Reading ballot measures reveals an intent to confuse
This column is co-published with Zócalo Public Square. Photo credit: County of Los Angeles, via X.
You know those people who tell us that “democracy is on the ballot”? They are misinformed.
The word “democracy” isn’t anywhere on the statewide ballot. Or the ballot in Los Angeles County, where I live. But you will find lots of nonsense pretending to be democracy.
Before each statewide election, I read every word of the ballot, of the voter guide, and of the ballot measures.
Why, besides masochism? Because at least one Californian should. Because, in the Golden State, we not only get to elect representatives, we get to enact laws or amendments. And because we shouldn’t complain about state legislators who don’t read the bills upon which they vote if we won’t do the work ourselves.
I also read because of professional obligation. Direct democracy is my bag—for two decades I’ve led a global forum deals with initiatives, referenda, and other democratic processes.
Not that any of it helps, when it comes to the California ballot. Direct democracy around the world often allows people to propose and enact ideas that might otherwise be ignored. But California-style direct democracy rarely does that; instead, it’s another way for rich people and interests to fight with each other, and confuse the rest of us in the process.
The first thing that stands out about 2024’s ballot measures is their extreme length. The Constitution of the United States, amendments and all, runs to about 7,600 words. Which is shorter than three different measures on your November ballot.
Not that all that verbiage explains much.
Prop 2, a multibillion-dollar bond measure put on the ballot by the legislature at the behest of construction interests, takes 17,741 words to outline a funding formula for building new school facilities (30% for new construction, 40% for modernization, 6% for adult education, etc.). But it never explains the logic behind that formula. Nor does it answer a crucial contextual question: Why, with schools closing due to declines in enrollments and the numbers of children, do we need so many new buildings?
Prop 4, at 15,399 words, is of similar vintage. It’s another bond measure from the legislature, to fund an array of parks, water, drought, environmental, and climate projects. It’s long because it gets so very specific about dividing up the spending, and because it would up another new state fund, one more of the thousands of special funds that make state budgeting so complicated in California.
The legislature isn’t the only ballot measure author needing editing. Prop 35, which is backed by health interests, labor, and both political parties, requires 14,378 words to make permanent an existing tax on managed care organizations with the goal of making Medi-Cal funding more secure. Many of those words are in there to limit how this funding is used—making Medi-Cal, a difficult program to manage, even less flexible, and less able to adapt to future changes from the federal government, which funds much of it.
Why such verbosity on the ballot? The (mercifully) short answer: lack of trust. Interests that spend millions funding campaigns for these measures don’t trust politicians and regulators to respect the authors’ intent; they want all the details set in stone—and thus, if approved, locked in, since in California decisions made by ballot can’t be undone except by another vote of the people.
Of course, ballot measures don’t have to be long. Two on this November’s ballot are just a few words, subtracting small but significant passages from the state constitution.
Prop 6, an amendment from the legislature, removes the words “except to punish crime” from the state constitution’s prohibitions on slavery. This makes the prohibition against “involuntary servitude” absolute and ensures that California prisons can’t force incarcerated people to work. The measure is not guaranteed to pass; a Mercury News editorial opposing it argued that “inmates should not be legally empowered to dictate what chores they’re willing to do while behind bars.”
Prop 3, also authored by the legislature, eliminates California’s 2008 ban on same-sex marriage: “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.”
The new measure is necessary because that 2008 ban was voter-approved and constitutional, and thus can only be changed by another vote of the people. It also would protect the state from the bigotry of Clarence Thomas, who has publicly threatened to reverse the 2015 U.S. Supreme Court decision that made same-sex marriage legal in all 50 states.
At least the justification for these short measures makes sense. It’s harder to see why Prop 32, a measure that tweaks the formula for the minimum wage, is on the ballot at all. California’s minimum wage is already the highest in the country and rises with inflation. The measure’s main change is adding inflexibility and complexibility to the law. It would amend the constitution to establish yet another two-thirds supermajority requirement if the legislature wants to change it; similar supermajority rules have made California tax and budget policy an unholy mess.
In fact, the most sensible feature of any 2024 ballot measure is the elimination of a supermajority requirement in Prop 5. This legislative amendment would allow local governments to approve affordable housing and infrastructure bonds with a 55% vote, rather than requiring two-thirds support. But Prop 5 can’t just leave it at that. The measure establishes a new supermajority requirement, again of two-thirds, if the legislature wants to hold localities accountable for how they spend these moneys.
California is hopelessly addicted to supermajorities, but there’s nothing uglier on this ballot than Prop 33 and Prop 34.
The ballot suggests these measures address housing costs and patient access to healthcare. But both measures prize punishment of political enemies over thoughtful policymaking. Prop 33, in the guise of an initiative to allow cities to eliminate rent control on some newer buildings, is an attempt by one of the state’s most divisive and reviled public figures, AIDS Healthcare Foundation president Michael Weinstein, to punish his enemies among real estate and YIMBY interests who want to build more housing. Prop 34 is an attempt by those same real estate interests, in the disguise of defending healthcare access, to punish Weinstein and his foundation. It’s hard to root for either side in this feud.
And finally, there’s the high-profile initiative Prop 36, which seeks to reimpose some penalties for drug crimes and retail theft. One might think determining the specifics of criminal penalties for small-time crimes, or which drugs should be considered more dangerous under our laws, would be best handled by experts. But California voters long ago seized dominion over such questions, with earlier ballot measures. Prop 36’s 6,714 words would make changes to the law and to Prop 47, a sentencing reform measure passed in 2014.
Prop 36 also establishes a new two-thirds supermajority requirement for the legislature, if it wants to make further changes. Why? Because this is California, where democracy isn’t on the ballot. It’s on an endless loop.
