The Revolution is Canceled

How the grand plan for district elections could backfire

By Matt Isaacs

published: August 30, 2000

The August sun is still warm in the early evening when the guests arrive at the little get-together on Russian Hill. Jonee Levy and her husband, Harvey Hacker, have asked a dozen or so of their neighbors to come over for a political soiree to meet Aaron Peskin, a candidate for district supervisor. The guests picking at the foie gras have clearly led comfortable lives. This neighborhood, at the base of the crooked block of Lombard Street, has long been the home of conservative, old money. The women favor a young, modern look, with black pantsuits and carefully tousled hair. The men keep whatever hair they have left closely cropped.

Jonee, who has had a few glasses of wine, greets everyone with a lolling, east Tennessee accent. On the deck overlooking North Beach, she speaks in conspiratorial tones about Peskin's carpetbagger competitors. After discovering a reporter in the crowd, Harvey, with a nudge, says to Peskin, "Hey, Aaron, how about we go out back and smoke some grass roots."

When it's time for him to speak, Peskin, a short man with a thick, black beard, begins on a personal note by telling the group that every morning he wakes up at the crack of dawn and goes for a swim in the icy waters of the bay. "And the only reason why I mention it," he says, "is because that's how I feel launching this political campaign." The neighbors chuckle politely. He proceeds to talk about the opportunity of district elections, and the importance of electing someone who cares about the neighborhood. He speaks eloquently about blocking mammoth development projects and tearing down the antennas hung like Christmas ornaments on Sutro Tower. Of course, playing to the fiscally conservative crowd, Peskin leaves out any talk of rent control, or his efforts to save families from Ellis Act evictions, or that Supervisor Tom Ammiano, considered by many in the neighborhood to be the second coming of Mao Tse-tung, has given Peskin his endorsement.

How is it that one of the city's most hard-core neighborhood activists is now currying favor with the moneyed elite, forced to bite his tongue on the issues he's passionate about? Welcome to the new era of district elections.

---

In 1996, when an odd alliance of left-wingers and conservatives placed the concept of district elections on the ballot, it was with the hope of electing more of the Aaron Peskins of the world. The populist reform was supposed to bring back the good old days of the late 1970s, when officials like George Moscone and Harvey Milk ran the city and San Francisco became famous for its bold social policies. When voters approved the measure four years ago, the city's left-of-left liberals had visions of an Ammiano revolution. Ethnic minority groups hoped for more diversity. Republicans dreamed of one day electing one of their own to the board. Everyone believed it would be cheaper to run a campaign in the new system and easier to elect a broader cross section of supervisors.

But as the races have begun to take shape across the city, it has become apparent that district elections could actually quash the political ambitions of those who supported the process. Rather than expanding the political spectrum, district elections will likely narrow San Francisco's ideological representation, pushing the city, like the rest of the country, further toward the middle. There will be no Ammiano revolution. Ethnic minorities could actually be at a disadvantage in the new electoral system. Don't bet on any Republicans winning office either. And though it will be cheaper to run a campaign, money will still play a significant role -- in the worst possible way.

Even the concept's backers are having second thoughts.

"District elections could be a huge setback for the progressive cause," says Richard DeLeon, a professor at San Francisco State University who championed the "progressive movement" in his book Left Coast City. DeLeon was commissioned to draw the new district lines in 1996 with the express purpose of emphasizing liberal, conservative, and minority voting blocs. But because the city's demographics have changed so drastically in the last 20 years, no matter how he sliced up the pie he couldn't give any community a clear majority. "There might be less representation for minorities. The liberal segments of the city could actually lose seats. Across the board there will be a shift toward the center."

A perfect illustration of these unintended consequences is the battle for North Beach -- quite possibly the most vicious race in the city -- in which the candidates who were supposed to do best under district elections look as though they will have the hardest time of it. The district has more Chinese-American residents than any other in the city, but the two Chinese-American candidates, Lawrence Wong and Rose Chung, will almost certainly cancel each other out and have little impact on the race.

