One of the more significant developments in Capitol politics over the past two decades has been the evolution – from virtual obscurity – of the California Correctional Peace Officers Association and casino-owning Indian tribes into two very powerful interests.
In both cases, the reason was quite simple – billions upon billions of dollars. And in the closing hours of the 2008 legislative session, the prison guards union and the casino tribes are using their clout to enhance their economic positions even more.
Californians' obsession with crime during the 1980s and 1990s fueled an explosion of prison inmates, from about 20,000 to 171,000 today. Spending on prisons has mushroomed from a relatively small portion of the state budget to 10 percent of general fund spending, about $10 billion a year.
As the prisons hired tens of thousands of new guards and other workers, the CCPOA – headed by one of California's true political geniuses, ex-guard Don Novey – used dues from the union's ever-expanding membership to acquire immense political power through millions of dollars in campaign contributions. And unlike most unions, CCPOA worked both sides of the political aisle.
A year ago, Novey's successor, Mike Jimenez, mounted a heavy-handed drive in the final hours of the 2007 legislative session for a bill that would sidestep long-stalled contract negotiations with Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's administration. However, Don Perata, the Senate president pro tem, thwarted the effort, leaving Jimenez with egg on his face.
The Legislature is once again churning toward adjournment, and CCPOA is back with a similar bill. This time Perata may not stand in the way. Just as the bill was surfacing, it was revealed that CCPOA had dumped nearly $600,000 into a Perata-controlled campaign fund, although the union brands speculation about a connection as "absolutely ridiculous."
While CCPOA is working the Capitol's hallways to pass one measure, the casino tribes are promoting another to stamp out charities' use of slot machine-style devices that purport to be bingo games.
The tribes' casinos have a legal monopoly on slot machines, reap many billions of dollars from them every year and don't countenance any competition. Their dozens of lobbyists have worked out a deal to protect bigger bingo operations, such as those staged by Catholic churches, by allowing them to create electronic networks of games. But that leaves the smaller charities in the lurch, with some relatively small compensation payments, should the measure be enacted.
There is a double irony attached to the tribes' bill. The charities' electronic bingo games are quite similar to those that tribes themselves operated before they gained their legal monopoly, and one section of their bill could open the door to the tribes offering Internet-based gambling.
The Capitol doesn't appreciate irony, however; it appreciates political muscle.
Call The Bee's Dan Walters, (916) 321-1195. Back columns, www.sacbee.com/walters.
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