Over the Thanksgiving weekend I saw an editorial cartoon in the Santa Barbara News-Press (often referred to around here as the Snooze-Mess), syndicated from the Orange County Register, that depicted a vehicle emblazoned with the General Motors logo, an engine labeled United Auto Workers, and an exhaust tank which read, Revenues.
The exhaust tank was festooned with cobwebs, clearly rendering the meaning of the cartoon: GM’s money woes are the fault of the United Auto Workers.
All I can say to that notion is Bullshit. GM’s problems are bigger than its unionized blue-collar workforce, and to lay the blame for the decline of this American industrial icon at the feet of the men and women who assemble GM cars and trucks is to miss the larger picture.
GM has been lurching into irrelevancy for nearly two decades. Remember Roger & Me, Michael Moore’s 1989 film about the effects of a GM plant closing in Flint, Michigan? From the mid-80’s on GM was struggling to compete with Toyota and Honda, Japanese manufacturers who built high-quality, fuel-efficient, front-wheel drive vehicles. GM still held the title of world’s biggest manufacturing company, but every passing year saw Honda and Toyota chip away at GM’s market dominance.
How did giant GM respond to the threat from abroad? First, CEO Roger Smith pushed through the acquisition of Hughes Aircraft Company, a defense contractor, ostensibly to milk Hughes’s hi-tech expertise. Smith and other GM honchos thought a dose of space-age technology could help GM build more appealing vehicles.
The only problem with this billion dollar experiment was that GM never quite figured out how to harness Hughes’s strengths and marry them with its own.
With great fanfare, GM then announces the creation of a brand new car division called “Saturn” that would not only revolutionize GM but the American auto industry as well. Saturn, Roger Smith assured the Wall Street crowd, would operate completely outside the GM box; in itself, this boast was a backhanded indictment of GM’s bloated processes. Saturn wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, just one that came to fruition too late to halt GM’s slide.
GM’s core problem was never entirely its blue-collar workforce. Bloated and inefficient management lay at the center of GM’s woes. Year after year the giant reorganized and restructured, closing a plant here, shifting production to Canada or Texas, tinkering with its supply chain, but nothing could stem the tide. The cars and trucks coming off the GM drawing board simply paled in quality and style to those imported from abroad.
At one point it got so bad that GM entered into a joint venture with Toyota to build the Corolla, Toyota’s flagship vehicle, in Fremont, California using Japanese manufacturing processes and UAW represented labor. Soon, Honda was building cars in the US using the same framework.
GM was so dominant for so long, with far flung operations so massive and intimately connected to the fortunes of the US economy, that the company – management and labor – grew fat, happy, and complacent. Toyota and Honda were mere upstarts way back when, nothing to worry about.
By the time GM realized it was in a fight for market share with savvy adversaries it was too late for the giant to shake its behemoth mindset and change for the future.
Sure, the blue collar workforce represented by the UAW bears some of the responsibility, but don’t lay the whole enchilada at the feet of working men and women.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Anniversary of the Balcony
As the calendar turns and the crow flies I see that Shouts from the Balcony is a year old this month.
The blogosphere is full of crackpots, and I am certainly one, sitting here week after week – day after day in some instances – writing to a worldwide yet largely invisible audience. This still seems self-indulgent and screwy to me, a loon on a street corner shouting into a gale force wind.
Folks trip across the Balcony by accident, stay for less than a minute, on average, and split in search of something more interesting.
A couple of readers have asked why I write about external things like national politics and very little about my family. Basic privacy is one reason, point of view would be another; sometimes it’s easier to draw a bead on a far off target than one nearby. Another reason for my choice of subjects is that the current national political scene pisses me off and compels me to add my voice to the din. When you look at your country, even from afar, and don’t recognize it, that’s cause for alarm.
Interest in the Balcony spiked after I posted a rant against a local school board member. I had no idea that the piece would be referred to in the Santa Barbara News-Press as an “angry” blog, or that the blog address would be printed in the paper. Lots of people visited after that.
