Olympia Time

History, politics, people of Oly WA

No Narcissus in our time. On history, HB 1576 and love of our communities

Narcissus died while staring at the pool. Confounded by the unreal beauty reflected in the pool, he wasted away while ignoring his own actual need to eat. That is what feels like is going on now with the debate between preserving history and the housing crisis.

For many people, Feliks Banel is to Western Washington history what Cliff Mass is to weather, or at least what Mass was before he ventured into controversial territory. Even more than Knute Berger on PBS, Banel’s segments on KIRO Radio reach a broad, commercial audience. His chosen topics often shape how we discuss and understand the history of our region.

Over the past few years, Banel’s non-KIRO Cascade of History radio show has frequently focused on the preservation of built structures. Examples include a gazebo in Everett, a house in Sumner, Memorial Stadium in Seattle, and a school in Parkland.

Most recently, Banel highlighted the debate around HB 1576, a bill that would prevent individuals who do not own a property from initiating the historic landmarking process for that property. Currently, this practice is only allowed in Seattle and Tacoma. Because these cities are among the largest in Washington, the ability to landmark a property against the owner’s wishes can be misused to block development that could radically improve our housing crisis.

This essay isn’t about the bill itself. Instead, it’s a letter to historians and local preservation activists passionate about this issue. It’s also a reflection on history itself, how we understand it, preserve it, and should approach it as people interested in history.

The Pitfalls of Local Control and Historic Preservation

The effort to federally landmark an entire neighborhood in Seattle shows the overlap between restrictive zoning and historic preservation.

In Wallingford, homeowners recently attempted to establish a federally designated historic district. While framed as a preservation effort, it would have functioned as a modern form of restrictive covenant, blocking affordable housing and density while maintaining exclusive, high-value single-family zoning.

This highlights a broader issue: land-use regulations, including historic preservation, are often wielded to maintain privilege rather than serve their stated purposes. Just as restrictive zoning laws have long hindered affordable housing, historic district designations can become tools for exclusion, reinforcing systemic inequalities in housing access by freezing exclusive uses in place.

This is why historians should tread carefully when engaging in issues of local control, which has historically been used as a method of exclusion.

Two quotes from the HB 1576 public hearing stand out:

  1. “It’s ridiculous to think the state would dictate local land-use decisions.”
  2. “Historic preservation is, at best, a local decision.”

These arguments echo the broader rhetoric of local control in land-use decisions. As I’ve written before, local control often benefits the wealthy and white while harming poorer and non-white communities. If we can make historic preservation arguments without relying on local control, we should.

Historians, of all people, should understand how local control has been used to exclude marginalized groups from communities. We must not repeat this mistake in the name of preserving buildings.

History as Growth, Not Stasis

This essay is ultimately about history and how we’ve historically grown as communities. For most of human history, until the last century, communities grew without what we now call “zoning.” Many of our most historic neighborhoods reflect this slow, gradual growth. We didn’t build massive neighborhoods all at once, nor did we stand in the way of new developments simply because they were new.

My favorite building in Olympia is at the corner of 10th and Capitol. It’s a historic single-family home that has been subdivided into apartments, with a restaurant attached to the front. All of these changes happened over decades after the construction of the initial house. It reflects the changing needs of the property owner, the neighborhood and our community. This kind of adaptive growth is how our cities evolved for much of history. Communities change, needs change, and our approach to history should reflect and document these changes, not resist them.

More People, Fewer Things

We should focus less on preserving the built environment and more on understanding human needs and historical context.

This idea is reflected in how Olympia recently redefined what we mean by “neighborhood character.” We changed the term in our local planning documents from preserving homogeneity and resisting change to promoting inclusivity, sustainability, and adaptability.

We shifted from defining character as a static built environment to character meaning as a community that reflects our values.

In this way, our community character is still being built. It’s defined by how we make decisions for everyone, even those who don’t live here yet. Paraphrasing what Bono once said about music, “When we glorify the past, the future dries up.”

When we choose to encase a building in glass, we freeze a piece of land in time. It will never reflect who we are becoming—only who we were.

In Olympia, we’ve redefined “neighborhood character” to focus on our values as people, not on preserving structures built at a specific moment in time.

A Final Note to History Lovers

To my history-loving friends, I offer this: Release yourself from things.

Historic character lies in our values, not our architecture. As Epictetus said, “You are not your body and hairstyle, but your capacity for choosing well. If your choices are beautiful, so too will you be.”

While architectural historians may disagree, we are not our buildings. We are our people.

And to borrow a phrase from the debate on parking in Washington State, we are in a housing crisis, not a history crisis. Housing affordability and homelessness are the crises of our times. Preserving history should not be used as a tool to worsen these crises.

Or rather, we are in a history crisis, but it is not a crisis of preserving too few buildings. Preserving too many buildings from a past we are trying to distance ourselves from is part of the history crisis we are currently in. The debate between historians and non-historians over preserving statues, rewriting our understanding of colonial history, or grappling with our racist legacy is the real historical crisis we face.

If anything, preserving buildings without context dampens the deeper understanding of our past that is possible.

Narcissus’s obsession with his reflection causes him to neglect his own well-being and ultimately leads to his demise. Similarly, an excessive focus on preserving historic buildings while ignoring the housing crisis can result in neglecting the well-being of current populations. This neglect manifests in rising homelessness, unaffordable housing, and social inequality, as resources and attention are diverted away from solving these critical issues.

History is not about freezing our built environment in time but about understanding how our communities grow, adapt, and reflect our values. By focusing on inclusivity, sustainability, and the needs of all people, not just preserving structures, we honor the true spirit of history. Embrace change, learn from the past, and ensure our decisions today create a more equitable future.

What I’m doing here and how you can help

This post is about the broader purpose of this blog and the kind of work I’ll be doing here and on other platforms moving forward.

Many of you already know (I don’t exactly hide it) that my day job involves communications for a county office that, among other responsibilities, runs elections. The last few years have been a roller coaster. Balancing my work and my non-work interests has been challenging because my job intersects with the nonpartisan role of the office I serve. At the same time, I have a deep interest in local politics and government. I want to keep engaging with those topics here because they matter to me, and hopefully to my community.

Since my podcast partner stepped back, I’ve struggled to find time and focus for this blog and the podcast. I’ve also had broader, non-local thoughts rattling around in my brain that didn’t quite fit within an Olympia-centered framework. I posted some of them here anyway, but I knew I needed a better approach.

I also want to acknowledge that last year was rough for me. The election in Thurston County went smoothly, but election season is always an enormous weight. We did well because we started preparing years ago and went into overdrive months before Election Day. After certification, I took a longer-than-usual winter break. Mentally, I unplugged from my projects one by one. I read a lot, but far less news.

In December, I injured my knee, which kept me from my usual running and soccer routine. Instead, I walked a lot. That gave me time to listen to audiobooks and read in a more sustained way than I had in years. It also gave me space, toward the end of my break, to reflect on what I wanted to turn back on and how.

I’ve also developed a daily journaling habit. I can’t overstate how helpful it has been in organizing my thoughts and improving my focus.

