Consider the lack of contested races this year. If you are a Republican, there’s only a fairly low profile U.S. Senate race and an even lower profile Auditor General race that affect all voters. (Yes, I know there’s a preference primary for president, but that race is already decided; and there are races for delegate/alternate delegate to the Republican Convention, but almost no one cares about those races.) Otherwise, only two of the state’s 18 congressional districts feature contested Republican primary races. Also for Republicans, only seven of the 25 state Senate primary races and only 27 of 203 state House primary races are contested.

If you are a Democrat, the only statewide race in which there is a primary is for the Attorney General nomination. Democrats have a few more primary races than the Republicans (in six of 18 races for U.S. House, in three of 25 state Senate races, and in 39 of 203 state House races), but still just under 20 percent of all possible races in Democratic primaries are contested. Both parties will be interested in six special elections to fill vacant seats in the Pennsylvania, but these races will impact only 3 percent of the state’s voters.

Few contested races means that voters are not being contacted by candidates and their representatives. Voters are not having their doors knocked on, nor are they getting phone calls or campaign mail pieces by multiple campaigns. For those not interested in elections, the absence of campaigning might be welcome, but all those contacts from campaigns provide information and encouragement to voters.

You can’t require primary races, so what can you do? The state could consolidate elections. That is, take those elections we have in odd-numbered years and move them to even-numbered years.

In odd-numbered years, Pennsylvanians elect local and county government officials as well as judges. All states have some or all local elections in odd-numbered years, but that wasn’t always the case. In the early 20th century, there was a move to separate local elections from federal elections so the local elections wouldn’t be affected by the political environments shaping federal elections, and the role of party organizations in electing local government officials would be minimized.

One consequence of separating local elections, however, is lower turnout for odd-numbered elections as compared to federal elections. A study by Zoltan Hajnal, Paul Lewis, and Hugh Louch (Public Policy Institute of California, 2002) found that municipal elections in even-numbered years led to 36 percent higher turnout when compared with local elections in odd-numbered years. In an article on the significance of the timing of elections (University of Chicago Law Review, 2010), Christopher Berry and Jacob Gersen further examined California election data and found that elections in November of even years were, on average, 23 percentage points higher than turnout in November elections in odd-numbered years. Berry and Gersen suggest that low-turnout elections might allow interest groups to have more influence in elections; they found that schools with elections in odd-numbered years have higher teacher salaries.

Berry and Gersen rightly acknowledge that having more elections in even-numbered years would lead to a longer ballot and that, the longer the ballot, the more races at the end of the ballot are skipped (this is sometimes called “roll off”). That’s an unintended consequence we should be aware of.

So Pennsylvania could take those municipal elections and move them to even-numbered years. It would lead to higher turnout as there would likely be more contested primary and general elections. There would be higher turnout for local elections compared to having them in odd-numbered years. Moreover, counties, which administer elections in Pennsylvania, might save a small amount of money as they would be paying election workers and paying for material (such as opti-scan ballots) only every other year. Or, it might allow for small increase in pay for these workers, which could attract individuals to these needed positions. The transition to all even-numbered elections could be difficult and some local elections might be overshadowed in even-numbered years, but the trade-off of more turnout would be worth it.

You might be thinking that the Republican presidential primary is a fractured race where the frontrunners will be fighting for every delegate from now until the convention or until securing the necessary 1,144 delegates to clinch the nomination. Why then, won’t Romney and Santorum (and possibly Gingrich) be fighting for delegates in Pennsylvania’s primary? The answer is simple: it’s the rules of the Republican primary. Republicans in Pennsylvania will indeed vote for Romney, Santorum, Gingrich, or Paul, but those votes won’t legally determine how the delegates in the state are distributed. That’s why it’s sometimes called a “beauty contest,” although a beauty contest might be more meaningful since the votes of the judges actually count.

Pennsylvania will send 72 delegates to the Republican convention in Tampa this year, and 59 of those delegates will be selected in the primary election. The other 13 include three state party officials—which is the case for Republicans in all states—and 10 at-large delegates appointed by the state GOP chair. Those 59 delegates will be elected from Pennsylvania’s 18 congressional districts (three or four per district) and those delegates are unpledged. (To the contrary, the rules for the Democratic presidential primary in Pennsylvania require that delegate candidates list their preferred candidate beside their name on the ballot.) The Republican delegates can vote for whomever they wish at the convention. The vast majority of voters will not recognize the names of delegate candidates on the ballot, and they almost certainly won’t know whether a delegate will vote for Romney or Santorum or potentially someone else at the convention. It’s possible that some delegate candidates will seek to publicize their candidate preference, but that would be costly for delegate candidates and difficult for voters to remember.