But like I said, now it’s the occasional day-tripper, my in-laws, my mother, Bubba who lives in Arizona, a few colleagues from the school district where I work. I started this thing on a lark and never expected much. Writers are notorious feedback hounds, however, and it’s gratifying when someone posts a comment, reports that something struck them as funny, insightful or even downright pigheaded.
Whether or not the Balcony will see a second anniversary is an open question. Time and events will tell, but for now, I thank all those who have visited.
The blogosphere is full of crackpots, and I am certainly one, sitting here week after week – day after day in some instances – writing to a worldwide yet largely invisible audience. This still seems self-indulgent and screwy to me, a loon on a street corner shouting into a gale force wind.
Folks trip across the Balcony by accident, stay for less than a minute, on average, and split in search of something more interesting.
A couple of readers have asked why I write about external things like national politics and very little about my family. Basic privacy is one reason, point of view would be another; sometimes it’s easier to draw a bead on a far off target than one nearby. Another reason for my choice of subjects is that the current national political scene pisses me off and compels me to add my voice to the din. When you look at your country, even from afar, and don’t recognize it, that’s cause for alarm.
Interest in the Balcony spiked after I posted a rant against a local school board member. I had no idea that the piece would be referred to in the Santa Barbara News-Press as an “angry” blog, or that the blog address would be printed in the paper. Lots of people visited after that.
But like I said, now it’s the occasional day-tripper, my in-laws, my mother, Bubba who lives in Arizona, a few colleagues from the school district where I work. I started this thing on a lark and never expected much. Writers are notorious feedback hounds, however, and it’s gratifying when someone posts a comment, reports that something struck them as funny, insightful or even downright pigheaded.
Whether or not the Balcony will see a second anniversary is an open question. Time and events will tell, but for now, I thank all those who have visited.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
THE CTM CHRONICLES - On the Road with Alice
Alice DuPont lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of an old one, passed Chuck a bottle of Old Parr scotch, and stomped on the gas, pushing the Corvette up to ninety miles an hour. “That’s good stuff,” she said. “Aged twelve years. My soon-to-be-ex-husband distributes the crap. Go ahead, have a pull. There’s more in the trunk.”
Chuck took a drink and passed the bottle back. He wasn’t sure if Alice DuPont was tipsy or flat-out crazy, but for the moment, his fate was intertwined with hers and there was nothing to be done about it except settle back and watch South Carolina flash past. On the one hand he felt happy. With every passing mile he was putting distance between himself and Patricia. On the other – and that’s the problem with the other hand, it jumps in at inopportune moments – he was nagged by a vision of her lying in the bathtub with her wrists slashed. (Years later when her book came out he would learn that Patricia had indeed tried to do herself in by swallowing forty-seven aspirin tablets.)
Alice looked to be in her early 50’s though it was hard to be certain because her face was puffy from crying. Her hair was reddish-brown and naturally curly. Her eyes were blue, sad, and bloodshot. Even before she started talking about the tangled mess her life had become, Chuck sensed her sadness and pain; the story was etched in the lines around her eyes and in the furrows between her eyebrows.
Alice began by saying, “My husband is a miserable, duplicitous bastard, a liar, a cheat and a thief. He stole the prime of my life from me. Twenty-four years of marriage and only this morning do I discover that the sonofabitch has a second family, in Scotland, where he spends half the year on business. Can you believe that crap? Pretty young wife, two small kids, a house, a dog, the whole nine yards. In Scotland. I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it, I really would. I’d slice his dick off and feed it to his dog. That stuff about a woman scorned is true, though I suppose you’re too young to understand. But you will and I’d bet my last dollar that one day you’ll do the same damn thing to some poor, unsuspecting girl. Men are no better than pigs! Here, have another drink!”
Chuck had another swig and handed the bottle back.
“What are you running away from?” Alice asked.
“The circus,” Chuck said. “I’m a high-wire man but the gig was getting to be a drag, so I asked the boss if I could try my hand at taming the lion. He said no, so I split.”
“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” Alice said. “Don’t most people run away to join the circus?”
“Not me.”
