By the Toledo Tribune
The Taxman has come and gone. We’ve all paid the piper, one way or another. And now, Toledo is set to determine how that money—your money—is spent.
According to Interim City Manager David Clyne, most, if not all, of the property tax revenue you just chipped in will be consumed by law enforcement. That leaves the rest of the city’s essential services—street repair, parks, public works, community programs—to scavenge for funding from what’s left: sewer and water bills, franchise fees like trash pickup, and other assorted city income.
But here’s the caveat: it’s not actually the city that makes those decisions. It’s the Toledo Budget Committee, and it holds the purse strings of our hard-earned dollars.
Fourteen individuals.
Seven citizens.
Seven city council members.
They meet, they deliberate, and they shape what this city becomes next. The city manager, finance director (thank you, Judy Richter, for stepping up), and the department heads bring their best numbers and intentions to the table, squeezing every cent into making Toledo a better place.
But right now, only five of the seven citizen seats are filled. That’s not just a missed opportunity—it’s a missing voice. Maybe it’s yours.
Now, some of these funds are restricted by state law. They can’t be touched, shuffled, or moved. But the general fund? That’s open to discussion. That’s where bold choices and fresh ideas can take root.
Years ago, Waldport made a bold move—ditching its own police department and contracting with the county sheriff’s office instead. The city saved on administrative overhead and focused its energy (and dollars) on fixing its sewer problems. It wasn’t just cost-cutting. It was strategic realignment. That’s the kind of thinking Toledo needs right now.
No, we can’t organize a giant Memorial Field mud-bogging budget blowout. The state requires a budget that meets the “best welfare of the citizens.” But can we repave key roads? Fix sewer lines on neglected streets? Fund a community center for our kids?
Yes.
But only if we cut somewhere else. That’s the tradeoff. That’s the rub.
City income, like a bird building a nest, gets blown away piece by piece in the wind of rising costs. The revenue just doesn’t keep pace. Which means, yes—you probably heard your wallet groan—rates may go up. Sewer. Water. Whatever the city legally can raise, it may be forced to.
Unless we get bold.
Unless we get creative.
Unless we say: just because it’s always been done this way doesn’t mean it must continue.
Did you know that, once upon a time, each citizen had to take turns serving as the police? Joe might be blacksmithing when Old Ms. Fredrick complains someone’s stolen a sheep—everyone knows it was Fred. So off Joe goes to get it back. But when Sam accuses Fred of stealing a chicken, Joe’s done missing work. He pays Bobby to take his place. Bobby roughs up Fred, splits the chicken in half, keeps half for himself, and tosses the rest back to the victim. Naturally, Sam isn’t too thrilled. He is bold enough to complain to the right people.
So the king steps in. “Enough of this nonsense,” he says. Everyone will pay a tax to fund a shire reeve—a sheriff. And that’s how public law enforcement began.
The point? Systems change when people say this isn’t working.
We can, too.
There’s tech on the table now that can convert waste into distilled water and carbon. The heat created powers electricity. The carbon becomes carbon fiber. A clean loop with revenue potential. That Mill water pond that stinks to high heaven? An untapped gold mine. It’s been reviewed. It’s been stalled. Bureaucracy demands proof the system works but won’t allow the trial to prove it. It’s a loop of its own—and not the helpful kind.
But we can break loops. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but success favors the bold.
So tell us—what do you want your city’s funds to do? Because we will tell you this much: our Editor is one of the five citizen voices on the budget committee, and he will keep speaking up.
And we hope you will too.
Leave a Reply