Now, if Pennsylvania’s presidential primary were the only contest held that day, the popular vote outcome might be meaningful in shaping perception of the race. A Romney or Santorum victory might say something about the strength of either of the campaigns. What contributes to the meaninglessness of the Pennsylvania’s primary is that four other states will also hold contests that day: New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Delaware. It’s like a “Super Tuesday” for the Northeast. In those four other states holding primaries that day, the vote is meaningful when it comes to delegate distribution. New York is the big prize as it will award 95 delegates; 34 of those are awarded based on statewide voting results, while 58 are distributed based on results within Congressional districts. In Connecticut, 10 delegates are based on statewide results and 15 are based on results in the Nutmeg State’s five congressional districts. In Rhode Island, 16 delegates are based on statewide results. In Delaware, it’s winner take all for 14 delegates.

Given these others races, where votes are meaningful and delegates are needed, it’s rather obvious that candidates will allocate the scarce resources of time and money to those states. Certainly the candidates will spend some time in Pennsylvania so they don’t do too badly in the beauty contest. But if Romney, for example, is close getting 50 percent in Connecticut, which would give him all 10 of its at-large delegates, is he going to make another trip to Connecticut or Pennsylvania? Is he going to spend more on commercials in Pennsylvania or Connecticut?

Many people might say that rules for delegate distribution only concern the insiders, but there are consequences to these rules. If individuals don’t believe that their vote is meaningful, there will be less desire to turn out to vote. If candidates don’t believe it’s worthwhile to invest time and money in a state campaign, voters won’t get information and may not be mobilized by campaigns. For the future, if Republicans want to have a meaningful primary, its party leaders—who determine the rules—are going to have to make votes count when it comes to delegate selection.

An official response to the SOTU is a recent invention that seems to have no positive effect. I have found no public opinion data that support the usefulness of an official response. A quick, informal survey of some fellow political junkies indicates that no one recalls a single positive memorable moment from any official response. In fact, if people remember them at all, they remember gaffes or awkward moments. And if Ryan’s response was an exception, it’s just that—a rare exception.

Many—perhaps most—will not even realize there is such a speech as the response to the State of the Union. Most Americans have had their fill of a formal political speech by the time the response would start and have already changed channels.

The official response to the SOTU is a recent invention, beginning only in 1966, according to the Senate Historical Office, with Republican leaders in the House and Senate offering reactions to LBJ’s SOTU. Republicans continued the practice the following two years. Democrats responded to the Richard Nixon in 1970, but in a format that featured several legislators. The Democrats never offered another formal response to Nixon, and didn’t respond to the Ford SOTUs. Republicans didn’t respond to Carter until 1979.

Since 1982, neither party could resist the urge to respond to the SOTU. Even with various formats, both live and pre-recorded, featuring one, two or several legislators—and even once (1985) a forum with Democratic legislators and Democratic activists—the official responses have produced nothing but a string of forgotten events with no discernible influence on policy development.

While legislative leaders have done most of the responses, parties have mixed it up with governors, and legislators who were not in the leadership. Those picked to give the response were thought to be individuals either with national appeal or the possibility of extending the appeal of the party. For example, in 1995 Republicans picked New Jersey Governor Christine Todd Whitman, the first non-legislator, with the likely intention of appealing to female voters. In 1997, Republican J.C. Watts, the only African-American Republican member of Congress at the time, gave the response with the likely intention of appealing to minority voters.

Democrats, too, have picked governors, such as Gary Locke (Washington, 2003), Tim Kaine (Virginia, 2006), and Kathleen Sebelius (Kansas, 2008), and a legislator who was not in the leadership (Jim Webb, 2007).

Why does the event fail? Because no response can match the grandeur of the presidential address. Any attempt to replicate it, such as Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell’s remarks in the Virginia House of Delegates Chamber last year, fails. McDonnell was ridiculed as playing a kind of presidential dress up. That’s the only aspect of his remarks widely remembered today. Even trying the opposite of the grandeur, such as speaking from a small room, looks minor league in comparison to speaking before a packed House Chamber.