Alice grunted. “You travel light. Looks like you left in a hurry. Maybe the fire-eater was chasing you?”
“It was the bearded lady, all three hundred and ten pounds of her. She wanted me, I wasn’t into her, it was an awkward situation that affected my concentration and when your job is the high-wire, the last thing you need is a distraction like that. It was time for me to bail.”
“Aren’t you a clever one,” Alice said dryly. “I can see why she was hot for you.”
“What can I say? People who defy death for a living have a certain aura about them.”
“Christ. What a load of crap. You’re a born bullshitter, aren’t you?”
“What’s in New York City?” Chuck asked.
“My brother, Sam, the only sane member of my entire family. He lives in the Village with his wife and daughter, plays the sax for a living. Sweet, big-hearted Sammy, who managed to escape the genetic madness that plagues our family. Now Jan, my sister, who I’m on my way to visit if I can remember where she lives, is as eccentric as the day is long. Even when we were kids she was off. She got married right out of high school, moved to Oregon, decided one day that she wanted to be a lesbian, divorced her husband and moved to Manitoba with her new lover. That lasted four or five years, until Jan decided that being a lesbian wasn’t for her after all. She moved to Seattle and met a Chinese engineer by the name of Hai Le Chang. Chang was about five feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, a computer geek who designed software for Boeing. Hai had some sexual issues, liked to be spanked, dressed in a diaper, that sort of thing. Oh, we’re a colorful dysfunctional family all right. You want to jump out?”
“Not yet,” Chuck said. “Where are we?”
They were driving in the suburbs now, in a town called Goose Creek, past modest homes on generous lots, tree-lined streets, all-American, picket fences and bicycles in the yard, RV’s parked alongside the houses.
“Do you know how Jan decided to move here?” Alice asked. “She threw a dart at a map of the United States and without a second thought packed her things in a U-Haul and came here. She keeps a Great Dane for protection. She also has a python named Monty that lives under her bed.”
Chuck spotted Jan’s house before Alice did, not that it was hard to pick out. Sweetwater Street was neat and orderly, spilling over with middle-class pride, until suddenly one house ruined the entire mosaic, Jan’s place, of course. There was a 1962 VW Bug in the driveway, sitting on its rims, dented and splattered with bird droppings, speckled with rust; a life-size bronze statue of Robert E. Lee, saber drawn and ready to defend the Old South against all comers, stood on the front lawn. General Lee was surrounded by the weirdest collection of stuff Chuck had ever seen: wrought-iron birds, clay jaguars, a toilet sunk in a flower bed, a claw-footed bathtub full of bicycle tires, a lamp post, golf clubs, aluminum baseball bats, lobster traps, a full-size trampoline; a male mannequin with a noose around its neck hung from a tree; another mannequin, this one headless, sat in a rocking chair on the porch pointing a toy gun at passers-by.
“She’s a junk collector?” Chuck said as Alice parked.
“No, just a crazy woman. The neighbors have been trying to boot her out of here for years, but Jan won’t budge. Annoying people gives her pleasure. Steel yourself, young man. Have another drink. We’re about to enter the Twilight Zone.”
Chuck took a drink and passed the bottle back. He wasn’t sure if Alice DuPont was tipsy or flat-out crazy, but for the moment, his fate was intertwined with hers and there was nothing to be done about it except settle back and watch South Carolina flash past. On the one hand he felt happy. With every passing mile he was putting distance between himself and Patricia. On the other – and that’s the problem with the other hand, it jumps in at inopportune moments – he was nagged by a vision of her lying in the bathtub with her wrists slashed. (Years later when her book came out he would learn that Patricia had indeed tried to do herself in by swallowing forty-seven aspirin tablets.)
Alice looked to be in her early 50’s though it was hard to be certain because her face was puffy from crying. Her hair was reddish-brown and naturally curly. Her eyes were blue, sad, and bloodshot. Even before she started talking about the tangled mess her life had become, Chuck sensed her sadness and pain; the story was etched in the lines around her eyes and in the furrows between her eyebrows.
