By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
By Brian Rinker
By Rachel Swan
Gavin Christopher Newsom, 42nd mayor of the City and County of San Francisco, is craven and contemptibly fainthearted, a coward apparently concerned with no principle beyond the perpetuation of his own political career.
There, I've said it; outraged defenders of St. Gavin the Lionhearted may direct correspondence to Letters to the Editor, SF Weekly, 185 Berry St., Suite 3800, San Francisco, CA 94107.
Of course, Newsom's order granting marriage licenses to same-sex couples stands as the noblest publicity stunt in the history of such affairs. And granted, St. G.'s narrative of self-discovery, in which an ingénue starlet goes to Washington, beholds prejudice, pores over legal papers, then stands before the white marble columns of City Hall and announces he'll Do The Right Thing, is a heartwarming yarn. And I must say that in the annals of prospecting for political capital, Newsom's newly gilded approval ratings prove him a 49er beyond compare.
But political capital bears its name because, like any currency, its ultimate measure is in the spending. A politician can either spend this stock keeping campaign promises or hoard it for higher office. Newsom clearly chose the second option. His abandonment of the central tenets of his mayoral bid -- which posited Newsom as a policy man concerned with homelessness and San Francisco's housing shortage -- shows him to be a cynic with a repellent lack of courage.
Upon assuming office, the mayor fobbed off homelessness -- for two years his raison d'être as a candidate -- onto empty vessel Angela Alioto. This was an eloquent statement by Newsom that he does not want to be associated with the issue, and that he does not care whether anything is successfully done about it. As soon as Newsom became mayor, he likewise went publicly mute on what he had touted on the campaign trail as his own "workforce housing" initiative. If voters hadn't voted it down on March 2, the measure would have allowed builders to put extra stories on apartment buildings in two small areas of southern San Francisco, as long as developers subsidized a third of the units as below-market housing. The proposal was a no-brainer: Construct dense, walkable, builder-subsidized housing on the central waterfront, which is an abandoned industrial area, and in the Rincon Hill area, a patchwork of empty parking lots within walking distance of downtown. The measure created the possibility of thousands of new apartment units, potentially abating the current shortage and driving down the price of dwellings all over the city.
Newsom said as much during his mayoral campaign. But in private -- following his election and after polls showed the initiative to be in trouble -- Newsom told potential financial backers that he wished the measure weren't on the ballot, where it might drive away campaign funds. According to those familiar with the matter, he failed to make phone calls on the measure's behalf and declined to appear at campaign events. He also was notably silent on Prop. J during mayoral addresses. And after the initiative failed, Newsom insinuated he hadn't actually been associated with it in the first place.
Some have described this behavior as astute, even progressive. Actually, in belying his principal arguments about why voters should have elected him mayor, Gavin Newsom showed himself unfit for office.
Watching our mayor on the recent Larry King Show, as he attempted to defend his praiseworthy directive issuing same-sex marriage licenses, was for me an interesting experience in déjà vu. Newsom was Cheshire cat-placid while reciting boilerplate rhetoric defending civil rights for same-sex couples. But when asked to respond to questions with no scripted answers -- questions that tested whether he'd given any independent thought to the issues he championed -- Newsom punted.
A bigoted radio evangelist asked how Newsom's position on gay marriage jibes with his Catholic faith. A hatemonger congresswoman asked why gay marriage wouldn't lead to approving unions involving incest or polygamy. Newsom flashed his trademark smirk-grin, which engages only the muscles immediately surrounding his mouth, and declined to respond.
"Pastor, I'm not going to get into a theological debate with you," he told the radio evangelist.
"It's the typical red herring, and it's almost stale rhetoric," he said to the congresswoman.
Newsom's manner elicited in me the same dissonance I felt watching him on the campaign trail. Then, as now, his scripted rhetoric included exactly the concepts I would wish to hear from a politician. Last year it was compassion combined with practical-mindedness in helping the homeless, and environmentalist principles of dense, walkable, workforce-housing-rich neighborhoods when it came to urban design. Last month Newsom evoked 20th-century civil rights struggles in defending equal opportunities for homosexuals. But in all cases, the smirk, the loss of words sans teleprompter, and the lack of previous commitment to the issues at hand sowed doubts as to whether Newsom meant what he said.
A look at the birth, life, and death of Proposition J, the so-called Workforce Housing Initiative that went down to defeat earlier this month by a 70 percent margin, points to Newsom's propensity for hollow, if emphatic, rhetoric.
Newsom was right about one thing when he told potential backers that the world might have been better off without a Prop. J. The whole exercise further poisoned the noxious brew that is San Francisco development politics.