Now that I’m wrapping up phase one of “turning things back on,” I want to outline the plan:

1. Re-establish the blogs as a weekly-ish writing habit and develop an email newsletter.

I now actively maintain two blogs:

  • Olympia Time: This blog has been around for about 20 years, starting on Blogger before Google acquired it. I recently moved it to WordPress. The focus remains Olympia, though I’ll occasionally write about Washington State politics. If you’ve followed me for a while, you know the drill.
  • A general blog: This one covers everything else, Irish identity, broader political ideas, and more.

The goal is to post on one of these blogs every weekend. Occasionally, when I have both time and ideas, I’ll post on both.

Technically, I want these blogs available via RSS and ActivityPub. Olympia Time works well in that regard; the non-local blog, less so.

2. Email newsletter

After a few weeks of writing, an email newsletter feels sustainable. It will include content from one of the blogs or other writing I’ve done, along with links to interesting pieces I’ve come across.

Since I design the newsletter myself, it takes more effort than using Substack or Ghost. While I’d rather use a simpler platform, I like my blog and don’t want to switch to Substack for several reasons. Moving everything to Ghost might make sense eventually, but for now, I’m happy with how things are working.

3. The Olympia Standard

This has been the most disappointing part of my non-work projects over the past few years. I had an amazing podcast partner, and there’s no replacing her work ethic and vision. I’ve kept the podcast on life support, but it’s been almost a year since I released an episode. The long-form interview format wasn’t sustainable, and recording at home led to a poor listening and recording experience (sorry, Jemmy).

Here’s the new plan: I’m now a member of TC Media, which gives me access to their new podcast studio. I’ll reserve an hour every Friday to record something—sometimes a written piece (like the Cory Doctorow podcast), sometimes an interview (like the old Olympia Standard but shorter, around 30 minutes), or sometimes a local news rundown (similar to the Centralia Chronicle’s News Dump).

The key change is consistency: I’ll record every Friday, regardless. If I can schedule a guest, great. If not, I’ll record a solo episode. This means guests will need to plan further in advance, and some episodes will be adapted from blog content.

If you’re interested in being involved—as a guest, guest host, or fill-in host—let me know. I won’t be doing candidate interviews myself anymore, so I’ll need help with those. I’ll also cover the cost of the podcast studio.

4. Social media

I’m aiming for a cleaner break here. The past few years, based on my experience at the business end of disinformation, have radicalized my views on social media platforms. I left X a while back and recently put my Meta accounts on ice. I’m most active on Bluesky and Mastodon, though I also check Reddit and need to engage more on the Olympia Discord. We need more alternatives to centralized platforms. This leads me to .

5. Other projects (Help wanted!)

This category includes projects I’ve put on the back burner or haven’t started yet. The biggest one is Funding Local Journalism. Last summer, I asked some folks to help me get this off the ground, but terrible timing (election season) and my lack of skills got in the way. There’s still a lot of work to do, but I recognize my limitations in leading it. This will take time.

Another idea is a local social network to replace Facebook’s community role. Right now, nothing competes with Facebook for local organizing, which is why I haven’t deleted my Meta accounts entirely, I need to monitor activity there and sometimes actually dip in. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Other models exist, like Front Porch Forum and old email democracy forums. However, building something like this requires project management, tech skills, and community organizing, areas where I need help.

Wrapping it all up

At the core of everything is this blog. It has been here for nearly half my life, so it makes sense to center my efforts around it. With a second blog, a podcast, and a weekly newsletter, I’m tying my content together in a more structured way.

The bigger community projects, funding journalism and creating alternative local networks, are where I need the most help. We need ways to support reporters and free ourselves from billionaire-controlled social media platforms. That’s work I can’t accomplish alone.

6 . Extra bonus. Poetry.

I started writing poetry and I’ll start releasing it soon. The goal is one poem for the Olympia Poet Laureate project by the end of April. And a small book of a dozen by the end of the year.

The Ku Klux Klan in Olympia and what we should remember

Where do you think the largest Klan rally in Olympia was held?

How big was the largest Klan rally in Olympia?

If you think a few hundred people on the Capitol Campus, you’d be wrong.

On September 10, 1927, 2,000 Klan members rallied with burning crosses just behind Lincoln School at the old Stevens Field. For present-day Olympians, this might seem shocking, especially since the higher-profile Capitol Campus is so close by. And given Lincoln’s progressive reputation today, it’s hard to imagine the Klan ever feeling comfortable in its vicinity.

At the time, Stevens Field was a major community facility. It was a large, box-like Pacific Northwest athletic stadium, home to Olympia’s school and community sports teams, including the high school football team and a minor league baseball team. While visitors today might assume that the Capitol Campus is the center of Olympia’s civic life, locations like Stevens Field, and the sites that have since replaced it, were actually where our community gathered.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the 1920s, the rise of the Klan in the Pacific Northwest, and the legislative legacy it left in Washington State and the nation. There are important lessons in the legacy of the Klan and how we stood by and watched. This is a piece of Olympia and Washington’s  racist history that I left out of my longer essay a few weeks ago.

More than 2,000 knights of the Ku Klux Klan marched from the Capitol Campus into the heart of Olympia, Stevens Field. And 10,000 Olympians lined the streets to watch.

They had met at Legion Hall downtown and then marched from the Capitol Grounds to the stadium. For weeks leading up to the event, fiery crosses burned throughout Thurston County in preparation for the convention.

Dr. H.W. Evans, the Imperial Wizard of the nationwide Klan, was the main speaker. Charles I. Singer, Olympia’s city engineer, was the event’s “master of ceremonies.” Throughout his life, Singer worked for the state Department of Transportation, was a city inspector, and later became the city engineer. His wife was a regular in the Olympian’s social columns and was a champion women’s golfer. They lived in Northeast Olympia, just a few blocks from Roosevelt School. Singer was also the director of the Thurston County Radio Club. I can’t find any other references linking him to the Klan, but membership was often secret. Either someone with Singer’s profile was an active Klansman, or the Klan was so accepted in Olympia that the city engineer would step forward to emcee their event on an ad hoc basis. Neither scenario is comforting.

Ten thousand Olympians watched over 60 Klan chapters march. If Olympia had wanted to stop them, they could have.

A contemporary newspaper account described the march:

Led by their regal officers mounted on two white horses and a fiery cross in advance, the klansmen made up a parade more than a half-mile long, one of the largest ever seen in the city. Klans from all over the state were in the line of the march, Grays Harbor, Tacoma, Olympia, Elma, Chehalis, and Centralia being noted among them.

The Olympian devoted twice as much space to covering the Klan’s purpose in 1927 as it did to covering the rally itself. The paper observed: “Today, though, it was asserted, a great many people in Olympia, one typical American community, had just about forgotten that there was a Klan until announcement of the state meet was made.”

By 1927, interest in the Klan in Washington State had begun to wane after peaking in 1924. Even combining the size of the marchers and spectators (about 12,000 people) the event was much smaller than the Klan mega-rallies of just a few years earlier. The Olympia rally may in fact have been the Klan’s last major rally in Washington State.

Many historians link the Klan’s decline to the defeat of Initiative 49, a proposed law that would have required children to attend public schools, effectively targeting Catholic education. Its failure at the polls marked a turning point in the Klan’s influence in Washington politics.

The Klan also declined due to national scandals and corruption within its leadership. Nationwide, its membership plummeted from two million to just a few hundred thousand within a year.

