Incumbent politicians do not want you to know this, so I will tell you in my very first sentence: the week of April 24 (right after Easter) is when you need to register to run for public office. Many idealistic citizens entertain the idea, at one time or another, of running for public office, figuring they might make their contribution toward making ours a better society. Some might even figure that improving their own condition would make ours a better society.

As regular readers of The Citizen will attest, I have contributed many educational articles in the form of letters to the editor in the last two years. If there's a Crackpot Award that comes with this achievement, I acknowledge I am a strong contender for it.

My crackpot roots go deep, as you will see, because, in 1992, my idealistic yearnings caused me to register to run for the Georgia House of Representatives. Right here in Fayette County. Don't feel bad if you can't remember: there are days when I wish I didn't myself. But I'll tell you about it. This is another of my educational articles.

Incumbents do not like competition. In the early 1990s, they had a neat little trick to keep people from deciding to run against them at the last minute. It was called the drug test. When you tried to register as a candidate for state office, you had to produce a drug test report.

The problem with that is you had to provide a urine sample at a lab one week earlier, to have your report in hand on time. You couldn't just decide at the last minute that you didn't like the candidates who had already announced. Unless you had already spent $60 to get your test the week before, you were out of luck.

The drug test requirement has now been abolished, thanks to a courageous libertarian lawyer from Zebulon, Walker Chandler, who took the State to the U.S. Supreme Court and won. The Supreme Court thought the test was silly.

If you know me, I don't need to tell you I didn't sweat the test. (My slogan: say nope to dope!) In 1992 I thought strongly that Fayette County ought to have a state court, better to serve its citizens; the local establishment, then, was against it. Of course, we do have a state court now, and it seems to work exceedingly well. Good ideas can be stopped only so long. But Dan Lakly, who was against the state court, was running, and I figured it might be interesting to oppose him in the fall. So, I ran as a Democrat. In Fayette County. (What did I tell you about my qualifications for the Crackpot Award?)

Please don't get me wrong. I happen to believe there's as much difference between Republicans and Democrats as there is between Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum. When you run for office in Georgia, you practically have only two choices: you can pick Democrat, or you can pick Republican. Most people with traditional Democrat leanings in Fayette County now pick Republican, because they know they can't get elected with the Democrat label. If you're independent, as I am, you can pick whichever label you want between these two. Picking Democrat might let you stay in the race until fall.

Running for office is rather simple. You show up at the state Capitol or a Fayette County office with a check, payable either to the Democratic Party or the Republican Party of Georgia, sign a form, and you're in business. The usual fee is 3 percent of the annual salary for the job you're seeking, but for Georgia legislators it's $400. Make sure the check doesn't bounce.

What happens next is, basically, nothing. Nobody invites you to talk to them about any views or proposals you might have to make government better. Nobody wants to know, and nobody cares. Except for special interests. And that's the interesting part.

You will, of course, receive invitations from the media to spend money for your campaign. You may also hear from printers and others interested in selling signs or services. But you'll also get surveys. Lots of surveys. Some of these surveys are very long, and crammed full with statements whose apparent purpose is to “educate” and influence you.

The Atlanta, Georgia Labor Council was first to send me a letter inviting me to a candidate interview at their Atlanta office. I didn't go. The Pro-Choice Elections Committee sent me a survey short enough for me to answer. Then came the survey from the Georgia State Employees Union.

Then came a 22-question survey from an Atlanta outfit called GEORGIAPEP, self-described as an affiliate of the Business Council of Georgia, which seemed concerned about taxes. (Piece of cake. Who likes taxes? Current school board excepted, of course.)

Then came the survey of the Georgia Right to Life Committee. Then came the GAPAC survey, on “issues of concern to the gay and lesbian community.” (GAPAC, get it? My answer was polite.)

Then the survey from the Police Benevolent Association of Georgia. By and large, they seemed interested in more pay and benefits for their members. As a matter of fact, all the unions want more pay and benefits.

The Georgia Petroleum Council then followed, with some newsletter trying to educate me about the wonderful accomplishments of Chevron, Amoco, BP, Exxon, and others.

The Atlanta paper called to ask for two photos of me. The Clayton Citizens Coalition (whoever they are) sent its questionnaire next. Their first question was whether I believed Roe v. Wade was decided correctly (as if I could do anything about it).

I heard from both the Professional Association of Georgia Educators (PAGE) and the Georgia Association of Educators PAC (GAE). These seem to be competing teachers' unions which want to expand their membership by obtaining annual contracts for the secretarial and janitorial staff of schools, but they seemed to be at odds with one another.

The GAE sent me a 23-question survey where I could check either the box that said “agree with GAE's position” or the box that said “disagree with GAE's position.” They also wanted to give me an interview at a pre-set place, date and time of their choosing. I had to be in Savannah that day, so I wrote them a four-page letter analyzing every one of their questions, one by one, and giving them as thoughtful and intelligent an answer as each deserved. I never heard further from them.

Of course I heard also from the NRA. Yes, the famed National Rifle Association. I replied with a thoughtful letter to the Washington, D.C., address they gave me. I should have told them my campaign motto was “a chicken in every pot, a gun rack in every truck.” (Didn't think of it.)

The ecologically-minded Atlanta Greens' survey had 64 questions. Question 63 was “what are people for?” Question 64 was “what is your vision for the future?” I told them.

The next letter was from CANDID, or Citizens Against Nude Dancing In DeKalb. They had eight questions, none of which (thankfully!) asked me if I was willing to form a chapter for their organization in Fayette. The Georgia Council on Aging sent me nice brochures on problems of the elderly. Georgians Against Smoking Pollution (GASP) sent me some statistics and a nine-question survey, soon to be followed by a questionnaire from Jonesboro Smokers' Rights (whoever they are). The Miller beer people sent me a brochure on how to host a “responsible event.” And someone offered to distribute colorful last-minute campaign flyers for me, for a fee.

If the Atlanta Greens had had a question 65, reading “who are people for?,” I could have told them, after the votes were counted, “not for me.” As it turned out, I had last-minute competition in the Democratic primary from a lady who must have had better luck with her questionnaires. Nobody invited either one of us to debate anything, anywhere.

The local Democratic Party invited then Attorney General Mike Bowers (who was later to defect to the Republicans) to speak, instead of affording us an opportunity to debate. When the primary votes for the Democrat side were counted, as few as they were, I had 25 percent of them. Funny thing is, we still got our state court. It just took a little longer.

I must candidly report I never had a “responsible event,” sobering as my election experience was. The CANDID people would have been proud. In all this time, nobody ever asked me, or cared, whether I loved SPLOST. At least you know the answer to that one by now.

I will leave it to others to pontificate on the sad state of our political system. Folks who tell you to get involved are right if they intend for you to learn a lot. I did. I am sharing my learning with you, which might help you save the 400 bucks and avoid lots of surveys. And, by the way, the Georgia Petroleum Council must have cut me off its mailing list: I haven't heard from them since the 1992 primary election.

Claude Y. Paquin

Fayetteville

cypaquin@msn.com

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