Denver voters will be considering a pair of citizen-initiated ordinances in November targeting specific business enterprises whose activities can only concern a fraction of residents on a daily basis. Why their legal reach is restricted within the boundaries of the City and County of Denver, rather than applying statewide, reflects the cost and difficulty of placing questions on the general election ballot. Though the purpose of the initiative process established in the Colorado constitution is an estimable Progressive Era effort to afford the citizenry an avenue to legislate when the legislature fails to act on matters of their concern, it’s been contorted into a tool for pursuing the narrowest of personal agendas. Limiting an initiative to the capital city reduces the cost and effort required to place a foot in the public policy door. Think of them as a form of civic virtue signaling.

The pair of ordinances which advanced to the Denver ballot are a prohibition against the “manufacture, distribution, display, sale or trade” of animal fur products, together with the closure of the sole existing slaughterhouse within city limits. The fur ordinance defends its commercial prohibition as a measure that will, “promote community awareness of animal welfare and, in turn, will foster a more humane environment in the city.” There is also scare language linking fur farms to ”reservoirs and transmission vectors for dangerous zoonotic diseases” (primarily coronaviruses). So, what are the practical real-world consequences if this initiative were to pass? For Denver purchasers capable and willing to spend $10,000 or $20,000 to acquire a fur coat, they are unlikely to be deterred by a short drive to Park Meadows or Flatirons mall.

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There’s little doubt the popularity of fur garments has withered considerably in recent decades. When my mother passed in 2004, there wasn’t a single woman or girl in our extended family who wanted her full-length mink coat. It went to charity. There was a taker, however, for her ermine winter cap. It seems a little strange at a time when every other food item at the grocery brags about its paleo benefits that we have so entirely rejected paleo couture. Be that as it may, the ordinance extends far beyond luxury goods. Also affected would be cowboy hats, fly fishing lures and assorted western wear items. There are sure to be legal disputes about what is fur or merely hair.

There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Denver jobs at stake. Doug Jones and Paul Andrews, the chair and president of the National Western, have launched “Hands Off My Hat Denver” to defeat this ordinance, saying, “The agriculture community is beginning to ask: Why do we go to Denver and the National Western if Denver won’t support agriculture and our products?” An exception has been made for the transfer or purchase of indigenous fur products, but only between members of federally recognized tribes — no sales to Wasuchis. Say goodbye to future Denver Pow-Wows. As for the slaughterhouse ordinance, it will shut down the only sheep rendering operation along the Front Range, shutting off Colorado sheep ranchers from their only local stockyard. More jobs lost and higher costs.

Sheepskin jackets are also excluded, so I presume I can continue to wear mine in Denver. The real question is whether either of these ordinances makes any sense? In the 1970s, I might have welcomed a law prohibiting bell-bottom trousers for men, but that was a personal issue. No law can mandate good judgment or good taste. As the pro-choice movement argues, “If you don’t like abortions, don’t have one.” If you don’t like fur, don’t wear it. Supporters have argued they hope a success in Denver will provide a blueprint for similar prohibitions around the country. I surely hope not. At a period in our history when both the right and the left are pledging fealty to freedom — we are discovering there is freedom “from” and freedom “to” pursue happiness. I find myself aligned with the freedom to do what I want. Even vegans should vote against both initiatives.

It is probably time to undertake a rewriting of Colorado’s initiative process. In 1980, when Jack McCroskey and I launched the drive for an elected Regional Transportation District Board, petition circulators had to be unpaid volunteers. Any eligible voter could sign, but the signature threshold was far higher. After several court challenges, it was ruled paid circulators should be allowed. Because of the danger of signature fraud, the change restricting signatures to registered voters was understandable. Gradually, the price per signature began to climb and the only groups capable of raising the half-million dollars required to succeed statewide are now corporate or wealthy interests. It took the grocery stores three attempts before they won the right to sell wine and liquor. A couple of campaigns were also needed to permit multiple liquor licenses.

The legislature has periodically tinkered with the petition process, requiring  geographically distributed signatures obtained in each state Senate district, further driving up costs. There was a time when nearly any initiative proposed as government “reform” would pass. Alas, reformers have trouble raising dollars for the reforms they seek. Common Cause was able to pass the Gavel Amendment, opening up legislative hearing processes during the 1980s, but recent TABOR reformers have consistently fallen short. A citizen initiative process which only affords ballot access to the well-heeled offers substantial advantage to the privileged — thereby defeating the original, constitutional intent. The first fix should be a return to volunteer circulators.

Miller Hudson is a public affairs consultant and a former Colorado legislator.