However, this decline came after the Klan had already achieved its biggest legislative victory: a sweeping overhaul of U.S. immigration laws.

Support for Initiative 49 was strongest in two regions: Southwest Washington, from Grays Harbor to Cowlitz County, and Central Washington. It was no coincidence that the chief architect of the Klan-backed 1924 immigration law was a eugenicist congressman from Aberdeen, Rep. Albert Johnson.

In an interview with The Olympian after our 1927 rally,  the national Klan leader openly took credit: “Dr. Evans stated that the Klan was largely instrumental in securing legislation to curb immigration…”

Rep. Johnson and the Klan had a mutually supportive, though not necessarily formal, relationship. Johnson, a staunch eugenicist and anti-immigration politician, independently championed restrictive immigration laws, culminating in the 1924 Immigration Act. While his xenophobic views predated the Klan’s rise in the 1920s, the organization strongly endorsed him, seeing his policies as aligned with their nativist agenda. Nationally, the Klan prioritized his reelection, and contemporary reports acknowledged its backing of his legislative efforts. Though it remains unclear whether Johnson was a Klan member or direct ally, he undoubtedly benefited from and welcomed its political support.

The 1924 Immigration Act was rooted in racism, eugenics, and nativism. It built on earlier immigration restrictions, such as the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act and the 1917 Immigration Act, by further limiting immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe and outright banning Asian immigration. The law’s architects, Johnson and Senator David Reed, sought to preserve America’s racial and ethnic “purity” by restricting non-Nordic immigration—a stance championed by eugenicists and nativist groups like the Klan. The act disproportionately targeted Catholics, Jews, and Asians, reflecting widespread fears of economic competition, cultural differences, and radical political ideologies. Though it faced some opposition, particularly from the Japanese government and a few U.S. lawmakers, it passed with overwhelming support, reinforcing white supremacy in U.S. immigration policy for decades.

Our focus today should be on the laws the Klan wanted, the public standing by and watching them work, not just their hoods and fiery crosses. By fixating on the spectacle of the Klan in the Pacific Northwest, we risk ignoring the real, long-term impact they had on communities here.

I really appreciate this passage from Trevor Griffey:

Historians have ignored these 50,000-person events and downplayed the significance of the Washington state Klan because the organization lost probably 90 percent of its members in the year after its 1924 super-rallies. This fact is supposed to attest to the overall liberal nature of the Pacific Northwest, as if the Klan rallies had been mere passing fads. What little has been written about these rallies has been for small regional historical societies or provided material for a chapter in a book called Eccentric Seattle.

By emphasizing the bizarre and the marginal, and by measuring the Klan’s success in political rather than cultural terms, these histories have overlooked what is perhaps the more disturbing aspect of this part of Washington state history. While Klan robes and jargon about Kligrapps and Konventions may have been exotic or even preposterous, and the Klan itself ultimately proved to be unpopular, the massive attendance at Klan rallies also demonstrated the everyday quality of white supremacy and Christian nationalism in the Pacific Northwest. They showed that the politics of intolerance could be made remarkably palatable by simply dressing it up as a form of entertainment.

At Klan rallies, common expressions of American patriotism were saturated with KKK references in an attempt to make the two synonymous, and mass spectacles served as a vehicle through which an otherwise arcane set of secret society initiation rituals and bizarre Klan jargon could be made tolerable. It was a way of hiding the Klan’s distinctive form of intolerance in plain view, making it unremarkable or even normal. The speaker at the Seattle/Renton July 14 rally could call forth ‘an army of Christ’ to ‘demand the continued supremacy of the White Race as the only safeguard of the institutions and civilization of our country,’ yet this language of racist Christian patriotism went unchallenged and unreported in local media and individuals’ memoirs, which focused more on attendance figures and traffic jams.

The Ku Klux Klan did not invent white supremacy or Christian patriotism, or even pioneer their fusion. It failed in its political ambitions, but it also demonstrated how people’s everyday racism, fear of foreigners, and intolerant Christianity could be channeled through mass marketing and popular entertainment into a toxic politics of hate masked as the highest form of patriotism.

By ignoring our historical connection to the Klan and the 1924 Immigration Act, we are acting much like the 10,000 Olympians who watched peacefully as 2,000 Klan members marched by, secure in the knowledge that the organization was on its way out.

The Klan was indeed fading in 1927, but their legacy had already been cemented. The counties that had voted “yes” on a bill specifically targeting Catholic immigrants had also delivered nationwide, race-based immigration reform. By that point, the Klan wasn’t needed as a vanguard anymore—the war had already been won.

If we ignore this history today while debating policies to combat institutional racism, we risk underestimating just how easily these systems can persist. We allowed Klan members to melt back into our communities, separating the rallies from their massive impact on our policies. We’ve forgotten who they were because they stopped burning crosses, but we shouldn’t ignore the laws they passed.

Lessons Learned About Changing the State Flag from the Short-Lived HB 1938

HB 1938 had a brief but illuminating journey: introduced, heard in a public hearing, and then left to expire without a vote out of committee. While its quick demise might seem discouraging, the process provided valuable insights and reasons to be hopeful for future efforts to redesign Washington’s state flag.

1. Sometimes You Don’t Need to Say Everything in Your Heart

Reflecting on the debate, I realized (thanks in part to a KUOW interview with a vexillologist) that centering the discussion on George Washington was the wrong approach. The focus should have been on what a new flag could look like, rather than defending or attacking a historical figure. My own blog post being picked up by the Daily Mail (which I admit had a certain appeal to me as an Irish American) probably distracted from the core issue and didn’t serve the movement well.

2. It Really Doesn’t Have Anything to Do with George Washington

Despite how much time the bill sponsor and I spent addressing concerns about Washington’s presence on the flag, the bill itself never mandated his removal. The design competition had no predetermined outcome, a point emphasized by many testifiers. The opposition’s fixation on Washington overshadowed the actual intent of the legislation: to allow for public input and a democratic design process.

3. Lots of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing

The number of people signed up for the public hearing was pretty stark: 11 people signed in support, one was neutral, and 37 opposed the bill. Yet, those who actually showed up to testify were more evenly split in favor of change. Leading up to the hearing, the Republican caucus and aligned groups worked hard to stir up pro-Washington sentiment. I even saw a pro-gun rights channel discussing the bill. But when it came time to show up and testify, opposition voices largely lacked the passion or patience to engage. Meanwhile, pro-change advocates were more invested and willing to participate. While the decision to let the bill die this year is understandable, the nature of the testimony suggests there is a foundation to build upon in the future.

4. History Repeats Itself

Ironically, the argument over Washington’s place on the state flag mirrors the debate from 102 years ago when the very idea of a state flag was controversial. A 1913 bill similar to HB 1938 aimed to create a state flag but failed due to opposition from veterans’ groups, who saw it as unpatriotic and a challenge to the national flag. It wasn’t until a decade of advocacy, led in part by the Daughters of the American Revolution, that Washington finally adopted its current flag in 1923.

5. This Idea Is Far from Dead

If the primary opposition consists of defending Washington’s image and feigned confusion about what vexillology even is, I welcome the next iteration of HB 1938 or a similar bill. Over the past few weeks, several pro-new flag advocates emerged on short notice. Moving forward, it will be exciting to see who else steps up in support of a new, more representative flag for Washington State. The conversation isn’t over, it’s just a start.

