Legislator Votes Her Passion, Not Her Party Line

The debate ended, the bill went down in defeat, and Jackie Goldberg began to cry.

It wasn’t even her measure--just another legislator’s proposal to require safety features on swimming pools to prevent toddlers from drowning. But when her fellow Democrats failed to provide the votes to pass it this spring, Goldberg wept at her wooden desk in the rear of the California Assembly, because she could not hold back her frustration.

“It was a very little thing to ask to save babies’ lives,” the Los Angeles lawmaker recalled, “and the first time it went up, there were not 41 of 50 of us willing to vote for it because of opposition from a special interest.”

The California Assn. of Realtors had lobbied against the bill because it would have required that any home with a pool have at least one safety device before it could be resold. Only after Assemblywoman Gloria Negrete McLeod (D-Chino) removed that provision from her bill and the real estate organization rescinded its opposition did Democrats, who hold 50 of the Assembly’s 80 seats, put up the votes.

For Goldberg, who will complete her first two years in the Assembly this month, life as a rookie in the California Legislature has often been difficult to stomach.

The fiery former Berkeley radical, teacher, Los Angeles school board president and City Council member has made a life’s work of rattling cages to advance a progressive social agenda. She was reluctant to run for state office, in part because she worried that a 40-year liberal activist would fare poorly in party politics.

Initially, that proved true. Goldberg’s arrival at the Capitol last year went over with a thud, several colleagues said. Many legislators were taken aback by what they saw as her preachy personality.

So far this year, she has gotten her clock cleaned on most major legislation she has carried. A proposed ban on Native American mascots at public schools, a move to limit the state’s “three-strikes” law to violent criminals and, perhaps the most contentious bill of the legislative session, an effort to give teachers power to pick textbooks--all have been defeated.

Colleagues privately have grumbled about Goldberg’s hard-headedness and said she is unwilling to settle for “half a loaf,” as they often do to make progress--a criticism Goldberg said she considers unfair. Some have questioned whether she can ever be a successful legislator.

Yet despite her initial misgivings and early stumbles, Goldberg said she is glad she came to Sacramento. She is convinced she can make a difference on the issues she cares most about, from making improvements to public education to protecting the poor.

And though her uncompromising stands have not always made her popular with colleagues, particularly moderate members of her own party, they have earned her respect from Democrats and Republicans alike. “This place can’t operate without individuals who work on passion,” said Assembly Speaker Herb Wesson (D-Culver City), an admittedly more pragmatic politician, who gave Goldberg the coveted position of Assembly Education Committee chairwoman. “That’s what Jackie is. You need those people to balance the rest of us out.”

*

Her Take on the Capitol

Goldberg, 58, continues to be outspoken.

Goldberg on Assembly Republicans, most of whom are socially conservative:

“It’s like a time warp. I feel like I’ve stepped back into the 1950s.”

Goldberg on the “Business Democrats,” lawmakers whose votes, coupled with those of GOP legislators, often kill liberal bills:

“Business Dems drive a lot of us crazy. The notion of a ‘Business Democrat’ as someone who will vote with the Chamber of Commerce on every issue is a very narrow one.”

Goldberg, an open lesbian, on what she considers the hateful rhetoric of some Republicans on gay-rights issues:

“I’d never heard elected officials really speak the homophobic line with pride: ‘You are immoral and going to hell.’ ”

Goldberg on gifts from special interests, which she does not accept:

“People do not want to believe that their elected officials can be bought. I want them to know that, if I did something they did not like, I did it because I am stupid, not because I am corrupt.”

*

Activist to Assembly

When term limits were about to force Goldberg from the L.A. City Council, backers began talking to her about running for the Assembly seat being vacated by then-Speaker Antonio Villaraigosa, representing a stretch from East Los Angeles to Hollywood.

But Goldberg had little interest in going to Sacramento. She did not want to leave her longtime home in Echo Park, where she lives with her domestic partner, Sharon Stricker, a poet and activist she met during the school busing fights of the 1970s. And she feared becoming just another face among 120 senators and Assembly members voting the party line.

However, Goldberg received recruiting visits from a few influential liberals, including state Sen. Sheila Kuehl (D-Santa Monica) and Assemblywoman Dion Aroner (D-Berkeley), who had been Goldberg’s roommate at Berkeley’s Delta Phi Epsilon sorority.

Goldberg ran and won.