Attempts to be informal and more personal can look ridiculous as well, such as Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal in 2009, who moved while he talked. Jindal wasn’t suited to the format; few are. His political standing took a hit as he was regularly compared to the character Kenneth on NBC’s “30 Rock.” It didn’t help that Jindal criticized federal funding for earthquake detection when he was from a state recently hit by a natural disaster.

Television will only comment on the official response if there’s a gaffe or something that could be taken out of context. There’s virtually no way to win with an official response.

I’m not saying not to respond. I’m saying respond using the whole range of new media, from cable TV to social networking sites to talk radio. A formal response might have made sense in a time with few media options, but today it’s at best an outdated strategy. Parties have to speak where people are listening.

Buckley’s graciousness was certainly a product of well-mannered character, but it also speaks to how he helped shape the modern conservative movement. He wanted to invite people into the fold. He wanted to show that one could be intellectual and be a conservative. For Buckley, conservatism was not a narrow sect with specifically defined beliefs; instead, conservatism was a set of inclinations and broad goals. Those inclinations included an admiration for the free market, a strong policy of anti-communism, and a respect for traditionalism.

I am far too young to remember the early days of the National Review, the magazine Buckley founded in 1955 and that was for many years the flagship publication of the American conservative movement, but there are excellent accounts of those days when the different elements of the conservative movement argued with each other, both in the pages of the National Review and in editorial meetings. Buckley provided a place for both free-market devotees and traditionalist conservatives. Many of the great conservative intellectuals of the 1950s and 1960s reached a broader audience through the pages of the magazine. In his own op-ed column, distributed to hundreds of newspapers across the county, Buckley introduced his readers to arguments, ideas, thinkers, and books. It was in the small rural daily paper to which my parents subscribed that I began reading Buckley.

Buckley was reputed for being a great host of dinner parties, and great hosts bring people together and encourage conversation and even collaboration. He served a similar role for modern American conservatism. Through the National Review, his own writings, and his television show “Firing Line,” Buckley served this great function of connecting modern conservatives. He helped with the growth of conservatism and wanted a movement that was not centered on him, but on key commitments of a free and orderly society.

Buckley wanted a conservative movement that was broadly representative of conservative inclinations, but Buckley also recognized that some of those attempting to shape modern conservatism were harmful to the movement. Buckley and the National Review essentially kicked the John Birch Society, an extreme right-wing organization, out of mainstream American conservatism. In so doing, he lost subscribers and supporters, but he did not believe that irresponsible voices needed a seat at the table.

Buckley will not be remembered as the greatest intellect of the modern conservative movement, although he certainly had a great intellect. He is certainly not the greatest political figure; political office was not his calling. Buckley, however, served a remarkable role in helping to make conservatism respectable, intellectually compelling, and politically viable. To a man who did more than most could accomplish in five lifetimes, may he rest in peace.

Perhaps we should add one limitation: No current members of the House of Representatives can run for president.

Usually, members of the House are smart enough to realize that they cannot win and would be wasting everyone’s time, but this year there is a crop of House members who think they can win the top slot.

The Republicans have three House members running for president, and I—who am not running for president—have just as much chance of getting elected as any of them. It would be difficult to determine the candidate with the least chance of winning.

Dennis Kucinich (D-Ohio) ran in 2004 and had no success attracting votes or contributions, but he is running again. His background includes nearly bankrupting the city of Cleveland during his two-year tenure (1977-1979). A survey published in the “American Mayor: The Best and Worst of Big City Leaders,” places Kucinich among the 10 worst mayors in American history. His positions include creating a Department of Peace and Nonviolence and banning the sale, transfer or possession of handguns by civilians.

Duncan Hunter has represented a district in southern California since 1981. His views are generally close to the mainstream views of the Republican Party. He has raised little money and never gets listed in national polls. If he were a senator or a governor, he might have a chance.

Tom Tancredo has represented a northern Colorado district since 1998. His signature issue is immigration, and he presents himself as a hard-line opponent of illegal and legal immigration. He does not register on reputable national polls and his views on immigration are far out of the American mainstream. Given that he is the grandchild of immigrants, his anti-immigration views seem all the more unbelievable. Tancredo could not get elected statewide in Colorado and would lose in most congressional districts in the United States.

Kucinich, Hunter and Tancredo have no chance whatsoever of winning, but if there is a category of less than no chance, Ron Paul would be in that category.