Dick Abram and the circle of history

I originally read this as a part of an episode of the Olympia Standard about a year and a half ago.

If you’re a well-informed Olympian, you’re probably familiar with Olympia’s Depression-era “Little Hollywood,” a shack town that existed in the 1930s. Its name was likely an ironic nod to the bustling Los Angeles suburb already then at the heart of the movie industry.

You might also know that Little Hollywood was torn down in the early 1940s to make way for Capital Lake, as most of it consisted of float houses anchored in the old Deschutes Estuary.

But let’s rewind to 1935, at the height of the Great Depression. Olympia hosted what could be called a proto-Capital Lakefair, known as the “Pagan Frolic.” The event included the crowning of Queen Juno and Dan Cupid.

Dick Abram, a contestant in an old-time fiddle contest at what was then known as Priest Point Park, didn’t win first place (which would have earned him $10) or second (a new fiddle). Abram, an itinerant cabinet maker, was living in the old wooden Washington School at Legion and Eastside, the site of what is now the Old Armory. In fact, he lived there until construction workers nearly demolished the building before moving to Little Hollywood.

It was then that Abram became the unofficial “mayor” of Little Hollywood. He rallied shacktown residents to ensure they were counted in the 1940 census.

Though Abram wasn’t originally from Olympia, he was born outside Akron, Ohio, and had lived in Texas and Nova Scotia, he eventually made Olympia his home. He was widowed in 1932 while living in the city.

Abram’s life ended tragically on Christmas Day in 1943, when he was struck by a car near the corner of Fourth and Cherry, where city hall now is. His death was the culmination of years of hardship. As the “mayor” of Olympia’s largest and longest-standing homeless encampment, which was then known as a “shack town” or “Hooverville,” Abram’s life embodied the struggles faced by many during the Great Depression.

In 1937, Olympia residents began to push back against the presence of Little Hollywood. When a local real estate broker first complained about the shack town’s residents living on public land, the city attorney drafted an ordinance to remove them. However, it wasn’t until 1942 that Little Hollywood was completely cleared out, with its float houses and shacks burned to the ground. Abram was forced to move, and his new residence was an unknown address somewhere “north” of Olympia.

Then people started hitting Abram with their cars.

In the following year, 1943, while walking downtown, Abram was struck by a car being driven by another human twice. The second time he died. On Christmas Day, a 20-year-old driver didn’t to see Abram crossing the intersection. The driver turned himself in at the police station but was cleared by the coroner, who determined that Abram had stepped out too quickly and that the driver was not at fault.

Behind Abram’s death were civic efforts to disband Little Hollywood and to resist the construction of low-income housing in Olympia.

At the same time forces were aiming at Little Hollywood, the federal government had offered half a million dollars to fund housing, but Mayor Truman Trullinger and his “Olympia Housing Committee” rejected the offer. Three days later, Trullinger announced the final destruction of Little Hollywood. Despite acknowledging a housing shortage, especially for individuals like Abram, the city opted not to accept the federal funding.

Today, the events surrounding Dick Abram’s life, from his role in Little Hollywood to his death, are largely forgotten in Olympia’s collective memory. But the path taken by those involved, the fiddlers at the Pagan Frolic, the mayors, and the lost half-million dollars for public housing, shaped our community in ways we still feel today. This isn’t just a story about the ongoing struggle with homelessness; it’s a story about Abram’s journey through Olympia. He came to the city, found a home, led his community, and played the fiddle. He was removed by the city and died as a result of those circumstances, with a federal housing offer turned down by the very officials who could have given him a better future.

We’ll leave it there. We have enough discussions ahead about how we continue to avoid the tragic circumstances of Dick Abram’s death. But rest assured, there are still “Mayor Dick Abrams” in Olympia, because we have too much of “Mayor Truman Trullinger” in our community.

The Washington State flag is deeply and historically bad and we should change it

Earlier this week, Representative Strom Peterson introduced House Bill 1938, which proposes a comprehensive process to redesign our state flag.

This bill closely aligns with the ideas I outlined a few months ago. Both proposals aim to replace our current flag, a design often criticized for its complexity, lack of relevance, and uninspired “seal-on-a-solid-color” format, with something more representative of who we are as a state today.

While the bill and my idea share a common purpose, they differ in execution. The legislative bill favors oversight by the Washington Arts Commission, while my proposal places leadership with the Secretary of State, which currently serves as the custodian of all our state symbols. In balance, it’s probably better for the arts community to lead the charge.

The Relative Privation Fallacy: Why Symbols Matter

As of this writing, I am only one of two people signed up to testify in favor of the bill. The balance is largely on the con (by almost 20).

I expect the strongest argument against this bill is that we have bigger problems and that revisiting our flag wastes the Legislature’s time. This is a classic example of the Relative Privation Fallacy, also known as the “Not as Bad as” fallacy or “Appeal to Worse Problems.”

This happens when someone argues that a problem shouldn’t be addressed because there are bigger or more serious problems elsewhere. It dismisses legitimate concerns by comparing them to other issues, rather than addressing them on their own merits.

For example:

  • “You need to eat the food on your plate; there are starving children in other countries.”
  • “How can you complain about the Seahawks’ running game when there’s visible homelessness?”

While prioritization is important, this argument falsely suggests that working on one issue means ignoring all others. In reality, multiple issues can (and should) be addressed simultaneously. It also rejects the idea that we can have nice things.

We all know that symbols matter. Without much prompting, we can all think of negative controversies about symbols.

If symbols didn’t matter, we wouldn’t worry about racists in Ohio waving Nazi flags on overpasses? No one would fly a Trump flag from their truck while honking annoyingly through downtown Olympia (This happens more often than you’d think) if symbols didn’t matter.

We can also think of positive relationships with flags:

When we went to the moon, we planted a flag.

Our national anthem is a song about a flag.

Establishing a broad-based, open, and public process to create a new flag that represents the entire state does not mean we’re ignoring all the other issues facing us.

Our Flag: Historically Uninspired and Not Our Own

Right now, Washington’s flag is uninspired. It was not the result of a broad public process but rather something we arrived at late, 34 years after statehood.

While state flags existed before the 1890s, it wasn’t until the Chicago World’s Fair that the state flag craze really took off. By the time Washington chose its flag in 1923, only four other states didn’t have one.

But arriving at things late is part of our history. We’re also in the habit of letting national symbols and decisions dominate us. A 1913 effort to establish a state flag commission was nixed because we didn’t want to overshadow the national flag.

Even the current design of the flag, adopted in 1915 and made official in 1923, reflects the fact that we didn’t even really choose our own name.

When the bill to create the new territory reached Congress in 1853, they overruled our local preference. Kentucky Representative Richard H. Stanton proposed an amendment to change the name from “Columbia” to Washington, in honor of George Washington. Stanton argued that naming the territory after a national hero would better reflect the nation’s (not the territory’s) ideals and unity. No one, it seems, suggested to Stanton that if he liked Washington so much, he should volunteer to change Kentucky’s name. Despite the lack of input from the people who actually lived in the region, Congress approved the amendment, and the territory was officially named Washington.

The imposition of “Washington” highlights a recurring theme in the region’s history: the tension between local autonomy and federal authority. While the name honors a national figure, its origins reflect a moment when the voices of the people living in the region were overlooked.

