instead, this panel treated the Board’s discretion as the decisive fact.

The ruling may fit comfortably within existing precedent. But precedent is no excuse for judges to abandon their responsibility to enforce the constitutional limit. Scalia and Thomas understood the danger of a “public use” test that turns into “the government says it benefits the public.” The Red Hook judges had the opportunity to take that danger seriously. They chose deference.

That choice weakens the protection private property owners are supposed to have when government comes for their land. A park may be a public good. But a court that barely tests the government’s case risks making the promise of constitutional protection feel like a formality.

New York City has long been considered the economic engine of the Empire State. Its financial institutions, restaurants, hotels, retailers, professional services firms, and countless small businesses have generated the employment, tax revenue, and economic opportunity that sustain not only the five boroughs but much of New York State.

That engine is now showing troubling signs of weakness. And rather than dismissing the warning signs, our elected officials ought to be asking themselves a very uncomfortable question: Have we made New York too expensive and too difficult a place to do business?

According to a report released by New York City Comptroller Mark Levine, the city lost more than 30,000 private-sector jobs in just two months. August saw a decline of approximately 7,400 jobs, followed by another 23,000 in September. Financial services, information technology, hospitality, and other important sectors have experienced significant employment losses.

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These are not simply numbers on a government spreadsheet. They represent working men and women who have lost their livelihoods, families confronting financial uncertainty, and businesses making difficult decisions about their futures.

Perhaps even more concerning is that these losses are occurring while New Yorkers continue to confront some of the highest living and operating costs in the country.

New York City’s annual inflation rate has reached 4.5%. Residential rents have increased more than 5% over the past year, while energy prices have climbed more than 21%. At the same time, the hospitality industry has shed approximately 17,000 jobs over the past twelve months.

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For anyone who has spent a career working with employers, managing payrolls, negotiating employee benefits, and helping organizations remain financially viable, these developments should come as no surprise.

Businesses do not operate in a vacuum. Every additional expense must ultimately be absorbed somewhere. Rising insurance premiums, workers’ compensation costs, payroll taxes, regulatory compliance obligations, utility bills, and labor expenses all affect an employer’s ability to remain competitive.

At some point, the mathematics simply stop working.

And when that happens, businesses respond in predictable ways. They postpone expansion, eliminate positions, reduce hiring, automate operations, relocate functions, or, in the worst cases, close their doors entirely.

The consequences extend far beyond the employer.

When a company eliminates ten positions, ten households lose income. Local restaurants lose customers. Retail establishments lose sales. Municipalities lose tax revenue. And the remaining employees are often asked to shoulder additional responsibilities while worrying about whether their jobs will be next.

This is how economic weakness spreads through a community.

Yet too often, the political response in Albany and New York City is to discuss additional taxes, new employer mandates, and more government intervention.

There is an extraordinary disconnect between the people writing the regulations and the businesses expected to comply with them.

It is relatively easy for elected officials to announce another workplace initiative or employer-funded benefit. It is considerably more difficult for a small business owner to figure out how to pay for it.

And while large corporations may have the resources to absorb additional administrative expenses, small and midsize businesses frequently do not.

These are the employers that make up the backbone of our communities. They sponsor Little League teams, support local charities, employ our neighbors, and provide opportunities for young people entering the workforce.

They are also the businesses least able to absorb another round of rising costs.

To be fair, not every job loss can be attributed to government policy. Changes in consumer spending, technological advances, artificial intelligence, interest rates, and broader economic conditions all play a role. The Comptroller himself cautions that monthly employment figures can be volatile and that it is too early to determine whether the recent declines represent a sustained downturn.

NYC Comptroller

But acknowledging those realities should not become an excuse for ignoring the cumulative burden that government places on employers.

Consider the larger picture.

New York already struggles with affordability. Housing costs are driving families to reconsider where they live. Employers face increasing competition from states offering lower operating costs and more predictable regulatory environments. Meanwhile, younger workers are questioning whether they can build a sustainable future here.

State Comptroller Thomas DiNapoli recently reported that New York City’s retail employment remained more than 14% below its pre-pandemic level in 2025, despite a recovery in consumer spending. That should tell us something about the changing economics of operating a business in New York.

Office of the New York State Comptroller

And while the immediate headlines concern New York City, the Hudson Valley should be paying close attention.

