Last Gov. recall was a circus
Just a year after I moved to the land of direct democracy in 2002, Gov. Gray Davis was unceremoniously booted out of office in a recall election that was more like a carnival sideshow than an exercise in self-government. On Oct. 7, 2003, California voters were asked not just whether they wanted to remove Davis — but which of 135 candidates on the ballot they thought should replace him.
Among those vying to succeed him were a former child actor, a pornographer, a sumo wrestler, an action hero, a couple of college students and some not terribly popular politicians. The action hero won, though he drew less than 50 percent of the vote in the crowded field.
It wasn’t an inspiring moment for democracy. In many ways, it was a test run — no offense, Arnold — for the Trump election, which 13 years later reaffirmed when faced with the most serious of decisions, Americans will often opt for fame and fantasy over substance. Looking on from abroad, the Guardian called the 2003 recall that brought Arnold Schwarzenegger to power “a circus fit for the fruit and nut state.” The Economist asked: “Is the Golden State governable?”
Now we may be cruising toward a repeat. By March 17, signatures will be submitted in support of recalling Gov. Gavin Newsom. If 1,495,709 of them are deemed valid (12 percent of the turnout in the last gubernatorial election), a vote will be scheduled — and all bets are off. Who knows who will run? Who knows who will win? Who knows how many zillions of dollars will be spent to promote any number of outrageous outcomes? Newsom could certainly triumph and hold on to his job — especially if he panders effectively to those he’s offended — but I wouldn’t bet the state Capitol on it.
Californians apparently like the recall system. Me? I’m not so crazy about it except as a last resort.
These days, seeking to remove officials from their jobs before their term is up is in vogue. In Washington, the U.S. House of Representatives twice sought to oust President Trump from office.
In California, Newsom is just one of many who have been threatened with a recall.
Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti avoided one a year ago when Republican opponents challenging his handling of the city’s homelessness crisis failed to gather the necessary 300,000 signatures.
Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. George Gascon was challenged by victims’ rights advocates so soon after taking office in January state officials had to remind them a recall can’t begin until an officeholder has served 90 days.
Chesa Boudin, San Francisco’s reformist district attorney, is facing a recall effort, too, even though he’s served for just more than a year.
The Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors is looking into options for removing Sheriff Alex Villanueva, although it’s not clear a recall is their preferred approach. Around the state — in Shasta County, Ventura County and elsewhere — various supervisors and council members and sheriffs face efforts to remove them. In San Francisco, a formal effort to recall three members of the school board is underway.
Many of these efforts will no doubt fail to reach the ballot. But still, voters are jumping to the nuclear option awfully quickly — too quickly. If you don’t like Newsom, wait until the regularly scheduled election — next year! — to vote him out.
The recall became part of the California constitution in 1911. But many believed it would be used sparingly. They hoped the mere threat of removal from office would help keep officials in Sacramento accountable and honest and help unlock the grip of special interests, such as the Southern Pacific railroad. The recall was a tool with roots as far back as ancient Rome, and had been used in parts of Switzerland since the 19th century.
It’s fine to have a fail-safe mechanism to deal with truly corrupt or incompetent or dangerous elected officials. But the rest of the time, let’s give our officials a chance to do the jobs they were elected to do. California’s process is too chaotic, costly and unpredictable to use on a regular basis every time voters are irked at a politician.