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Don't look now, but the nine-member county council is about to be taken over by a neighborhood gang that is as scary as any you've seen hangin' in Downtown Silver Spring.
They go by Elrich, Ervin, Leventhal and Riemer, but are also sometimes known by their first names -- Marc, Val, George and Hans. Ay-yi-yi! Just hearing those monikers makes me want to hide way up in an old oak in Takoma Park -- preferably one that won't snap in the next storm.
These bangers all live in the same 'hood, so naturally they're going to put the 'hood's interests first and the rest of the county -- Damascus, G'burg, Germantown, Laytonsville, Washington Grove, Boyds, y'know, the upcounty -- second, or even third. Whatever spot those locales will occupy in the cabal's black heart, it will be tiny. Teensy-weentsy. Undetectable, unless you've got a laparascope. (The map above shows where they live--Leventhal and Elrich are in the city of Takoma Park; Ervin and Riemer are close by but in unincorporated Silver Spring.)
Surely you jest, you say. Montgomery County is the home of good government. Never would our county allow such favoritism, simply because these four live within biking distance of one another. Would it?
Ah, but that's exactly what the wise Democrats of voting age have done. Yup, all 20 percent of them. I know because I read it in the newspaper -- the Washington Post, to be exact. (Primary election results)
But wait a second. Why should I be afraid? After all, these four politicians are going to do my bidding. I live here in the People's Republic and they all live nearby, so that means my fellow citizens and I will reap the benefits of their representation.
Right?
Well, probably not. Three of the four have been on the council for four years, and Takoma Park is still getting short-changed on the "police rebate" the county gives us. The latest budget cycle had city leaders quaking in their boots, as county staffers proposed a draconian 25 percent cut. It was whittled down to half that, and the city ended up sacking a few folks. Not great for them, of course, but not as bad as it could have been. (Lest you think I'm callous, allow me to note that hardly anyone in this union-friendly town raised a peep about the dismissal of city workers. Lately, some of my fellow now-defunct-Task Force on Environmental Action members have been wondering why the city has hired a "social media" coordinator instead of saving the dough for a sustainability coordinator. The answer: The position was already budgeted. Oh, well -- that makes sense.)
But back to the subject at hand, which is the windfall we in the PRoTP are sure to receive because we've got all these council people living near us. As former mayoral candidate and ubiquitous city activist and pain-in-the-rear (in a good way) Seth Grimes opines below,
"Marc, George, and Valerie have done nothing in their 4 years on the council to push the county executive to address widely acknowledged unfairness in the county's 'tax duplication' formulas by which the county keeps a disproportionate share of taxes paid by local residents that should be going to pay for services in Takoma Park... but doesn't. I'd be very surprised (but quite happy) if our county reps do pick up on this issue in the next 4 years."
Da Post
Before I begin what will only be the first of many (well-intentioned and well-informed) screeds against the Washington Post, allow me to state my bona fides. One thing you are not permitted to do in Takoma Park is criticize without first enumerating the many ways in which you are qualified to state an opinion. For instance, if I say the tree ordinance is irrational, I should first say that I love trees and would lay down my life for a Sweet Gum even if it were occupied by a family of tent caterpillars (which ain't so bad, btw). By the time you're done saying why your plaint should be listened to, however, you're usually out of time or the other person has burst in with a diatribe about your emotional immaturity.
So let me just say I grew up with the Post and remember well the days of ace photog Richard Darcey (Charley Taylor in full sprint, a Cowboy stretched helplessly in mid-air behind him in the Skins' 26-3 NFC championship win in 1972), the late but prolifically great Ward Sinclair (ag beat, Truckpatch), Dave Kindred, Ken Denlinger, Shirley Povich (last Nats game? I was there; he wrote it up); Lou Cannon, Michael Kernan (hilarious story on the White House turkey), David Remnick, David Maraniss (is he still there?), Phil McCombs ("Oh, Man!" was one of the best features ever to run in Style), and pugilist Henry Allen.
Martie Zad, I remember the time we met at the Chevy Chase Lounge. Mike Abramowitz, I know you went to Alban's. Michael Dobbs? I hope the second edition of your Cuban Missile Crisis book gets my Dad's name right. Bob Woodward? I know you raised hackles with your stories on the school system when you were at the Montgomery County Sentinel. Margaret Webb? Before you latched onto the Haft family tragedy, I edited your stuff at the Gazette.
