Me, as perceived by a certain state assemblymember.

I always told mama I’d make it big some day. Two weeks ago, my ship finally came in. 

First, though, a word about my inbox. I woke on a balmy Friday morning and, in defiance of the advice of every mental health professional ever, did what I do every morning and immediately checked my texts and email.

As the mental health professionals — who by the way have never been wrong about anything ever, except that one time — will tell you, checking digital messages is a terrible way to start the day. In my case it’s made worse by the fact that I work in politics. That means that most mornings my emails include as many as a dozen solicitations for donations from politicians I’ve never heard of in states I haven’t stepped foot in since the first Bush administration. I once got an email from a candidate for Governor of the Northern Mariana Islands who told me, in all caps, CHRISTOPHER, SAIPAN NEEDS YOUR HELP!

Anyway, roughly 90% of these email subject lines inform me that, insofar as democracy is concerned, at this point the United States is on par with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, only with a slightly more censorious press. The thing is, candidates from both parties tell me this. They also strongly insinuate that if I have the gall to support their opponent – who is inevitably, of course, an Existential Threat To Our Democracy – I should consider delousing myself with battery acid.

Then there are the emails from clients and various state and local advocates with whom I work, who also typically tell me that something horrible is happening in their community or up in Sacramento. They often have similar sentiments about the ghastly condition of democracy here in California. A typical missive goes something like this:

“Hey Chris, heads up. [Insert title of horrible bill] passed the [insert legislative committee] yesterday. It was unanimous, of course. It’s moments like this that make me wonder if [spouse’s and children’s names] and I should just say [expletive] it and move to [obscure third world country]. At least it’s an honest tyranny. Anyway, give a call when you can. Thanks.”

Occasionally a family member or friend will email a picture of their children or pets, which missive the other emails immediately pounce on and tear to digital pieces. Meanwhile my own dog is lying in her bed on the floor and looking at me like, “You know it’s a beautiful morning and we could just go for a walk, right?”

Keep these references to representative democracy in mind as you read the rest of this post.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see an email two Fridays ago from a staffer for a California assemblywoman named Pilar Schiavo. Schiavo is a Democrat who represents the 40th Assembly District, which includes Santa Clarita, part of the north San Fernando Valley and, most crucially, Magic Mountain. Over the last six months or so I’ve been helping out a neighborhood group in Northridge that’s fighting overdevelopment in their community enabled by recent (horrible, of course) state laws.

My interactions with Schiavo and her staff had been nothing but courteous, productive and professional. She’d offered to have her staff work with me to draft legislation related to fire safety in housing developments in burn zones and very high fire hazard severity zones.

So you can imagine my surprise when I read the email subject line: “Response to Concerning Statements.” I figured I’d been cc’d on an email unrelated to me. I was wrong. A letter attached to the email, signed by Schiavo, opened:

“Hello Christopher,

I was made aware that at a June 11th meeting between my office and [community members], in which you were in attendance, that statements were made to the effect of requesting action in my official capacity as an Assemblymember in return for support or opposition in a political campaign. You are welcome to offer your interpretation of events, but I view this as a quid pro quo, and I want to be abundantly clear that is not how I make determinations or take actions as an elected official.”

It’s hard to overstate how hilariously wrong virtually every word in the paragraph is. Start with the kicker: I wasn’t even at the June 11th meeting. Schiavo accused me of something I didn’t do at a meeting I didn’t attend. Also, I’m not her constituent. My assemblyman is Rick Zbur who, as far as I know, has not accused me of any malfeasance. Yet.

Somehow, it gets worse. I later learned that the statement in question involved a community member telling the assemblywoman that if she didn’t take a relatively trivial action, in the form of, ironically, writing a letter to support said community, it would impact said community’s political support for her in the upcoming election. That’s it.

In other words, Schiavo accused us of engaging in democracy.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the California state government.

The letter went to four other people, all community members who actually attended the meeting. We all got on a call to try to hash out what in Hades Schiavo was talking about, and how we should respond. Two of those community members are also elected members of their local Neighborhood Council (along with 15 city councilmembers, L.A. has 99 local Neighborhood Councils, whose members serve in an advisory capacity to city government). They told us that Schiavo had cc’d their copy of the letter to the entire Neighborhood Council. Which is what could colorably be called defamation, specifically libel. For that matter, the letter she sent individually to me also could be defamatory. Even though she didn’t cc anyone, the only way I could ascertain the facts was to disclose the letter to other people. This is what’s known as “compelled publication.” Yes, I know the law better than many lawmakers, and I haven’t practiced law in over a decade. That’s not boastful, it’s a bloody problem.

It wasn’t fun picking up the phone and telling people a state lawmaker had accused me of a serious crime. Had I actually been at the meeting I might have been able to suss out what Schiavo was talking about. I wasn’t, so I had no choice but to disclose the accusation to others. I go to great lengths to maintain and protect my reputation. My name is all over those meetings, and now implicated in this accusation. Excuse the expression, but that’s a fucking problem. Gossip spreads in the world of California politics the way STDs spread at the unintentionally and hilariously aptly named Burning Man.

If Schiavo thought someone had attempted a quid pro quo, the proper course of action would be to pick up the phone and call the people in question. Tell them her interpretation of the comment — which, by the way, she heard secondhand through a young staffer — and give them a chance to explain and, if necessary, correct the record. She also would not have waited two months to send her letter. That’s a problem in itself: Memories fade. People have a hard time remembering what they said in a meeting yesterday, much less weeks and months ago. The delay is inexplicable, unless she was relying on people’s fading memories. She waited all that time and then fired a nine main gun broadside at the entire community.

Again, this is California state government in action. I shudder to imagine how much time Schiavo and her staff spent on these letters. Is it any wonder the state is in the condition it’s in, when people like this are in charge?

All five of us wrote our own letters in response. Suffice it to say, I had a walloping good time writing mine (at one point I wrote, “It’s remarkable that this needs to be explained to a state lawmaker,” before explaining in great and abundant detail what quid pro quo actually is).

Of course Schiavo hasn’t responded to any of us. She’s probably too busy trumping up accusations against the guy who runs Camp Duck Amuck at Magic Mountain.

Schiavo concluded her letter by writing, “Do not hesitate to email my office in the future; however, my staff will not be joining future meetings arranged by this group outside of Neighborhood Council meetings on this issue.”

Translation: “I’m taking my toys and going home. Nyah.”

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the letter. We all have. Is it just an example of abject stupidity and carelessness? Or is it something darker? As much as it pains me to acknowledge it, as one of 120 state lawmakers in the world’s fourth largest economy, Schiavo wields considerable power. In the email to which the letter was attached, her staffer explicitly referred to it as an “official correspondence.”

Some people would be intimidated by such a communique. A powerful state lawmaker accusing you of attempted bribery, which is what “quid pro quo” amounts to in this context, is a serious charge. Some people would be intimidated into silence. Viewed from that perspective, Schiavo’s letter could be interpreted as an attempt to silence the recipients’ First Amendment rights.

For the legally curious, in the context of an elected official, quid pro quo requires an offer of something of value — cash, a Rolex, box seats to a Weird Al Yankovic concert at the Hollywood Bowl — in exchange for a specific action, such as voting a particular way on a particular bill. Threatening to withhold political support doesn’t come within a thousand light years. Again, she accused us of democracy.

Thing is, this isn’t unique in California these days. I can think of ten other examples just off the top of my head. I won’t mention any here, because names. It’s deeply distressing.

Then again, forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.

I’m going to walk the dog.

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