Opinion: Legislature continues pattern of limited accountability with planned disbursement of opioid settlement funds

Multiple states have filed lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies that profited from the pain and devastation of prescription drug addiction. The opioid crisis, as we know it, would not have reached this scale without the profit-driven motives of these corporate giants. As a result of these lawsuits, Mississippi is expected to receive $370 million, split between the state and local governments.

In many states, opioid settlement funds come with strict rules and oversight. But in Mississippi, 85 percent of that $370 million, about $315 million, is set to be controlled by the legislature. Nearly $60 million will be deposited directly into the general fund to be spent at lawmakers’ discretion. The $315 million will be managed through an advisory council of government officials, law enforcement and political appointees. This council will review grant applications and make recommendations to the legislature, which has the final say on how the money is spent.

That’s a lot of political checkpoints for what should be a straightforward mission: ensuring that the families and communities most impacted by the opioid crisis receive the bulk of the benefit. Instead, Mississippi’s leaders have placed themselves at the center of a massive pot of money that was awarded to the state, not generated by its taxpayers. They talk often about being “good stewards” of taxpayer dollars. But what about the rest?

The Children’s Promise Act, championed by Rep. Trey Lamar, chair of the House Ways and Means committee, was designed as a pathway to send public funds into private schools through tax credits. According to information provided by Central Hinds Academy, a private school established in 1970 between Bolton and Raymond, the Children’s Promise Act allows businesses—corporations, LLCs, partnerships, or sole proprietorships—to receive a dollar-for-dollar state tax credit for up to 50 percent of their state tax liability when they make a “voluntary” contribution to an approved nonprofit. Individuals can also benefit by using the credit against their ad valorem property taxes.

Here’s the key detail: For a private school to benefit from these contributions, the school must either establish its own nonprofit or affiliate itself with one that qualifies under the program. Once that structure is in place, contributions flow to the school through the nonprofit.

The legislature sets aside a fixed amount each year to fund these tax credits, and once the cap is reached, the funds are depleted until the next cycle. For the past two years, lawmakers have increased the cap to keep up with demand.

There are a lot of moving parts in this. It is notoriously difficult to trace how a single dollar flows through the state’s budget. But consider the bigger picture here: a decrease in state revenue from a series of tax cuts over the last five years; an increase in demand for state-funded tax credits; legislative leadership eager to make Mississippi a national poster child for “school choice”; and $315 million in opioid settlement funds available for lawmakers to direct as they wish.

With all things considered, how do taxpayers hold the legislature accountable for these pots of money? How do we ensure that opioid settlement funds actually reach the people and communities most affected by the crisis? And if Mississippi has no strong safeguards against fraud and spending money for political gain, what’s to stop this money from being misused just as we saw in the state’s notorious TANF scandal, in which millions of dollars in Temporary Assistance for Needy Children fund were misused.

Democracy works best when we hold our lawmakers accountable and make clear, consistent demands. The legislature doesn’t get to demand that we simply take their word for it. We have the power and responsibility to advocate and lobby for a transparent system that centers the people and benefits the impacted. But the current setup tells a different story: An appointed council that makes recommendations to the legislature to make the final decision, a legislature that meets for only 90 days, “reading” bills at chipmunk speed, is hardly anyone’s idea of “transparency.”