|
 esterday, the
National Association of Bilingual Educators concluded its 2001 annual
national convention in Phoenix on
a desperate note. According to a front-page
story in the Arizona Republic, the 7,000 participants
were beseeched to pony up millions of dollars to fight the forthcoming
state-wide "English for the Children" campaigns in Colorado, Massachusetts,
New York, and elsewhere. The resounding defeat, just four months
earlier, of a plan for Spanish-almost-only instruction in the state
hosting the NABE convention, heightened the urgency of the appeal.
In principle, such fundraising pleas should enjoy an excellent chance
of success. I expect that America's current multi-billion-dollar
"bilingual education industry" covered the expenses of nearly all
the attendees; registration fees, airfare, and five nights of hotel
accommodations and incidentals must have pushed the total bill to
more than $10 million.
Presumably an industry willing to spend an eight-digit sum on annual
self-celebration also would be willing to shell out at least a comparable
amount to defend its continued existence.
Whether such money will make much of a difference is quite another
story. Our 1998 Prop. 227 initiative campaign in California was
outspent some 25 to 1 in advertising, yet we managed to crush the
No side by a 22-point margin. Our 2000 campaign for Prop. 203 in
Arizona was also outspent nearly 10 to 1 in advertising, but we
wound up pummeling the opposition by a margin of 26 points. Political
advertising follows the same basic rules as consumer advertising,
and
| “Today,
a 'successful candidate' is not an individual who articulates
important policy issues, nor someone to win on Election
Day, but someone who succeeds in vacuuming up the most
cash for his consultant puppet-masters.” |
|
maintaining
Spanish-almost-only "bilingual education" in our public schools
seems a perfect example of the dog-food that dogs just won't eat.
Although, in recent years, perceptions have grown that money and
paid political advertising dominate or even determine election results,
actual evidence for this thesis is mixed. Many of the quiet advocates
for the all-powerful role of money belong to that elite class of
paid media consultants and political fundraisers whose personal
income derives from a fixed percentage of the campaign money raised
and spent. Candidates have been encouraged to transform themselves
into empty fund-raising vessels, mindless pipelines that passively
transmit cash between donor and consultant bank accounts.
Today, a "successful candidate" is not an individual who articulates
important policy issues, nor someone who to win on Election Day,
but someone who succeeds in vacuuming up the most cash for his consultant
puppet-masters. Come again? When an Internet multimillionaire parted
with nearly $30 million of his personal fortune just to achieve
a 3 to 1 drubbing at the polls on his bid for school vouchers, he
may have lost at the ballot box, but his handlers went home happy.
Similarly, Al Checchi's 1998 California gubernatorial campaign proved
remarkably disastrous for the $40-million candidate but remarkably
beneficial to his raft of profiteers, who earned millions in commissions
for just a few months of very part-time work.
Rick Lazio raised no substantive issues during his recent Senate
bid, but enough cash — over $35 million — to massively
outspend his victorious opponent, Hillary Clinton; in the end, Hillary
got a Senate seat, Lazio's consultant got a mansion, while Lazio
dug himself into debt. Such is the nature of modern political warfare.
The world of dot-com stock pitchmen is honest by comparison.
Given these new political realities, I hope that the leaders of
our bilingual-education industry follow the path trodden by the
likes of Al Checchi and Rick Lazio. If so, they will drive themselves
toward expensive and humiliating political oblivion. The poetic
justice of seeing one corrupt and profiteering industry ruthlessly
devoured by another just as corrupt and profiteering is heartening.
|
