EDITOR’S NOTE – CORRECTION MADE REGARDING THE NUMBER OF CITIES SERVED BY SALT LAKE COUNTY AND ITS BUDGET.

“Nobody wants to be here tonight. We all have other places we’d rather be,” one senior citizen told Salt Lake County officials. “But you’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest on this one.”

He was one of hundreds who packed a Salt Lake County hearing to speak out against County Mayor Jenny Wilson’s proposal to raise property taxes by 18.9 percent—a figure that drew audible gasps and murmurs from the crowd as it was repeated throughout the evening.

Salt Lake County, which serves 23 municipalities along the Wasatch Front, operates with a budget approaching $500 million for its general operations and roughly $1.6 billion across all funds. It is worth noting that of the county’s 23 municipalities, about 14 operate their own police departments, and some also run independent fire services, meaning those cities fund core public safety locally and reduce the county’s direct financial burden in those areas. However, for many in attendance, the question was not whether the county needs revenue, but whether residents—particularly seniors on fixed incomes—are being asked to shoulder too much of the burden.

Dozens of elderly residents came forward to describe the strain rising property taxes are already placing on them.

“You are taxing us to death,” one man said, his voice shaking with anger. “Some of these people can’t afford to pay their taxes, and they get kicked out onto the street. I suggest you all try living off what we’re getting.”

Another woman, seated beside her elderly mother, who struggled to walk to the podium, said quietly, “My mother will not be able to afford to live in her home much longer. She’s an octogenarian.”

A recurring theme throughout the night was the sense that county leaders were disconnected from the financial realities of those testifying. Several speakers questioned why the county had not explored cost reductions—particularly within its own payroll—before proposing a tax hike of this magnitude.

According to publicly available data from OpenPayrolls.org, more than 100 Salt Lake County employees earn over $189,000 per year. The county’s area median income (AMI) is approximately $93,000, meaning many top administrators earn roughly twice the local median.

Several speakers pointed specifically to county leadership salaries, noting that the mayor and three deputy mayors earn more than $250,000 annually.

According to public records, County Mayor Jenny Wilson earned $236,494.90 in 2022. That figure is 225.9 percent higher than the average pay for county employees and 229.6 percent higher than the national average for government workers.

Attention then turned to the county’s deputy mayors. Public records show that Darrin Casper, who serves as Deputy Mayor for Finance and Administration, earned $302,918.99 in 2022—317.5 percent higher than the average county employee’s pay and 322.2 percent higher than the national average for government employees.

Catherine M. Kanter, Deputy Mayor for Operations, earned $222,602.62 that same year, a figure 206.8 percent higher than the county average and 210.3 percent higher than the national government average.

Erin G. Litvack, Deputy Mayor for County Services, earned $249,146.96 in 2022, which is 243.4 percent higher than the average pay for county employees and 247.3 percent higher than the national average.

“Why aren’t you looking at salaries first?” one resident asked. “Why is the solution always to go back to the taxpayer?”

Others contrasted those figures with their own circumstances.

“I work sixty hours a week and make about fifty thousand dollars a year,” one man said. A woman relying on Social Security followed him. “Why don’t you try living on what I’m trying to live on and see if you can survive?”

Throughout the evening, Mayor Jenny Wilson and members of the County Council listened without visible reaction, seated behind the dais as speaker after speaker expressed frustration, fear, and anger.

County officials have emphasized that Salt Lake County has not raised its certified tax rate in nearly a decade. But that explanation did little to reassure residents who have watched their assessed home values—and tax bills—rise sharply during Utah’s recent real estate boom.

As one attendee put it, “You don’t have to raise the rate when assessments are already skyrocketing. We see it every year.”

Property taxes account for an estimated 40 percent of the county’s total revenue, meaning that rising assessments alone have significantly increased the money flowing into county coffers—regardless of whether the nominal tax rate changes.

By the end of the hearing, tempers were flaring.

“You see how angry we are?” one man said, pointing to his smartphone. “Back in the day, we would’ve gotten our pitchforks. Now we have these. And if this vote goes through, we’ll vote every one of you out.”

Commentary

By Richard Markosian

It once seemed a truism that America and extremely high taxes do not mix well. There is a reason for that.

The American Revolution was not fought over a preference for better tea, but over the principle of unfair taxation. The Stamp Act and the broader practice of taxation without representation sparked a long and bloody war for independence. That history still matters—especially when taxation begins to feel disconnected from accountability or restraint.

Property taxes, in particular, strike at the heart of personal security. A home is not just an asset; it is shelter, stability, and dignity. When taxes rise faster than fixed incomes, people don’t just feel squeezed—they feel threatened.

At the December 9 hearing, seniors on fixed incomes showed up not as ideologues, but as neighbors trying to hold onto the homes they’ve lived in for decades. Many were not opposed to government, or even to taxes in principle. They were asking for moderation, transparency, and shared sacrifice.

When administrative salaries climb into the quarter-million-dollar range while seniors are told to “adjust,” it sends a message—fair or not—that priorities may be misaligned.

Utah has long prided itself on practical governance and community trust. Preserving that trust means recognizing when a proposed solution feels less like stewardship and more like burden-shifting.

The anger in that room was not abstract. It was personal. And it is not going away on its own.