Did those gathered in Albany for Gov. Andrew Cuomo's State of the State message know that they were watching the state constitution in action? Did they realize that they were witness to the effects of centuries of state constitutional change? Did they know, as they watched, that they might be seeing the state constitution change before their eyes?
Under the 1777 New York constitution, it was "... the duty of the governor to inform the legislature, at every session, of the condition of the State, ... [and]... to recommend such matters to their consideration as shall appear to him to concern its good government, welfare, and prosperity." So Cuomo's delivery this year of "the "State of the State" met a centuries-long constitutional obligation. But when George Clinton addressed an all-powerful Legislature, our first governor had no executive veto, no renewable four-year term, no power to appoint department heads, no responsibility for the state budget.
These formal powers, added later, make the governor's session-launching message far more than one (admittedly important) man's opinion of what the Legislature should do. The synergies arising from the interaction of these executive powers, and the manner in which they have been used and interpreted over the years, gives the modern New York governor massively greater capacity to effect the agenda he sets.
New Yorkers, like all Americans, are used to thinking of a "constitution" as a single written document. But there is another meaning. A state's constitution may also be understood as the combined total consequence of the provisions of key documents, practices, precedents and interpretations for defining "the way things work." Here is where Andrew Cuomo has been changing New York's constitution with his approach to the State of the State message.
Unlike governors before him, Cuomo does not deliver the State of the State in the historic Moorish-Gothic Assembly chamber, on the Legislature's home ground. Instead he invites the Senate and Assembly to meet with him in neutral territory, at the nearby Empire State Plaza's Egg.
Leaks of key initiatives in the run-up to the message's delivery, to gain headlines and build interest, find ample precedent in the practice of earlier governors. But not the event itself, carefully orchestrated, replete with banners and logos, opened with fulsome praise of the governor by carefully selected clerics and other speakers, embellished with power point slides claiming successes and specifying priorities, and including the now annually-expected lame inside joke.
There is more room in The Egg than in the Assembly chamber. This allows the State of the State to become a tribal gathering. Supportive notables invited by the governor's office, some singled out to bask in special recognition from the podium during the speech, come to see, be seen, do a little business — and not insignificantly — be mutually confirmed in their importance.
The event (it's no longer just a speech), is simulcast over the Internet across New York. The entire state, not the Legislature, is now the primary audience.
And the State of the State is not over when it's over. In the days following its initial delivery, members of the governor's cabinet are dispatched across the state to deliver the message again and again, using the same slides and talking points to generate press coverage in every region.
Good poll numbers, potential for national office and ability to exploit Albany's "bully pulpit" have all long been understood as potent informal sources of gubernatorial power in New York. Cuomo's "revision" of the state's constitution arises from his redefinition of a centuries-old formal responsibility and its creative linkage to these informal elements. The result is strengthened, mutually reinforcing tools for gubernatorial leadership: a changed state constitution. To get the full message, pay attention to the medium.