On the personal level, Paul appears to be a decent human being. He is a doctor with a fine reputation. While serving in Congress, he continued delivering babies. He has served in the military and has been married to the same woman for 50 years. Paul supporters cite his backing on Internet sites and the fact that he has raised more than $3 million, with most of that in the bank.

So why can’t he win? First, Americans do not see House members as presidential material. We have only elected one in our history and that was in 1880. Second, he would be 73 at the time of the election, and that is too old for Americans. Third, when he ran for higher office, such as for the Senate in 1984 and as the Libertarian Party presidential candidate in 1988, he received less than one-half of 1 percent of the popular vote.

Most significantly, Paul’s political views are popular with only a narrow sliver of Americans, and they are far outside of the mainstream of the Republican Party. Paul is the only Republican Party candidate to vote against the Iraq War Resolution, and he sponsored a resolution to repeal the original resolution. Parties change political positions, but not this quickly. Leaders throughout the party have spent considerable energy defending the war. Party activists cannot turn on a dime.

If Paul somehow won the Republican nomination—and I cannot imagine a scenario in which this is possible—it would lead to a remarkably bad defeat for Republicans. He might do better than William Howard Taft’s 23 percent in 1912, but he would probably do worse than Barry Goldwater’s 38 percent in 1964. Large parts of the Republican coalition would sit out the election. Most opponents of the war in Iraq would vote for the Democratic nominee.

Without a reasonably united party coalition and an active get-out-the-vote effort, Republicans in the House and Senate would take serious losses. After Goldwater’s 1964 thrashing, Republicans lost 36 seats, dropping to only 140. With 295 members in 1965-1966, there was a significant liberal majority, and during that session, Congress expanded social programs more than any other two-year period. Thus, the Goldwater campaign led to larger government.

So what does it matter if candidates want to run vanity campaigns? Responsible individuals do not waste the time and money of volunteers. One does not take soldiers into a battle that one cannot win, and one should not do that with volunteers. There is nothing high-minded about wasting people’s time and resources.

More significantly, vanity campaigns waste the American public’s time because the candidates are given an opportunity to participate in television debates and other events. Vanity campaigns also further trivialize the presidential race.

If these candidates are running to change public opinion, they should drop out and write a book. Campaigns are not for shifting public opinion. If they really want to run for president, run first for the Senate or for governor. But don’t run for president because you like the attention.

Picnics are the default social activity for Americans. It’s what we do on Memorial Day, even though the original intentions of the day – first known as Decoration Day because it was a day to adorn fallen Civil War soldiers’ gravesites – was to be a day of sober reflection upon the sacrifices of those soldiers who gave, in Lincoln’s words, “the last full measure of devotion.”

I suspect we’d have a picnic on Veterans Day as well if it fell earlier in the year.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with picnics. But civic holidays exist to teach us about our country and the meaning of our citizenship. When it comes to celebrating civic liturgies, we Americans are really quite sloppy. I don’t expect great cultural trends to change quickly or even much at all, but we could add an element of civic education to this day.

I do have a suggestion as you celebrate this Independence Day: Get a copy of the Declaration of Independence and read it. In fact, read it aloud at the picnic you are attending.

It’s a document that we should not forget; it’s even more amazing that it’s a document we celebrate on Independence. We don’t celebrate the end of the Revolutionary War, which would be a logical day to celebrate. (Quick quiz – what day was the end of the Revolutionary War? Is it October 19, 1781 when Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown or September 3, 1783 when the Paris Peace Treaty was signed? Answer: It doesn’t matter.)

Most nations celebrate the date of some significant battle or the date in which they became free from some colonial power.

We celebrate not simply the day in which we declared Independence – which was July 2. We celebrate July 4 because it is the day that the Second Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence and it is this document which contains the central propositions of being a US citizen.

It is not the easiest notion to grasp, but we are a nation that rests upon a set of ideas, which were believed to be “self-evident.” We have no common ethnicity, and our ancestors do not share a common history.

The second paragraph of the Declaration states this common core. At the center of the American political order is the notion that we all have equal natural rights. “All men are created equal and endowed by the Creator with certain inalienable rights.”  There’s not enough space here to defend this passage fully, but the core founders truly did believe that all human beings were created equal. ‘Men’ was a common term at the time for all human beings. They certainly didn’t think that women could be killed with impunity; therefore, women had a right to life. Many founders believed that slaves were deserving of rights as well, but it was not politically possible to end slavery and fight for political freedom at the same time.