I’m not saying we need to go as far as changing the state’s name (that would be crazy! looks around), but we don’t need to underline it with a state flag.

You could almost say we’re fiercely ambivalent about the name and symbolism of our state. Because they were largely chosen by outsiders, we don’t focus on how our symbols could actually be important to us.

There’s a deep, hidden-in-plain-sight reason for this ambivalence. While Oregon and California became states before the Civil War, Washington maintained a “failure to launch” status for decades.

Washington spent more time as a territory than any other state in the lower 48. This extended period of territorial governance profoundly affected our development and identity. Unlike other territories that quickly transitioned to statehood, Washington’s path was slower and more complicated, shaped by geographic isolation, economic challenges, and political neglect.

Probably our best historian, Robert Ficken, argued that this prolonged territorial status fostered a sense of ambivalence among Washingtonians. Cut off from the rest of the country by the Rocky Mountains and lacking significant infrastructure, the territory was historically dominated by outside economic forces, generally from Chicago or California.

Ficken highlights that the push for statehood only gained serious momentum after the completion of the trans-Cascadian railroad in the 1880s. The railroad connected Washington to itself and the rest of the nation. Before this, the region’s internal isolation made it difficult to grow on our own without outside investment or assert our political voice.

If so many decisions were made outside of Washington State for us, why would we care?

State name? I’m sure there are bigger fish to fry.

Dumb state flag? Why do we need one? If we need one, who cares what it looks like? It makes sense that we’ve internalized not wanting anything nice of our own.

A Flag for the Future

So, the strongest argument for keeping the current flag is that it exists (we don’t need to expend any effort), that it’s old (seemingly historic), and that it accurately features the person our state is named after (Get it, Washington?). But even our state’s name was not our own choice. The flag serves as a reminder of that, but it doesn’t tell us anything about who we are today.

HB 1938 is not just a rejection of our current flag; it is an opportunity.

It gives us the chance to engage the public in a meaningful way and to choose a symbol that truly represents Washingtonians. Our state deserves a flag that is not just something we inherited, but something we can be inspired by.

Let’s seize this moment to create a flag that reflects the beauty, diversity, and spirit of Washington. After all, symbols matter, and so do we.

The Pacific Northwest’s particular racist past exists

This week, there was a discussion about a couple of bills (HB 1710 and HB 1750) that would put more teeth into laws around voting and elections in how they address structural inequities against non-white voters. I’m not going to get into the details of the bills, but there was a phrase that kept on popping up throughout the discussion on the bill that I take great exception to.

“Our region does not struggle with a racist past, not the same way the deep South does.”

I take great great exception to this phrase and too many people who should obviously know better are repeating it.

What follows is a brief survey of our history around race in the Pacific Northwest. This is not an inclusive essay by any means. For example, I’ve skipped over any history regarding tribes, which should be anyone’s first stop on our troubling tour of racism in the Pacific Northwest. I also skipped over the 1920s anti-immigration laws that originated in the Pacific Northwest and our own experience with the Klan.

But, what I have tried to do here is show how we don’t need to be a slave state for the politics and the economy of the 1850s deep South to pervade our region. 

Our region has a troubling history of systemic racism rooted in the idea that the region’s economy should primarily serve white people. This foundational belief, born during the run-up to the Civil War, has shaped the Pacific Northwest’s development and continues to influence its social and economic structures. From early exclusion laws to modern-day housing policies, the region’s history reveals a persistent effort to maintain a largely white society, even as it claims to move “beyond race.”

This blog post explores the direct through-line of our historical and contemporary manifestations of racism, focusing on how economic exclusion has been central to the region’s identity.

The Founding of a White Utopia: Exclusion Laws and Economic Competition

The Pacific Northwest’s racial history begins with its founding during the mid-19th century, a time when the nation was deeply divided over slavery. While Oregon and Washington were never slave states, they were far from being bastions of racial equality. 

Early settlers, many of whom were white Appalachians fleeing the economic dominance of the slave-holding South, brought with them a vision of a free labor white utopia. This vision was codified in Oregon’s Black exclusion laws, which prohibited African Americans from living in the territory. As historian Alan Johnson notes in “Founding the Far West,” these laws were not motivated by a belief in racial equality but by a desire to protect white laborers from economic competition.

A territorial judge in Oregon encapsulated this sentiment in a ruling on a fugitive slave case, stating that slavery was incompatible with the “nature of the Oregon community.” He argued that allowing slavery would deter the influx of “free white labor,” which he described as a “fertilizing flood” essential to the region’s prosperity. In other words, the exclusion of Black people was not about moral opposition to slavery but about preserving economic opportunities for white settlers.

This early framing of the Pacific Northwest as a region for white economic advancement set the stage for a pattern of racial exclusion that would persist for generations. The region’s founding principle, that its economy should serve white people, became a cornerstone of its identity.

The Chinese Exclusion Era: Labor, Unions, Racial Scapegoating and Progressive Politics

The economic underpinnings of racism in the Pacific Northwest became even more apparent with the arrival of Chinese immigrants in the mid-19th century. Chinese laborers played a crucial role in building the region’s infrastructure, including railroads and mines, but they were met with intense hostility from white workers who viewed them as economic threats. As early as during the Civil War in 1864, the Washington Territorial Legislature enacted a discriminatory “Chinese Police Tax,” explicitly designed to discourage Chinese immigration and protect white laborers.

The anti-Chinese sentiment reached its peak in the 1880s, culminating in violent expulsions of Chinese communities from cities like Tacoma and Seattle. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, the first federal law to bar an ethnic group from immigration, further institutionalized this discrimination. White labor unions, including the Knights of Labor, played a significant role in these exclusionary efforts, framing Chinese workers as a threat to white economic stability.

This era highlights a recurring theme in the Pacific Northwest’s history: the use of racial exclusion to protect white economic interests. Even as progressive labor movements emerged, they often coexisted with deep-seated racial prejudices, creating a paradoxical legacy of economic justice for some and systemic discrimination for others.

The infection spread into the 1890s when the country was shaken by an economic depression and Progressive politicians took control in the region. Sylvester Pennoyer, governor of Oregon from 1887 to 1895, built his political career on anti-Chinese sentiment, positioning himself as a leader of exclusionary policies in the Pacific Northwest. He campaigned on the claim that Chinese immigrants undercut white laborers, a common grievance among white workers at the time, and openly supported the Chinese Exclusion Act. His rhetoric and policies reflected a broader trend in the region, where progressive labor movements advocating for economic justice often coexisted with deep-seated racial prejudices, particularly against Chinese communities. This paradox, championing workers’ rights while simultaneously restricting them along racial lines, was a defining contradiction of Pacific Northwest progressivism.

John R. Rogers, Washington’s governor from 1897 to 1901, similarly embodied this contradiction. Though best known for his contributions to public education through the “Barefoot Schoolboy” law, Rogers also espoused anti-Semitic views, blaming economic instability on Jewish financiers in his 1892 book The Irrepressible Conflict or the American System of Money. Like Pennoyer, Rogers demonstrates how many early progressives in the region fused economic reform with exclusionary and discriminatory beliefs. Their legacies reflect both the advances and the moral failings of a movement that sought justice for some while denying it to others.

