The Hassle Factor - how welfare reform looks in Camden, New Jersey

Reason, Dec, 2000 by Michael W. Lynch

This all adds up. According to a study of Work First New Jersey conducted for the state by Mathematica Policy Research, those who left welfare for work earned an average of $1,600 a month. Those who remained on the system and stayed unemployed took in an average of just under $800 a month. Such a disparity isn't unique to New Jersey. Says Douglas Besharov of the American Enterprise Institute, "The clear consensus of all the studies is that folks who are working are doing better than folks who stay on welfare."

The View From the Top

The folks who actually run Camden's system aren't convinced that people are better off under the new plan. They're not sure they are working. They're not even sure where they are.

"I don't know where they've all gone," says Andrea Rauer, who runs Camden County's social service department. "I don't know where my clients are." Rauer expresses her concern in the department's second-floor conference room, where we rejoined by three other top social service officials. Plaques of appreciation sent by the Red Cross, a local high school, and the U.S. Department of Social Services adorn the room's walls, assuring me we're sitting in a place where good works are done.

The drastic drop in the welfare rolls shocked everyone in this room. Yet with more than 130 years of combined experience working social services in Camden, they're not sure what to make of it, or even if it's a good thing. Of this much they're certain: Work First New Jersey has made their jobs harder, as the state has put pressure on them to get people off the rolls. "There's not much difference in the stress levels now between those serving the poor and the poor themselves," says Clement Carney, deputy director of the Camden County Board of Social Services, who later adds, "It's like we have a gun on us. The state is telling us, 'You have too many people on the dole; you get them off.'"

The board's payroll has dropped along with its clients. It once employed 800 people; today that's down to about 600. "The truth of the matter is that we are no different from clients," says Carney, whose sharp edge and animated face convey a sincere concern about the program. "They want to get rid of the clients and those who are serving them."

Overall, opinions of the reform expressed in the conference room range from dismissive vitriol to cautious optimism. All but one of the officials like the emphasis on responsibility and the program's increased flexibility. Frank Ambrose, who supervises case managers, thinks the caseload reduction is a sign of success. Sandra Mayers, who administers the board's income maintenance programs, disagrees. The 37-year social service veteran decries the reform as "mean-spirited" and slams a state-made video heralding its success as "a fucking P.R. piece-of-shit lie."

"Cash grants are down," says Carney. "I can't tell you if that's good or not. I really don't know what happened to all these families. I think yeah, there's been economic advantage and a lot of people did move out, but whether they are in self-sufficient, career opportunity jobs or whether they are doubled up in housing, I don't know yet."