Over the next five years, I would refine my analysis of globalization and interdependence and propose more initiatives to respond to them, juggling as best I could my desire to be a good governor and to have a positive impact on national policy.
In 1987, my agenda for the legislative session, “Good Beginnings, Good Schools, Good Jobs,” was consistent with the work I was doing with the National Governors Association under the theme “Making America Work.” In addition to recommendations that built on our previous efforts in education and economic development, I asked the legislature to help me get the growing number of poor children off to a good start in life by increasing health-care coverage for poor mothers and children, starting with prenatal care in order to lower the infant-mortality rate and reduce avoidable damage to newborns; to increase parenting education for mothers of at-risk children; to provide more special education in early childhood to kids with learning problems; to increase the availability of affordable child care; and to strengthen child-support enforcement.
From Hillary, I had learned most of what I knew about early-childhood development and its importance to later life. She had been interested in it as long as I’d known her, and had taken a fourth year at Yale Law School to work on children’s issues at the Yale Child Study Center and Yale–New Haven Hospital. She had worked hard to import to Arkansas an innovative preschool program from Israel called HIPPY, which stands for Home Instruction Programs for Preschool Youngsters, a program that helps to develop both parenting skills and children’s ability to learn. Hillary set up HIPPY programs all across the state. We both loved going to the graduation exercises, watching the children show their stuff and seeing the parents’ pride in their kids and themselves. Thanks to Hillary, Arkansas had the largest program in the country, serving 2,400 mothers, and their children showed remarkable progress. The main focus of my economic development efforts was to increase investment and opportunity for poor people and distressed areas, most of them in rural Arkansas. The most important proposal was to provide more capital to people who had the potential to operate profitable small businesses but couldn’t borrow the money to get started. The South Shore Development Bank in Chicago had been instrumental in helping unemployed carpenters and electricians set themselves up in business on the city’s South Side to renovate abandoned buildings that otherwise would have been condemned. As a result, the whole area recovered.
I knew about the bank because one of its employees, Jan Piercy, had been one of Hillary’s best friends at Wellesley. Jan told us South Shore got the idea to fund artisans who were skilled but not creditworthy by conventional standards from the work of the Grameen Bank of Bangladesh, founded by Muhammad Yunus, who had studied economics at Vanderbilt University before going home to help his people. I arranged to meet him for breakfast in Washington one morning, and he explained how his “microcredit” program worked. Village women who had skills and a reputation for honesty but no assets were organized in teams. When the first borrower repaid her small loan, the next one in line got hers, and so on. When I first met Yunus, the Grameen Bank already had made hundreds of thousands of loans, with a repayment rate higher than that for commercial lenders in Bangladesh. By 2002, Grameen had made them to more than 2.4 million people, 95 percent of them poor women.
If the idea worked in Chicago, I thought it would work in economically distressed areas in rural Arkansas. As Yunus said in an interview, “Anywhere anybody is rejected by the banking system, you have room for a Grameen-type program.” We set up the Southern Development Bank Corporation in Arkadelphia. The Development Finance Authority put up some of the initial money, but most of it came from corporations that Hillary and I asked to invest in it.
When I became President, I secured congressional approval for a national loan program modeled on the Grameen Bank, and featured some of our success stories at a White House event. The U.S. Agency for International Development also funded two million micro-credit loans a year in poor villages in Africa, Latin America, and East Asia. In 1999, when I went to South Asia, I visited Muhammad Yunus and some of the people he’d set up in business, including women who’d used the loans to buy cell phones, which they charged villagers to use to call their relatives and friends in America and Europe. Muhammad Yunus should have been awarded the Nobel Prize in Economics years ago. My other major interest was welfare reform. I asked the legislature to require recipients with children three years old or over to sign a contract committing themselves to a course of independence, through literacy, job training, and work. In February, I went to Washington with several other governors to testify before the House Ways and Means Committee on welfare prevention and reforms. We asked Congress to give us the tools to “promote work, not welfare; independence, not dependence.” We argued that more should be done to keep people off welfare in the first place, by reducing adult illiteracy, teen pregnancy, the school dropout rate, and alcohol and drug abuse. On welfare reform, we advocated a binding contract between the recipient and the government, setting out the rights and responsibilities of both parties. Recipients would commit to strive for independence in return for the benefits, and the government would commit to help them, with education and training, medical care, child care, and job placement. We also asked that all welfare recipients with children age three or older be required to participate in a work program designed by the states, that each welfare recipient have a caseworker committed to a successful transition to self-sufficiency, that efforts to collect child-support payments be intensified, and that a new formula for cash assistance be established consistent with each state’s cost of living. Federal law allowed states to set monthly benefits wherever they chose as long as they weren’t lower than they had been in the early seventies, and they were all over the place. I had spent enough time talking to welfare recipients and caseworkers in Arkansas to know that the vast majority of them wanted to work and support their families. But they faced formidable barriers, beyond the obvious ones of low skills, lack of work experience, and inability to pay for child care. Many of the people I met had no cars or access to public transportation. If they took a low-wage job, they would lose food stamps and medical coverage under Medicaid. Finally, many of them just didn’t believe they could make it in the world of work and had no idea where to begin.
At one of our governors’ meetings in Washington, along with my welfare reform co-chair, Governor Mike Castle of Delaware, I organized a meeting for other governors on welfare reform. I brought two women from Arkansas who had left welfare for work to testify. One young woman from Pine Bluff had never been on an airplane or an escalator before the trip. She was restrained but convincing about the potential of poor people to support themselves and their children. The other witness was in her mid to late thirties. Her name was Lillie Hardin, and she had recently found work as a cook. I asked her if she thought able-bodied people on welfare should be forced to take jobs if they were available. “I sure do,”
she answered. “Otherwise we’ll just lay around watching the soaps all day.” Then I asked Lillie what was the best thing about being off welfare. Without hesitation, she replied, “When my boy goes to school and they ask him, ‘What does your mama do for a living?’ he can give an answer.” It was the best argument I’ve ever heard for welfare reform. After the hearing, the governors treated her like a rock star. When I tackled welfare reform as President, I was always somewhat amused to hear some members of the press characterize it as a Republican issue, as if valuing work was something only conservatives did. By 1996, when Congress passed a bill I could sign, I had been working on welfare reform for more than fifteen years. But I didn’t consider it a Democratic issue. Or even a governors’ issue. Welfare reform was about Lillie Hardin and her boy.