Segregation and Housing: From Restrictive Covenants to Down-zoning

The legacy of racial exclusion extended into the 20th century through housing policies designed to maintain segregated communities. Racial restrictive covenants, which prohibited property sales to non-white buyers, were widely used in cities like Seattle, Tacoma, and Spokane. These covenants, reinforced by federal redlining policies, ensured that Black, Asian, and Indigenous residents were confined to marginalized neighborhoods.

In 1964, a proposed open housing law in Seattle failed after significant resistance from local real estate interests and white homeowners. The law aimed to prevent discrimination in housing, particularly against Black residents. However, opposition was intense, with many fearing a loss of property values and an increase in racial integration. Despite strong advocacy from civil rights groups, the law was defeated in a referendum.

By 1968, a shift occurred in the political and social landscape, driven by heightened awareness of racial inequality and the Civil Rights Movement. The assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. earlier that year amplified the urgency for reforms. This led to the successful passage of a stronger open housing ordinance in Seattle. The new law prohibited housing discrimination based on race, religion, color, or national origin, marking a significant victory for civil rights activists. The 1968 law was part of a broader national movement toward racial justice, culminating in the federal Fair Housing Act later that year. The flip in Seattle’s stance between 1964 and 1968 reflected broader societal changes and the increased pressure for civil rights legislation.

Even after the Fair Housing Act of 1968 outlawed housing discrimination, Pacific Northwest cities found new ways to enforce racial exclusion. Down-zoning, reducing the density of housing in certain neighborhoods, became a tool for maintaining racial homogeneity. In Seattle, for example, neighborhoods like Queen Anne Hill were down-zoned in the 1970s, effectively limiting the construction of affordable housing and preserving the area’s white majority. Similar patterns emerged in Olympia and other cities, where down-zoning was used to prevent racial integration.

The impact of these policies is still felt today. Seattle’s historically Black Central District, once home to over 90% of the city’s Black population, has seen its Black residents displaced by rising housing costs and gentrification. The region’s history of housing discrimination underscores how economic exclusion has been central to maintaining a largely white society.

The Myth of Moving “Beyond Race”: Initiative 200 and Colorblindness, Bussing and the White Utopia Redux

In the late 20th century, the Pacific Northwest’s racial dynamics took on a new form with the rise of colorblind rhetoric. Initiative 200 (I-200), passed in Washington State in 1998, banned affirmative action in state employment, contracting, and higher education. Supporters of I-200 argued that the region should move “beyond race,” claiming that race-conscious policies were divisive and unnecessary in a supposedly post-racial society.

This rhetoric ignored the ongoing structural inequalities faced by people of color, framing racial disparities as a thing of the past. By eliminating affirmative action, I-200 effectively erased efforts to address systemic racism, reinforcing the region’s historical commitment to serving white economic interests.

The desire to move “beyond race” reflects a broader trend in the Pacific Northwest: the belief that the region’s racial problems have been solved. Yet, as the history of housing discrimination, labor exclusion, and educational inequality demonstrates, the region’s racial dynamics are far from resolved.

The issue of racial segregation in the Pacific Northwest extends beyond housing and into the realm of education. The 2007 Supreme Court case Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1 highlighted the ongoing struggle for racial integration in schools. The case challenged Seattle’s use of race-based tiebreakers in student assignments, which aimed to maintain diversity and avoid racial isolation. The Court ruled that such practices were unconstitutional unless they were narrowly tailored to address a history of de jure segregation.

This decision reflected a broader national trend of retreating from race-conscious policies in education, even as racial disparities in schools persisted. In Seattle, the ruling effectively ended efforts to use race as a factor in school assignments, further entrenching patterns of segregation. The case underscores the tension between the region’s progressive ideals and its resistance to policies that address racial inequality.

Selling Seattle by James Lyons explores the nature of racism and white identity in the Pacific Northwest, set against the backdrop of Seattle’s cultural and historical development.

In the 1980s and 1990s, Seattle was often marketed as an urban area that “worked,” a city that avoided the strife and dysfunction seen in East Coast or California cities.

The book examines how Seattle, and the broader Pacific Northwest, has been shaped (despite marketing efforts to the contrary) by racial and ethnic tensions.

In terms of white identity, the book delves into how the Pacific Northwest has often been seen as a progressive region, but one where whiteness and white privilege have been maintained and even normalized in certain ways. It challenges the notion that the Pacific Northwest is a “colorblind” or racially neutral space, highlighting how the dominance of white identity has persisted in both subtle and overt forms throughout the region’s development.

Lyons acknowledges that, despite the region’s progressive image, the Pacific Northwest has a complex history of exclusion, segregation, and inequality, particularly toward Indigenous peoples and communities of color. He emphasizes that while Seattle may appear multicultural, the region’s structural and social systems often favor white residents, perpetuating the legacy of racism.

The book also highlights that the struggle for racial justice in Seattle and the broader Pacific Northwest involves both historical and contemporary issues, including ongoing battles around gentrification, immigration, and representation in local media and politics. Lyons argues that the region’s cultural identity—often associated with “liberal” values—can sometimes obscure these deeper racial challenges.

In the 1980s and 1990s, the Pacific Northwest became a destination for white Californians seeking a “functional urban environment.” This influx of white residents further reinforced the region’s racial homogeneity, as many of these newcomers were drawn to the area’s reputation as a progressive, largely white society. The promise of the original settlers—that the region would be a haven for white economic advancement, was largely fulfilled, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of racial exclusion.

This era also saw the rise of the “post-racial” narrative, which framed the Pacific Northwest as a region that had moved beyond race. This narrative ignored the ongoing structural inequalities faced by communities of color, reinforcing the idea that the region’s racial problems had been solved. The reality, however, was far more complex, as the region continued to grapple with issues of housing discrimination, educational inequality, and economic exclusion.

The Pacific Northwest’s history of racism is rooted in the idea that its economy should primarily serve white people. There is a straight line black exclusion laws and Chinese expulsion of the 19th century to the down-zoning policies of the 20th century, the region has consistently prioritized white economic interests at the expense of communities of color. This legacy continues to shape the region’s social and economic landscape, even as it claims to move “beyond race.”

We’ve already seen how this idea of “moving beyond race” was central to the debate around Initiative 200 in 1998 and into the decision to challenge school desegregation system.

The Pacific Northwest’s promise of a “white utopia” has come at a steep cost. It’s time to reckon with that cost and build a region that lives up to its progressive ideals. This requires not only recognizing the past but also taking concrete steps to address the structural inequalities that continue to shape the lives of people of color in the region. By doing so, we can begin to create a Pacific Northwest that truly serves everyone, regardless of race.

The Pacific Northwest’s history of racism is deeply intertwined with its economic priorities, from the exclusion laws of the 19th century to the down-zoning policies of the 20th century. This legacy continues to shape the region’s social and economic landscape, even as it claims to move “beyond race.”

This history continues to shape our communities today, and a deeper understanding of our past equips us to better address the challenges we face now. While the Pacific Northwest is not the post-slavery South, it has its own legacy of racism, one that is as significant and damaging as Jim Crow, yet distinct in its origins and manifestations. 