Our regional economy is closely connected to the metropolitan area. Many Hudson Valley residents commute to New York City or work for companies whose financial health depends upon the city’s economic performance. Others are employed by businesses that serve those commuters and their families.

When employment weakens in New York City, the consequences do not necessarily stop at the Bronx or Westchester County line.

They can reach Dutchess, Ulster, Orange, Putnam, and Columbia counties through reduced consumer spending, diminished business confidence, and fewer opportunities for regional growth.

That is why this should concern every taxpayer, employer, and elected official throughout the Hudson Valley.

There is also a fundamental distinction that seems increasingly lost in our political conversations.

Government does not create lasting private-sector prosperity simply by spending more money or expanding its own payroll. Sustainable economic growth depends upon businesses having the confidence and financial capacity to invest, hire, and expand.

The private sector generates the economic activity that makes public services possible. When that foundation weakens, the ability of government to fund its commitments eventually weakens with it.

This is not an argument against reasonable workplace protections, fair wages, or responsible regulation. Those are legitimate public objectives.

It is an argument for recognizing that every policy carries a cost, and that those costs do not disappear simply because government directs someone else to pay them.

Our political leaders should be evaluating proposed legislation not only by its intended benefits but also by its cumulative impact on employment, business investment, and economic competitiveness.

Before imposing another financial obligation on employers, Albany ought to ask how many businesses can realistically afford it.

Before discussing additional taxes, lawmakers should consider whether New York is doing enough to retain the employers already here.

And before celebrating government spending as evidence of economic success, officials should examine whether the private-sector economy is actually growing.

Because the most important measure of economic health is not how much government spends. It is whether businesses are investing, workers are finding meaningful employment, and families can afford to remain in the communities they call home.

New York City losing more than 30,000 private-sector jobs in two months is not proof that the state’s economic policies alone caused the decline. But it is a warning that deserves serious attention.

The danger is that our elected officials will treat this as another temporary statistical fluctuation rather than an opportunity to reconsider the direction of our economic policies.

New York has extraordinary advantages: an educated workforce, world-class institutions, unmatched financial infrastructure, and communities filled with talented, hardworking people.

What it increasingly lacks is an affordable and predictable environment in which businesses can confidently plan for the future.

And that should concern everyone.

Because businesses do not have to remain in New York. They have choices. And when enough of them decide that doing business here no longer makes economic sense, the jobs, investment, and tax revenue leave with them.

The question for Albany is no longer whether New York can afford to become more business-friendly.

It is whether New York can afford not to.

The Empire Center’s latest report exposes a growing divide between government compensation and the financial realities facing Hudson Valley taxpayers.

The Hudson Valley has long been known for its beautiful landscapes, historic communities, and increasingly expensive cost of living. But a newly released report from the Empire Center for Public Policy raises a question that deserves far more attention from taxpayers and elected officials alike: Has public-sector compensation become disconnected from the economic realities facing the people who finance it?

According to the Empire Center’s What They Make 2026 report, local governments throughout the Mid-Hudson region paid approximately $2.91 billion in employee compensation during fiscal year 2025–26. That’s billion, with a B. The region’s 36,128 local government employees earned an average of $80,584, compared with a statewide average of $67,037 for local government workers outside New York City. That places the Hudson Valley second only to Long Island in average municipal compensation.

Even more revealing, nearly one-third of the region’s local government employees earned $100,000 or more. Some 318 employees received compensation exceeding Governor Kathy Hochul’s $250,000 annual salary, and 46 earned more than $300,000. These are not corporate executives managing multinational businesses. These are employees of our counties, towns, cities, and villages. And every dollar ultimately comes from the public.

Consider some of the findings. In the Town of Ramapo, police officer Daniel Hyman was reported as earning $421,338, the second-highest local government compensation in New York State. Several other Ramapo police employees earned between $350,000 and $381,000. In Westchester County, Yonkers led every city in New York State with average employee compensation of $120,425. Ninety-four Yonkers employees earned more than $250,000. Meanwhile, Westchester County employees averaged $100,435, with 46.1 percent earning at least $100,000.

The three highest-paying towns in the entire state were all located here in the Hudson Valley: Ramapo, Orangetown, and New Windsor. Police departments in Clarkstown, Stony Point, and Ramapo reported average compensation approaching or exceeding $190,000.

