Last week, a YouTube video of the Oklahoma House Majority Leader saying, "… might try to Jew me down on the price," made the rounds.  I don't know what was more troubling: the Majority Leader's comfort in casually tossing out an anti-Semitic slur or the laughter in the room when he sarcastically apologized. 

One reporter noted that there were no Jewish Oklahoma state legislators, implying that this comment would not have been uttered if there had been some.  It should be noted that Oklahoma, while not awash in synagogues, does have 4,650 Jews, more than eight other states.  A popular movie set in Oklahoma, Leaves of Grass, featured a Jewish orthodontist attending Shabbat services. So, I doubt that this reflects on the Majority Leader's personal experience--or lack thereof--with Jews or the absence of Jews in Oklahoma.

Something else is at play.

In the Texas State Legislature, a leading legislator talking about quick and fair payments to windstorm victims said, "don't nit-pick, don't try to Jew them down."  He quickly added, "that's probably a bad term," and went on.  No one laughed.

Why laughter in Oklahoma but not Texas? Is it because there is a higher percentage of Jews in Texas than Oklahoma, though both states have very low percentages (.1% compared to .6%)?  Or is it because the Speaker of the Texas House of Representatives is Jewish? Perhaps Texans are more polite than their neighbors to the North?  Maybe it is because a member of the Texas Legislature was criticized in the press for saying he had gotten into politics to put Christian conservatives in office?

Nevertheless, the fact remains that the Representative made a bigoted remark. It happened to be about us. It could have been about African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, women, or members of the LGBTQ community.

This happens in the Illinois State Legislature. It happens in the Idaho, Indiana, and Iowa Legislatures too.

State legislators across the United States do much of their work in the public spaces of committee hearings and floor debates. In the heat of the moment, in the glory of being in the limelight, legislators can forget that they are on the public stage. They act as though they are debating friends or the TV set.  It is easy to slip and say something they wish they hadn't; something we wished they hadn't said.

Hours of debate in close quarters drag on and legislators fighting to make a point have been known to regress to taunts and insults. I remember a late night debate when one party appropriations leader described the other party's budget as having as much support as a Wonder bra. Upset women advocates surrounded him afterwards and called him out for his sexist remark.

Last week during the gun control debate, a new legislator, responding to yelling and screaming from a particularly strident gun rights colleague, said "we don't want someone like that carrying a concealed weapon."  Bedlam erupted as stacks of paper were tossed in the air and a legislator threw a microphone down in disgust. Friends and foe took the new legislator to task for this perhaps uncivil but certainly not racist remark.

One danger of a bigoted remark is that it will be quickly picked up by the press and heard round the world.  Look at what happened to the House Majority Leader in Oklahoma.

A more serious danger of a bigoted remark is that it poisons the trust among those working to pass good public policy. Being willing to compromise is essential in the political process. It is hard to engage if you are suspicious of the other person. I am willing to bet that the Texas Representative has had to work hard to rebuild his relationships with his Speaker, voters in his district, Jewish and otherwise, and his colleagues who thought him an honorable man.

What distinguishes Illinois, and perhaps Texas, from Oklahoma is that a bigoted remark would not be tolerated by the leaders or by the other legislators. Any legislator would be quickly told that civil discourse is essential to governing and that personal attacks, especially bigoted remarks are not good behavior.

And that makes all the difference.

Because in the end, it wasn't the remark in the Oklahoma State Legislature, as uncomfortable as it made me feel, that mattered most; it was the laughter.

It depends.

All conversations with legislators begin with introductions and end with thank you.  It is the dance in-between that separates voter from organizer, lobbyist from policy advocate.

Caring voters come to Springfield on a mission, dressed in hunting fatigues or wearing medical coats, in suits or t-shirts and jeans.   Families clutch hands of children. Caretakers push people in wheelchairs. Groups of high school students and groups of retired folks wait their turn to speak with legislators and testify in committees.

Legislators listen carefully to voters who speak from their heart.  They look for the values embedded in personal stories. Fact sheets are helpful but it is the anecdote that wins the day.  