Chung, a Republican, is likely to do more harm than good to her party as well, by taking votes away from the other Republican in the race, Mike DeNunzio. The Grand Old Party had high hopes for District 3, considered the third-most-conservative ward in the city. But now both of its candidates are long shots to even make the runoff.

Peskin, the prototype of a district-election candidate, also faces a tough fight. He has a strong following in North Beach, mostly inhabited by young renters, and in certain left-leaning parts of Telegraph Hill. But his role as a gadfly is likely to offend more conservative voters in Nob Hill and Russian Hill, and his ties to Ammiano could work against him in Chinatown, where there is still strong support for Mayor Willie Brown.

The other two top contenders in the race will almost certainly try to use these weaknesses to their advantage. Meagan Levitan, a bland but polished candidate who will offend fewer voters, is aiming for the district's moderates and conservatives. Alicia Becerril, a weak incumbent with enough money behind her to mount a potentially harmful soft-money advertising campaign, will probably try to capitalize on Peskin's connection to the Ammiano contingent, while forming a base of support in Chinatown with the help of the mayor's connections.

Like other districts across the city, the race comes down to a competition for the middle. The Peskins, who stand by their convictions, run the greatest risk of having their views used against them, while candidates like Levitan and Becerril, who can run solid campaigns and stay out of the line of fire, have the best chance of walking away with it all.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

---

The Activist

Aaron Peskin can't walk five feet down Columbus Avenue without running into someone he knows. As he makes his way through the crowded sidewalk, he's constantly calling out to people, shaking hands, slapping high-fives, schmoozing. He's like the kid in high school who has to say hi to every last person he passes in the hall, not in some sad effort to join the popular crowd but because he genuinely likes people.

The president of the Telegraph Hill Dwellers has made his name as an activist who can scrabble with big developers and actually win. Dubbed the "Ayatollah of North Beach," Peskin organized neighbors to block a Rite Aid store from moving in across from Washington Square. He also personally sued San Francisco City College to prevent it from demolishing the historic Colombo Building and won. In the oldest district in San Francisco, nothing is as important as preserving the neighborhood's character, and Peskin has delivered.

It's August and he has already been campaigning for months, bringing the same obsessive energy to his run for supervisor as he has brought to neighborhood skirmishes in the past. His signs dot the windows of local merchants and apartments high above the street. He has been passing out literature, translated into Chinese, at the Night Market in Chinatown on Saturday nights. Retail politics. Wearing out the shoe leather is what district elections are all about, and Peskin has gotten a huge head start over his opponents.

The crew greets him warmly at Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store, a cafe famous for its eggplant sandwich. Peskin orders a round of House Camparis, a blend of vermouth, bitters, and a twist of lemon. Then he orders another. "An afternoon in North Beach is an even more beautiful place after a couple House Camparis," he says.

If district elections were intended to replace the empty suits in City Hall with real people, Peskin is the man for the job. In fact, the 36-year-old activist bought the first suit he has ever owned specifically for this campaign. He still gets excited when he sees his name in the newspaper. He likes to drop names. Big names, small names, it doesn't matter. For all his experience fighting neighborhood battles, thus far Peskin has been limited to pressing his face against the glass of the city's political establishment.

Now he wants in. But to get there, he has had to clean up his act. Buy a suit. Get a haircut. Hire a campaign manager, a field director. He has tried to find common ground with people he has never had to talk to before, and sought to make inroads with other political camps. He asked for an endorsement from Assemblywoman Carole Migden, a loyal foot soldier for the Brown-Burton machine, and got it.

He hasn't completely found himself yet, however. "Sure, a leap still has to be made," he says. "I've shown that I have an understanding of how government works. Now I need to show that I can govern." He pauses for a moment, watching the tourists float by the window. His eyes wander to the signs on the street with his name on them. "I mean, who am I?" he asks. "Who the fuck am I?" He points to a sign in an insurance office across the street. "My name is in the window of Jack Lee Fong Insurance. Is that amazing or what?"

