The Myth of California

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In a new book about her birthplace, Joan Didion writes that "a good deal about California does not, on its own preferred terms, add up."

 

Those preferred terms, that grand self-image, would be of a place perpetually nurtured by the triumph of the frontier, the promise of an ever-better tomorrow and the allure of unlimited possibility, potential, alternatives, tolerance and second chances.

 

 

In today's California, they don't add up, and they probably never did.

 

Instead, California has long lived on the fuel of myth: that its fertile Central Valley could fill the world's salad bowl (so long as the federal government subsidized it); that its public education system would be the envy of others; that its innovative technology would transform our lives for the better; that its sleek cars and open roads, its abundant beaches and far-reaching celebrity would serve as the model for the good life; that its collective consciousness would be the arbiter of American culture.

 

"The frontier myth in California was really based on a sense of having arrived," said Didion, author of "Where I Was From," in an interview. "Californians didn't think of themselves as at the last frontier, they thought of themselves as having crossed the last frontier to get here. They had arrived, they had been redeemed, they had made the last crossing. It was only natural to be in the land of sunshine and oranges. There was an underlying sense that once you got there, there was a big-rock-candy mentality, that once you got there you deserved it because you earned it in the crossing."

 

In no person is that sense of earning it embodied more fully than in Arnold Schwarzenegger, the Austrian who came to California to chase the myth and in many ways make it a reality, including the now very real possibility that, after a campaign of only a few months, he could be the governor of America's most populous state.

 

His rise is a test of the power of the myth, but like so many things in a place with 34 million people, the world's fifth-largest economy and an infatuation with fantasy, the issue is more complicated than that.

 

Californians, or at least enough of them to stoke the historic recall campaign against Gov. Gray Davis, seem to be sending a loud message about their government, or perhaps even government in general, that they feel threatened--tomorrow might not be better--because of the ways in which government has failed them.

 

They are taking that anger out on the charmless Davis, even though they have twice elected him, most recently in November. Impatient, they want that anger addressed instantly even though only a shockingly low percentage of them bothered to vote when Davis won a second term.

 

The recall might well be successful, but it would be difficult to call the process a success, with 135 candidates on the ballot, many of whom seemed to be mocking the government while applying to run it.

 

California instituted its recall provision, a weapon of direct democracy, in response to railroad corruption around the dawn of the 20th Century. It had been all but a relic until now. The recall's cousin, the direct referendum, has been employed famously on many occasions, but the target of the referendum has always been an issue--and usually a perceived threat--rather than a person.

 

The recall has the illusion of a popular uprising, but that is to lose sight of the fact that it was really the creation of a wealthy individual, Rep. Darrell Issa (R-Calif.), who used millions of his own dollars to seed a climate of sweeping discontent. He hired consultants to gather signatures on the recall petition, initially with the hope of personally replacing Davis, though he dropped out, yielding to the power of Schwarzenegger's appeal.

 

Big government

 

As California has grown, so too has the size and reach of its government, leading some to say that it is failing the people in part because of its collective weight.

 

"Government involvement creates more special-interest activity and the government [becomes] more involved in people's lives," said Brian Janiskee, co-author of "Democracy in California" and a professor at California State University, San Bernardino.

 

Part of California--clearly, its conservatives but also moderates and some liberals--is lashing out against those "special interests" by setting sights on Davis.

 

And there are so many special interests because the Golden State so often is an amalgam of too much and too little. It has too many people, too large a deficit and too many overpriced homes. It has too little water, too few services, and, for a time, even too little electricity.

 

The shift from the new Gold Rush days of the 1990s explains the reason behind the state's woes and also its tendency to live and die by the myth. California had come to rely on the seemingly endless revenues spawned in the Silicon Valley, where companies used once-lucrative stock options to pay its workers.

 

When the dot.com bubble burst, it hit California like a violent fiscal mudslide. The state's Department of Finance reports there was a drop of nearly $80 billion in income from the devaluation of stock options for workers alone, meaning a dramatic drop in state revenues. The NASDAQ had become the gold, and its precipitous plunge caused a far greater fiscal flameout than the depletion of the precious mineral.