I watched one young woman win over a House committee last week when she told her personal story of abuse first from a parent and then from a school system. No legislator who cared about children could have voted against this young adult who had struggled at great odds to overcome injustice. 

Policy advocates, equally passionate about their policy position, favor the well-reasoned argument.  Their careful analysis demonstrates the wisdom behind their proposed policy.  Their tools are charts, data, logic, and reports from other states. 

Legislators, forced to be knowledgeable about many issues, seek out those with a reputation for quality research in a specific area. Truly brilliant in their effectiveness are those advocates who can do three things: simplify a complex situation, explain where the arguments against their proposal fall apart, and give the legislator words for convincing their colleagues that the proposed policy should be voted up or down.

Community organizers choose the "in-your-face" approach to get the attention of legislators. It seems so rude. But legislators hide from certain issues that are uncomfortable or controversial. The only way to get action is to force a legislator to declare where he or she stands and to make him or her promise action.

Said one legislator who was the target of this approach from SWOP, a Southwest Side Chicago community organization, "I knew I couldn't avoid declaring my position around drivers licenses for illegal immigrants any more when I saw folks with the SWOP buttons flooding the Capital and lining up outside my door."  Because they were respectful, he was not angry.  In contrast, this legislator who is on the fence about same sex marriage was turned off by organizers from both sides of the issue because of their pushy, "take no prisoners and don't even pretend to listen" approach.

The media focuses on how lobbyists are the inside players in the game of influence because they have favors to grant (campaign contributions, getting-out-the-vote, etc.).  Absolutely, money and campaign workers matter. But that is just part of it. The most talented lobbyist uses his or her personal knowledge about an individual legislator to tailor the message, a knowledge built on a valued relationship.  Usually, the "ask" is based on how a particular vote will help the legislator with the two groups he or she cares most about: constituents and donors.  But other details like personal experience with the issue or religious values inform the phrasing of the message.

It is now March and the Legislature adjourns on Friday for two weeks. What will work best to persuade legislators when the General Assembly reconvenes in April?

The issues important to the Jewish Federation revolve around protecting funding for health and human services so that our agencies can continue to meet their missions.  Policy advocates have reached every legislator with the messages about investments in human services saving money and the cost-effectiveness of expanding Medicaid.  Organizers have brought in crowds to chant challenging slogans in the building.  Lobbyists have used every opportunity at golf outings, cocktail parties, and other campaign fundraisers to ask for support.

But still the House proposes to reduce funding for community-based human and health care services.  Still Medicaid expansion, passed by the Senate, languishes in the House.

Legislators are stuck. Hearing from the Jewish Federation volunteer leaders about why they care deeply about human and health services might help bring the heart back into the decision-making.  The Jewish Federation Springfield Mission in April comes at just the right time.

Is it fair to link the problem of mass slayings of innocent people with those who have sought treatment for mental health problems?  Many people I know, most of whom have either sought or are close to someone who has sought mental health services, would say no.  Yet that is exactly what politicians throughout the United States seem to be saying.  A focus on mental health is the one policy solution to gun violence where Democrats and Republicans march in unison with the National Rifle Association.

Why? Is this another example of scapegoating the mentally ill for society's ills? Or is there something worth considering in this particular policy solution?  

After Sandy Hook, the President and most politicians downstream sounded the drumbeat for improving the mental health system to make our communities safer.  Politicians seek popular policy solutions to dramatic public problems.  Shooters of recent memory- James Holmes in Colorado, Jared Loughner in Arizona, and Adam Lanza in Conn- all had serious mental health problems.  Voila: an emphasis on mental health. 

Governor Cuomo of New York quickly pushed through gun control legislation which included a requirement that mental health practitioners report worrisome patients who could then have their guns taken from them. This idea is being considered in many states. 

 The problem with this policy is that it doesn't work. Mental health practitioners are a large group of helping professionals including social workers, substance abuse counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and school guidance counselors. It takes considerable training to be able to predict with any reliability which "worrisome patients" pose a threat.  Few have the expertise.