---

The Professional

Long before Peskin ever considered running for supervisor, the Telegraph Hill Dwellers organized a big dinner to discuss district elections. They invited Frank Gallagher, then a political columnist for the San Francisco Independent, to talk about how this new electoral process would play out.

Gallagher is a garrulous City Hall insider who doesn't mind getting in someone's face once in a while, just for kicks. As Gallagher describes it, he began telling the group about how incumbents would move to different districts so they wouldn't have to run against one another. Even new candidates would move around to get the best shot at winning a seat on the board, he said.

"As a matter of fact, we have a carpetbagger right here in the audience," he said, motioning to a young blond woman sitting in the front row. "Meagan Levitan just moved here a few months ago so she could run in this district rather than facing Gavin Newsom in the Marina."

"It's a lie!" the woman said loudly, surprising those sitting next to her. "That's not true!"

After the meeting, witnesses said Levitan was still teary-eyed.

Despite Meagan Levitan's protests, what Gallagher had said was true. She had bought a condominium in the Marina, believing it was in District 3. When she discovered it wasn't, she says she rented an apartment a few blocks over, so she could run in the North Beach district where she felt she had a better chance of winning.

Over a cappuccino at Cafe Roma, Levitan says she has wanted to be a San Francisco supervisor since she was 6 years old. She is dressed casual chic in a white sleeveless blouse and black knickers. With her blond coloring and aquiline nose, she bears a striking resemblance to Ellen DeGeneres.

Where Peskin brims with names and political scuttlebutt, Levitan is cool and even-keeled. She grew up chumming around with the political side of San Francisco's old-money crowd; her best friend is Nancy Pelosi, daughter of the city's congresswoman. A young Dianne Feinstein would sometimes visit her parents' house in Laurel Heights when she was little, and Levitan followed in the former mayor's footsteps, attending Sacred Heart High School, then Stanford, where she studied art history. After college she spent six months in Florence, "where I learned a lot about myself."

Where Levitan comes from, you don't mention names.

You don't begin running for office in July, as Peskin has, either. After working in various capacities under three mayors, Art Agnos, Frank Jordan, and Willie Brown, she says she has learned enough to know that real politicians don't kick off their campaigns until after Labor Day.

And in this statement, she defines the race: Peskin is an activist, Levitan is a politician. While Peskin, still fresh off the Ammiano mayoral campaign, has sprinted out of the gate, Levitan has chosen to pace herself and remain above the fray.

Levitan doesn't need to start too early. She already has a natural advantage over Peskin: She gets along better with the money crowd. She looks like them, and unlike her competitor, she has never offended any of them.

"Aaron Peskin may be president of the Telegraph Hill Dwellers, but that doesn't mean he's carrying his neighborhood," says David Lee, director of the nonprofit Chinese American Voters Education Committee. "There are a lot of property owners on the hill, and the last thing they want around is a guy like Peskin who's going to make a fuss if they want to build a third-story addition on their house."

Levitan and I take a walk though the neighborhood to deliver signs to a few supporters on Telegraph Hill. As we huff and puff up the hills, she explains what she means by the slogan on her campaign sign, "A Different Kind of Supervisor." It refers to her independence, she says. All her competitors are either in the Brown camp or the Ammiano camp. She doesn't want any part of either one.

But everybody's got to serve somebody, and though she hates to admit it, Levitan has made her allegiances too. In 1998, a full year before anyone else had jumped in the race, she voted to endorse Mayor Willie Brown for re-election along with the rest of the herd on the Democratic County Central Committee. She says she is not proud of this fact, but what's done is done.

Like Kelly Wiglesworth on Survivor, Levitan thinks she can get away with playing the game both ways. She has quietly made her pact but tries to avoid notice by keeping her loyalties at arm's length. "Independence" is the favorite buzzword this election season among challengers and incumbents alike. The word implies candidates can think for themselves, but more important in this new era of geographically based elections, it protects candidates from having to commit.