Now, before anyone accuses me of attacking police officers, firefighters, or other dedicated public servants, let’s establish something important. These individuals perform essential and often dangerous work. They deserve fair compensation, adequate benefits, and the support of the communities they serve. But recognizing the value of public service does not mean abandoning reasonable financial oversight. There is a difference between fairly compensating employees and creating a compensation structure that becomes increasingly difficult for taxpayers to sustain. And that difference deserves scrutiny.

What concerns me most is the widening divide between those whose compensation is supported by taxpayers and those who must compete in the private economy to earn their living. Across the Hudson Valley, small businesses struggle with escalating health insurance premiums, workers’ compensation costs, payroll taxes, commercial rents, and regulatory requirements. Employers face difficult decisions about hiring, wages, and whether they can afford to provide meaningful retirement benefits. Many private-sector employees have seen traditional pensions disappear, replaced by 401(k) plans whose ultimate value depends on market performance and individual contributions.

Meanwhile, many public employees continue to participate in defined-benefit pension systems, supported in part by taxpayer-funded employer contributions. Those benefits represent real economic value beyond the salaries reflected in this report. And therein lies an important distinction. The Empire Center’s figures do not include employer-paid health insurance or pension contributions. The actual cost of employing these individuals is therefore greater than the compensation figures alone suggest.

As someone who has spent much of my professional career managing human resources, employee benefits, compensation programs, and organizational budgets, I understand that competitive compensation is essential to attracting and retaining qualified people. I also understand that compensation must be evaluated against an organization’s ability to pay. In the private sector, that reality is unavoidable. When expenses exceed revenues, employers must make adjustments. Positions may be eliminated. Benefits may be redesigned. Compensation increases may be deferred. In extreme circumstances, businesses close.

Government operates under a different economic model. When labor costs increase, municipalities can seek additional revenue through property taxes, fees, or other public funding sources. Although tax caps and budget constraints impose limits, the financial burden can still be shifted onto residents. For homeowners already struggling with property taxes, that distinction is anything but academic.

The Empire Center reports that local government payrolls in the Mid-Hudson region cost approximately $1,214 per resident, the highest regional figure in New York State. In Westchester County, combined county and municipal payroll costs reached $1,512 per resident. These numbers should command the attention of every town board, county legislator, municipal executive, and taxpayer association throughout the region. And remember, these are payroll figures, not the complete cost of government. They do not account for the full range of municipal operating expenses, infrastructure obligations, debt service, or employee benefit costs.

Yet year after year, taxpayers are told that government budgets are lean, resources are stretched, and additional revenue is necessary to maintain essential services. Perhaps that is true in some circumstances. But before elected officials ask residents to pay more, shouldn’t they first demonstrate that existing compensation arrangements are reasonable, transparent, and financially sustainable? Shouldn’t taxpayers understand how much of these extraordinary earnings results from base salaries, overtime, contractual provisions, accumulated leave payments, or retirement-related payouts?

A $350,000 compensation figure may have a very different explanation depending on its components. That explanation matters. But so does the final cost.

Another issue deserving attention is the structure of public-sector labor negotiations. Unlike private employers, government officials negotiate compensation agreements using money that belongs to someone else: the taxpayer. Public-sector unions understandably advocate for their members. That is their responsibility. But elected officials have an equally important responsibility to represent the financial interests of the communities they serve.

Too often, the long-term consequences of compensation agreements receive less public attention than the immediate political consequences of challenging them. Salary schedules, overtime provisions, longevity payments, retirement incentives, and benefit commitments can create obligations extending years into the future. And those obligations do not disappear when the elected officials who approved them leave office.

This is precisely why transparency must extend beyond publishing salary databases. Taxpayers should be able to understand how compensation agreements are negotiated, how their costs are projected, and whether municipal leaders are evaluating their long-term affordability. Public employment should offer competitive compensation and financial security. It should not become a system in which compensation growth is effectively insulated from the economic pressures experienced by the rest of the community.

Consider the retired couple living on a fixed income in Dutchess County. Or the young family trying to purchase its first home in Ulster County. Or the small-business owner in Orange County deciding whether another employee is financially feasible. Or the longtime Westchester resident wondering whether remaining in the community where they raised their children is still affordable.

These are the people who ultimately carry the burden of government spending. They are not opposed to good schools, safe neighborhoods, effective police departments, or responsive local government. They simply want to know that their money is being managed responsibly. And when they see government compensation figures exceeding $200,000, $300,000, and even $400,000, they are entitled to ask difficult questions. Not because public employees are undeserving. But because public accountability demands it.