So perhaps it would be best to take away guns from anyone seeking mental health treatment. This would be easy to enforce and take mental health workers off the hook for making tricky judgment calls.  

The problem is that it would create havoc. The gun-owning population is large: roughly 45% of American households.  Just about everyone finds it tough to seek mental health treatment. A threat to gun ownership is a great reason to decide not to seek help.  Not a smart policy.

And yet.

In an op-ed in the New York Times on January 18, 2013, Wendy Burton wrote about her struggles with depression and the danger that becoming a gun owner would pose to her life. She brought home a reality that more people die each year by gun suicides than by gun homicides in the United States.

What happens if the focus is on behavioral indicators of mental instability, not a diagnosis of mental illness? To actually reach those who use guns to kill would mean expanding the group of those who qualify for mental health services beyond the current target population of those with chronic mental illness like schizophrenia, major depression and bipolar disorder. It would include the 25% of veterans coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan who lawmakers estimate suffer from mental health problems.  Also targeted for help would be the many children suffering from exposure to trauma in early years of life. This group might also include domestic violence abusers at risk of killing in a fit of irrational rage; adolescents with a history of showing off with guns; bullies who flash guns in bars and on the street to intimidate, and depressed human beings seeking an easy way out.

Wait!  How much money will it take to adequately expand mental health services to reach those in need and thus protect the community against "dangerous people with access to guns?" Funding for mental health systems was reduced across the nation over the past few years as states struggled to balance budgets. Between 2009 and 2012,   Illinois' funding was cut by 31% to a total of $404 million a year.

Last Thursday, a bipartisan group of Senators introduced the Excellence in Mental Health Act. This Act would allow 2,000 federally qualified behavioral health centers to charge Medicaid for mental health services once they met certain criteria.  The cost estimate is about $ 1 billion over the next decade, a figure that does not come close to replacing lost state funding for mental health services. It is an important first step but strengthening the mental health systems needs much more than token appropriations if the policy goal of decreasing gun violence is met.

At the end of 2013, when gun violence prevention public policy has been passed, will funding for the expansion of mental health service be more than a symbolic gesture? Or will the outcome be a restriction of the access of "the other" to guns; a far cheaper policy for Congress to pass and enforce?

Driving south on Interstate 55, about 30 minutes north of Springfield, you pass a series of billboards, beginning with "guns don't kill people" and ending with "people kill people."   If I posted those billboards outside my house, neighbors would be horrified.  But downstate, defined as anywhere outside of the Chicago metropolitan area, this logic seems about right.

At the State Capital on any given day when gun control legislation is being debated, groups of ordinary, pleasant people show up to protect their Second Amendment rights. What is it about regulating access to guns that generates such heat?  Other controversial issues--funding for parochial schools, sex education, speed limits--barely inspire a whimper from citizen advocates. 

The usual answer refers to the legendary power of the National Rifle Association combined with a nod to the "us vs. them," red vs. blue state, urban vs. rural thesis of national divide.

But that doesn't tell the whole story.

This is not to dismiss the amazing narrative that is the NRA.  Like ACLU members passionately defending the First Amendment, NRA members stand proud for the Second Amendment. Both advocacy organizations are vigilant about the slippery slope to compromise. The difference is that there are 4.3 million NRA members and only 500,000 ACLU members. The NRA has built, legislative district by district, state by state, a network of members dedicated to making sure that laws do not interfere with anyone's ability to defend oneself with a gun.

However, the fact that the NRA has developed such a faithful following--which leads into the power and the perception of power that sways politicians-- is about more than a very good ground-game. It is about feelings.  A gun pointed at you makes you feel helpless; you pointing a gun at someone makes you feel powerful.  I understand why my friend's brother, who never carried a gun until he was shot by an armed robber, bought a gun, began practicing at a gun range, and joined the NRA.

