Black Politicians See New Landscape in L.A. Politics

In the final moments of a celebration to mark his 80th birthday, Assemblyman Mervyn M. Dymally (D-Compton) looked out over an emptying hotel ballroom and offered a thought about the future of black politics in Los Angeles.

“There are no safe black districts anymore,” he said. “We have to look at politics differently now.”

Much has changed in the 44 years since Dymally won his first Assembly seat in a stretch of south Los Angeles County that is home to one of the largest concentrations of black voters west of the Mississippi.

A steady migration of African Americans to outlying areas and a massive influx of Latinos have eroded the traditional breadbasket of black political strength from Crenshaw to Compton, and these demographic changes have taken their toll.

Nationwide, the number of African Americans holding public office has increased sixfold -- from 1,500 to 9,500 -- since 1970, according to figures kept by the Joint Center for Political Studies, a Washington think tank.

In California, the number of black officeholders was 105 in 1970, came close to 300 in the mid-1980s -- a political heyday for African Americans -- and then began a steady decline to the current level of about 230, said David Bositis, a senior policy analyst at the center.

The traditional “safe seats” for African Americans in Los Angeles County -- three on the Los Angeles City Council, three in Congress, one on the L.A. County Board of Supervisors and a handful in the Legislature -- have so far continued to be held by blacks and are not expected to change hands anytime soon, due in part to a lag in Latino voter registration.

But in the face of demographic shifts, some African American hopefuls seem to be following Dymally’s advice to “look at politics differently” -- they are running and winning office outside historically black enclaves.

Black mayors now wield gavels in Palm Springs, Manhattan Beach and Lancaster. Culver City has an African American school board president. Blacks sit on city councils in Gardena, Lawndale, Lake Forest, San Bernardino and Moreno Valley. And Signal Hill -- where the 1981 death of Cal State Long Beach football player Ron Settles while in police custody once spurred racial tensions -- has an African American on the City Council.

“If our voices are to be heard, we have to legislate on behalf of a broad-based group, which means every place we run we are in the minority,” said Palm Springs Mayor Ron Oden, who is black and openly gay. “I am different, but I don’t run or hide from my difference.”

Eugene Grigsby, an urban planner who heads the National Health Foundation, an organization dedicated to finding innovative approaches to healthcare in underserved areas, said African American politicians elected in nonblack districts are members of a new emerging mainstream.

“They are free of the shackles of only addressing race issues,” Grigsby said. “Before we had to be race people, we were race slots and we had race cards. The younger folks understand that the playing field is a lot bigger. The old folks are circumscribed by the ghetto and the ghetto mentality. That worked as long as we had numbers. It is not going to work where Latinos increasingly outnumber us.”

Blacks are expected to register gains in the state Legislature in November after four black Democrats won their party’s nod in new historically nonblack districts in San Diego, Rialto, Long Beach and Oakland. Their success would increase the number of African Americans in the Legislature from six to 10.

“The message for African American candidates in the future is that they are going to have to be able to represent multiple issues, not abandon their African American constituents, but tune into issues important to Latinos and others as well,” said John Mack, president of the Los Angeles Police Commission and former head of the Los Angeles Urban League.

Long Beach City Councilwoman Laura Richardson, a candidate in the 55th Assembly District, said that shifting demographics create new demands.

“We have to step out of our comfort zones, learn more about other nationalities and their issues so we can better serve,” she said.

The state’s 2.5 million blacks represent only 6% of California’s population, and those numbers, Dymally said, make it essential that blacks form alliances.

“Latinos have always been our natural allies, except for one setback and that’s the differences over immigration,” said Dymally, a native of Trinidad who said he supports open borders.

In Manhattan Beach, Culver City, Lawndale and Gardena, the blacks elected to public office needed to reach beyond an ethnic base.

“When I was running for City Council, I used to joke that even if I received every black vote, I wouldn’t even come close,” said Manhattan Beach Mayor Mitch Ward, whose city has more than 34,000 residents, of which fewer than 1,000 are African American.

The 45-year-old computer consultant pledged to protect the small-town atmosphere and the schools in the coastal city. “We don’t want people to come in and change the character of our town,” he said.

Saundra Wakefield Davis remembers the welcome her family received after buying a home in Culver City in the early 1980s. Her son was asked at school if the family lived in a public housing project. Her husband was harassed by police who said he fit the profile of a criminal suspect, she said.

The final straw came when a police officer showed up at their front door and asked if they lived in the neighborhood. “What are you doing here?” she recalled them asking. “I said, ‘What do you mean? I live here.’ ”

At school, the mother of eight soon became known as a strong advocate for her children and anyone else’s. “People started coming to me for help,” said Davis, who is in her second term on the school board.

Robert Pullen-Miles moved his family to Lawndale and spent a few years on the city’s Planning Commission before winning a seat on the City Council. His campaign was endorsed by Assemblywoman Jenny Oropeza (D-Long Beach), who is also his boss.

“I love this city,” Pullen-Miles said. “It’s very diverse, like my home in Oklahoma. Now I’m on the City Council, and one day I hope to run for the state Legislature.”

But if black candidates are having success outside their usual power bases, the jockeying for traditional black seats remains intense, as Steve Bradford found out in last month’s state primary.

After nine years on the Gardena City Council, Bradford decided it was time for a change. He ran for the 51st Assembly District seat.

Assemblyman Mark Ridley-Thomas (D-Los Angeles), who faced little opposition in his effort to move up to a state Senate seat, endorsed Bradford in a tight race with Inglewood City Councilman Curren Price. But other support was hard to come by.

“The first thing they said was, ‘You have to wait your turn,’ ” Bradford recalled. “Here I am 46 years old and people are telling me I have to wait.”

U.S. Rep. Maxine Waters, county Supervisor Yvonne Brathwaite Burke and L.A. City Councilman Herb Wesson supported Bradford’s opponent.

“The races were as intense as I’ve ever seen,” Wesson said. “They were hotly contested and the gloves came off.”

Bradford lost.

“In the end, Mark’s name wasn’t as powerful, so Maxine won that round,” said Willis Edwards, a longtime political activist. “When you’re in a fighting war with Maxine, you better be ready. Maxine is up organizing when you’re asleep.”

Some say the upside for Ridley-Thomas is that he gained support in areas that he will need should he run for the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors in 2008, when Burke is expected to retire.

Ridley-Thomas “lost a big prize, but he gained friendships and relationships in Gardena, Carson and Lawndale among young activists who supported Steve Bradford,” said Kerman Maddox, a political consultant.

Political analysts say that when Burke retires, the battle to replace her will be intense. “The race for Yvonne’s seat is going to be a bloodbath,” said Michael Preston, USC professor of political science.

Meanwhile, Dymally worries that there aren’t enough young blacks entering politics.

“Young people don’t have that fire in their belly for politics,” he said. “It’s something that scholars will have to report why, but the sense of volunteerism is not there. It’s gone now.”

The shortage of eligible candidates was the reason given in 2002 when Dymally, a former lieutenant governor and six-term congressman, came out of retirement to run for the Assembly. Now, he is being mentioned as a possible candidate for the state Senate in 2008, when he will be 82.

At his birthday celebration in June, Dymally was being watched closely for a sign, a clue, as to whether or not he will run.

“He walks very much like the 80 year old he is,” one observer noted.

“He’ll never step aside, he’ll die in the saddle,” another said.

For his part, Dymally knew better than to show his hand.

“I’m thinking about it,” he said.