There is a danger in allowing this discussion to deteriorate into resentment between public- and private-sector workers. That would miss the point entirely. The real issue is not whether individual employees should accept compensation legitimately earned under their employment agreements. The issue is whether the people responsible for negotiating and approving those agreements are exercising appropriate financial judgment.

Are staffing levels reasonable? Are overtime practices properly managed? Are compensation increases supported by measurable operational needs? Are pension and benefit obligations being evaluated realistically? And perhaps most importantly, are elected officials willing to challenge arrangements that may be politically popular but financially unsustainable?

These are legitimate management questions. They are also legitimate taxpayer questions.

The Hudson Valley is becoming an increasingly difficult place for working families, retirees, and small businesses to afford. Housing costs continue to challenge prospective homeowners. Property taxes remain a substantial burden. Employers face relentless pressure to control expenses while maintaining competitive wages and benefits. Against that backdrop, the Empire Center’s findings should serve as a wake-up call.

We cannot continue to evaluate government compensation in isolation from the financial condition of the communities supporting it. We cannot expect private-sector workers to accept economic uncertainty while treating public-sector compensation commitments as untouchable. And we cannot continue to measure government effectiveness primarily by how much money it spends.

The measure should be the quality of services delivered, the efficiency with which resources are managed, and the value received by the taxpayer.

No one is suggesting that police officers, firefighters, municipal workers, or other public employees should be underpaid. But there must be a reasonable relationship between public compensation and the economic capacity of the public itself.

Public service is an honorable profession. Public compensation is a legitimate expense. But public accountability is not optional.

The Empire Center has provided the numbers. Now it’s time for our elected officials to provide the explanations.

Because in the end, the question isn’t simply what they make.

It’s whether the people paying their salaries can still afford to live here.

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Valley Viewpoint

Source: Empire Center for Public Policy, “What They Make 2026: Mid-Hudson.” Reported figures reflect pensionable earnings and exclude employer-paid fringe benefits.

By Ed Kowalski | Valley Viewpoint

For more than a hundred years, America’s largest law firms have operated under a business model that, quite frankly, most other industries could only dream of.

Hire the best and brightest young attorneys, put them to work for extraordinarily long hours, charge clients substantial hourly fees, and reward the partners at the top with an increasingly generous share of the profits.

It was a pretty good arrangement. At least for the law firms.

But as a recent article in The Economist points out, that century-old business model is undergoing a transformation. And from my perspective, having spent much of my professional career in human resources, corporate management, and risk management, I would suggest that this transformation is long overdue.

What interests me most isn’t simply the impact of artificial intelligence on the legal profession. It’s the fact that an industry that has spent generations advising businesses on how to operate is now being forced to take a hard look at how it operates itself.

And that, I believe, is where the real story begins.

The Billable Hour: A Business Model That Defies Common Sense

Think about this for a moment.

In virtually every other industry, management is expected to find ways to become more efficient. Companies invest in technology, streamline operations, reduce unnecessary costs, and look for ways to deliver better products and services with fewer resources.

That’s what good management is supposed to do.

Yet for decades, the traditional law firm has operated under a system where spending more time on a project often generates more revenue.

An attorney who spends twenty hours researching an issue can potentially bill ten times what another attorney charges for resolving the same issue in two hours.

Where exactly is the incentive for efficiency?

Now, I’m certainly not suggesting that all legal work is the same or that experienced attorneys shouldn’t be compensated for their expertise. Quite the contrary. Good legal counsel can be invaluable, particularly when an organization is facing significant financial, employment, or regulatory exposure.

But there’s a difference between paying for expertise and paying for the time it takes someone to demonstrate that expertise.

And I suspect more corporate clients are beginning to recognize that distinction.

Artificial Intelligence Is About to Change the Rules

Artificial intelligence is already demonstrating that many of the tasks traditionally assigned to junior attorneys can be completed much more quickly with the assistance of technology.

Contract reviews, document analysis, legal research, and the preparation of routine legal materials are all areas where AI is beginning to change the economics of legal services.

Consider the implications.

If a law firm previously assigned several associates to review hundreds of documents over the course of a week, and technology can now assist in completing that work in a matter of hours, what happens to the bill?

More importantly, what happens to the business model that depended on all those billable hours?

That’s the uncomfortable question facing Big Law.

