"Acting Locally" in the Age of Globalization: The Case of Salem

By Bill Smaldone

In his recent work, Socialism or Barbarism, István Mészáros issues a clarion call for the transformation of the capitalist system into a socialist one.¹ Mészáros is aware of the daunting nature of this challenge, for the American left, especially its socialist component, is among the weakest in the industrialized world. Unfortunately, he has few suggestions for activists. After describing the fundamental contradiction between the increasingly global reach of transnational corporations and the continued importance of the national state for the system's maintenance, he warns readers to be wary of the ideological discourse on "democracy and development," as well as its corollary to "think global and act local" (24). This discourse, he asserts, promotes the global imperial designs of the hegemonic national power, the United States. It effectively weakens the authority of other national governments, while promoting the illusion that local participation in decision-making gives people control over their lives (34f).

Mészáros's arguments are compelling and represent an important step in identifying some of the dangers facing a socialist mass movement that aims to "counter and defeat the forces that are now pushing humankind toward the abyss of self-destruction." However, his approach also raises many immediate and very concrete questions. For example, what steps should American activists take to promote the reunification of the "productive and political components" of the movement? What organizational forms or structures should they establish that would avoid the hierarchical pitfalls of the past? What should the relationship be between extra-parliamentary elements within the movement and others more focused on electoral work? If one assumes, as I do, that the Democratic Party is not going to be a vehicle for the radical alternative we seek, then should it be the Green Party or some other political formation? What should be the immediate goals of the movement and how should they relate to more long-term ones?

This list could be extended, but I think the point is clear. If the socialist left accepts Mészáros's fundamental theoretical conclusions, and especially his point that time is short, then it is forced immediately to grapple with the problem of taking practical action. This essay, which is based largely on my experience in Oregon's state and local politics, focuses on that issue.² It is my contention that the local political arena contains a great deal of potential for substantial progressive change using tools that we now have available to us. At the same time, local politics is fraught with ideological and institutional obstacles to fundamental changes that reveal the limitations of "acting locally." Over the long haul activists will have to develop new means to overcome these barriers and to link local struggles, where most day-to-day political work actually takes place, with those being waged on state, national, and international levels. This linkage will be necessary to achieve the social transformation that must occur if we are to master the crisis described by Mészáros.


Background

I moved to Oregon from New York in 1991. When I arrived I discovered a place where politics are, in many ways, very different from those in my home state. Like New York, Oregon is largely divided politically between its cosmopolitan and, loosely speaking, politically liberal metropolitan hub, Portland (where about one-third of the state's 3.5 million people live), and its vast rural hinterland, which is generally quite conservative. But unlike New York, Oregon's governmental system is strongly influenced, if not dominated, by the use of the referendum. Political groups of virtually all persuasions make frequent use of this instrument to legislate on a wide range of issues including the extent and type of taxation, the environment, the role of gays in public life, minimum wages, and health care. State and local legislators often refer measures to the voters when they wish to avoid taking controversial positions or when, to put it another way, "as a matter of principle," they think that certain issues should only be decided by the voters (here we are talking primarily about new taxes).

Salem, the capital city where I live and work, lies about an hour south of Portland in the lush Willamette Valley. With 137,000 residents, the city's population has almost doubled since 1980 with growth being particularly strong in the 1990s when about 3,000 new people per year settled here. State government is the largest employer, but there is also a wide range of large industrial and service companies such as SUMCO of Oregon (a major microchip manufacturer) and Voice Stream. The lumber and agriculture sectors also remain very important but have been under stress for many years.

The city is governed using a city manager type of system. The manager and his staff carry out policies set by an elected, volunteer, and "non-partisan" council of nine members including a mayor elected citywide (for a two-year term) and eight councilors (with four-year terms), who each represent a ward with about 17,000 constituents. Most of the individuals elected to these time- consuming and demanding offices are either retired people, independent entrepreneurs (especially lawyers and people from the development industry), or have odd jobs with substantial time flexibility (academic types like me). Since few working people can sit in such a body, it is no surprise that their interests are often poorly reflected there.

I first became active in Oregon's electoral politics at the state level. Oregon is one of the few states where the barriers are not virtually insurmountable for alternative parties to get on the statewide ballot. By the mid-1990s, the Pacific Party (The Greens), the Socialist Party (SPO), and the long established Libertarian Party, among others, were competing with the Democrats and Republicans for votes. I initially chose to participate in the SPO because, for the first time in my life, I could actually vote for candidates with whom I strongly identified. In 1996 we ran 17 candidates for offices on various levels and in 1998 we had 13 on the ballot.

