July 2007
The Best and Worst Legislators 2007
This e-mail exchange is between senior executive editor Paul Burka and writer-at-large Patricia Kilday Hart.
Illustration by Steve Brodner
Wednesday, May 16, 2:33 p.m.
Patti,
This is our seventh time to work together on the Best and Worst Legislators story, and I don’t think we’ve ever had more material. I’ve never had to get up in the morning and think, “Am I going to have anything to blog about today?” These guys—and especially the Republican leadership triumvirate of Rick Perry, David Dewhurst, and Tom Craddick—are the gifts that keep on giving.
Every time we do this story, people joke, “How are you going to find ten for the Best list?” This session it’s no joke. Covering the House, I sometimes felt as if I’d walked into the Capitol’s Green Zone, where no bill was safe from the insurgency that was determined to oust Speaker Craddick from his job. When he won the crucial test vote for reelection by just six votes on the first day of the session, the Speaker’s race became continuous. Craddick is such a polarizing figure—not so much because of his political views but because of his Machiavelli-like enthusiasm for the tactics of reward and punishment—that the two warring factions in the House are not Republicans and Democrats but bipartisan alliances of pro-Craddicks and anti-Craddicks. Every day the anti-Craddicks have been out for blood. They try to goad him into losing his cool with parliamentary maneuvers: Point of order, Mr. Speaker. Parliamentary inquiry, Mr. Speaker. Would you explain your ruling, Mr. Speaker? It’s great political theater, but the public wouldn’t be amused.
Craddick was not the only wounded leader in the Capitol. Perry got just 39 percent of the vote in winning reelection last fall, and despite his vow that he would be a “100 percent governor,” he was closer to zero. Lieutenant Governor Dewhurst’s penchant for treating senators as if he were the team owner instead of the coach soured his relationships with members of the upper chamber.
What it all adds up to is that the session was much more about politics than policy. Some of the battles were turf disputes between the executive and legislative branches, with Perry on the defensive regarding his unpopular human papillomavirus mandate (he lost) and his even more unpopular Trans-Texas Corridor (he may escape with a draw). Most of the politicking, however, focused on upcoming elections: November ’08 (Republicans and Democrats jockeying for advantage, with control of the House at stake); January ’09 (Craddick trying to solidify his support for a fourth term as Speaker by feeding his loyal troops lots of opportunities to vote on red-meat Republican issues); and November ’10 (when Dewhurst hopes to be elected governor).
One has to ask, What did this Legislature accomplish? With the school finance issue resolved during last spring’s special session, the only thing lawmakers had to do this year was pass a budget. And that’s probably all they are going to do. The sad thing is that there was a chance to do a lot more. I just don’t think there was the leadership or the will.
Paul
Thursday, May 17, 12:06 p.m.
Paul,
No, darling. This is our tenth anniversary, not our seventh! We began writing the Best and Worst story together in 1989. (Quick: How many years have you been married? No fair asking Sarah.) And that’s precisely why I had my midlife crisis last summer and swore I wouldn’t take on this project again. I despaired that I was living the magazine version of the movie Groundhog Day. Would I never wake up to something, oh, you know, different?
It’s official: I’m lousy at political prognostications. Don’t ask me how I could possibly have underestimated the ability of the Legislature to provide first-rate entertainment. Its proceedings are a contact sport—albeit wrapped in parliamentary niceties and sweet traditions, like opening each bone-crunching, backstabbing session with a prayer. Here’s the one that was given two days ago, just before the Senate publicly erupted into angry chaos: “May you give wisdom and guidance to all in attendance today, that they may continue to lead this great state to be a place of love, peace, and prosperity. Allow us to dwell together in unity and like-mindedness that your favor may continue to shine upon us . . .”
Well, you can’t say the Reverend Neal Terwilliger, of Taylor’s First Baptist Church, didn’t try. Bad luck, that—being the Senate’s invited spiritual counselor on the exact day that its longest-serving member explodes at its presiding officer.
How on earth did we get here? Back in January, the 31 members of the Senate did indeed dwell in unity and like-mindedness. As the saying goes, they were singing from the same hymnal, praising God that school finance and redistricting—at long last—would not dominate the agenda, giving thanks for the bountiful surplus and seeking absolution for past sins regarding toll roads, college tuition, and electric utility deregulation. It didn’t take long for the first false note to be heard, in the key of Dewhurst’s political ambitions.
