Nosy Prewitt

Jacob Sullum | March 22, 2000

I recently got a letter from Kenneth Prewitt, who runs the Bureau of the Census. "Please be as accurate and complete as you can in filling out your census form," he writes.

The "please" implies that I have a choice, that I’d be doing Ken a favor by responding to his questionnaire. This is a bit misleading, since, as he notes, "Title 13 of the United States Code...requires that you answer these questions."

Ken is too tactful to say so, but the law actually provides for a $100 fine if I decline to satisfy his curiosity. I can be fined $500 if I make stuff up--if I lie about my age, say, or claim to be a Native Hawaiian.

But Ken doesn’t mention the fines. In its initial overture, at least, the Census Bureau is emphasizing the carrot rather than the stick. The census form I received features cheerful assurances such as, "Your answers are important! Every person in the Census counts."

A document on the bureau’s Web site is similarly upbeat. "Everybody Is Number One in the Census," it declares. "Participating in the census is in everyone’s best interest."

How so? Well, you might have thought the census had something to do with a distant, bloated national government. But it’s actually all about "community," as the census form explains:

* "Census information helps your community get financial assistance for roads, hospitals, schools, and more."

* "Information about children helps your community plan for child care, education, and recreation."

* "Knowing about age, sex, and race helps your community better meet the needs of everyone."

* "Your answers help your community plan for the future."

If, like most people, you received the "short form," you may be wondering why "your community" cares about the color of your skin or why it needs to know whether you rent or own your home. If you were lucky enough to get the "long form," which was sent to about one in six households, you have even more reason to be puzzled.

The long form has 53 questions, many of which are divided into parts. Among other things, it asks about your marital status, your ethnic background, your education, your job, your income, your mortgage, the value of your home, your expenses, and the equipment in your bathrooms and kitchens.

The government also wants to know whether you own a car, what time you leave for work, and how you get there. It asks if you have trouble bathing, getting dressed, or remembering things.

Oddly, the form does not ask about incontinence or impotence. Probably an oversight.

When you see how nosy the Census Bureau is, you start to understand why it is bending over backward to justify its work. "The Census Bureau recognizes," its Web site says, "that different segments of the population respond in different ways and with different levels of trust and willingness to participate in the census."