USC Students Learn the No-Win Game of Politics

Ross Perot isn’t the only person who has learned that it’s easier to complain about politics and government than to actually try to solve problems.

Last Friday morning, I watched high school students grapple with housing, budgets, zoning, poverty and other insoluble dilemmas that have ruined many a political career.

Unlike Perot, the young men and women couldn’t walk away. They had signed up for a USC summer school session for members of Junior Statesmen, a venerable organization that gives high school students practical experience in solving political and government problems.

I know the organization is venerable because it was around even when I was in high school. In fact, I was a member of the San Leandro High School Junior Statesmen chapter. Junior Statesmen also claims Gov. Pete Wilson as an alum, although you wouldn’t know it from his un-statesmanlike behavior in the budget fight.

At summer school, the Junior Statesmen members organized themselves into the power structure of a mythical regional government called Metro-Apex. They were county supervisors, city council members, reporters, industrialists, developers, and pressure group leaders from interests ranging from the Sierra Club to the Chamber of Commerce.

By the time I arrived, the students were scattered around several tables in the lounge of USC’s Von Kleinschmidt Center to take a whack at making decisions for Metro-Apex.

I had encountered these same student Junior Statesmen a couple of weeks before at The Times, as they were beginning their exploration of government. They had been studying Los Angeles’ city and county government, listening to politicians and bureaucrats explain their jobs. At the paper, they were hearing the views of reporters who covered these subjects.

I thought I would entertain them with a few anecdotes about the riot. I should have been warned by the serious faces before me that I should not be flippant about something so tragic. But, full of myself, I rambled on, commenting that, while the riots had been sad to see, they were exciting to cover.

When I said the word “exciting,” two young black women in the second row looked at me with the kind of contempt teen-agers reserve for the most backward adults. They shook their heads slightly in disgust. With each shake, I grew more embarrassed.

In the question period, the Junior Statesmen were polite but skeptical. Skeptical not only of me personally, but of the press as an institution.

They wondered if news coverage had made the riots worse, if television and newspaper reporters, in search of sensation and excitement, had worsened tensions. Their skepticism extended to other institutions, including the government they had observed.

They were a tough audience. So when I joined them at USC several days later, I was interested to see how the skeptics had fared as problem-solvers rather than critics.

The 40 or so Junior Statesmen were engaged in a computer-aided, role-playing game called the Metro-Apex Urban Simulation. Although there is no substitute for the difficult reality of serving on a city council, USC’s School of Public Administration comes close with the game.

SC’s Malcolm Sharp, the game director, had loaded down Metro Apex with more problems than Los Angeles County. Metro-Apex’s sheriff’s deputies want more pay. The airport needs new radar. Sewage drains are clogged. Hepatitis is raging through the county. Smog has forced a curtailment of high school sports. The local pulp factory and a feed-grain elevator are making pollution worse.

Developers and lobbyists are influence-peddling. A tough reelection campaign is coming up.

I talked to a group of role-playing lawmakers. “I really didn’t understand how hard it is to be a politician. . . . I learned how hard it is to get things done,” said Naveen Zaidi, 16, of San Diego. “The problem is the media,” said Rique Feaster, 16, of Washington, D.C., complaining about Metro-Apex’s newspaper. “We built high-rises in the downtown, and they (the paper) complained about the homeless,” said Troy Shell, 17, of Upland.

I don’t know what the Junior Statesmen will do with their knowledge. One of them wants to be a reporter. Some of them may become politicians.

Whatever their future, they’ve learned the first lesson about politics. Each decision made by council members and county supervisors helped some people and hurt others. Close down the pulp plant, put people out of work. Give the deputies a raise and the airport is stuck with its old radar. Politics can be a no-win game.

Ross Perot fled when he discovered that unhappy fact. I hope the Junior Statesmen stick with it.