Tension has been building all session, and that’s what was behind the eruption of two days ago. Dewhurst refused to allow the dean of the Senate, John Whitmire, who was momentarily off the floor, to register his vote against the controversial voter ID bill. Whitmire went ballistic, bellowing profanely at the top of his lungs. And I was worried I’d be bored?
I was cynical early on when Dan Patrick passed a resolution to have the words “In God We Trust” inscribed on the frieze above the lectern in the Senate. Typical pandering, I thought. But in this godforsaken atmosphere, it now seems like a pretty good idea. It will take a miracle for important legislation to get worked out, and that includes the only bill that has to pass: the state budget.
Patti
Friday, May 18, 1:43 p.m.
Patti,
I’m so sorry. My heart is all mixed up. I mean, my Harts are all mixed up. I must have been thinking of how long your husband and I have been fantasy baseball partners. That’s a sore subject right now. The Capitol Punishers have a winning percentage that resembles Rick Perry’s.
Speaking of whom, we need to settle something. Are the three leaders eligible for the Best and Worst lists? Traditionally, we have avoided putting the leaders on either list. Do you remember what you wrote in 2003? “For thirty years our policy has been that presiding officers are not eligible for the Best or the Worst list except in exceptional circumstances. These are exceptional circumstances. David Dewhurst began with the lowest of expectations and ended with the highest of praise.” Well said, but . . . it turned out there was a good reason for our policy. Within a couple of months Dewhurst had blown up the Senate and passed Tom DeLay’s congressional redistricting plan, causing you to compose a mea culpa in which you asked, “Had Dewhurst’s evil twin taken over the lieutenant governor’s office? Was the real Dewhurst bound and gagged in a closet somewhere in the Capitol basement?”
I think our old policy made a lot of sense, but I also think, to quote a certain wise political observer, “These are exceptional circumstances.” Nobody in the Capitol had worse sessions than the three leaders. Nobody was even close. How can we ignore this without looking like we spent the session on Mars?
Paul
Saturday, May 19, 3:05 p.m.
Paul,
We can’t. The past three sessions have been rendered ineffective by the dysfunctional relationships among Dewhurst, Craddick, and Perry. The three men simply cannot communicate, nor do they trust one another. Add to that unstable mix Dewhurst’s ambitions and you have a toxic brew that’s deadly for the legislative process. Ginning up for the 2010 race, he’s attempting to please everyone, writing checks he can’t possibly cover. When the Senate unanimously voted to place the Texas Youth Commission in conservatorship, Dewhurst fretted about offending Perry, whose political support he badly wants. His obsession with passing Jessica’s Law, a get-tough-on-child-predators bill, left him deaf to concerns from victims’ rights groups and district attorneys that it would actually make prosecuting perverts harder. (Senators forced him to compromise but had to work around the Dew’s consultants.) His sly strategy to pass the voter ID bill, a sop to Republican primary voters, left such bruised feelings that emissaries from the Senate were sent to complain to him about his leadership style. They feel they’re being treated like an auxiliary campaign committee.
A few days ago, he found himself in an imbroglio involving, of all people, Lance Armstrong, over a proposal creating a bond fund for cancer research. Dewhurst opposed the legislation as fiscally irresponsible. Upon hearing this, Armstrong phoned him and told him he planned to hold a press conference and would mention Dewhurst’s opposition if asked; late Thursday, Dewhurst appeased Armstrong by promising that the package would receive a committee hearing. At his Friday morning press conference, Armstrong held his tongue about Dewhurst; but it took a behind-closed-doors outburst from sponsor Jane Nelson to secure the committee meeting later that day. The bills ultimately passed, but many senators—and cancer research advocates—were steamed. Like the cyclist who loses the race because he keeps glancing back at his rivals, Dewhurst is squandering his opportunity to lead.
Patti
Tuesday, May 22, 8:39 a.m.
Patti,
I’ll see your Dewhurst and raise you a Craddick. He’s Tom DeLay without the indictment, the archetype of a politician who would rather be feared than loved. His closeness to donors like James Leininger and his willingness to allow them to spend millions of dollars to defeat apostate incumbent Republicans in primary races (as Leininger did in 2006) stifles the independence of members. His speakership represents a total departure from the years when his Democratic predecessor and onetime friend, Pete Laney, ran the House in a bipartisan fashion and helped George W. Bush build a legislative record that enabled him to become president. Craddick has ostracized Democrats who don’t support him; they have responded by attacking his every move. Fear and loathing permeate the atmosphere of the House every day. Craddick has diminished the stature of committee chairs by centralizing power in the Speaker’s office; stripped of their prestige, they suffer the indignity of seeing their bills voted down in floor debate.
