How to slay a gerrymander

By Michael Waldman

This month, the U.S. Census Bureau will deliver reams of data, and states will begin to redraw legislative districts. Brace yourself for a bacchanalia of self-dealing and partisan knife-fighting, much of it conducted behind closed doors in state capitals.

Should past practice prevail, the result will be legislative maps that protect incumbents, sometimes squeezing minority voters in the process. Politics might grow even more polarized.

The nation's governors may be citizens' most likely allies here.

Gerrymandering is as old as the republic. In its very first election, none other than Patrick Henry drew district lines to try to keep James Madison from going to Congress.

In the early 1980s, the legendary Democratic Rep. Phil Burton drew California's plan sitting at Frank Fat's Chinese restaurant in Sacramento. According to Juliet Eilperin's 2006 book, Fight Club Politics, Burton used crude measures: Lots of Volvo registrations meant a Democratic district; lots of Buicks, a Republican one. In all, Democrats gained five seats. Burton wryly called the map "my contribution to modern art."

But as with so much else, the process has grown more sophisticated, soulless, and corroding. These days, party leaders and their fleets of consultants advanced computer programs, slicing districts with the precision of a sushi chef.

Usually, Democrats and Republicans crush each other if they can, squeezing out seats for their side. In 2003, Tom DeLay orchestrated a gerrymander to help the Texas GOP. He is now prison-bound for funding the effort with illegal corporate funds. Nonetheless, it produced six new Republican congressmen.

Frequently, though, incumbents of both parties winkingly protect each other. New York University's Samuel Issacharoff calls it a "political cartel." After redistricting in 2002, not a single California incumbent lost. Nationally, more than 80 districts were essentially uncontested.

This time, the political field will likely tilt toward Republicans, because control shifted sharply last fall. Now 20 statehouses are controlled entirely by the GOP. Many extra GOP seats may be baked into Congress for a decade.

All this worsens hyper-partisanship. Political scientists note that when there is little competition between parties, challenges come from within parties. Primary voters pull officials to the extremes, and compromise becomes ever more elusive.

Courts will play a limited role. Judges will enforce the Voting Rights Act, the 1965 law designed to assure minority citizens full representation in legislatures. Lawmakers must not dilute minority rights. Skilled litigators like the NAACP Legal Defense Fund stand ready to sue if they do.

But litigation won't likely produce a more reasonable outcome. Judges generally are reluctant to strike down plans just because they are flagrantly partisan or unfair. DeLay's Texas grab went before the U.S. Supreme Court, which agreed that it was designed to benefit one party. But that wasn't enough for the justices to find that it violated the "one person, one vote" principle or the 14th Amendment's due-process clause.

If we don't want redistricting to make American politics even less responsive, what can we do? One answer is to take the power out of the hands of politicians. Alaska, Arizona, Idaho, and Montana give it to independent commissions. Because of referendums pressed by former Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, California will, too. But it's too late for other states to do that this time around.

Citizens and journalists can play a role. Columbia University law professor Nathaniel Persily has enlisted his students to propose maps using widely available software. Journalists can use freedom-of-information laws to shed light on the process.

But ultimately, elected officials have the most power. And one group of them might have more in mind than grubby partisan advantage.

Governors must reach across party lines to achieve their goals. And many of them look in the mirror and see a future president.

Nobody wants to act nobly if it means helping the other side. But if governors of both parties say, together, "We won't sign egregious gerrymanders," nobody will feel the sucker. They can insist on reforms as the price of a signature. A national blue-ribbon panel, suggested by hedge-fund manager Jonathan Soros, might help them reach a verdict.

So Democratic Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York, say howdy to Republican Rick Perry of Texas. Pat Quinn of Illinois, shake hands with Ohio Gov. John Kasich. If you do, our politics might get a little less partisan, a little less dysfunctional, and a little more democratic. And the good deed would last a decade.