Alice began by saying, “My husband is a miserable, duplicitous bastard, a liar, a cheat and a thief. He stole the prime of my life from me. Twenty-four years of marriage and only this morning do I discover that the sonofabitch has a second family, in Scotland, where he spends half the year on business. Can you believe that crap? Pretty young wife, two small kids, a house, a dog, the whole nine yards. In Scotland. I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it, I really would. I’d slice his dick off and feed it to his dog. That stuff about a woman scorned is true, though I suppose you’re too young to understand. But you will and I’d bet my last dollar that one day you’ll do the same damn thing to some poor, unsuspecting girl. Men are no better than pigs! Here, have another drink!”
Chuck had another swig and handed the bottle back.
“What are you running away from?” Alice asked.
“The circus,” Chuck said. “I’m a high-wire man but the gig was getting to be a drag, so I asked the boss if I could try my hand at taming the lion. He said no, so I split.”
“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” Alice said. “Don’t most people run away to join the circus?”
“Not me.”
Alice grunted. “You travel light. Looks like you left in a hurry. Maybe the fire-eater was chasing you?”
“It was the bearded lady, all three hundred and ten pounds of her. She wanted me, I wasn’t into her, it was an awkward situation that affected my concentration and when your job is the high-wire, the last thing you need is a distraction like that. It was time for me to bail.”
“Aren’t you a clever one,” Alice said dryly. “I can see why she was hot for you.”
“What can I say? People who defy death for a living have a certain aura about them.”
“Christ. What a load of crap. You’re a born bullshitter, aren’t you?”
“What’s in New York City?” Chuck asked.
“My brother, Sam, the only sane member of my entire family. He lives in the Village with his wife and daughter, plays the sax for a living. Sweet, big-hearted Sammy, who managed to escape the genetic madness that plagues our family. Now Jan, my sister, who I’m on my way to visit if I can remember where she lives, is as eccentric as the day is long. Even when we were kids she was off. She got married right out of high school, moved to Oregon, decided one day that she wanted to be a lesbian, divorced her husband and moved to Manitoba with her new lover. That lasted four or five years, until Jan decided that being a lesbian wasn’t for her after all. She moved to Seattle and met a Chinese engineer by the name of Hai Le Chang. Chang was about five feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, a computer geek who designed software for Boeing. Hai had some sexual issues, liked to be spanked, dressed in a diaper, that sort of thing. Oh, we’re a colorful dysfunctional family all right. You want to jump out?”
“Not yet,” Chuck said. “Where are we?”
They were driving in the suburbs now, in a town called Goose Creek, past modest homes on generous lots, tree-lined streets, all-American, picket fences and bicycles in the yard, RV’s parked alongside the houses.
“Do you know how Jan decided to move here?” Alice asked. “She threw a dart at a map of the United States and without a second thought packed her things in a U-Haul and came here. She keeps a Great Dane for protection. She also has a python named Monty that lives under her bed.”
Chuck spotted Jan’s house before Alice did, not that it was hard to pick out. Sweetwater Street was neat and orderly, spilling over with middle-class pride, until suddenly one house ruined the entire mosaic, Jan’s place, of course. There was a 1962 VW Bug in the driveway, sitting on its rims, dented and splattered with bird droppings, speckled with rust; a life-size bronze statue of Robert E. Lee, saber drawn and ready to defend the Old South against all comers, stood on the front lawn. General Lee was surrounded by the weirdest collection of stuff Chuck had ever seen: wrought-iron birds, clay jaguars, a toilet sunk in a flower bed, a claw-footed bathtub full of bicycle tires, a lamp post, golf clubs, aluminum baseball bats, lobster traps, a full-size trampoline; a male mannequin with a noose around its neck hung from a tree; another mannequin, this one headless, sat in a rocking chair on the porch pointing a toy gun at passers-by.
“She’s a junk collector?” Chuck said as Alice parked.
“No, just a crazy woman. The neighbors have been trying to boot her out of here for years, but Jan won’t budge. Annoying people gives her pleasure. Steel yourself, young man. Have another drink. We’re about to enter the Twilight Zone.”