While district elections were supposed to bring out the die-hards at the edges of the political spectrum, Levitan knows that to win she must cut across the widely incongruent constituencies within her district: the wealthy environmentalists on Telegraph Hill, the generally poor immigrants living in Chinatown, the gay renters living in Polk Gulch. She can't afford to attach herself too securely to anything, lest she alienate a key voting bloc. Instead, she tries to be everything to everybody.

As president of the Robert F. Kennedy Democratic Club, she describes herself as a centrist. She's a consensus builder, a uniter not a divider. She's half-Jewish, half-Catholic. She proclaims herself a renter, though she owns a condominium down the street. She grew up a Republican, but switched parties when she ran for the school board four years ago. Since then, she has adopted some of the thinking of new husband Dale Carlson, vice president of corporate affairs at the Pacific Stock Exchange, who has a strong, left-leaning political résumé. She's a little bit country, a little bit soul.

She compares her independent views with those of Peskin, "who is connected at the hip to Ammiano," she says. "Ammiano may have done well in the mayor's race, but there are a lot of people around here who are pretty sick of his stupid ideas like passing laws to protect fat people."

We've arrived at the house on Telegraph Hill where she wants to drop off her signs. This is Peskin country, and his name is in the windows of many of the houses on the block. "I gotta say, Aaron's done a pretty good job getting his signs up," she says. "It's all those Ammiano volunteers he's got. We'll see if they're still around come October."

---

The Incumbent

Supervisor Alicia Becerril has a habit of pausing before she starts a sentence. These pregnant pauses usually suggest someone is thinking deeply about the subject at hand, though with Becerril it is unclear whether that's the case.

"I think it's important to protect the fire stations in the neighborhood," she says, over lunch at Enrico's.

"Are there any stations in danger of closing?"

Long pause.

"No, but if there were, I would want to protect them."

The supervisor often rolls her eyes as she thinks, then answers with a terminal rise in her voice as if she were asking a question. With her dark hair and her bangs hanging in her face, she could be Karen Black in Five Easy Pieces as she chews her pizza.

"I love this district," she says.

"Which part do you like best?"

Pause.

"Here?"

In the coming cycle of district elections, incumbents are likely to have a significant advantage over newcomers, but not in District 3. The mayor appointed Becerril to the board early last year, giving her every opportunity to make a name for herself, but she has not taken advantage of her position. To make matters worse, she has already made questionable errors in judgment on her campaign. For instance, she never showed up at the Latino American Democratic Club's endorsement meeting, though she has a better chance than any other Latino in the city of winning a seat on the board. The endorsement went to Peskin. More embarrassing, though she claims to be an advocate for tenant rights, she has tacked up a huge campaign poster in the window of a building where the owners are using the Ellis Act to evict 20 tenants, including a 93-year-old grandmother.

Becerril does not pose much of a threat to win the race. But with the resources of the mayor behind her, she could prove very damaging, particularly to Peskin. District elections were supposed to make it cheaper to run for office, but that idea is being undermined in two ways: by candidates who refuse to abide by the $75,000 spending limit and by soft money.

In District 3, for example, DeNunzio, who is a fund-raiser by profession, has not agreed to the spending cap. Because he has already collected more than half the $75,000 limit, election rules require that the cap be lifted for Becerril and the other candidates, allowing them to spend as much as they want. District 3 last week became the second ward to have the cap waived -- with others likely to follow.

There is also no limit on so-called soft money -- that is, money spent by supposedly independent groups for issue-based ad campaigns that can indirectly help a candidate by throwing mud at a competitor. Becerril's weak standing in the race makes it quite likely she'll get some help from an influx of soft money provided by friends of the mayor. The city's biggest pro-business lobbying firms, Solem & Associates and BMW & Partners, have intentionally stayed away from managing any campaigns to better focus on the soft money. There may not be as much cash available to promote candidates, but come November the money will flow from all the city's power brokers in danger of losing their hold on the Board of Supervisors. The money will go into slate mailers and hit pieces aimed at any legitimate contender who might make it more difficult to do business in the city.