I paid 80 cents a day for the paper when I lived in Carlisle, Pa., and more on Sunday -- a good chunk of my measly reporter's salary. My father wrote dozens of letters and even a few op-eds. I myself have had a couple of letters published and been responsible for more than a handful of corrections. I've also annoyed at least a half-dozen ombudsmen. So, dammit, I will say my piece!
Anyone still reading? Good. Metro scribe Mike Laris, obviously a nice guy because he called me back when I informed him that his article on the Takoma Park Folk Festival contained an incorrect quote of a sign (see today's paper for the correx), promptly went and wrote another piece about Takoma Park without checking with me first. Mike? Doncha know I'm crazy? That I'll say anything? That this blog is non-remunerative and keeps me from doing real work?
Let's go through graf by graf
Montgomery neighborhood could have
a powerful grip on county council
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Montgomery County stretches across a diverse terrain of more than 495 square miles. But if political wisdom in the heavily Democratic county holds, four of nine County Council members will live within three miles of one another by year's end.
Actually, it's more than 500 square miles when you take waterways into account.
Three council members already do, right along the Takoma Park-Silver Spring border.
Hans Riemer, a Silver Spring political organizer, joined three neighborhood incumbents in winning Democratic nominations in Tuesday's primary. If the four are victorious come November -- as many assume they will be in a county where registered Democrats outnumber Republicans by more than 2 to 1 -- their tree-lined patch of Montgomery north of the District line will deepen its remarkable grip on local government power. [emphasis added]
Not sure how a "tree-lined patch" can exercise any kind of grip on government power, much less a "remarkable grip." But trees are indeed powerful in Montgomery County.
It would be as if 193 of the House of Representatives' 435 members lived in an area smaller than Connecticut, prompting some in Montgomery to raise questions about fairness and the appearance of favoritism. ["Some" = Two]
Like so many analogies, this one is inapt. There are no "at large" House members. All the seats in the House are based on population. In contrast, many commentators have pondered the wisdom of allowing sparsely populated states (e.g., Wyoming, Utah, Alaska, Montana and Idaho) to have outsized influence in the U.S. Senate. See this post at the Balkinization blog, which notes that 58 senators represent a mere one-fourth of the U.S. population.
"If the voters countywide felt they wanted a different mix of residencies for the at-large members, they had the opportunity to cast their votes as they saw fit," Leventhal said. "Nobody forced them to choose three guys from the same neighborhood."
Who can argue with the ever-tactful George Leventhal? Who wants to? Well, I'll make a mild criticism. The pols in question don't all live in the same "neighborhood," unless you define the "tree-lined patch" stretching 3.1 miles as one neighborhood. In fact, according to the Post's own Real Estate/Neighborhoods web page (which is not very detailed--my neighborhood is not included, for example), Leventhal lives in Brookside Forest, Riemer in North Takoma, Elrich in Kilmarock, and Ervin in South Woodside Park. On one end of Montgomery's equivalent to Pennsylvania Avenue is Leventhal's midsize home with a fenced yard and a blue-and-white campaign sign out front. On the other end is a two-story brick home across from Sligo Creek Elementary School where Ervin, a former member of the Board of Education, lives. At-Large incumbent Elrich and newcomer Riemer live on side streets along the way.
Along what way? I assume he's equating Piney Branch Road with Pennsylvania Avenue, but he never mentions what street he's talking about. The difference, however, is that Pennsylvania Avenue is best known for the house in the 1600 block, where the President lives. Yet the article doesn't mention Montgomery County Executive Ike Leggett.
On a three-mile walk start to finish through the quartet's base Thursday, few of those headed home from the Takoma Metro station or watching a football practice from the sidelines knew they were in the midst of such a concentration of county authority. And some didn't much care.
I guess that's assuming that three or even four councilmembers can control what the council does. The last four years have shown that is not the case. Not surprisingly, most people questioned did not know and did not care.
"I have no expectations. Let's put it that way," said Glenn Trivers, a postal carrier watching a helmeted group of kids tackle a yellow dummy at Takoma Park Middle School on Piney Branch Road not far from Leventhal's home. Trivers was among about 20 percent of Montgomery voters who turned out Tuesday. He said he voted for Gov. Martin O'Malley and a school board member whose name sounded familiar but couldn't remember whether he selected any of the council candidates.
But head further along Piney Branch and make a left at the large potholes on the way toward Riemer's house, and there was some recognition of the benefits of living in Montgomery's local corridor of power.
Ah, there's the Piney Branch Road reference (sans "road." Piney Branch is in fact a creek.)
