City Hall Remains Scattered in Face of Rampart Crisis

It has been some time since the biggest city in Southern California has been governed from the grand, old “Superman” building inscribed with the words “Los Angeles City Hall.” They cleared everyone out for a rehab job two years ago, and when the L.A. City Council meets now, it’s across the street in a long, low, Clark Kent of a chamber. Cheap acoustic-tile ceiling, harvest colors, plain brown building--you get the picture. It’s one of several such spots, actually, to which Los Angeles’ governance has been scattered. Scattered, of course, being the city’s operative mode.

Scattered outside, scattered inside. On the day of the first council session after “The Big Lock-Out,” as city workers were calling it last week, the council chamber was a hive of murmuring politicians, all clustered in confabs of great, separate importance. Or maybe they were just talking to themselves. It wasn’t clear. All that was known was that, two days before, in the midst of the latest worst-crisis- in-city-history, a long-simmering dislike between L.A.’s mayor and council had erupted in an ill-timed public display of disaffection: Mayor Richard Riordan had called a press conference on the burgeoning Rampart scandal, and when some council aides tried to come into his eighth-floor, city-owned press room, the door was slammed.

Specifically, Riordan’s functionaries had decreed that only credentialed members of the press could enter. That prompted five council members to march upstairs and demand entry themselves. Which prompted the City Hall security people to do more door-slamming, prompting a barrage of yelling and door-pounding that left Councilwoman Rita Walters with a bruised arm and (rumor had it) Councilwoman Jackie Goldberg with a bruised fist.

“Legitimate press only,” the guards intoned, prompting one lawmaker to wonder later what Geraldo Rivera was doing in there--a remark that would have made good TV had the mayor not told city employees recording the proceedings to pull the plug.

*

Much drama for the press corps. Many apologies afterward from the mayor’s office. Rising panic regarding the Rampart crisis, which is looking more and more like a job for Superman. But such is the scatteredness that even a Giuliani moment like last week’s affront to the council’s--and its constituents’--dignity couldn’t galvanize the council into some semblance of mutual action.

“It’s awful. I wasn’t there, and I was glad I wasn’t,” murmured a disgusted Councilman Joel Wachs, who is running for mayor.

“I’m looking ahead,” murmured an equally appalled Councilman Mike Feuer, who is running for city attorney.

“I’m introducing a motion to broadcast everyone’s press conferences” on interoffice squawk boxes, murmured Councilwoman Laura Chick, who was among the slam-ees, and who is terming out next year and running for controller.

Goldberg had no murmur; she’s terming out too, and had taken the day off, presumably to campaign for the state Assembly.

“Are you Irish? My wife was Irish,” murmured the recently widowed council president, John Ferraro, with indescribable sadness. How are you? I asked. The 34-year councilman--who once had the power to unite the council--looked into the middle distance.

“Lonely,” he said.

*

No situation, of course, is just one thing or the other. Los Angeles’ uncertainty about the Rampart scandal isn’t just a function of political scatteredness. There has been--and this is a good thing--a general reluctance to trivialize the situation by flying into hysterics. There has been, too, a tacit understanding that what happened in that division runs far deeper than the abuses of a few inner-city policemen. The Rampart story is about human weakness and the temptations of power and mob emotion. The possibility that there may not be a solution for this--or any--city is understood.

But the lack of cohesiveness certainly hasn’t helped in the response to this crisis, especially with fingers being pointed from the police chief to the district attorney to the INS and FBI. City Hall could be an exception, if the mayor and council could get it together. But old beefs and new term limits undercut bonding; today’s ally could be a rival for tomorrow’s job.

The temptation, beyond city limits, is to tsk at “L.A.’s problems,” as if the biggest city in Southern California had scattered its leadership by accident. As if term limits and political distrust weren’t shredding the region faster than a speeding bullet. As if there weren’t 202 separate cities in this Metropolis.

Shawn Hubler’s column appears Mondays and Thursdays. Her e-mail address is shawn.hubler@latimes.com.