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Mishmash
I was getting the kids ready for school yesterday morning when I overheard Charlie Gibson from ABC ask someone from the White House about President Bush’s trip to Asia. I didn’t catch the entire statement, but would swear on a stack of Bibles that the White House mouthpiece said something close to, “The president is going to China to represent the interests of American workers.”
The interests of American workers! Holy cow! In China, no less, the home of thousands of manufacturing jobs once held by American workers. What “interests” could the president possibly represent? I can see Bush now, standing before a hand-picked, sanitized crowd of average Chinese factory workers, flashing his best monkey sneer while lauding the workers for doing a “heckuva job” as corporate America’s low-wage workshop.
As far as George W. Bush is concerned, things are just peachy for American workers. Wages are stagnant, health and retirement benefits have been slashed, what’s not to be happy about? Wal-Mart is always hiring, various shifts in a friendly atmosphere, not to mention that the Gulf Coast will need thousands of carpenters, plumbers, and roofers once the reconstruction effort shifts into full swing; workers can go down there and enjoy the benefits of low wages, now that the president has suspended the Davis-Bacon Act.
Bush wouldn’t recognize an average working American if one walked up and smacked him in the forehead with a rubber mallet. Bush serves one constituency and one only: the wealthy. Look at the record, the lavish tax breaks and corporate giveaways, the fat no-bid contracts given to well-heeled political supporters.
Responding to Charlie Gibson’s question about the president’s plummeting public approval rating and the cloud of scandal hovering over the Administration, the White House mouth said – and again this is a rough paraphrase – that it is irresponsible for Democrats to continually raise questions about the decision to invade and occupy Iraq, the validity of pre-invasion intelligence, or whether or not the Administration tweaked that intelligence to justify the invasion.
Let’s see, the Congress of the United States was duped into supporting an invasion/occupation that has turned up zero WMD, become a rallying point for terrorists, violated the sovereignty of a nation (yes, even a despotic one), and cost over 2,000 American lives and maybe fifty times that many Iraqi lives, and put Iraq on course for a bloody, protracted civil war. It would seem that Congress has an obligation to find out what went wrong and who is responsible so that such folly cannot be repeated anytime soon.
The Administration believes that such questions are irresponsible and give comfort and aid to our enemies, not to mention a terrible inconvenience.
I’m just a simple guy, an average American citizen trying to raise children and get along in this great land of ours, but for the life of me I can’t understand why George W. Bush is not in the midst of an impeachment trial. For lying about Oval Office hanky-panky, Congress went after Bill Clinton hammer and tongs, fangs dripping blood; but when it comes to Bush, a president who plunged the country into a useless and disgraceful invasion/occupation, Congress sits on its hands.
The interests of American workers! Holy cow! In China, no less, the home of thousands of manufacturing jobs once held by American workers. What “interests” could the president possibly represent? I can see Bush now, standing before a hand-picked, sanitized crowd of average Chinese factory workers, flashing his best monkey sneer while lauding the workers for doing a “heckuva job” as corporate America’s low-wage workshop.
As far as George W. Bush is concerned, things are just peachy for American workers. Wages are stagnant, health and retirement benefits have been slashed, what’s not to be happy about? Wal-Mart is always hiring, various shifts in a friendly atmosphere, not to mention that the Gulf Coast will need thousands of carpenters, plumbers, and roofers once the reconstruction effort shifts into full swing; workers can go down there and enjoy the benefits of low wages, now that the president has suspended the Davis-Bacon Act.
Bush wouldn’t recognize an average working American if one walked up and smacked him in the forehead with a rubber mallet. Bush serves one constituency and one only: the wealthy. Look at the record, the lavish tax breaks and corporate giveaways, the fat no-bid contracts given to well-heeled political supporters.
Responding to Charlie Gibson’s question about the president’s plummeting public approval rating and the cloud of scandal hovering over the Administration, the White House mouth said – and again this is a rough paraphrase – that it is irresponsible for Democrats to continually raise questions about the decision to invade and occupy Iraq, the validity of pre-invasion intelligence, or whether or not the Administration tweaked that intelligence to justify the invasion.