As persons with rights, we form a government and that government is based upon our consent. The Declaration states that “governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” Consent does not mean agreement with all that government does. Consent means that we agree to the basic framework. It is consent that makes a government legitimate, not merely the recognition by other political entities.

The third essential proposition is that “whenever any form of government becomes destructive” to rights of the people “it is the right of the people to alter or abolish that government.” This is the right of revolution, and, while essential, it is not to be exercised frequently or for less than the most serious reasons. The very idea of the right to revolution is important because, as John Locke (1632-1704) explained in the 1690’s, the right to revolution is a great “fence” for our liberties. That is, governments will think twice about systematically abrogating the rights of citizens if there is the possibility of citizen revolution.

So on this Fourth, even if it appears a bit odd, get a copy of the Declaration and read the first portion out loud. It will instruct you and others. All in your presence – from the WASP with oldest American lineage to the most recent naturalized citizen – will be reminded of what we share as Americans. Those ideas truly are worth celebrating.

Most Americans are at least vaguely familiar with the cultural and religious background to Thanksgiving. The story of the Pilgrims gathering with the Indians and celebrating a feast of the harvest in 1621, embellished in later accounts, is what would come to mind for most Americans.

This celebration, usually seen as the beginning of Thanksgiving celebrations in America, was not the first such celebration. Others by settlements that were not permanent as well the Spanish settlers to the south had “thanksgiving” celebrations.

In fact, the cultural and religious background of thanksgiving celebrations is much older than America. The Old Testament book of Deuteronomy describes the Feast of Weeks which was a celebration of the harvest. Such celebrations were common to many ancient cultures. During the Middle Ages, most European countries celebrated the Feast of the St. Martin of Tours on Nov. 11 as a special day of thanksgiving for the harvest.

The idea of a day of thanksgiving to God for his blessings is an essential part of Thanksgiving tradition.

There is also an important political history to Thanksgiving in America.

Thanksgiving celebrations in American during its colonial era were sporadic and based on local traditions. The first national celebration of Thanksgiving was a political act: it was called by the Continental Congress in 1777 and offered thanks for a military victory. In five of the next six years (1782 excluded), national days of thanksgiving were celebrated in December.

The next national day of Thanksgiving was called by George Washington in October 1789 and was accompanied by a proclamation of Thanksgiving.

He said, in part, “Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor… therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these states to the service of that great and glorious Being.”

He thanked God “for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a nation, for the signal and manifold mercies…which we experienced in the course and conclusion of the late war…for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted, for the civil and religious liberty …and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.”

Washington’s proclamation focused on ‘political’ blessings, not the harvest.

A national day of Thanksgiving did not become an annual event. Washington issued another proclamation in 1795 as a day of thanksgiving for general blessings. John Adams declared Thanksgivings in 1798 and 1799. The next national day of thanksgiving did not take place until 1815, when James Madison proclaimed two different days of thanksgiving for the end of the War of 1812.

During the first half of the 19th century, several northern states began the practice of days of Thanksgiving, but there was no national holiday. The efforts of one woman, Sarah Hale, editor of an influential women’s magazine, and the actions of a later president, Abraham Lincoln, led to the establishment of an annual national day of Thanksgiving.

Hale thought it proper that there be a national day of Thanksgiving, rather than different days in different states, so that all Americans could be thankful for national blessings. She lobbied officials for many years before Lincoln proclaimed in 1863 a national day of Thanksgiving. Lincoln proclaimed another day of Thanksgiving the following year.

Lincoln’s 1864 proclamation reads, in part, that God “has pleased to animate and inspire our minds and hearts with fortitude, courage, and resolution sufficient for the great trial of civil war into which we have been brought by our adherence to the cause of Freedom and Humanity…therefore I…appoint…the last Thursday in November…as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to the Almighty God.”

Reverence for Lincoln and the lobbying of Hale, led Presidents to declare the last Thursday in November, with two exceptions, as a national day of Thanksgiving. It became legally established as the fourth Thursday in November in 1941.

Thanksgiving has more significance than turkey and football; the political history of Thanksgiving shows it was established for Americans to be thankful to God for blessings given to the nation. This Thanksgiving follow the example of Lincoln and Washington and give thanks for national blessings such as the peace, prosperity and liberty that this nation enjoys.