The Fine Line on Ethics

Figuring out the difference between acceptable and crooked conduct in government is more difficult than it seems.

Vast gray areas, as murky as early morning fog at LAX, cloud any attempt to set clear standards for ethical and legal behavior. That’s one reason why the Los Angeles City Council is having trouble writing a new conflict of interest law.

Such complexities are present in the biggest political corruption trial now under way in the state. In a Sacramento federal courtroom, state Sen. Joseph B. Montoya, a Democrat who represents the San Gabriel Valley community of La Puente, is being tried on charges of bribery, extortion and money laundering. The trial is the result of a federal investigation of legislative corruption.

Federal prosecutors say his crime was a big one. The senator, they say, was a “play for pay” artist: He demanded money, in the form of contributions or honorariums, to help get a bill passed.

Regardless of the outcome, the trial is a perfect illustration of how hard it is for reformers to set limits on political behavior. That became clear Thursday during the testimony of former Assemblyman Alister McAlister, now a lobbyist for insurance companies.

On that day, the trial was a morality play--or an immorality play. McAlister had the main speaking part. Montoya sat silently at a table, a serious-looking, small man in an excellently fitting brown suit, taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Directly in back of him, in the first row of the spectator section, were his wife and two grown daughters. During recess, the family chatted in a friendly manner and a couple of friends in the audience came up to join in the conversation.

McAlister, although a former legislative colleague, paid no attention to Montoya. Clearly, they were not part of the same network.

McAlister is still remembered by students of state politics for his race for state controller in 1986. In one of those flashes of inspiration that gives politics a bad name, his campaign manager tagged him “Honest McHonest” and charged that his opponents were backed by “the big boys.” Despite the name, and an “Honest McHonest” song, McAlister lost.

Actually, he was not an enemy of the big boys. As chairman of the Assembly Insurance Committee, he was so well liked by the insurance industry that it gave him $52,100 in campaign contributions in 1985 and 1986. After he lost for controller, McAlister became a lobbyist for the California Chamber of Commerce and the National Assn. of Independent Insurers.

McAlister was called as an expert witness by U.S. Atty. David F. Levi to explain some of the more obscure terms used to describe legislative procedure. With his plain blue suit, white shirt, simple blue tie and serious manner, McAlister embodied the old “Honest McHonest” image.

Using dry, forthright words, he told about budget committees, second readings of bills, the office of the legislative analyst, everything found in guides to the Legislature. He also explained aspects of the governmental process not in the guidebooks, such as the “juice bill,” a piece of legislation that permits lawmakers to squeeze campaign contributions from those for and against it. Committees that hear such bills--usually dealing with businesses controlled closely by state legislation--are called “juice committees.”

The ambiguities of the situation became apparent when McAlister was cross-examined by Montoya’s attorney, Michael Sands, a tall, angular man familiar with the Capitol scene.

As he asked his questions, Sands’ point seemed to be that everybody does it. He got McAlister to admit that he collected big contributions from industries and businesses regulated by the Legislature. McAlister admitted that he was able to raise funds because he was chairman of the Insurance Committee, known as a prime juice committee.

But the contributions he received were “middling” compared to those given others, he said.

When bills benefiting those industries came before his committee, could McAlister evaluate them fairly? Yes. Was there a “quid pro quo” when he received a contribution from them? “Never,” said McAlister.

When it was over, I wondered: What was the difference between the accused bribe taker and the honest man?

Montoya is charged with demanding contributions and speaking fees as a quid pro quo for getting specific legislation introduced and passed. That’s a crime. But other legislators accept the same sort of money from those they regulate. The difference is that the demand is never spoken. It’s a fine line. That’s why each wave of new political reform fails to do what it intends.