The debate over California’s popular migration goes something like this: one side decries a mass exodus while the other claims any such Golden State emigration is vastly overstated; San Francisco is held up as a case-in-point of a population loss that began last year, which in turn is dismissed as a temporary occurrence—the rebuttal stating that folks are returning to the crown jewel of the Bay Area as society gradually reopens.
Where there is no debate: California’s birth rate sits at record lows while the Golden State’s death rate climbs. And fewer people are moving to the Golden State.
While none of that pathology constitutes a crime, it does carry a punishment: for the first time in California’s 170-year existence, and based on preliminary census data, America’s most populous state will lose a lose a congressional seat.
As such, it makes for what could be an uncomfortable California presence in Congress come January 2023. For, in addition to one less seat in the House of Representatives (granted, going from 53 seats to 52 in a 435-member chamber isn’t the end of the world), the state faces the prospect of life after House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (supposedly this is her last term wielding the gavel). Or, should Republicans manage to flip the House 18 months from now, the ascendance of a new Speaker, Kevin McCarthy—his district covers most of Kern and Tulare Counties, as well as northeastern Los Angeles County—at odds with a Democratic presidency.
We’ll examine that further, but first a word of optimism: come the time California has to figure how to eliminate a House seat, be glad this didn’t arise in previous generations when partisan hardball drove California’s redistricting process—and, on occasion, the courts had the step in to close the political divide.
Consider:
Forty years ago, redistricting was handled by California Democrats, with then governor Jerry Brown rubber-stamping his party’s map scheme. Said map was drawn by the late representative Phillip Burton, who passed away a year after his plan yielded results—his San Francisco congressional seat inherited by his protégée, Nancy Pelosi, later that decade.
How effective was Burton’s political cartography? After the 1980 election, California’s House delegation was split 22–21 in favor of Democrats. After the 1982 election, with Burton’s plan in effect and two seats added thanks to the census count (and, yes, it was a rough year for Republicans, given the so-called “Reagan recession”), the Democratic advantage grew to 28–17.
Fast-forward to the early 1990s and redistricting a duel to the death between Democrats and the nearly elected GOP governor Pete Wilson.
In September 1991, with the two warring parties at an impasse, the California Supreme Court stepped in: three special masters appointed by the court to come up with a plan, which was approved by the Supreme Court the following January.
We now journey into the 21st century and yet another approach to redistricting: Republicans and Democrats agreeing to a bipartisan gerrymander—i.e., choosing to avoid the courts by settling for the status quo.
That plan did for political competition what the poorly viewed Academy Awards broadcast has done for “must-see TV.” In the five elections following the remapping, only one congressional district changed partisan hands over the course of a decade. Put another way, that’s the incumbent party winning 264 of 265 House races.
It was the paralysis that led to California’s current redistricting process: an independent commission tasked with drawing the lines. As defined by 2008’s Proposition 11 and 2010’s Proposition 20 (the former initiative addresses state legislative seats; the latter congressional seats) the 14-member commission consists of five registered Republicans and five registered Democrats, plus four registered independents (here’s more on the selection process).
So how will the commission go about its job—i.e., the choice of where to consolidate districts?
Ironically, it might be little different from 40 years ago, when a Democratic power play defined the process. That’s because the California House member most likely at risk seems to be Rep. Mike Garcia, a freshman Republican from north of Pasadena and Burbank.
Why Garcia as a downsizing victim?
The commission might decide that the easiest surgery to perform would be to move his district further to the east, which would water down the Republican portion of the electorate. And that’s probably the same conclusion a Democratic gerrymander would have reached, though its calculation would have been political vulnerability (last November, Garcia prevailed by only 333 votes out of nearly 339,000 ballots cast in securing his first full congressional term).
What the commission can’t address is California’s clout in the next session of Congress—what life looks like for the Golden State either post-Pelosi or in the dawn of a McCarthy speakership.
A quick look at the House of Representatives’ power structure shows California Democrats chairing three of the chamber’s 20 standing committees (Financial Services, House Administration, and Veterans Affairs).
But thanks to seniority and the Speaker’s shepherding of her flock, California Democrats chair subcommittees of 13 other standing committees: Agriculture; Appropriations; Armed Services; Energy and Commerce; Foreign Affairs; Homeland Security; Judiciary; Natural Resources; Oversight and Reform; Rules; Transportation and Infrastructure; Veterans’ Affairs; and Ways and Means.
Oddly, no California Democrats wield a gavel on the House Science, Space, and Technology Committee (it’s odd given that California is not only a cradle of technology, but also home to NASA’s Ames Research Center in Silicon Valley and its Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena.)
Should the House flip in 2022, which is a distinct possibility, considering Republicans will need a gain of maybe five seats to accomplish the feat (the current House balance is 218–212, plus five vacancies), the Golden State’s congressional clout shifts dramatically. At present, there are no California GOP members serving as ranking members on any of the standing committees (meaning they’d take over as committee chairs upon earning majority status), though the chairmanship of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence would stay in California (Democratic Adam Schiff giving way to Republican Devin Nunes). Otherwise, California’s GOP House members serve as ranking minority members on just six subcommittees: Agriculture; Appropriations; Judiciary; Science, Space, and Technology; Small Business; Ways and Means.
Now that I’ve made your eyes glaze over with that laundry list of committees, a word of caution: California likely won’t give up its House seat without a fight. The state could argue that the data put forth by the Census Bureau (its more detailed, block-by-block data won’t be available until the end of September, six months later than planned) is an undercount that doesn’t accurately reflect the likes of Latinos, African Americans, and renters—traditionally, harder-to-count groups.
It’s happened before: the 1990 census missed California’s population by 2.7% (a difference of more than 837,000 residents) versus 1.6% for the entire nation. According to one study, California was one of a handful of states that may have suffered due to the 2010 census’s alleged undercounting of Latino children.
Why the fuss? Because the 1990 undercount may have cost California one congressional seat and at least $2 billion in federal funding, per the state’s Legislative Analyst’s Office.
Another seat in Congress and more money headed west?
California Republicans and Democrats could agree on the benefits of that, without the courts or a commission intervening.