Gun control advocates point to the facts.  In 2011, approximately 32,000 people died from guns; 33,000 died in car accidents.  Think about that.  The vast majority of people living in the United States get into a car every day of their lives. In comparison, with the exception of the military and police, most people don't even touch a gun for weeks and years; perhaps a lifetime.  Yet the number of deaths is about equal. Other statistics show that where there are more guns; there are more gun-related violence and death. This is true in comparing counties, states and countries. 

Still, when you are protecting a personal right to defend oneself and one's family; data doesn't resonate. 

Data definitely doesn't resonate with Illinois legislators living south of I-80, most of whom do not vote in support of gun control. In floor debates, they talk about the joys of hunting and sports-shooting. They praise the constitutional right to bear arms. They know the track record of the NRA in opposing candidates who don't toe the line and that their dues-paying NRA member-constituents vote.

Is gun violence prevention legislation doomed in Illinois and in Washington?  The best of democratic legislation rests on compromise built out of discussions among warring groups.  Gun owners talk about the importance of behaving responsibly (keeping guns locked up, for example). Some say that assault and semi-assault weapons have no role in hunting, sports-shooting, or home defense. Is the NRA talking privately with these members to identify places to compromise or are they sticking with their message of letting nothing interfere with the rights of people to carry guns? Without talk; there can be no progress.    

For the past 19 years, the NRA has not seen reason to engage. In 1994, they joined the early discussions around the Assault Weapons Ban but then pulled out, fearing loss of members. They haven't lost a major legislative battle at the federal level since that bill was passed.

On Thursday, the NRA will send representatives to a meeting with Vice President Biden who is leading the White Panel on gun violence.  Can common ground be found between those who value the right to be armed and those who are worry about gun violence? If not, what happens next?

Latinos came out in force. Nationwide, more than 11 million cast ballots, an increase of 1.6 million from 2008.  In Illinois, 10% of those voting were Latino compared with 6% four years ago, and 1% in 1992. 

They came out decisively for President Obama. 71% of Latino voters voted for the President, tipping the scale in battleground states like Nevada, Florida, and Colorado.  In Illinois, the organized Latino get-out-the-vote campaign is credited with surprising Democratic victories in traditional Republican strongholds like DuPage County.

What does it mean nationally? The pressure is on to pass comprehensive immigrant reform.  Signs at a rally of immigration rights organizations outside the White House read: "We voted for you. Now vote for our Families."

However, polls showed that it was the economy and jobs that were the number one concern of the community. So, Latino leaders are asking for more appointments of Latinos to positions within the Administration, especially in agencies that dictate economic policy.

What does it mean in Illinois?

Latinos have been part of the Democratic Leadership teams in the Illinois House and Senate for more than a decade. Now, Republicans are consciously reaching out to the Latino community. All three Republican leaders expected to enter the race for Governor in 2014 have made overtures. Senator Bill Brady is a co-sponsor of the driver's license bill. Senator Kirk Dillard attended the annual Latino Legislative Caucus Foundation conference. State Treasurer Dan Rutherford is working with the National Latino Education Institute on an Economic Empowerment program.

In the short run, it means that the General Assembly is likely to pass a law allowing illegal, undocumented immigrants register for a driver's license. Both Democrats and Republicans have eagerly declared their support: the Governor, the Mayor, Republican leaders in the General Assembly Tom Cross and Christine Radogno, Comptroller Judy Barr Topinka, and Senate President John Cullerton. 

What does it mean for the community of Jewish leaders in Illinois?

Groups like the Alliance of Latinos and Jews began years ago to build personal and professional connections. Mt. Sinai Hospital, part of the Jewish Federation network, has always welcomed Latinos and is one of the major providers of obstetrics services to Latino families in the state. The Federation advocated for the inclusion of coverage for undocumented women in the Violence against Women Act in Congress.  It is important to provide services and sign on in support of legislation. But a more powerful bond across leaders comes from being engaged in the hard work of building ideas, policy, coalitions around issues of shared concern.

