Lobbyist Lockout Is a Goofy Idea

We who live in Northern California were warned there’d be times like this--times when the former mayor of Los Angeles would act goofy.

Just does things that are kinda goofy, muttered longtime observers of Richard Riordan, the limping front-runner for the Republican gubernatorial nomination.

I used to dismiss such talk. After all, Ronald Reagan sometimes acted goofy, but he endeared himself to voters.

Clearly, however, Riordan is no Reagan. He does exude warmth, like an old Irish setter. But he’s no Great Communicator. Unlike Reagan, Riordan often wanders off his message.

Like in a debate when he says that former Gov. George Deukmejian only remembers “grudges.” When he screams at a Times reporter to “just get out of here”--off a moving campaign bus. When he confuses “fiberglass” with “fiber-optics.”

Small stuff, I say. Where is he on the big issues? What kind of governor would he be?

Then on Monday, Riordan did exhibit certifiable goofiness. He vowed at a campaign stop in Studio City that, if elected, he’d refuse to meet with lobbyists and wouldn’t allow his staff to meet with them either.

It could be that the candidate was being demagogic. Or perhaps he was just naive. Likely, it was both.

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This is what Riordan told reporters, in part:

“I’m not going to charge $100,000 to lobbyists to come in my office as Gray Davis does. Nor anything. I just won’t let them in the office.”

(An “absurd” comment, says Davis spokesman Steve Maviglio.)

“Look at my record.... The lobbyists essentially gave up trying to lobby the mayor’s office....

“I want [aides] to independently make up their mind as to what’s in the best interests of the state, not how much money I can get out of the [lobbyist]. Nobody is going to buy Dick Riordan....

“I think you can get experts to advise you on all kinds of things without being educated by the lobbyists because they’re going to spin it towards their client....

“The bottom line, it will be a policy in my office not to talk to lobbyists.”

Where to begin? Let’s start with this: Lobbyists are as vital to American democracy as are the three branches of government. They’re about the 1st Amendment “right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

It’s basic civics: The people of California cannot all assemble in Sacramento. So they organize--whether they realize it or not--into special-interest groups to petition the government. Groups ranging from fertilizer manufacturers to fly fishermen, from developers to duck lovers, from truckers to teachers.

“Guys who drive trucks for a living ought to be able to hire somebody to articulate their position against college professors,” notes veteran lobbyist George Steffes.

“If you’re trying to keep out the corruption of money, that’s a different issue than ‘talking to lobbyists.’”

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Corruption is caused by special-interest donations to politicians’ election campaigns. If the public believes the influence of private money on state politicians needs to be reduced, it must spend its own tax dollars on campaigns. Either special interests buy politicians, or the public does.

But either way, there’ll be lobbyists. They’re not the problem.

“Riordan’s being disingenuous,” asserts Secretary of State Bill Jones, an underdog Republican rival. He says Riordan appointed seven registered lobbyists to jobs in his mayoral administration. The city of Los Angeles employs five lobbyists in Sacramento.

At last count, there were 2,176 lobbyist employers and 1,126 lobbyists here. They pack the Capitol, some lobbying for several interests.

Riordan could keep his staffers sequestered for four years and they’d never have to speak to one. But then they’d be ignorant about policy options and public desires.

I called Alan Watahara, lobbyist for the California Children’s Lobby. He noted that Riordan’s wife, Nancy Daly, is a strong advocate--lobbyist?--for children’s causes.

“If the mayor were to think about this,” Watahara says, “he would hold court with lobbyists. Meet with us on a regular basis.”

Riordan’s a bicycling fanatic. Too bad he can’t chat with the lobbyist for the California Bicycle Coalition. She’s Aimee Rutledge, a moderate Republican, mother of two--his kind of voter.

“I was hoping to get Riordan out on my new triple bike,” she says. “Too bad. It’s kind of cool. It’s racy. It’s red. If he’s elected, he’ll see it parked outside the Capitol. I use it to drop the kids off, then go to work.”

Mayor, get on the bike with the lobbyist. It’d be a little goofy. But goofy-endearing.