Let’s see, the Congress of the United States was duped into supporting an invasion/occupation that has turned up zero WMD, become a rallying point for terrorists, violated the sovereignty of a nation (yes, even a despotic one), and cost over 2,000 American lives and maybe fifty times that many Iraqi lives, and put Iraq on course for a bloody, protracted civil war. It would seem that Congress has an obligation to find out what went wrong and who is responsible so that such folly cannot be repeated anytime soon.
The Administration believes that such questions are irresponsible and give comfort and aid to our enemies, not to mention a terrible inconvenience.
I’m just a simple guy, an average American citizen trying to raise children and get along in this great land of ours, but for the life of me I can’t understand why George W. Bush is not in the midst of an impeachment trial. For lying about Oval Office hanky-panky, Congress went after Bill Clinton hammer and tongs, fangs dripping blood; but when it comes to Bush, a president who plunged the country into a useless and disgraceful invasion/occupation, Congress sits on its hands.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Day After, and the Day After That
November 8, Election Day, was a great day for unionized public workers in California – we beat back a power grab by Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Simple hubris played a big role in Schwarzenegger’s defeat. The fire that eventually engulfed him began with his State of the State speech in January when he essentially boasted that he would play his trump card – popularity – and take his case directly to the voters if the legislature refused to play ball his way.
One can’t completely fault Schwarzenegger for over-confidence. Any pol with a 60% approval rating would likely feel invincible.
Schwarzenegger won the recall election on star power and the fact that the recall campaign was brief. Instead of talking about ideas and vision and mixing it up with voters on bread and butter issues like health care, education and public safety, Schwarzenegger merely smiled and tossed T-shirts to adoring fans. Running for the top office in the state seemed like an easy, pleasant gig.
And it continued to be so until early this year when the Governor ticked off organized nurses. That mistake snowballed until it eventually mobilized a broad coalition of peace officers, firefighters, public workers, school employees and teachers.
Rhetorically, Schwarzenegger suffered from stunted development. His campaign was all sound bites and one-liners and references to action movies rather than solid reasons for his initiatives – initiatives which bore the fingerprint of the Grover Norquist wing of the Republican Party. The idea that the numerous problems facing California could be solved by tinkering with teacher tenure, redistricting along Texas-Tom DeLay lines, granting a sitting governor extraordinary power over the budget, and making it difficult for unions to throw money at Democrats, was at best laughable.
Going to the mat, rhetorically and via ballot initiatives, with a number of public employee unions simultaneously was a tall order, even for a popular Governor, and the decision to plunge ahead exposed Schwarzenegger’s rookie status. More than that, it called into question the wisdom of his inner circle.
Considering the magnitude of Tuesday’s defeat, it’s a sure bet that Schwarzenegger will shake up his team of advisors, with significant input from wifey, Maria Shriver. Look for more moderate figures to join the Governor’s team. After all, Schwarzenegger has a lot of ground to make up in the trust department if he’s going to be re-elected in 2006.
For the moment, the power dynamic in Sacramento is altered. Schwarzenegger has little choice but to moderate his rhetoric and reach across the aisle. No more can he threaten to bypass the legislature. That should make things very interesting in the months ahead.
And what of the victors? Tuesday’s outcome proved that the union movement is alive and kicking in California, and that despite the AFL-CIO fracture, unions can still work together toward common aims. Labor should take a moment to celebrate this success, but then get back to organizing new members and educating current ones.
For those of us fortunate to be members of public employee unions, it’s time to get back to serving the public that pays our wages, proving day after day that unions are not only good for workers, but good for the commonwealth as well.
Simple hubris played a big role in Schwarzenegger’s defeat. The fire that eventually engulfed him began with his State of the State speech in January when he essentially boasted that he would play his trump card – popularity – and take his case directly to the voters if the legislature refused to play ball his way.
One can’t completely fault Schwarzenegger for over-confidence. Any pol with a 60% approval rating would likely feel invincible.
