When the doors closed May 25 in Olympia on the 135-day legislative session, the spent lawmakers left an historic blood and guts battle in the Capitol, and the strain of the session was echoed by all.
Most of the words I heard were awful, terrible, the worst I have ever been through.
Rep. Chris Hurst, of Greenwater, told me last year after the session ended that it was terrible and this year would be much worse.
Rep. Pat Sullivan, of Covington, said this session it was the worst in his memory after four terms.
I was struck by Sen. Karen Keiser from Des Moines who told me she spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out the math cutting more than $4 billion.
Folks get into politics for a variety of reasons. I don’t hold romantic notions about public service and being so good angels are swooping around like sparrows.
All of our behavior is much more complex than simply being better than the lazy guy down the street who won’t mow his lawn.
Public service is certainly part of the equation, but whatever the genetic twists and turns are that drives some to ask people to vote for them so they can go to Olympia or city hall and make decisions that will make piles of people hate them is far beyond anything Darwin ever dreamed up.
I have been kidding the Democrats since November about the joy of being in the majority. There is nothing like getting blamed for the worst economic tailspin since Hoover was napping in the White House.
Being in the minority party has its advantages. Good politicians all know there is an art to the minority voice, and it is powerful when used by a master like Newt Gingrich.
All political bodies have coalitions, little groups that gather to vote for this or that.
City councils are fascinating to watch because the coalitions often move like schools of fish, shifting at the blink of an eye.
Vote counting is the craft, and coalition building the art of the political connoisseur.
I’ve always believed the majority and minority status in a political body is similar to raising children, particularly fathers with daughters.
When they are very young you are the majority leader. The daughter likes you, thinks you are very cool and that you can sing like Elvis.
But soon the child learns a couple of very dangerous words – “no” and “I want.”
She will eventually find your yearbook from high school and ask how you could have possibly ever had a date.
The “dad you were a geek” means majority rule has ended.
Soon after your daughter will be college, which means you are officially in the minority status, and paying dearly for it.
I’m not sure majority rule is as great as it seems. The freshman Republican congressmen back in Washington D.C. are finding out the hard way how fickle American political life can be. One day your cool the next day you’re a geek. Sounds familiar.
Talking to the legislators after this last session in Olympia shows how bare knuckle it can get. Good thing for American there are some folks with that certain genetic twist and shout willing to run for office in these worst of times.
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