Morris: An Arne Carlson email missed its mark but not the message

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Former Gov. Arne Carlson is a man of letters — literally. Like many Minnesotans, I didn’t exactly subscribe, but somehow I’ve joined the distribution list for his regular political dispatches. They arrive unfiltered and are often unforgettable. If Minnesota had a Substack for retired statesmen, Carlson would own the franchise.

A particularly spicy installment landed in my inbox last week. It was addressed, ostensibly, to State Auditor Julie Blaha, and several people were cc’d. But Carlson’s “public letter” never actually reached Blaha. That’s because he addressed it to a Judy Blaha — perhaps conflating Blaha’s name with that of the state’s legislative auditor, Judy Randall. The two auditing roles have different functions. According to public records, there is no Judy Blaha in state government.

All that aside, however, Carlson’s complaint matters. He was state auditor himself from 1979 to 1991. He’s worried that Minnesota’s watchdogs are asleep — or, worse, have gone missing.

At the center of his latest missive is the minor brouhaha around Minneapolis City Council Member Jeremiah Ellison, who accepted a prestigious yearlong Loeb Fellowship at Harvard. The fellowship is aimed at midcareer professionals “who are shaping the built and natural environment.” Ellison, who is not seeking re-election, has spent much of the year in Boston while continuing to serve on the council, raising some eyebrows back home. Seats on the Minneapolis City Council are full-time roles paying around $110,000 a year. Carlson calls Ellison’s move “morally and ethically wrong.”

That feels overstated. No law has been broken, and no one has alleged corruption. Yes, Ellison’s schedule — which has included attending meetings of the full council but missing committee meetings — does raise a question of judgment. Voters expect their representatives to show up. Literally. A council seat is not a sabbatical.

Carlson’s real target is what he perceives as the state’s weakening immune system for corruption — what he sees as the quiet dismantling of Minnesota’s compliance-auditing muscle. One of the state auditor’s tasks is to ensure accountability in local government finances. “Compliance auditing was the office’s central asset,” Carlson wrote in the email intended for Blaha. “It was the symbol of integrity.”

Carlson said he recalls an era when state auditors crisscrossed Minnesota, forging relationships with local officials and sniffing out fiscal mischief before it metastasized. “To this day, I celebrate that partnership,” he wrote, “and still regard local government as the most effective and trusted layer of governance in our state.”

Then came his indictment of state government: “Now, Minneapolis government seems to be in disarray with open conflict. And self-service is very much in vogue. I suspect Jeremiah Ellison is not the only one profiteering. But where is the Office of the State Auditor? You are charged by law to protect the taxpayer’s money and assure integrity in governance. Where are you?”

That reasonable question extends well beyond a single statewide official or the calendar of a lame-duck member of the Minneapolis City Council.

Since arriving in Minnesota late in the summer of 2024, I’ve been struck by two things: the depth of this state’s civic pride, and its reluctance to call a spade a spade. Minnesota’s government is, in many ways, a marvel — professional, transparent, pragmatic. Yet its culture seems to blur too easily into a code of silence or avoidance when it comes to accountability.

This question isn’t abstract. The scale of pandemic-era fraud exposed in Minnesota was staggering: hundreds of millions siphoned from public programs intended for children, families and the vulnerable. And even after those revelations, the state keeps uncovering schemes — Medicaid scams, housing fraud, bogus service providers billing for care that never happened.

Where is the sustained outrage? Where is the relentless pursuit of reform? Minnesota once prided itself on clean government and civic virtue. Yet too many officials seem content to count on short memories and long winters to chill the public’s appetite for accountability.

Carlson, now in his 90s, remains a singular figure, and is unafraid to stir the pot. Think Jimmy Carter without a hammer. He can be irascible but he is also indispensable. His voice reminds Minnesotans that ethics in government isn’t a quaint ideal; it’s a living obligation.

Like any auditor, Blaha operates within finite resources and political constraints. But Carlson’s challenge deserves engagement. With all five constitutional offices up for election next year, now is the moment to begin to demand more. It’s time to ask, plainly: Who is guarding the guardians?

In a state as rich in resources and reputation as Minnesota, the greater scandal isn’t what’s been stolen. It’s what’s been tolerated.