Schwarzenegger won the recall election on star power and the fact that the recall campaign was brief. Instead of talking about ideas and vision and mixing it up with voters on bread and butter issues like health care, education and public safety, Schwarzenegger merely smiled and tossed T-shirts to adoring fans. Running for the top office in the state seemed like an easy, pleasant gig.
And it continued to be so until early this year when the Governor ticked off organized nurses. That mistake snowballed until it eventually mobilized a broad coalition of peace officers, firefighters, public workers, school employees and teachers.
Rhetorically, Schwarzenegger suffered from stunted development. His campaign was all sound bites and one-liners and references to action movies rather than solid reasons for his initiatives – initiatives which bore the fingerprint of the Grover Norquist wing of the Republican Party. The idea that the numerous problems facing California could be solved by tinkering with teacher tenure, redistricting along Texas-Tom DeLay lines, granting a sitting governor extraordinary power over the budget, and making it difficult for unions to throw money at Democrats, was at best laughable.
Going to the mat, rhetorically and via ballot initiatives, with a number of public employee unions simultaneously was a tall order, even for a popular Governor, and the decision to plunge ahead exposed Schwarzenegger’s rookie status. More than that, it called into question the wisdom of his inner circle.
Considering the magnitude of Tuesday’s defeat, it’s a sure bet that Schwarzenegger will shake up his team of advisors, with significant input from wifey, Maria Shriver. Look for more moderate figures to join the Governor’s team. After all, Schwarzenegger has a lot of ground to make up in the trust department if he’s going to be re-elected in 2006.
For the moment, the power dynamic in Sacramento is altered. Schwarzenegger has little choice but to moderate his rhetoric and reach across the aisle. No more can he threaten to bypass the legislature. That should make things very interesting in the months ahead.
And what of the victors? Tuesday’s outcome proved that the union movement is alive and kicking in California, and that despite the AFL-CIO fracture, unions can still work together toward common aims. Labor should take a moment to celebrate this success, but then get back to organizing new members and educating current ones.
For those of us fortunate to be members of public employee unions, it’s time to get back to serving the public that pays our wages, proving day after day that unions are not only good for workers, but good for the commonwealth as well.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Judgment Day for the Terminator
It has been a long slog up a steep slope, but here we are, on election day. For many of us, this campaign began in January when the Governor laid out his “Year of Reform” plan during his State of the State speech. Schwarzenegger was riding tall in the saddle then, with an approval rating in the mid-60’s and enough hubris in his tank to mount an assault on California’s caretakers.
Arnold has talked a lot about greedy union bosses in this campaign, but much less about the influence of corporate money. If the Democrats are in the pocket of public employee unions, then it’s fair to say the Republicans are in the same boat with insurance, finance, and drug companies.
All along most level-headed folks have said that this special election is unnecessary, a perversion of the initiative process, a sideshow that does not come close to addressing the real issues facing Californians. Only in Arnold’s (and maybe Petey Wilson’s) mind is this a true “Year of Reform.”
We have talked, telephoned, walked precincts, turned out at the Governor’s invitation-only staged events, survived the barrage of TV and direct mail advertising from both sides, and now it’s time to mark the ballots and tally the votes.
By late tonight or early tomorrow morning, the political landscape in California will be changed, one way or another.
Arnold has talked a lot about greedy union bosses in this campaign, but much less about the influence of corporate money. If the Democrats are in the pocket of public employee unions, then it’s fair to say the Republicans are in the same boat with insurance, finance, and drug companies.
All along most level-headed folks have said that this special election is unnecessary, a perversion of the initiative process, a sideshow that does not come close to addressing the real issues facing Californians. Only in Arnold’s (and maybe Petey Wilson’s) mind is this a true “Year of Reform.”
We have talked, telephoned, walked precincts, turned out at the Governor’s invitation-only staged events, survived the barrage of TV and direct mail advertising from both sides, and now it’s time to mark the ballots and tally the votes.
By late tonight or early tomorrow morning, the political landscape in California will be changed, one way or another.
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