Education et al.

For our campaign, education, as an issue, is something of a challenge. Yes, for all of his tenure in the Utah Senate Ben’s been a reliable proponent of education. His record is righteous, even if the sliver of votes the Democrats own in the legislature is a major problem. 

Often Ben has found a way to magically sway the opposition - famously on human right’s issues and occasionally on minority and ecological concerns. However, on education funding the entire Democratic caucus has routinely been roadkill. Republicans bury the schools with platitudes, but persistently cut funding for the most underfunded schools in the nation.

Never-the-less, most education activists believe that their efforts are best spent in the halls of the state capitol. After all, to quote Willie Loman, “That’s where the money is.”

Well, that may be where the money is, but it’s also in a Republican vault and no one has the combination to that safe.

What we need to do is convince the allies of education that their efforts would be best spent on changing public opinion. And the most powerful lever available to move public opinion is in the county mayor’s office. There resides the best opportunity to elect a champion with a constituency large enough to really matter.

A county mayor, on fire about education, and one who leads on that issue, is far more powerful than a minority fraction of votes in the legislature.

At least that’s what I believe.

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You may recall that I made a crack in my introductory blog about Ben wearing brown shoes with blue suits. Today, as I was punching the numbers on a telephone, he walked up, put his shoes on my desk and pointed out that they were black. (Evidently he read the blog before he left for the office.)

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Martha Camarillo is a newly minted college graduate, and our volunteer coordinator. She’s also better looking than any young woman has a right to be. So, when I walked up to her today with a camera, I assumed a great photo would be mine. Not so. Martha reacted to that camera as though it were a hand grenade. From under her desk I heard a small and desperate voice, “Maybe tomorrow.”