One challenge is that the Latino community is actually several communities with different concerns.  The largest group is the Mexican community. Other communities include Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Argentinians, Columbians, Peruvians, and so on. Religiously, they are likely to be either Catholic or Evangelical Christian.  What is clear is that immigration reform is their civil rights issue and a litmus test.

So, where to begin? Naturally we look to see what we have in common. A Jewish political activist comfortable working in all communities quipped: "We are a natural coalition because Latinos are just like Jews.  Their mothers are the bosses of the families; food is really important; family is even more important, and they are perpetually late."  

Another place to start is to ask what do Latinos believe to be true about Judaism, about Israel, about the Jewish community.

The American Jewish Committee is a leader among established Jewish organizations in seeking closer relations with Latinos. This year, they commissioned a survey about Latino attitudes towards Jews. Among other questions, AJC wanted to know the prospects and challenges for building an inter-group coalition and for building bridges between the two communities.  http://www.ajc.org/atf/cf/%7B42d75369-d582-4380-8395-d25925b85eaf%7D/AJC_LATINOS_04102012.PDF .

Without giving away the conclusions, I found much of promise in the report. The report noted that some of the criticisms of the Jewish community I grew up hearing are seen as strengths by a growing Latino community. They appreciate that "Jews stick together" because they want to maintain their cultural distinctiveness even as they expand into American society. They maintain close familial and financial ties to their homes of origin so they understand our love for Israel.  They want to better understand how we built our political power in spite of being, at most, 3.8% of the national population. 

Perhaps the way to begin to engage in public arenas and behind the closed doors of political maneuvering is to begin joining with Latinos on shared issues of concern; in the hand-to-hand combat of building relationships and trust and commitment to creating change together. The door is wide open.

Se avecinan tiempos emocionantes. (Exciting times ahead.)

It could be worse. We could be living in a battleground state, besieged by TV and radio ads, harassed by phone calls, our streets littered with candidate flyers and our highways flooded with billboards with smiling faces.  Instead, we live in Illinois where the popular vote for President was decided before the conventions.

So, Illinois residents shouldn't complain. But we do.

To begin with, the Presidential debates were neither illuminating nor inspiring. The candidates spent the time making points, not making sense. Their strategy of beaming meaningful looks onto the screen backfired on one friend who switched to Real Housewives so she could watch some quality TV. 

It wasn't clear after three of the four debates who lost and why.  Did he lose because his style was too aggressive or too passive? Or did he lose because his attitude was too cocky or too condescending? Did he or did he not project "true leadership?" To find out what I thought, I tuned into the post-debate show commentators. The trick here is to switch channels until you find the news station most likely to cast your favorite in a favorable light.

Then there is the problem of the shifting polls. Early in the summer, the demographers and many political strategists predicted a very close race for a variety of reasons. They were right. Polls usually shift over the course of time by one or two or five points. In a close election, the shifts mean that who is on top shifts with each news cycle. 

Advice to dieters is to go on the scales only once a week. The same advice should be given to political news junkies.  I check the polls on the train on my way to work; after lunch; one last time before I leave; once again before I go to sleep. How irritating that the polls, like tea leaves, can't tell me what I want to know.

And finally, there is an undercurrent of disappointment. Last Presidential election, there was the knowledge that history was being made. Our Senator from Illinois grew into a rock star for college students.  He could do no wrong.  

Not so this year. Friends, colleagues, and family say "I don't want to get involved. This election doesn't excite me. I am so disgusted by the candidates. A curse on both their houses." 

And yet.

People are amazed at the campaign volunteers who eagerly put boots on the ground and cell phones to the ear.  These volunteers willingly spend a glorious fall day identifying the "good" voters, the voters to ignore, and the undecided.  Doors are slammed in their faces.  They are pigeon-holed by people intent on ripping their arguments to shreds. Yet they return, weekend after weekend; year after year; candidate after candidate.