Competition between the Socialists and the Greens within the framework of our first-past-the-post electoral system was self- defeating. A large majority of SPO members then supported a merger with the newly renamed "Pacific Green Party" (PGP), which was carried out in the spring of 1999 with the election of a new leadership and passage of a new party platform. In the four years since the merger, the PGP has done well. It won 75,000 votes (5%) in the 2000 presidential election, which represented a 50% increase over its 1996 showing, but, even more importantly, Ralph Nader's candidacy stimulated the growth of the party membership from about 1,000 registrants and perhaps 100 dues-payers to over 14,000 registrants and 600 dues-payers. Although still small and financially weak, the PGP has established new chapters in many parts of the state and may soon overtake the Libertarians as Oregon's third largest party.

The PGP marks an important step for those interested in building an alternative electoral movement, but it is an extremely limited success. It remains difficult for the party to compete effectively in partisan races for state and federal office, and remains crucial for the Greens to first build a base of support on the local level. There, where most races are "non-partisan," party members can gain much experience dealing with issues that include providing basic services, protecting the environment, and managing the local economy. Over the past few years several Greens, including myself, were elected to local offices in Oregon cities and have learned a lot about politics on the ground.

The Road to Power

For most socialist activists, especially those like me who are based in the academic world, political power is largely an abstraction. We analyze its sources, talk about its importance, and perhaps participate in movements that strongly influence the making of policy from the outside, but in the United States we rarely have the chance to wield it directly. In January of 1999 I actually got that opportunity when I took my seat in the Salem City Council.

My election was largely a function of being in the right place at the right time. In March 1998, leaders of my local neighborhood association asked me if I would consider running for the council. The incumbent councilor was clearly on his way out after his support for a major road-widening project had infuriated a good part of the ward, and people were casting about for someone to replace him. When I agreed to run no one else stepped forward to oppose me. I was duly elected in May and assumed office the following January.

What were my goals as a new "socialist/green" councilor? Simply put, I aimed to pursue policies that put "people before profits." Barring the outbreak of revolution, city governments cannot expropriate the means of production (although they can set up entities such as municipal power companies), eliminate wage labor, or even do much to ward off the impact of broader economic crises. They can, however, promote polices that stress greater equality (e.g., progressive taxation, the provision of high quality services for all, and housing and transportation policies), community involvement in policy making (especially planning), and regional cooperation in the management of growth. In opposition to the right-wing demand to run government "like a business," we can assert that the provision of public goods must adhere to a different standard and that the public sphere has one great advantage over the private one: democratic accountability. To challenge the current system, our movement must make gains on this ideological terrain.

It is on the local level that people's lives and the actions of their government most often intersect, and residents expect "full service" cities like Salem to provide security, good roads, water and sewer services, libraries, parks, and emergency services (social and environmental). The level of service provided is often the key to a community's quality of life; hence it is ironic that many Oregon cities, and those in other parts of the country, are now in the midst of serious, long-term fiscal crises. These crises have resulted in the gradual erosion of service delivery, a decline in the quality of life, and a concomitant fall in people's support for the public sector. Salem provides an excellent example of this nexus of crisis and decline, which is one of the legacies of the "Reagan Revolution" of the 1980s.

Salem's annual budget totals about $450 million, of which $85 million is in the general fund. The latter provides the resources for almost all of the key day-to-day services provided by the City to residents (with the major exception of water and sewer service delivery, which is in a separate and massive "dedicated" fund). The bulk of Salem's general fund revenue comes from local property taxes, franchise fees, and a hotel/motel tax. There is no sales tax and no municipal income tax; the City's revenue base is very narrow. In 1979, when the City had much higher levels of service than today, about 20% of the general fund came from the federal revenue sharing program. As part of its attack on the social service sector, the Reagan administration abolished revenue sharing in early 1980s, forcing Salem and other cities to raise property tax rates to make up for the lost income. The result was a statewide tax revolt in the early 1990s that used ballot measures to roll back property tax rates and put limits on how much they could be raised. These actions set the stage for Oregon cities' ongoing fiscal crisis, as the costs of financing urban growth outstripped local governments' ability to maintain services or expand them as required. A clear result is a long-term decline in virtually all service areas.³

In concrete terms this means that, over the course of the last 20 years, the city has had to defer tens of millions of dollars in road and infrastructure maintenance, while drastically curtailing its provision of emergency social services, reducing its library services, and cutting park operations to the bone.⁴ Even the police and fire departments, initially protected from major cuts, have suffered substantial declines, and the lengthening police and fire emergency-response times illustrate the dangerous nature of the continued cuts. Past councils have been frugal. The number of workers serving the public today (about 1,100) is the same as in 1979, but they are dealing with twice as many people. Fearing voter backlash, the city government has made no serious effort to reform a system based on an inadequate and regressive property tax. As Reagan's anti-government supporters had hoped, the fiscal crisis makes the provision of services increasingly difficult and opens the door to their elimination or privatization.

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