Comparing chattel slavery to exclusionary practices is not the right starting point. Instead, we must confront our own history directly, on its own terms, and grapple with the unique ways racism has been woven into the fabric of our region. Only by doing so can we begin to dismantle its enduring effects and move toward a more just and equitable future.

SB 5400 and the future of publicly funded local journalism

This week, I testified on SB 5400, a bill that would create a new way to fund local journalism in Washington State. 

I emphasized the critical role of local journalism in combating election-related misinformation and ensuring the safety of election workers. 

I also suggested a few ways the bill could be improved:

I highlighted the New Jersey Civic Information Consortium as a model for ensuring independence and expertise in funding decisions, and stressed the importance of adhering to the Institute for Non-Profit News standards, which require journalists to be based in the communities they cover. Lastly, I advocated for long-term funding solutions, such as taxing digital advertising, to address the revenue crisis caused by platforms like Meta and Alphabet.

SB 5400 proposes expanding a surcharge on large tech firms to fund an account managed by the state Department of Commerce. While the criteria for distributing funds are broad, the requirement that organizations have at least three full-time staffers could exclude smaller, newer local news organizations that rely on freelancers. In today’s media landscape, three full-time reporters is a significant number, and this requirement risks leaving behind the very communities most in need of local journalism.

It’s long past time to question whether we should publicly fund journalism in Washington State. The state already supports two examples of publicly funded journalism: TVW and the Edward R. Murrow College of Communication’s fellowship program. TVW, a nonprofit organization, receives over 80% of its funding from the state and provides in-depth coverage of state government. This model demonstrates how public funding can support independent, high-quality journalism. The Murrow College fellowship program, launched in 2023, places early-career journalists in under-served communities across Washington to report on civic affairs for two years. It currently supports 16 fellows who report on issues such as government accountability, rural economics, and environmental policy. Fellows receive ongoing training, mentorship, and a strong cohort experience, with their work available via Creative Commons. Future fellow placements depend on continued legislative funding.

SB 5400 follows on the heels of efforts  in other states to tackle the local journalism problem. California reached a deal with Google to support local journalism, but it has been criticized for lacking meaningful, long-term solutions. The agreement allocates $55 million from Google and $70 million from the state over five years, but the legislative proposals surrounding it fall short. One stronger proposal called for a tax on digital advertising, while the other suggested a recycled idea for a link tax, which I will discuss below. The negotiated deal is a mess. It prioritized large corporate publishers over smaller, community-based media outlets and includes an AI accelerator program that journalists did not request. Big Tech’s influence in shaping the deal highlights the need for stronger, community-driven coalitions to counter corporate interests in future local-news policy efforts.

The New Jersey Civic Information Consortium (NJCI) is a nonprofit that receives state funding and distributes grants to local news organizations. Governed by a board with representatives from state universities, legislative caucuses, and the public, the NJCI ensures a fair and equitable distribution of funds. This model could serve as a blueprint for Washington, though adjustments would be needed to account for the state’s larger size and more rural communities.

Another proposal in Oregon under consideration this year (SB 686) is an example of the worst of all approaches. Similar to California’s original link tax proposal, it also attempts to prevent platforms from penalizing journalism organizations by outlawing algorithmic de-prioritization of news content. However, it fails to address First Amendment implications of this ban or provide a clear enforcement mechanism. This approach misunderstands the root problem: the decline of journalism is caused by the loss of advertising revenue to digital platforms, not the linking behavior of users.

How we should approach state-level journalism funding

For systems of state-level funding, I look for two key components:

  1. A fair, equitable decision-making process grounded in local needs, exemplified by the New Jersey Civic Information Consortium’s statewide distribution of funding and emphasis on community-driven projects.
  2. Funding derived from digital advertising taxes, not link taxes. Taxing digital advertising directly addresses the root cause of journalism’s revenue crisis, while link taxes harm the open web and fail to provide sustainable solutions.

We often forget how revolutionary hyperlinks were when they first appeared on the web. The Cluetrain Manifesto reminds us that hyperlinks are messy, decentralized, and inherently democratic. Taxing them undermines the open web and further entrenches the dominance of closed-garden social media platforms.

The real threat to journalism over the past twenty-five years has been the decline in advertising revenue, driven by the ad tech capture of Meta (Facebook, Instagram) and Alphabet (Google). 

Taxing digital advertising directly addresses this issue, using the profits of these platforms to fund the journalism they have undermined. This is akin to taxing cigarettes or sugary drinks to fund universal healthcare, it targets the source of the problem to create a better future.

We should work to break apart the ad tech monopoly (United States v. Google LLC 2023), but lawsuits take time.

In the meantime, taxing digital advertising provides a sustainable, immediate solution to fund local journalism and ensure a well-informed citizenry.

We should be able to dispose of any statue we want. We missed on Rogers so far, let’s not miss on Whitman

When the legislature decided to swap out the statues of Marcus Whitman for Billy Frank Jr. in Washington D.C. and Olympia almost four years ago, they were pretty clear about what they wanted done with the D.C. statue: ask the Whitman County commissioners what they wanted done with it.

But the legislature was silent about the massive stone and bronze piece in the north entrance of the state capitol. So now, the various committees that manage the state capitol campus are months into figuring out not only how exactly to remove the statue but also where to put it.

First, spoiler alert: they shouldn’t be worried about saving it or moving it somewhere else on the campus. They should just get rid of it.

But first, we need to rewind a bit. This isn’t the first statue that should be removed from the capitol campus.

Not Our First Statue

Consider the case of the John Rogers statue in Sylvester Park. Governor Rogers is best known for his support of the “Barefoot Schoolboy” bill, which expanded education in Washington. However, his legacy is tainted by his explicit anti-Semitic writings, in which he blamed “Jewish Money Lords” for economic woes in the U.S. His statue was erected shortly after his death, during a period of heightened emotion, without the critical distance necessary to evaluate his full legacy.

The Rogers statue remains a reminder of a troubling era in Washington’s history. Rogers’ broader political philosophy was tied to the populist movement of the late 19th century, which included efforts to remove Chinese residents and contained threads of racial and economic animus. This context forces us to confront the problematic aspects of his legacy and question whether honoring him with a statue is appropriate.

The lesson here is clear: statues are not just about honoring achievements—they also preserve the broader, often darker legacies of the people they depict.

Statue Process

When I first wrote about the Rogers statue in 2021, the response I received was that the Department of Enterprise Services did not have a formal process to remove statues. And that seems to be the procedural problem they’re forced to grapple with now regarding the Whitman statue.

In 2022, Senator Sam Hunt sponsored SB 5570, which would have established a process for the removal or relocation statues on capitol campus. The bill would have authorized the Department of Enterprise Services (DES) to remove or relocate statues, monuments, and other significant works under specific conditions, such as legislative approval, construction needs, or a determination that the work was offensive or outdated.

It also outlined procedures for periodic reviews of major works and for convening a work group to evaluate removal proposals. The work group, composed of state officials and representatives from cultural commissions, would provide detailed recommendations to the State Capitol Committee, including costs and funding sources for removal or relocation. Despite its comprehensive framework, the bill did not pass, leaving the state without a codified process for addressing controversial or outdated monuments.

But DES and the state campus committees seem to be working on a similar process now. Boiling it down, once the legislature tells them to remove a statue, they’ll work with a broad set of historic and public art stakeholders, mix in some public comment, and make a decision.