And I would suggest that the answer shouldn’t be to find another way to charge the client the same amount of money.

It should be to recognize that the value of professional services needs to be measured by the quality of the outcome, not simply the number of hours recorded on a timesheet.

The Client Should Come First. Imagine That.

Throughout my career, I’ve worked with outside legal counsel on employment matters, employee benefits, regulatory compliance, litigation, and organizational risk.

I’ve also seen firsthand how quickly legal expenses can accumulate, particularly when multiple attorneys become involved in what initially appeared to be a relatively straightforward matter.

Sometimes that involvement is absolutely necessary.

Other times, you can’t help but wonder whether the process has become more complicated and expensive than the underlying problem warranted.

And therein lies one of the challenges facing the legal profession.

Corporate clients are under enormous pressure to manage costs. Human resources departments, finance executives, and business owners are expected to justify expenditures and demonstrate a return on investment.

Why should outside legal services be treated any differently?

A company retaining legal counsel isn’t looking to purchase fifty hours of someone’s time. It’s looking for an answer, a solution, or protection from a potential liability.

That’s what the client is paying for.

The law firms that understand this will have a significant advantage over those that continue to believe their reputation alone justifies their fees.

There’s Also a People Problem

One aspect of this transformation that I find particularly interesting involves the future development of attorneys themselves.

For generations, large law firms have operated on what is essentially an apprenticeship model.

Young associates spend years conducting research, reviewing documents, drafting agreements, and supporting senior attorneys before developing the experience necessary to handle more complex legal matters.

But what happens when technology begins performing much of that entry-level work?

Where do young attorneys gain their experience?

How does a firm develop its next generation of partners when many of the traditional opportunities to learn the profession are disappearing?

From an HR perspective, this is a significant workforce planning issue.

Technology may eliminate certain tasks, but it doesn’t eliminate the need to develop judgment, professional relationships, negotiating skills, and an understanding of how businesses actually operate.

Those abilities come from experience.

Law firms will need to rethink how they recruit, train, compensate, and develop their people. And they may discover that simply hiring graduates from prestigious law schools isn’t a substitute for having a meaningful professional development strategy.

That’s something corporate America has understood for quite some time.

The Partners May Be the Biggest Obstacle

There’s another issue that deserves attention.

Organizational change is difficult enough under normal circumstances. It’s even more difficult when the individuals responsible for making those changes are the same people who have benefited enormously from the existing system.

And let’s face it, the traditional law firm partnership has been very good to those who reach the top.

Why would a successful equity partner enthusiastically embrace a business model that could reduce the revenue generated by the firm’s associates or require substantial investments in technology and new operating systems?

It’s a legitimate management challenge.

But it’s also one that businesses in other industries have confronted repeatedly.

Successful organizations don’t wait until their existing business model collapses before recognizing the need to change.

They anticipate what’s coming and adapt accordingly.

The legal profession would be wise to do the same.

Good Legal Counsel Will Always Have Value

I don’t believe for a moment that artificial intelligence is going to eliminate the need for talented attorneys.

There will always be a demand for experienced legal professionals who understand complex business transactions, litigation, labor and employment law, regulatory compliance, and the countless legal issues confronting employers and individuals.

In fact, I would argue that the increasing complexity of our regulatory environment makes good legal counsel more important than ever.

But the real value of an attorney isn’t how many hours can be billed.

It’s the ability to understand a client’s problem, exercise sound judgment, identify potential exposure, and recommend a practical course of action.

Having spent years managing organizational risk, I’ve always believed that the best legal advice is often the advice that prevents a problem from becoming litigation in the first place.

Unfortunately, prevention doesn’t always generate the same legal fees as defending a lawsuit.

And perhaps that’s another part of the profession’s economic structure that deserves reconsideration.

A Final Thought

What we’re witnessing in Big Law is really part of a much broader transformation taking place across American business.

Technology is changing how work gets done. Clients and consumers are demanding greater value. Organizations are being forced to reconsider staffing models, compensation structures, and longstanding operating practices.

The legal profession is simply discovering that it isn’t exempt from those pressures.

And while the transformation may be uncomfortable for some of the country’s most prestigious and profitable law firms, I believe it has the potential to produce a better system for everyone involved.

Better use of technology. More transparent pricing. Greater accountability. More efficient delivery of legal services. And perhaps a renewed emphasis on the relationship between an attorney and the client being served.

