John Lennon once sang he’d “had enough of hearing things . . . from neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians . . . All I want is the truth.” As a transplant from New Jersey—a state notorious for its corrupt politics (sorry, New Jersey)—I grew up empathizing with this sentiment. I have long felt at least somewhat cynical about the legislative process, especially whether popular input on such matters actually have any practical impact. That is, whether the vox populi expressed through public testimony and calls to offices does, in fact, ever change legislators’ minds, either through tried-and-true persuasion or, more likely, by pointing to legal and policy issues that those reviewing the bill in committee simply had not considered. Three weeks ago I visited Washington’s Capitol Complex for the first time. I was pleasantly surprised at how seriously state senators and representatives take our opinions—inside and outside of hearing rooms. I lost count of how many lawmakers I saw commingling with people visiting from all across the state (my general assumption, which generally holds, is that anyone with an umbrella instead of a raincoat is from the east side of the Cascades).
From what I managed to overhear, it quickly became apparent to me that Washingtonians are a singularly wonkish bunch. I know, I know, I was in the Capitol—of course people are talking law and politics. I shed my inner Lennon and allowed some optimism to guide me this time, and I was convinced there was a deeper explanation. Perhaps living at the farthest reaches of the American West continually imbues successive generations of Evergreeners with the ruggedest of rugged individualisms, permitting more of us to recognize that we each have an immediate and direct stake in what laws come out of Olympia. Or maybe as a border state with a heavy military presence, running along one of the world’s most important commercial highways—nestled nearly equidistantly between Los Angeles and Anchorage (the country’s busiest port and its third largest commercial air hub, respectively)—increases the sheer volume of policy choices with which Washingtonians must grapple, which, in turn, demands more constituent attention as a matter of course. I pondered whether our small-“l” liberal ballot initiative rules are what tips the scales. Perhaps I was in a rah-rah-’murica mood from a morning spent roaming the halls of what is easily the most beautiful (see for yourself) and awe-inducing legislative campus in the country, still a little loopy from the Old Fashioned I’d speed-drunk at a relatively early last call the night prior (early, at least, for someone who spent the better part of his twenties in New York City).
By the time I left Olympia midweek, I still could not identify the precise combination of factors that makes Washington’s political process so darn fulfilling. Almost a month later and I still can’t. Like any state, we have our struggles, including some very serious ones. As I have noted in previous posts, we have an acute law-enforcement shortage, more than a couple local judges bent on devising their own zero-bail policies (legislative prerogative be damned), and a housing crisis that grows more abysmal with each passing week. But the way our citizens and legislators come together, and work together, and are so willing to hear differing opinions—all things I observed first in person and then in several testimonies I participated in virtually—gives me a sense of hope I never thought a New Jersey native (again, sorry New Jersey!) could feel, at least not in the political realm.
Among the bills I testified on was House Bill 2001, which claims to “provid[e] judicial discretion to modify sentences in the interests of justice, but that in reality give judges what is essentially the power to pardon—an exclusively executive function. Next on order was House Bill 2140, a modification of Washington’s adverse possession rules—essentially, legalized squatting—to permit recorded title to supersede so-called “open and notorious” use of the property by a third party (for long enough to trigger the transfer of ownership from titleholder to squatter—usually ten years in Washington). For a seemingly pedantic topic—on the surface at least; below the surface laws like this are the unsung heroes of legal reform—I was taken by how invested the committee members were in really getting it right. I fielded questions from sponsors and opponents, both groups asking me probing academic questions for a solid ten minutes. I felt like I was in a Schoolhouse Rocks! episode—in a good way. Finally, I testified on House Bill 2114, which would cap residential rent increases at 5% per annum—another “good idea” on paper that economists across the ideological spectrum agree would actually reduce the quality and quantity of available rentals by driving more owners out of the tenancy business. All in all a great experience in direct civic participation—one I encourage anyone interested to join (yes, any Washingtonian can testify on any bill put to a public hearing).
While many of the reasons Washington’s politics is the way it is remain shrouded in mystery, I came away from my first immersive Olympia experience convinced that Washingtonians take their politics more seriously than do their counterparts at least in D.C., New York, Virginia, Michigan, and Tennessee—all places I have previously lived and played varying degrees of politics. I learned that Washingtonians do not easily suffer fools, and are honest and direct about their concerns with (or praises for) legislation they are interested in. Indeed, “interest” in Washington politics seems always to come with a level of passion you might have to wait for a constitutional convention to observe in most other states. It helps that those who serve us in Olympia receive us warmly—even those among us who show up to testify doing their best man-yells-at-cloud impression. Finally, I learned that hotel bars will typically let you bring drinks up to your room, so I did not need to clock-in a personal imbibing record mere hours before my first Capitol visit.
Alki,
Sam Spiegelman