POX POPULI.(politics in California)

Twenty-five years ago, California voters went to the polls and, by a two-to-one margin, approved the property-tax-cutting measure known as Proposition 13. During the previous decade, local property taxes all across California had soared, largely as a result of inflation, while during the same period the state government had amassed a hefty surplus. Two men--Howard Jarvis, who ran an aircraft-parts company and was once described by the San Francisco Chronicle as "a choleric 75-year-old gadfly," and Paul Gann, a retired, twice-bankrupt real-estate salesman--decided that something had to be done to right this imbalance. Initially, the two were dismissed as crackpots, but after they managed to collect more than double the number of signatures needed to get their proposition on the ballot the state's political establishment began to take notice. California's governor, Jerry Brown, a Democrat, and its future governor Pete Wilson, a Republican, campaigned against the measure, as did most of the state's business leaders, who raised nearly two million dollars in their effort to defeat it. When the final vote was tallied, Jarvis declared, "Tonight was a victory against money, the politicians, the government."

More than just a response to rising taxes, Proposition 13 was, as Jarvis's remark indicates, a referendum on representative democracy. The officials voters had chosen to run their cities and their state hadn't proved up to the job, so the electorate had taken matters into its own hands: if you want something done right, as the saying goes, you've got to do it yourself. Californians apparently found the experience exhilarating, because during every two-year election cycle over the next two decades an average of sixty-four initiatives were filed. About a fifth of these made it onto the ballot, including proposals to ban the sale of horse meat for human consumption (approved), to define marriage exclusively as a union between a man and a woman (approved), to repeal the sales tax on snack foods and bottled water (approved), and to offer "none of the above" as a ballot option (rejected).

The recall vote on Governor Gray Davis, now scheduled for October 7th, is another voter initiative, this one orchestrated in large part by one man--Darrell Issa, a Republican congressman from the San Diego suburbs. (Issa's personal fortune is estimated at a hundred million dollars, and he hired an army of petition-gatherers to collect the signatures needed to get the measure on the ballot.) The most antic elements of the recall campaign have already--justifiably--been celebrated: the fact that Issa, who made his money selling car alarms, has himself twice been accused of auto theft; the hundred and thirty-five candidates vying for the Governor's job; the televised lottery for the top spots on the ballot; the fact that the frontrunner is best known for playing an android; the other contenders--Arianna Huffington, Gary Coleman--who seem to be auditioning for "Hollywood Squares." As many commentators have noted, the terms of the recall vote reflect the general wackiness. Voters will face two questions: first, whether Davis should be recalled, and, second, who should replace him. Since Davis needs a majority to stay in office, forty-nine per cent of the electorate could opt to retain him, and yet he could still be replaced by a candidate ...