New Concept in Congress: Californians for California

All of a sudden, things in the nation’s capital seem to be going California’s way:

The House is poised to give some states $600 million toward the cost of locking up illegal immigrant felons--half of it to California. A Medicaid formula that would have paid three times more for patients in New York City than for patients in Los Angeles disappeared from the budget agreement overnight. And a bid for another round of military base closures was roundly shouted out of Congress.

How come? Both political parties wish to woo California’s voters--that helps, of course. But it may also be the fact that after a decade and a half of distinguishing themselves as not only the nation’s biggest delegation, but also its grouchiest, California’s 52 members of Congress are actually starting to get along with one another.

Last March, for the first time in three years, they all sat down together in the same room (well, almost all of them) and talked about--get ready--what might be good for the state of California.

In April, they held a love fest and called it California Day. The delegation has fired off a dozen letters this year on subjects from the well-known to the arcane: immigration, utility deregulation, tax laws on bonds issued for nonprofit projects, federal aid for watershed restoration in the Sacramento Delta and the like. Two of the letters bore the signature of all 52--the most ever that anyone who pays attention to such things can remember.

“In a time when there are no easy answers to problems--none--it’s nice to have the support of people who come from the same place physically, even if not ideologically,” said Rep. Jane Harman of Palos Verdes, who leads the Democratic side of a bipartisan task force formed to help the state’s political enemies cooperate.

It is difficult to overstate how low things had sunk in years past.

Among the state’s congressional delegation, some members had served for years without actually talking to one another. One member would be working on a bill and have no idea that another member was working on the same thing. By comparison, the New York and Texas delegations looked like the June Taylor Dancers--staging well choreographed raids on the federal treasury, such as New York’s grabbing of a federal earthquake research center in 1986, and Texas’ successful campaign for construction of a giant atom-smashing machine in the mid-1980s.

So divided had the delegation become that in the days leading up to the big March get-together that staffers in charge had no idea how many pizzas to order, much less what to put on them. Would five members show up or 50? One aide wondered whether pizza was wise in the event of a food fight. He was only half kidding.

They rolled the dice and ordered a dozen--four pepperoni, three sausage, two vegetarian and three cheese. By the end of the hour, there was hardly any left. Forty-three members had come back to the fold. Liberals were sitting next to conservatives. The governor crashed the party; a Democrat introduced him, a gesture that said, in the words of one aide, “Sometimes we have to hold our nose and do these things whether we like to or not.”

“It felt good, said Rep. David Dreier (R-San Dimas). “I think the word is refreshing.”

Indeed, with this crowd it passed for practically historic.

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California’s is a huge delegation as diverse as the state it represents, and deep philosophical differences remain over such issues as immigration, health care and welfare reform. The delegation has operated virtually rudderless for years, driven more by hard feelings than by the good of the state.

Some track the ill will to 1982, when congressional districts were redrawn to the benefit of Democrats and Republicans got sore. Then the Democrats had a hard time getting over the 1992 loss of their long-held command of the House to the GOP.

But this year something clicked.

New leadership stepped in--Republican Rep. Jerry Lewis of Redlands, a well-liked moderate who leads the 23 GOP members of the delegation, and Rep. Lucille Roybal-Allard, an amiable liberal heading the 29 Democrats.

They have made it their mission to bridge the partisan divide and find common ground on small issues even if their membership will never agree on the big ones. They steer clear of ideology and focus on money--that is, how much California is or isn’t going to get.

On immigration, for example, conservatives and liberals are at an impasse over education for the children of illegal immigrants. But they all agree the federal government should reimburse the state for the cost of incarcerating illegals who commit crimes.

Last month, the delegation unanimously demanded relief for California and other heavily burdened states and got $1 million more than last year.

In the eyes of the business community, this agreeability is remarkable. Business leaders have spent years watching in frustration as the delegation squandered its political might; Californians represent one-fourth of the votes needed to pass a bill in the House.

There is some concern that all this congeniality will bring a backlash from other states, a resurgence of the ABC syndrome--”Anywhere, Anybody but California.” A phenomenon that dominated Washington in the 1980s, it stemmed from the perception that Californians live the good life and don’t deserve any help from Capitol Hill.

But so far Washington seems to have reacted less with resentment than amazement that the delegation is occasionally thinking as one.

“I understand the Texas delegation is a little put out,” Harman said. “High time, would be my response.”