"It's knowing these folks. They live where you live. They understand what issues you have," said Ed Bordley, a federal government lawyer. "You run into them every day, and you feel like you can say, 'How about this issue? What about getting a light down here at the school so the kids can cross Piney Branch Road safely?' "
Indeed, there is a light at Takoma Middle. But crossing Piney Branch after soccer practice is still a game of chicken.
Bordley, who is blind and was walking home with his German shepherd guide dog, Kaleb, said he loves the location not far from Metro, the tomatoes from his neighbors and the nearby church that serves as his faith-based hub of activism on social issues, which includes promoting affordable housing. And he thinks the nature of the community is such that it wouldn't abuse its outsized influence. "I'd like to think we have the interests of the rest of the county at heart," Bordley said.
But some from elsewhere in Montgomery would prefer a little more geographic power sharing.
"It gives that area a very, very strong voice on the county council," said council member Phil Andrews (D-Gaithersburg/Rockville).
If they spoke with one voice. I would argue that because they represent the entire county, it's more likely that at-large councilmembers are careful not to bend over backwards to help neighbors.
The political culture of activism in the Takoma Park-Silver Spring area helped the four ride to victory Tuesday, despite the changing trend of where people are living in Montgomery. The county's population center has been creeping northward each decade since 1960 and was in Rockville in 2000, according to county officials.
Probably true, but since we don't know what the turnout was in downcounty precincts, we have no idea whether the "political culture of activism" propelled them to victory. I also would question whether people in Takoma and Silver Spring are any more "activist" than those in the upcounty, who have had to fight for recognition for years.
Several years ago, Andrews pressed the case for getting rid of at-large districts altogether and dividing the county into nine districts instead. Voters rejected that in a 2004 referendum.
In other words, the voters didn't agree with Andrews, but he's still whining. OK, that's too flip. Here's an op-ed penned by Andrews and the late Neal Potter, former councilmember and County Executive. He wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but I really loved that man. He did his homework. He cared about the facts. He epitomized good government. Question C, however, lost by more than 75,000 votes, 60.6% to 39.4%.
"A countywide district is huge. It's 1 1/2 times the size of a congressional district, and it's larger than several states" in population, Andrews said, adding that officials would be "closer to the people" with smaller districts. "It's very hard for people who aren't able to raise a lot of money to break into a countywide race."
Even primary winner Ervin questions the wisdom of the clustering of officialdom. As a strong and early supporter of Riemer, she's partly responsible. But she's had concerns about the appearance and reality of the situation.
"I really think the best way to govern the county is to have representatives from all the different areas of the county. It's a 500-square-mile jurisdiction," Ervin said. "I don't think it's necessarily a great idea to have so many members of the County Council living in one area. People may feel that area will get special attention."
Again, do we get special attention? See Takoma rebate, above.
As the council member for District 5, which covers Silver Spring and Takoma Park, Ervin said she's experienced firsthand the confusion of having so much representing going on in one place. It took a while for her, Elrich and Leventhal to stop running into one another, she said. "It got really messy there for a while. Things would happen, and I wouldn't know about it. People would get confused in the community: 'Who do I call? I've got George, I've got Marc, I've got Valerie, and now I've got Hans,' " Ervin said.
It's Montgomery's hybrid political system and a good-government appeal that allowed this to happen.
Instead of having only district council members, as in Prince George's County, or district supervisors and a countywide board chairman, as in Fairfax County, Montgomery reserves four at-large seats under the theory that doing so is a good way to keep a focus on the long view.
The current system shapes the tone of debate on difficult issues, such as where to place so-called LULUs, or locally unpopular land uses, said Royce Hanson, the former county planning chairman who lost his council bid Tuesday.
"The district representative knows they are working in a context in which the district view has to adapt to countywide concerns and countywide interests," said Hanson, who has argued against moves to only have district representatives in Montgomery. Such an arrangement would make people "take too parochial a view of things," Hanson said.
Council member Andrews rejected that argument. It hasn't proved true in Fairfax, he said. And by Hanson's logic, Maryland's delegates, senators and congressional representatives should run at-large statewide, Andrews said.
Hanson had another point. Under today's system, each voter can cast ballots for the majority of council members. That's great if you don't like your council member, he said.
"If you're represented by only one person, where do you go?" Hanson asked. "If you've got a district representative, and you've got four at-large representatives, you've got five avenues to try to influence policy instead of just one."
I got nothin' more folks.
