Hochul Panders With ‘Trump-Style’ Tax Cut, Sidesteps Law-and-Order Fears

Paul Riverbank, 1/14/2026Governor Hochul unveils centrist agenda: tax breaks, childcare pilot, and nuanced stances on safety, affordability.

Her agenda, previewed in a release that morning, seemed constructed to tiptoe past Albany’s longstanding battlegrounds. The phrase her advisors pushed—I heard it repeated more than once in side conversations—was, “Government should make life more affordable, keep people safe, and expand opportunity—not shrink it.” A mantra, really, intended for voters who’ve grown weary of party-line brawls.

The marquee proposal was her call for universal childcare, albeit wrapped in the safe boundaries of a pilot. Two thousand city children would be the first to benefit, if all goes according to the script come fall. Yet, offstage, budget analysts exchanged skeptical glances. Extending such a program statewide, some pointed out, might run up a tab of at least $15 billion—a sum daunting enough to threaten fiscal headaches well beyond Hochul’s current term. Political actors understand this calculus; gesture toward a solution now, reap goodwill at the polls, sidestep the harder questions until after November.

Affordability—specifically, making life less expensive—echoed through nearly every part of her speech, often couched in terms that felt borrowed from campaign trail conversations. Notably, Hochul floated a tax break for tipped workers: a proposal to eliminate state income taxes on tips up to $25,000. The language sounded familiar, maybe because the line was ripped straight from Donald Trump’s previous playbook. Her team explained, “This proposal will deliver meaningful relief,” but it was the sort of promise that, while headline-worthy, leaves as many questions as answers.

There were things Hochul left unsaid, too. The hotly contested “Raise the Age” law, a frequent lightning rod, received no mention. Some speculated this was a quiet nod to her progressive allies (e.g., Mayor Zohran Mamdani), while comforted suburban moderates ignored the issue’s absence. Public safety—a dominant topic in backchannel discussions—barely surfaced outside her pledge of $77 million for NYPD patrols in subways.

Possibly the sharpest crackle in the speech came when Hochul set her sights on federal immigration policy. She called out Trump-era enforcement, promising to let New Yorkers sue federal immigration authorities for alleged rights violations, and to limit ICE’s reach within state borders. Her words drew swift responses—some party faithful thrilled by the bold posture, others warning against pandering to anti-ICE sentiment. The tension was as palpable as the city’s January chill.

But the address wasn’t limited to costly ambitions or political jousting. In what might have been the speech’s warmest moment, Hochul announced a plan to scrap a Prohibition-era ban on dancing in many restaurants and bars. The move got a nod from hospitality advocates like Melissa Fleischut—“It’s time to end the ‘Footloose’ era,” she quipped. The city had done away with its notorious cabaret law seven years prior, but many upstate spots still operate under older rules that make impromptu dancing a legal hazard.

Hovering over the entire event, though not directly confronted, was the matter of the state’s increasingly brittle finances. Federal relief money—a steadying force during the pandemic—has faded, even as Medicaid costs balloon. Hochul didn’t offer significant new plans for Medicaid overhaul, nor did she address the scandals swirling around the home-health-aide sector, leaving some lawmakers impatient for more concrete answers.

Practical proposals did surface. Hochul emphasized rooting out auto-insurance fraud and cutting through the thicket of red tape choking the state’s housing market. And with parental anxieties mounting over kids’ exposure to digital pitfalls, she also championed stricter online privacy: default settings, expanded age verification, dialed-back AI chatbot features, and limited financial transactions for minors.

Reactions split along the usual lines, though not always cleanly. Some insiders spoke approvingly of Hochul’s small-ball approach—“Let’s be honest, we need relief, not revolution right now,” one staffer remarked. Yet, a skeptical undercurrent ran through the room, too. “This kind of agenda is comforting,” a veteran observer noted, “but the costs New York faces aren’t getting smaller. You can’t patch holes forever without tackling what’s under the floorboards.”

Ultimately, Hochul delivered much of what a governor in an unpredictable election year is supposed to: reassurances, tightly-wrapped promises, and enough olive branches to avoid antagonizing key factions. As the budget process kicks off next week, the critical question looms—will these proposals amount to meaningful change, or are voters in for more carefully-managed delay?

For now, the Empire State waits, caught between ambition and anxiety, as another legislative year lurches into motion.