"My only disappointment with the process of district elections is the infusion of soft money," Ammiano says. "It will continue to distort the balance of power."

---

District elections are not following the original game plan for a simple reason: San Francisco has changed in the last 20 years. The last time district elections were held, in 1977 and 1979, it was easier to designate an Asian district, an African-American district, or a gay district, because minorities were still, by and large, ghettoized. Asians were stuck in Chinatown and just beginning to plant roots in the Richmond. African-Americans had large voting blocs in the Western Addition, Bayview, and Outer Mission. Russians, Filipinos, Vietnamese, and Koreans weren't yet part of the mix.

Now Asians dominate the Sunset and have significant numbers in the Outer Mission and Visitacion Valley. African-Americans, on the other hand, have moved out of the city in large numbers. When Ella Hill Hutch won office in the Western Addition 23 years ago, 40 percent of the voters in the district were black and almost all were renters. Since then, the number of African-Americans in the district has dropped to less than a quarter, according to David Binder Research, replaced by mostly white homeowners.

Minority voting blocs have also become less politically monolithic. In the 1970s, gays in the Castro voted as a single voice to get Harvey Milk elected. Now there are two strong, very different gay/lesbian/bisexual political organizations. Asian voters have also divided into various subgroups. Twenty years ago, Asians could be counted on for a liberal vote. Today, much of the city's Asian population is foreign born -- fiscally conservative property owners who have very little in common with their left-leaning brethren.

As the city has split into finer cultural variations, a geographically based district election system could actually make it harder for ethnic minorities to get elected. "We didn't expect so many minority candidates to be running in the same district," says David Lee, of the Chinese American Voters Education Committee. "When a few run in the same race, they run the risk of splitting the community and dissipating the ethnic vote. It's one of the unintended consequences of district elections."

The new system will also make winning election much harder for the firebrands like Ammiano, who brought district elections to the city. In a citywide election, Ammiano captured more votes than anyone running for supervisor in 1998, and made an impressive run for mayor last year, by appealing to left-wing liberals like himself. But few will even try running on a platform as iconoclastic as Ammiano's in the coming district elections. No one can afford to. The city, neighborhood by neighborhood, is simply too uneven. Candidates running for office in a district of 40,000 voters can't afford to run on a narrow set of issues.

"With district elections, you can't depend solely on your base," says Jim Ross, a political consultant with Solem & Associates. "To win, you have to stretch, to build relationships with other factions within your district. You have to be willing to compromise more than you would at the citywide level."

The disenfranchised citizens who brought us district elections will, by and large, continue to be disenfranchised. The spoils will go to the candidates who offend the fewest numbers of people.

"I think district elections are going to allow people who are left out of the process a real voice in city government," Arthur Bruzzone, then-chairman of the San Francisco Republican Party, said after his organization endorsed the electoral reform in 1996.

Now he's not so sure. "I hate to say this, but I'm not as optimistic as I was," he says. "We're probably not going to get a true liberal on the left or a true conservative on the right. We're more likely to get a bunch of plain vanillas."

---

On the Stump

Another party for Peskin, this time in a funky bungalow on Telegraph Hill. More wine, more cheese, another spectacular view.

Over the weekend, Peskin has pushed his campaign into full swing with a big volunteer drive. In less than two weeks, the candidate has already grown more confident. He has polished his delivery. Once again, he begins by telling the group about his morning swim in the bay, and this time he gets to the punch line a little quicker. He has streamlined his speech, and made it more lyrical. He still sounds sincere, only a little more prepared, until someone asks him what he thinks about rent control. Peskin appears flummoxed for a moment, then begins a roundabout explanation that ends with a gulp and an almost guilty-sounding "I'm for it."