Not all campaign workers volunteer for noble reasons. Chicago is legendary for local ward heelers turning out the vote in return for city and county jobs.  Those seeking a career in politics do it to show they have what it takes to win. Lobbyists build good faith by keeping company with candidates knocking on district doors. Interest groups require their members to do the neighborhood legwork so as to build up political capital.

However, many more volunteers from all political parties across the United States give freely of their time and good will. In return, they feel pride in making a difference and joy in joining with others of shared vision. Brief conversations with strangers lead to smiles of appreciation which spur them on. For these volunteers, politics is more than a spectator sport.  It is democracy in action.

After his first visit here in the 1830s, a young Frenchman wrote about a new paradigm called democracy.

 How does it happen that in the United States, where the inhabitants have only recently immigrated to the land which they now occupy, and brought neither customs nor traditions with them there; where they met one another for the first time with no previous acquaintance; where, in short, the instinctive love of country can scarcely exist; how does it happen that everyone takes as zealous an interest in the affairs of his township, his county, and the whole state as if they were his own? It is because everyone, in his sphere, takes an active part in the government of society.
-Alexis de Tocquieville, Democracy in America, Vol. 1, Chapter 14.

Which is why, year after year, I knock on doors for my candidate, whoever she or he is. 

Why are people willing to spend many hours shaking reluctant hands at train stops and in neighborhoods, to risk public embarrassment in candidate debates, and to eat plates of rubbery food in order to win the prize of being a state legislator?  And let's not forget about the painful groveling-for-dollars element of the campaign as they dial up friends, acquaintances of friends, friends they last saw in third grade, and their own family for money.

The motivation isn't about the money. The legislator's pay of $67,836 is above the Illinois medium household income of $53,234. But this isn't enough to feed, clothe, house, and educate a middle-class family.  It is true that some legislators pad their take-home income. Some steer business to their law offices. Some accept generous campaign contributions in return for favors. Some take bribes. But as the new legislator from House District 10 found out by experience, asking for bribes can lead to arrest. Generous campaign contributions and legal business usually don't arrive until after the legislator has a track record of success. 

The candidates are not in the fight because of the prestige. On the day after State Senator Barack Obama won election to become the junior Senator from Illinois, then Chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee John Cullerton told a story as Obama took his committee seat. "One day as I left a meeting in D.C., a lady asked me what my job was. I said Senator. She was impressed and asked me what state I represented. When I replied that I was a State Senator, she turned away, clearly disappointed, and said 'I thought you were a Real Senator." Well, today, I am happy to report that we have a Real Senator with us."  Sometimes it seems that the public believes that state senators and representatives are juniors having fun while the substantive work gets done in D.C.  Respect for state politicians, according to the media, keeps dropping. Everything bad, from the death of abused children to the red ink of the state budget to declining high school graduation rates, is blamed on the State Legislature.

The driving force can't be a taste for the power.  There is none. First-termers rarely become committee chairs or members of the leadership team. They have to prove that they can be loyal to their party's leaders first before securing choice assignments.

But being a state legislator does offer a chance to make a difference. This year, I have been impressed by the sincerity of every new candidate I have talked with. One wants to roll back eligibility for health insurance; a second wants to help struggling school districts get paid; and a third wants to expand human service programs for disabled young adults. Each one of them sincerely wants to be elected so he or she can help create smarter, better public policy.  

There may be other reasons. Perhaps the candidate wants a change in job scenery, or just a job, or perhaps business partners want an inside advantage in shaping regulations. Career-wise, the state legislature is a stepping stone to the more prestigious federal office. But, I don't think any of this new crop wants this because it looks like a cushy job. This was not true in the past. Years ago, a state legislator told me the best part of his job was that it gave him time to play golf. (This man went onto much higher office and then lost his job!)

I look forward to the energy and ideas coming to Springfield in 2013. The question is how the new legislators will change as they lose their innocence.  Aung San Suu Kyi, Myanmar's democracy leader, was quoted by John McCain this month for her wisdom: "It is not power that corrupts but fear. Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it, and fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it."  My hope is that as these legislators learn how to operate, they will be inspired, not corrupted, by the power.