Has the last four years been the Seattle Process for statues? With all the love in my heart for my other government-employed neighbors, yes, it is.

Marcus Whitman Should Not Be Saved

Bottom line: the last thing we should do is leave the Marcus Whitman statue right where it is. The current proposal seems to be to either leave it where it is or put it under the southern covered entrance.

But the Marcus Whitman statue should be removed from the campus entirely. We know what symbols mean, and we know that preserving the statue on the campus as it is preserves its original legacy as a historic lie meant to cement white supremacy in our state.

We knew what we were doing. The official program for the installation of the Whitman statue in Olympia casts our history in such starkly racist terms, we should be running away fast:

What the Whitman statue symbolizes now isn’t the false myth of Whitman. That is already in our historic dustbin. It doesn’t even represent some sort of minor figure deserving of honor. There are dozens of historical actors remembered without needing larger-than-life bronze representations.

What the statue symbolizes and celebrates now is the decades-long propaganda campaign that framed American Pacific Northwest history and society in a factually wrong, racist, and religiously sectarian context. We know the people behind the Whitman myth lied. We know why they lied. The physical representation of their lies should not stand.

It is absolutely okay for us to not only move the statue somewhere else but to dispose of it entirely.

We should bury it, give it away to an artist to adapt to a modern frame, or hand out metal files or hacksaws to people who donate $5 for a crack at it. Anything other than being a fully formed Marcus Whitman statue on the state campus.

Why does Jim Walsh need to remind everyone Eric Crowl was elected?

Why Does Jim Walsh Need to Remind Everyone That Election Results Matter?
Specifically, when it comes to Precinct Committee Officer (PCO) elections and county political party reorganization meetings?

It probably has something to do with a county judge invalidating election results last summer in a small, rural county in Eastern Washington.

First, What Are PCOs?

I’ve always been fascinated by the role of Precinct Committee Officers in Washington State. I’ve run for PCO myself a couple of times, once as part of a contested slate to maintain control of the county party. I also took part an effort nearly 20 years ago to allow non-PCOs to hold membership in my local party. That effort slightly eroded the power of PCOs and I’m still very proud of that.

Controlling the county party apparatus still matters, although perhaps less than it once did. Today, candidates and campaign committees often handle their own fundraising. However, county parties still control critical campaign services, such as access to walking lists, which would otherwise be expensive for candidates to obtain.

State law emphasizes the importance of local political parties being accountable to voters. PCOs are elected rather than appointed to ensure democratic legitimacy, transparency, and grassroots accountability within political parties. This gives PCOs a stronger mandate and ensures they answer to their neighbors, not just party leadership. If PCOs were appointed instead, it could lead to favoritism or undue influence by party leaders. Elections keep party organizations tied to the grassroots, rather than concentrated in the hands of a few insiders.

PCO elections can have lasting political impacts. Two years ago, after a particularly rough election cycle for Republicans in Washington State (despite it being the midterm of a Democratic presidency) there was an under-the-radar “Red Wave” in PCO elections. This shift led to more MAGA-aligned county organizations and ultimately contributed to the election of the above-mentioned Jim Walsh as state Republican chair the following summer. That, in turn, led to the Washington State GOP’s unusual endorsement-heavy convention earlier this year when they passed over the odds on favorite Republican standard bearer for a more conservative option.

What’s Happening in Pierce County?

So, why does the chair of the Washington State Republicans have to point out that elected PCOs should be able to attend reorganization meetings? Let’s dive into what’s happening in Pierce County.

Eric Crowl (OutragePNW on X), the elected PCO for Precinct 28-556 in Pierce County, says he’s struggling to get a legitimate invitation to the Pierce County GOP’s reorganization meeting. This appears to stem from personal conflicts between Crowl and local party leadership. Crowl, however, believes he is being excluded illegally.

The “reorg” cycle, which happens every two years, is when newly elected PCOs essentially refound their local party. They elect new officers and set a fresh course for local politics. For PCOs like Crowl, participation in this process is fundamental to the role they were elected to perform.

That said, Walsh’s statement that “A County Party can’t unelect an elected PCO” is false because of what happened a few months ago in Pend Oreille County when in fact that did happen.

What Happened in Pend Oreille County?

To understand the context, let’s look back at a shocking event in Pend Oreille County last year, where a judge overturned the results of a PCO election.

After the August primary, Pend Oreille County Superior Court Judge Jessica Reeves disqualified Joe Seaney from serving as a Republican PCO, despite his decisive 63-14 victory in the primary. The court ruled that Seaney was ineligible under the Pend Oreille County Republican Party’s bylaws, which require formal membership, including paying dues. Seaney argued that his long history of voting Republican and identifying with the party should suffice. The judge disagreed, finding that he had failed to meet the party’s criteria.

This challenge was spearheaded by Bill Deilke, chair of the Pend Oreille County Republican Party, who also sought to disqualify another candidate, Brian Smiley. Deilke claimed neither Seaney nor Smiley fulfilled the party’s membership requirements. However, Judge Reeves upheld Smiley’s candidacy, determining that his role as an elected Republican county commissioner granted him ex-officio party membership.

This case stirred broader debates about voter rights, party autonomy, and internal fairness. Critics, like The Newport Miner, argued that voters (not party leaders) should decide who represents them. The editorial board pointed to Seaney’s overwhelming win as proof of public preference and criticized the party for procedural roadblocks.

Deilke defended the party’s actions, asserting that membership rules ensure party integrity and citing state laws that allow parties to define their membership criteria.

Why It Matters

First, I disagree with how Pend Oreille worked out. I have a very specific argument to the judge that cuts through her decision. PCOs elected in August technically don’t take office until after the general election and reorganization meetings. Current PCOs serve through the reorg process, during which new bylaws may be adopted that decide who going forward qualifies as a party member. This creates a convoluted timeline where parties can influence the legitimacy of elected officials before new rules are even in place.

More broadly, the ability of party leaders to cut out elected PCOs raises questions about how political parties should operate. Elections should matter, and it’s baffling to use public resources for electing PCOs if parties are just going to game the system anyway.

Political parties should play a critical role in connecting communities to politics, but they risk becoming even more irrelevant when they narrow participation. I say “should” and “even more” because the role of local party organizations has declined in my lifetime to a staggering extent. Years ago, local newspapers regularly covered party meetings and reorganization cycles because they were integral to public life. Now, parties seem more insular. During my time in local politics, I was asked not to live-tweet county party meetings. I declined the request but it was a telling message that we were not doing public business.

Ultimately, parties should be open, public, and relevant to the communities they aim to represent. It is not lost on me that the party at the center of this debate currently is not the party I’m associated with. That doesn’t matter at all. Parties should matter because they bring people into civic life from all directions.

The Pend Oreille case demonstrates how party leadership’s insularity can override the clear will of voters, while the Pierce County situation shows how internal grievances can block elected PCOs from participating in crucial reorganization meetings. These examples highlight a troubling pattern of prioritizing party insiders over democratic accountability. If parties continue to narrow participation and sideline elected representatives, they risk becoming even less relevant to the broader public. To regain trust and fulfill their role, political parties must ensure their processes are transparent, accessible, and rooted in the grassroots. Anything less undermines their purpose and weakens the connection between politics and the communities they serve.

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