When Governor Kathy Hochul stepped up to the ornate podium for her fifth “State of the State” address, the mood in Albany felt more cautious than celebratory. She didn’t indulge in grand gestures or gamble with rhetoric; instead, she opted for a familiar pitch: security, affordability, and opportunity—but only those. As winter sunlight flickered on the chamber walls, Hochul’s message was stamped with a centrism as deliberate as her wording.Her agenda, previewed in a release that morning, seemed constructed to tiptoe past Albany’s longstanding battlegrounds. The phrase her advisors pushed—I heard it repeated more than once in side conversations—was, “Government should make life more affordable, keep people safe, and expand opportunity—not shrink it.” A mantra, really, intended for voters who’ve grown weary of party-line brawls.The marquee proposal was her call for universal childcare, albeit wrapped in the safe boundaries of a pilot. Two thousand city children would be the first to benefit, if all goes according to the script come fall. Yet, offstage, budget analysts exchanged skeptical glances. Extending such a program statewide, some pointed out, might run up a tab of at least $15 billion—a sum daunting enough to threaten fiscal headaches well beyond Hochul’s current term. Political actors understand this calculus; gesture toward a solution now, reap goodwill at the polls, sidestep the harder questions until after November.Affordability—specifically, making life less expensive—echoed through nearly every part of her speech, often couched in terms that felt borrowed from campaign trail conversations. Notably, Hochul floated a tax break for tipped workers: a proposal to eliminate state income taxes on tips up to $25,000. The language sounded familiar, maybe because the line was ripped straight from Donald Trump’s previous playbook. Her team explained, “This proposal will deliver meaningful relief,” but it was the sort of promise that, while headline-worthy, leaves as many questions as answers.There were things Hochul left unsaid, too. The hotly contested “Raise the Age” law, a frequent lightning rod, received no mention. Some speculated this was a quiet nod to her progressive allies (e.g., Mayor Zohran Mamdani), while comforted suburban moderates ignored the issue’s absence. Public safety—a dominant topic in backchannel discussions—barely surfaced outside her pledge of $77 million for NYPD patrols in subways.Possibly the sharpest crackle in the speech came when Hochul set her sights on federal immigration policy. She called out Trump-era enforcement, promising to let New Yorkers sue federal immigration authorities for alleged rights violations, and to limit ICE’s reach within state borders. Her words drew swift responses—some party faithful thrilled by the bold posture, others warning against pandering to anti-ICE sentiment. The tension was as palpable as the city’s January chill.But the address wasn’t limited to costly ambitions or political jousting. In what might have been the speech’s warmest moment, Hochul announced a plan to scrap a Prohibition-era ban on dancing in many restaurants and bars. The move got a nod from hospitality advocates like Melissa Fleischut—“It’s time to end the ‘Footloose’ era,” she quipped. The city had done away with its notorious cabaret law seven years prior, but many upstate spots still operate under older rules that make impromptu dancing a legal hazard.Hovering over the entire event, though not directly confronted, was the matter of the state’s increasingly brittle finances. Federal relief money—a steadying force during the pandemic—has faded, even as Medicaid costs balloon. Hochul didn’t offer significant new plans for Medicaid overhaul, nor did she address the scandals swirling around the home-health-aide sector, leaving some lawmakers impatient for more concrete answers.Practical proposals did surface. Hochul emphasized rooting out auto-insurance fraud and cutting through the thicket of red tape choking the state’s housing market. And with parental anxieties mounting over kids’ exposure to digital pitfalls, she also championed stricter online privacy: default settings, expanded age verification, dialed-back AI chatbot features, and limited financial transactions for minors.Reactions split along the usual lines, though not always cleanly. Some insiders spoke approvingly of Hochul’s small-ball approach—“Let’s be honest, we need relief, not revolution right now,” one staffer remarked. Yet, a skeptical undercurrent ran through the room, too. “This kind of agenda is comforting,” a veteran observer noted, “but the costs New York faces aren’t getting smaller. You can’t patch holes forever without tackling what’s under the floorboards.”Ultimately, Hochul delivered much of what a governor in an unpredictable election year is supposed to: reassurances, tightly-wrapped promises, and enough olive branches to avoid antagonizing key factions. As the budget process kicks off next week, the critical question looms—will these proposals amount to meaningful change, or are voters in for more carefully-managed delay?For now, the Empire State waits, caught between ambition and anxiety, as another legislative year lurches into motion.