This is the title I chose for my personal blog, which is meant to give me an outlet for one of my favorite crafts – writing – plus to use an image from my favorite sport, golf.  Out of college, my first job was as a reporter for the Daily Astorian in Astoria, Oregon, and I went on from there to practice writing in all my professional positions, including as press secretary in Washington, D.C. for a Democrat Congressman from Oregon (Les AuCoin), as an Oregon state government manager in Salem and Portland, as press secretary for Oregon’s last Republican governor (Vic Atiyeh), and as a private sector lobbyist.  This blog also allows me to link another favorite pastime – politics and the art of developing public policy – to what I write.  I could have called this blog “Middle Ground,” for that is what I long for in both politics and golf.  The middle ground is often where the best public policy decisions lie.  And it is where you want to be on a golf course.

On occasion, the best way to make a point is to use an example, not a lot of verbiage.

Such was the case this morning as I read a piece by Phil Gramm, former chairman of the Senate Banking Committee during the presidency of Ronald Reagan, and now a non-resident senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.

Gramm’s article in the Wall Street Journal appeared under this headline:   “Some GOP lawmakers have forgotten that politics is about what’s possible, not what’s perfect.”

Great point.  The article attests to the virtue of the real definition of politics, one lost in today’s yelling and screaming to get attention:  Politics is – or should be – the art of compromise.

 Gramm started his article this way:

“Nowhere have Republicans done themselves more harm than in debasing the GOP’s brand as the party of fiscal responsibility, less government, and more freedom.

“The road to adopting the Reagan program and changing America was paved with bitter compromises.  If perfection is what you’re after, then running for Congress was the wrong decision.  I never wrote or voted for any major legislation that didn’t contain something I opposed.  If you can’t compromise, you can’t legislate or govern.”

Gramm added that every part of the Reagan budget, defense build-up, and tax cuts contained “gut-wrenching defeats and painful compromises.”

He pointed to what he called “one bitter example.”

“Nobody who ever took the oath of office was more committed to free trade than I was.  My conviction was based on evidence, not just faith.  I understood trade and its importance to America’s prosperity and success in the Cold War.  

“During my first year in the Senate that core conviction was tested when I put my political future in jeopardy by killing an amendment to impose an oil import fee and had to spend nine long months defending that vote all over Texas.

“Earlier, during debate on the 1981 Reagan budget reconciliation bill, Democratic then-Representative John Breaux came to me with an offer:  He and his Louisiana colleagues would vote with us on all amendments and on final passage in exchange for our commitment not to try to kill the sugar program — one of the most rotten in a government festooned with rotten programs.  Its protective quota doubled the price of sugar to benefit a very small special interest.”

Gramm recalled that he trudged down to the White House to relay Breaux’s offer and told the president that it was the best that could be done to save the reconciliation bill, with its spending cuts, defense increases, and tax cuts.”

Reagan was reported to have called this “kissing the pig.”

All of this recalled for me a couple cases in my time as a state lobbyist that involved, so to speak, “kissing the pig.”

In one case, as a lobbyist for the Port of Portland, I was trying to gain approval for the first installment of state dollars to fund deepening the Columbia River channel to allow deeper-draft ships to ply the river between Astoria on the coast and Portland 100 miles inland.

To get something I wanted, I had to settle for something I didn’t want.

To get the funding bill through the House in Salem, Oregon, I had to settle for three “pork-barrel” allocations from leaders of the Joint Ways and Means Committee.

Was it worth it?  Yes.

Did it turn my stomach, at least a bit?  Yes.

Would the bill have passed without the pork?  No.

Would I do this again?  Yes.

In the second case, I was at the Capitol to try to approve an “immunities clause” in legislation to implement the new assisted suicide law worked in Oregon.  It was a tall task to gain approval for ethical ways to avoid having to be involved in suicide.

An Oregon Senate leader, Neil Bryant (now a close friend) created what he called “a work group” to design a compromise bill behind the scenes, which, if successful, would have involved public votes in the full Senate and the House.

A willingness to compromise was required, so, for that reason, Bryant would not allow the Oregon Catholic Conference into the room.  Why?  As a lobbyist for a religion, the conference could not compromise.

The bill that eventually passed included protections that that my client, Providence Health System, wanted.  But it also had to settle for something it hated.  In return for avoiding assisted suicide in our system, we had to agree to “refer” patients out to a reputable provider if they wanted the service.  But, to a Catholic, referral constituted “agentry,” which was against doctrine.

But, as a hospital system affiliated with, but not specifically part, of the Catholic church, we chose to settle for the compromise?  Was it worth it?  Yes.

For me, these tales are prime examples of what Gramm said in his article:  Politics is about what’s possible, not what’s perfect.

My fond hope is that political leaders in Washington, D.C. and Salem, Oregon – as well as other places around the country – would learn this important lesson, plus practice it.  If they did, government would be better.