The Valley Viewpoint

A Valley Viewpoint Narrative

You can learn a lot about a community by watching who shows up to vote when the national spotlight moves on.

Here in the Hudson Valley, we like to think of ourselves as engaged. We care about our towns, our schools, our neighborhoods and the future of the place we call home. But turnout tells a more complicated story, especially when the election is close to home.

In 2020, amid wall-to-wall coverage and a presidential race that seemed to consume every conversation, roughly 64 percent of eligible adults in the Hudson Valley voted. Two years later, when the national attention had faded, turnout fell to 47 percent.

That isn’t a modest dip. It’s a warning.

The pattern is especially troubling among young people. Statewide studies show that 18-year-olds are registering to vote at a rate that trails the pace at which they become eligible. That may look like apathy from a distance. But beneath it is something more consequential: the idea that voting is optional, that someone else will make the decisions, and that local politics has little to do with their lives.

There are signs of interest. When young people are asked whether they would take a class devoted to learning about voting, 40 percent say yes. The curiosity is there. The challenge is helping turn that curiosity into a habit—and showing young people that their voices matter before they reach the ballot box.

Because local elections matter enormously.

Across the region, school board elections can draw turnout in the single digits. Five or ten percent of eligible voters may choose the people who shape school budgets, curriculum, buildings and long-term priorities. Students are among those most affected by those decisions, yet they cannot vote—and too many of the adults who can vote stay home.

Democracy rarely frays all at once. More often, it weakens through quiet withdrawals: “I don’t know enough.” “It’s only a local election.” “My vote won’t change anything.” We convince ourselves that politics happens in Washington, while the decisions closest to our daily lives are made somewhere else.

But here in the Valley, we know where public decisions take shape. They’re made in school districts and town halls, at county meetings and on local ballots. They affect the taxes we pay, the streets we travel, the schools our children attend and the neighborhoods we share.

The danger isn’t that young people might disagree with us. Disagreement is part of democracy. The danger is that they conclude there is no point in participating at all.

When the next generation stops showing up, it gives up a say in the choices that will shape its future. And one day, those young people may ask who drew the lines, set the taxes and chose the priorities.

The answer will be simple: the people who showed up.

That is the quiet lesson of local democracy. It depends on participation, not just when the stakes feel national or the cameras are rolling, but when the ballot is filled with names and questions that may seem ordinary.

Indifference doesn’t build anything. It leaves the field open to whoever is willing to take part.

The future belongs to the people who show up for it.

New Yorkers don’t need another poll to tell them what they already feel when they open a utility bill, pay their property taxes, buy groceries, or try to keep a family afloat.

Life here is getting harder to afford.

A new Marist poll cited by the New York Post found that nearly half of likely voters say they are worse off financially than they were a year ago. Earlier this year, the same poll found that 86% of New Yorkers believe the state is no longer affordable for the average family. Those are not abstract numbers. They describe the pressure families feel every day—and the growing sense that the people running Albany aren’t listening.

Here in the Hudson Valley, we know what that pressure looks like. Property taxes keep climbing. Housing costs push young people away. Small businesses struggle to cover rising expenses. Families are asked to pay more while wondering why the roads, schools, transit, and public safety they depend on don’t seem to improve.

Albany’s answer, too often, is to spend more and promise that someone else will pay for it. The state budget has reached a record $269 billion. Now Gov. Kathy Hochul is signaling that New Yorkers may face more taxes as the state confronts a looming budget gap and pressure to fund new promises.

At some point, the people in charge have to answer a simple question: Where does it end?

The usual response is to blame Washington, Donald Trump, or whatever political villain is most useful that week. Those fights may energize a campaign, but they don’t explain why New York is so expensive, why the state keeps spending at record levels, or why families feel they’re getting less for more.

New York’s problems are made here. They are shaped by decisions made in Albany—and by a political culture that treats every demand from a powerful interest group as another reason to reach into taxpayers’ pockets.

That doesn’t mean every challenge has an easy fix, or that one election will turn things around overnight. But voters deserve a serious debate about the cost of living, the size of government, the quality of public services, and the policies driving people and businesses away.