None of those seem like unreasonable expectations.

For years, attorneys have advised corporate executives that failing to adapt to changing business conditions can expose their organizations to significant risk.

Perhaps it’s time for the legal profession to take some of its own advice.

Because at the end of the day, a law firm is still a business. And no business, regardless of its prestige, history, or profitability, has an unlimited right to operate the way it always has.

The marketplace eventually has the final say.

And Big Law may finally be learning that lesson.

A Valley Viewpoint Narrative

Thirteen girls from Camas High School’s cross-country team reached the starting line and made a choice: they would not pretend the race was fair.

When the gun sounded, they walked away.

The girls were protesting the participation of a Camas athlete who had competed in the boys’ division earlier in the season, then switched to the girls’ division under Washington’s eligibility rules. At the October 13 meet against Battle Ground, roughly half the Camas girls chose not to run. They made their point peacefully, visibly and at real cost to themselves. 

That is not a stunt. It is not hatred. It is a refusal to accept a rule that, in their view, makes a mockery of girls’ competition.

Girls’ sports exist because female athletes deserve a fair field of their own. They deserve the chance to compete for places, recognition and records against other girls. When an athlete who began the season racing in the boys’ division moves into girls’ competition, the girls affected by that decision have every right to ask whether the rules still protect their opportunity.

Instead of answering that question, too many adults reach for labels. They call the girls cruel, intolerant or bigoted. That is an easy way to avoid confronting what the athletes are actually saying: We don’t believe this is fair, and we won’t pretend that it is.

The Camas School District says it must follow state law and Washington Interscholastic Activities Association rules. That explains the policy the school is applying. It does not prove the policy is fair. Rules are written by people, and people can write rules that need to change. 

The girls did not need adults to speak for them. They spoke for themselves. They walked off the course, and the argument followed them into the open.

Now the adults who make the rules—and the voters who will decide Washington’s Initiative 638 on November 3—must answer a basic question: will girls’ sports be organized around protecting female athletes’ fair opportunity, or will girls be expected to accept whatever eligibility policy officials impose and call that fairness? 

Those Camas runners should be heard, not shamed. They stood up for the purpose of girls’ sports, and they did it without violence or intimidation. The adults in charge can disagree with them. But they cannot honestly say the issue has gone away.

The girls walked away from one race. The bigger question is whether the people running the system are willing to face what they were protesting.

Accountability Is Not a Deterrence Campaign

There is a real difference between holding public officials accountable for proven misconduct and warning future public servants that taking a job under the other party could bring them “a ton of problems.” At the University of Chicago, Senator Elissa Slotkin blurred that line herself.

Slotkin said Democrats should pursue a handful of “signature cases” involving what she described as egregious corruption by people who enabled President Trump. That, by itself, is a legitimate subject for debate. No president’s staff should be immune from investigation when there is credible evidence of a crime. Slotkin also acknowledged that cases should focus on particular conduct, not simply on Trump’s political opponents. 

But she went further. She said she wanted the prospect of legal trouble to deter young people from joining the Trump administration. That is the troubling part—not because officials should be shielded from lawful scrutiny, but because prosecution is supposed to respond to evidence of a crime. It should not become a political instrument for making government service under the opposing party seem too dangerous to pursue.

The distinction matters. If a person commits a crime, investigate the evidence, apply the law, and let the process run. If the goal is to make a whole category of prospective employees afraid to serve, the message reaches people who have done nothing wrong. Slotkin’s “deterrence” language was not merely an interpretation imposed by her critics; it was her stated objective. 

That creates an uncomfortable tension with the rest of her appearance. Slotkin called for ethics reforms and safeguards against abuses of power, saying the rules should prevent any president from abusing the system. Those principles matter. But they must apply when the political roles are reversed, too. A democracy cannot defend itself by making criminal investigation sound like a tool for disciplining the other party’s supporters.

Critics have called the remarks a threat of political prosecution. That goes beyond what she explicitly said: Slotkin did not identify specific people to charge, and she framed her proposal around cases of alleged egregious conduct. Still, the concern is grounded in her own words. When a senator says future prosecutions should send a warning to people considering public service, the question is no longer only who might have broken the law. It is whether fear of prosecution is being treated as a political strategy.

Accountability requires evidence, specific charges and due process. Deterrence aimed at a person’s choice to serve a lawful administration risks something else: turning the justice system into a warning sign posted at the door of public service.