Outside on the deck, as an orange full moon rises over the bay, I ask him if he's afraid that Ammiano's endorsement will hurt him. He brushes the question aside. "I've also been endorsed by Clint Reilly and Carole Migden," he says. "I enjoy Ammiano's support, but he is just one of many."

Then he, too, unsheathes that word so popular in this election. He says he considers himself an independent. His views differ considerably from Ammiano's on a number of counts, he says, from fiscal matters to the public financing of campaigns. "I fully expect that Ammiano, at times, will be pissed at me."

He waves to his wife, Nancy, talking with a few guests inside the house. The two have always worked together. He says when things get confusing on the campaign trail, he looks to Nancy as his moral compass. "I'm married to a woman who knows very well what's right and what's not right."

How does she feel about him running for office?

"Don't ask her about it," he says.

After the party, he drops off Nancy at their flat, and we go to the South End Rowing Club, where Peskin got his start as an activist, fighting for cleaner water standards in the bay. We step out onto the pier, where the club launches its boats. The moon has risen high in the sky. "This is where I jump in," he says.

He knows a negative ad campaign is coming his way, he says, and he wonders aloud about what his competitors will use against him. They might paint him as a gadfly or, worse yet, an Ammiano supporter. He recalls that a planner once accused him of acting in a threatening manner after a contentious hearing. "Maybe they'll say I assaulted the guy," he says, musing over the prospect.

Though it's only August, the campaign has already begun to take on a different complexion. The threats have become more real. The points of reference have become blurred.

"We'd better head back," he says. "I'm already in trouble with Nancy."

---

Into the Fire

District elections will undoubtedly alter the makeup of the Board of Supervisors for the better. For one thing, the city will see some new faces. Mayor Willie Brown has handpicked an unprecedented six members of the board, granting him a majority that undermines the entire concept of checks and balances in city government. Many of Brown's appointees will probably win re-election, but one or two might lose, which will at least loosen Brown's hold on the city's legislative branch.

Come November, it's likely the city will elect a more "independent" Board of Supervisors, but it will hardly resemble the broad cross section of interests the drafters of this new system had promised voters in 1996. The new electoral reform appears to have also fallen short of its pledge to remove money from the equation. Independent expenditures will play a dominant role in the coming races, and make them more bloody than ever before. "We didn't anticipate this four years ago, and to be truthful, it takes some of the fun out of these races," says Arthur Bruzzone, who now hosts a public policy television show. "You know, when you put something like this together, you have such high hopes. But things never turn out the way you thought they would."

---

A few days later, Peskin is facing the deadline for filing candidate's papers. It's getting close to 5 o'clock. Peskin has been up late completing his financial disclosure statement, and he's a little slap-happy.

As we speed through the Broadway tunnel on our way to City Hall, he turns on the CD player, coincidentally set at one of his favorite songs. It's called "Cold Missouri Water," about 13 fire jumpers who died fighting a wildfire in Montana. The fireman who survived escaped by deliberately scorching the earth around him, creating an oasis that burned him but protected him from the bigger flames.

"Why do I feel like I'm heading to my own funeral?" Peskin says, only half kidding. He steps harder on the gas. "Hell, what do you say we blow this whole thing off and drive up to the Headlands."

But no such luck. The Department of Elections is overflowing with candidates and political operatives, talking loudly and stinking of sweat. Edward Epstein, the Chronicle's City Hall reporter, sidles from person to person, notebook in hand, looking for a catchy quote.

Matt Gonzales, a young public defender, looks a bit pale as he stands outside the door. He has entered the race for supervisor in the Haight-Ashbury. "I just hope I can stay true to what I believe," he says earnestly. "I'll do all right as long as I don't get pushed away from my message."

Epstein smiles nearby. "They all start out so optimistic," he says to no one in particular, as Peskin disappears into the teeming crowd.