This Tuesday, New Yorkers will have a chance to decide whether they’re satisfied with the direction of the state. Bruce Blakeman is asking voters to give him that chance. Gov. Hochul is asking them to trust that she can manage the very forces that have made life more expensive on her watch.

The choice is theirs. But voters should look past the campaign noise and ask who made the decisions that brought us here—and who has a credible plan to change course.

Because if Albany keeps raising the bill and delivering less, the state’s decline won’t be a mystery. It will be the predictable result of choices voters either accepted or refused to challenge.

You almost have to read this twice.

A federal judge in Texas is accused of making racially charged remarks to a lawyer appearing before her. Now she has been temporarily barred from handling cases, and a Fifth Circuit committee has ordered her to undergo an independent psychiatric evaluation after concluding there was a reasonable basis to believe a mental condition might interfere with her ability to perform her duties. Judge Ada Brown denies having a mental illness, and the investigation is ongoing. (nypost.com)

But step back for a moment. The person who is supposed to bring order, fairness and impartiality to the courtroom is now at the center of a misconduct inquiry over what she allegedly said from the bench. A lawyer comes before a judge expecting to argue a case—not to become the target of personal and racial accusations from the very person who controls the courtroom.

How does that happen? How does a judge, entrusted with extraordinary power over other people’s lives and livelihoods, lose sight of the basic obligation to treat everyone before the court with dignity? And how many people left that courtroom wondering whether justice had anything to do with what they had just witnessed?

The psychiatric evaluation is a serious step, not a punchline or proof of anything by itself. It must be handled fairly, and the allegations must be examined carefully. But the larger question is impossible to ignore: when concerns this grave arise about a judge’s conduct and ability to serve, who protects the public’s confidence in the court?

A robe does not place anyone above scrutiny. Judges are human, and they deserve due process. But the public is also entitled to expect that the people wielding judicial power can do so with restraint, fairness and basic respect. When the judge becomes the story, the damage reaches far beyond one courtroom.

Public trust rarely disappears all at once. More often, it wears away a little at a time—when decisions made behind closed doors leave the public wondering whether the rules apply equally to everyone.

A recent report about appointments in Brooklyn raises exactly that concern. It says that Judge Lawrence Knipel, formerly the administrative judge of Kings County Supreme Court, made 881 court appointments over three years, assigning guardianships, receiverships, and other fiduciary roles to 25 attorneys. The report also says that many of those attorneys had contributed to political committees connected to his wife, Lori Knipel, a Brooklyn Democratic district leader.

Those facts, if accurately reported, demand a clear accounting. Political contributions do not prove that an appointment was improper. But when lawyers who give to committees tied to a judge’s spouse repeatedly receive valuable court assignments, the public is entitled to ask how those appointments were made, what safeguards were in place, and whether qualified attorneys had a fair chance to compete.

The stakes are especially serious in guardianship cases. Courts may appoint guardians to manage the affairs of people who are elderly or otherwise unable to protect their own interests. That responsibility calls for independence, careful oversight, and confidence that the person appointed earned the role on merit. Even the appearance that political connections could influence those choices can damage that confidence.

New York has spent years debating judicial reform and the influence of party organizations. Yet reform means little if the public cannot see how consequential appointments are made. A process can be lawful and still deserve scrutiny. Transparency is not an accusation; it is how institutions demonstrate that they deserve the public’s trust.

Imagine similar questions arising in a Dutchess County sheriff’s office or an Ulster County town hall. Officials would be pressed to explain the records, the process, and the safeguards. The same standard should apply in Brooklyn. No courthouse should be insulated from ordinary questions simply because its politics are familiar or its power is well established.

The judiciary must be a place where a self-represented litigant, a vulnerable older adult, and every other New Yorker can believe that decisions are made fairly. That belief depends not only on the integrity of individual judges and lawyers, but on procedures that are open enough to withstand public examination.

The people of New York deserve answers: clear appointment criteria, meaningful disclosure, genuine competition, and independent review where warranted. If the process was fair, the records should help show it. If it was not, the public should know that too.

Justice cannot be allowed to look like a family business. The courts—and everyone who depends on them—deserve better.

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.

New York Post
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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.

NYC Comptroller
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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.