 

The state's finances are a mess and a large segment of California is angry. Angry at the state's inability to deliver basic services, angry at the state spending that has produced record deficits, angry at the car tax that would help ease those same deficits, angry at the eroding quality of its once formidable public education system, angry at the lack of space and time.

 

At the same time, most opinion polls are projecting that at least half of those who are eligible to vote in the recall probably won't take the time.

 

People say they don't think Davis was honest with them about the budget. But more generally, they are mad about government, no small irony in that the federal government has always provided the bulk of California's bounty.

 

The federal government subsidized the railroads, which created great markets for California products. It subsidized the importation and diversion of water. It subsidized the defense industry and its many contractors.

 

"The sense that California's idea of itself, its preferred idea, is one of great independence from the government and from the rest of the country when in fact it was essentially a dependency on the federal government that made it what it is, all the big money there was made off government, the water, the railroads, the defense industry," Didion said. "You can go through 100 years of big fortunes there. They were all subsidies."

 

While there is deep-seated discontent, there are also many who cling to the promise that brought them here in the first place. One of them is Neil Grunig, who came to California seven years ago. It took him four and a half days to drive here, guided by a Rand McNally road atlas. He had graduated from college in Maryland with dreams of surfing and--no surprise here--working in the film industry.

 

"I had never been to Southern California," said Grunig, blond, tan, fit and still searching for his place in the entertainment business. "Most likely it was the beach, the surfing. I loved it. I knew at some point I wanted to live in a place that was warm by the beach. Everything I heard about it--the traffic, the crazy people, the sunny days--it's all true, it's what I thought it would be. People can come here and try to make their own path.

 

"This is the land where dreams are made year after year in Hollywood," he said. "I may not have a shot, but at least I am trying."

 

While he is trying, he is tending bar to pay the bills.

 

He said he has completed one screenplay but hasn't sold it. He has another one in the works, literally in his pocket--scraps of paper with his scribbled ideas.

 

He will vote Tuesday against the recall, and then for Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante, a Democrat. "A lot of people are laughing at us," Grunig said.

 

California often has been good for a laugh and an easy caricature.

 

"California had been a land of possibilities and alternative futures for the rest of the country," said John Pitney, a professor of political science at Claremont McKenna College. "In the past, I thought of California as `Tomorrowland,' a happy place, a good place. We have moved from `Tomorrowland' to `Blade Runner.' And the alternative future is pretty grim."

 

So many Californians are turning to the myth, apparently, and supporting the idea of Schwarzenegger for governor. The entertainment industry, usually reliably Democratic, has been somewhat mute as one of its own seeks the state's highest office. Instead, Schwarzenegger is using the skills he honed as an actor, even trotting out memorable lines, to run a campaign that is at least one part movie set.

 

Schwarzenegger capitalizes on the state's desire for the instant gratification aspects of the recall. He hasn't been forced to put out detailed position papers. His positions and life have not been examined by the media for the nearly a year that most gubernatorial candidates would face.

 

He didn't even have to win his party's nomination to earn the right to take on Davis. Given the conservative leanings of the state's GOP organization, the pro-choice, pro-gay-rights Schwarzenegger would have had a very long pull to get his party's backing in the traditional sense.

 

Instead, Schwarzenegger has made the most of the fact that he didn't have to spend a dime for people to know who he was. He could focus exclusively on those attributes that people like in him and on one of the most reliable themes for a winning campaign--change versus status quo.

 

Because of his moderate views on social issues, Schwarzenegger can appeal to coastal California in ways that more conservative Republicans cannot.

 

More powerfully, he can appeal to the myth. His campaign literature says he wants to "bring our schools back. Bring our jobs back . . . bring trust back."

 

"When I first came to California 35 years ago, this state was a place of dreams," he says in his campaign literature. "Today, dreams, optimism, and opportunity are eluding too many Californians."

 

A lot of Californians seem to be vesting their hope in the myth, with Schwarzenegger as the vessel of that hope. His campaign, perhaps, is a melding of myth and reality by people who think they're out of options.

 

 

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