Like most newcomers, she expected to ease into the job. But then blackouts began to darken swaths of the state early in 2001 and she was immediately thrust into action.

Goldberg carried no major legislation during the energy crisis. She spent much of her time in a behind-the-scenes role. Yet she still managed to get 10 bills signed into law dealing with kindergarten education, food stamps and child support, among other issues. The feat, she said, led colleagues to nickname her “41” in a nod to her knack for mustering the minimum vote needed.

This was going to be the year Goldberg had a major effect on public policy. But her more ambitious efforts all failed.

After hearing from a desperate constituent who said her husband faced life in prison for bouncing bad checks, Goldberg discovered many Californians faced life terms under the voter-approved “three-strikes” law, even though they had never been convicted of violent crimes. She carried legislation to change the law, but found little support among colleagues concerned about being painted as soft on crime.

After Native American activists told her about having to hear “scalp the Indians” at football games, Goldberg carried legislation to banish all Native American mascots from public schools. The bill sped through committees without formal opposition and garnered national headlines. But it hit a roadblock on the Assembly floor when she refused to take an amendment allowing for exemptions. Republicans blasted the legislation as “political correctness run amok,” and it fell far short of 41.

“I admire Jackie and Jackie’s passion,” said Assemblywoman Carol Liu (D-La Canada Flintridge), who believes Goldberg’s refusal to take her amendments swayed other Democrats and led to the bill’s defeat.

“She feels so deeply about the issues she believes in. Sometimes it interferes with her ability to gain success because she does not compromise.... She needs to understand that, unless she works with people, she is going to encounter the same type of opposition.”

The same week, Goldberg suffered her worst defeat to date.

She caused a sensation in Sacramento when she introduced legislation to give teachers a say in textbook choices and other issues traditionally left to administrators. The bill was strongly backed by the California Teachers Assn., but opponents assailed it as an outrageous power grab by the union.

Goldberg moved the measure to the Assembly floor--and, she pointedly noted, made numerous concessions along the way. But Wesson, a supporter, said he personally pulled the plug there because it was going down.

Goldberg felt betrayed by some colleagues who she said had told her they shared her views but then failed to back her when it mattered.

But she insisted she never felt bitter, and said she is convinced most of the politicians in Sacramento are honorable. The problem, she said, is their ambition, and the way others will manipulate it to influence their votes.

“Everyone comes up here believing in what they believe. The problem comes when they take votes that they are told will affect their political careers,” Goldberg said. “There are a lot of people”--lobbyists, staffers and fellow legislators--”that tell them, ‘This vote will kill you in the next election.’

“I learned in my first office that reelection is not the most important thing in the world. It makes you free” to realize that, she added.

*

Earning Respect

Goldberg’s reluctance to back down has won her the unwavering support of a potent political ally: Wayne Johnson, the head of the California Teachers Assn., who was not always on her side when she served as L.A. Unified’s board president.

The Goldberg he sees in Sacramento is more skilled at consensus-building--and far more willing to engage in it--than the one he knew in Los Angeles, he said.

“She understands the educational issues and the political side of things better than anyone I have seen in my life,” Johnson said.

Across the aisle, even among conservative Republicans, Goldberg’s positions have earned respect. Assemblyman Sam Aanestad (R-Grass Valley) recalled a hearing last year at which farmers in the Klamath River basin described how drought was destroying their livelihoods. Most urban legislators didn’t even bother to show up, he said, but Goldberg did.

“There were tears in her eyes,” Aanestad said. “I just found it amazing that someone from Southern California would sit there and listen, because most of them wouldn’t.”

And the progressives who encouraged her to step up to statewide politics have said Goldberg’s attitude reaffirms their faith.

“There is a proclivity over in the Assembly to duck,” said Kuehl, who suffered her share of early defeats in the Assembly. “Sometimes, the members who do not want to be recorded [on a tough vote] are mad at you.... Instead of being mad at themselves for being weenies, they get mad at you.”

Friends said that beneath Goldberg’s brash demeanor she is a sensitive soul who takes criticism to heart, and that her big legislative losses left her feeling down.

But she has begun to turn a corner, they said. She has become a player in the progressive wing of the Democratic Party, which is increasingly dominating statehouse politics.

At the same time, she has become a loyal defender of moderate Democratic Gov. Gray Davis on the Assembly floor.

“I’ve got six years here and things that I need to get done,” she said. “I’ll take half a loaf--I’ll even take a slice of bread sometimes--if it moves an issue forward in a real way.”