RtOW: Chapter 4 - An Overview of Oregon's Way

Governor Whiteaker set forth the aims of the Oregon government: governing by mutual consent and compromise.

*Editor’s Note* For the next several Saturdays, I will be posting an excerpt from my book, “Rediscovering the Oregon Way.”

Previous chapters: Read the intro, Read Chapter 1, Read Chapter 2, Read Chapter 3.

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An assessment of the Oregon Way requires an overview of its specific attributes—its four legs. With the Way’s norms, values, social institutions, and democratic processes defined, it will be easier to analyze how the strength of the Way has shifted over time. Of course, there’s no easy way to evaluate each of these legs—there’s no formal measure of the extent to which a community follows certain norms, for example. But by checking in on the strength of each of the legs at various times in Oregon’s history, it’s possible to generate some relative measures of just how strong the Way is at a certain point in time.

Not all of the attributes of the Oregon Way started at the state’s inception. Just as a birthmark may not be noticed until you go bald, some of the underlying attributes of the Way can be drawn to the state’s earliest history, but may not have become politically and culturally relevant until the 1970s. For example, Oregonian’s high regard for the preservation of the state’s rural lands may have been passed down from resettlers who were drawn to the area by what they perceived to be pristine, untouched, isolated land. Yet, this high regard for the maintenance of Oregon’s rural lands reached its political zenith with the passage of Senate Bill 100, which established urban growth boundaries, in the 1970s. 

Other values and norms at the core of the Oregon Way have evolved over time while still mirroring some of the foundational beliefs and priorities of the state’s first resettlers. Overlanders, those that packed up from the Midwest and traversed the Oregon Trail via wagon, distrusted global economic markets that partially caused their economic struggles in the late 1830s. The Panic of 1837 was a major recession induced by the overreliance of U.S. banks and merchants on England for trade and financing. It took a particularly tough toll on farmers that felt they had nothing to do with decisions made by distant traders, bankers, and financiers. Generations later, Oregonians largely accept international markets but still retain a preference for supporting and sustaining small businesses with Oregon roots. It follows that each leg of Oregon’s Way exists on a spectrum. The subsequent overview identifies these spectrums rather than more narrowly defined norms, values, social institutions, and democratic processes. Where Oregon falls on these spectrums will become clearer by checking in on each leg during various eras in Oregon’s history. 

Norms

Oregonians tend toward participation, moderation, and incrementalism. When resettlers first reached their long sought destination, two activities occupied the majority of their time: farming and politics. “The public life and political institutions [resettlers] fashioned were closely related to their rural ways,” according to historian David Alan Johnson. Politics was integrated into the patterns of daily life, giving residents the time to tend to their herd as well as to their political community. “Marked by face-to-face relationships, conducted by well-known friends and neighbors, politics here [in Oregon] expressed the [re]settlers’ common culture and provided the focus of a community life otherwise attenuated by rural isolation.” Community engagement was “one of the few activities that regularly drew men from the isolation of the family farm.” Montana, as previously discussed, had a similar personal-style of politics, but did not form a Way. The difference between Montana and Oregon was the density and concentration of Oregonians in a sliver of the state—personalized politics could inform a Way with broader ramifications thanks to the proximity of so many of the state’s resettlers in a narrow valley—the Willamette Valley. 

Oregonians have continued to show this orientation toward political participation throughout the state’s history. The Oregon System, marked by the state’s adoption of the initiative and referendum and reliance on citizen committees, tapped into this norm. Later, mail-in ballots and automatic voter registration confirmed that Oregonians would support and take advantage of opportunities to make their voice heard. 

Throughout its history, participation in Oregon has been paired with moderation. Whereas states like California welcomed resettlers comfortable with risk-taking and uncertainty, resettlers that selected Oregon did so knowing that the state would allow for a stable way of life. Oregonians have long sought to maintain this stability by rejecting real or perceived threats to the state’s predictability. Even when handed the power of the initiative, Oregonians may have permitted extreme initiative suggestions to reach the ballot but then, for the most part, they promptly rejected those initiatives outside the state’s narrow Overton Window. For instance, Oregonians went along with William U’Ren’s push for the Oregon System, but they denied his adventurous initiative to create a unicameral legislature. 

A focus on moderation has hindered and helped the development of the maturation of the state. This norm occasionally fostered racist behavior as Oregonians rejected entry into the state by communities they deemed as too distinct and, therefore, likely disruptive to the cultural and economic status quo. The strength of this norm likely facilitated Oregon passing a 1923 law that banned Japanese migrants from owning land. At other times, this norm has directed Oregonians away from more radical forms of protest and participation. In the case of the Communist movement of the 1920s, David Peterson del Mar reports that “Oregon’s working class were simply advocating for better wages and working conditions.” Of course, the working class in other states (see Illinois for one example) argued for much larger systemic changes. Oregon farmers followed the moderation formula. For them, agitating for change did not mean bringing an end to capitalism; they merely wanted to improve fairness and the quality of public services. 

A smattering of Oregonians have challenged this norm from time to time. Most recently, protests in Portland have rocked the expectation of moderate political behavior. Historically, though, even individuals with the most deeply-held beliefs and most ardent desires to protest have been amenable to alternative ways to express themselves. Governor Tom McCall staved off a skirmish between anti-Vietnam War groups and supporters of President Nixon by launching the first-ever state-funded rock concert, named Vortex. The anti-war groups could have rejected the Governor’s alternative activity but instead accepted it as a different expression of their frustration (and love for rock). Oregonians frequently agitate for change but usually do so in respectful manners.

Perhaps as a result of less extreme forms of action, change in Oregon historically takes place through ripples rather than tsunamis. The introduction of mail-in voting illustrates this incrementalist norm. Then-Secretary of State Norma Paulus learned about the innovative practice from a Lane County election clerk. Rather than push for statewide implementation, Secretary Paulus helped a few counties experiment with the practice. This piecemeal approach meant that Oregonians could first see the success of the program on a small scale before expanding it across the state. In the same way, Oregonians have tended toward passing compromise legislation rather than ram through partisan proposals. Even in the more politically contested 21st century, individuals such as Peter Courtney, President of the Senate, have insisted on building bipartisan coalitions even when having the votes to enact a law solely on party lines. The Courtney Rule has drawn the ire of Democrats but lowered the draw bridge to Republicans, leading to a healthier political climate. Absent the Courtney Rule, Democrats would surely pass legislation that greatly exceeded Eastern Oregonians’ Overturn Window. By winning even a modicum of Republican support through marginal compromises and slower implementation timelines, the Rule helps non-urban Oregonians feel less left behind. Of course, this Rule has not always been enforced, but its development in and of itself signals the presence of a norm of moderation.

Values

The defining values of the Oregon Way regularly come into tension. Oregonians have long touted the importance of community, individualism, as well as a deep sense of place. Though these values often compete, Oregonians have come to expect that each of these values will be considered before taking any substantial action. 

All politics were truly local in Oregon’s early days; your community was your clan. “Antebellum Democrats in Oregon understood their party as a social fact that had its roots in local communities.” What’s more, parties were, in the words of Johnson, “[o[rganized from bottom to top in a system of precinct caucuses and county, territorial (or state), and national conventions, men became a part of ‘the Democracy’ through participation in the winter-to-spring round of party ceremonies that punctuated the seasonal cadence of their productive lives as farmers” (emphasis my own). 

This grounding in the local community reflected two facts of early Oregon. First, there was the narrow geographic reality of how resettlers occupied the state—generous land grants (up to a square mile) increased resettlers’ reliance on the few families nearby. Second, there was the economic reality of living in a state with little to no connections to broader economic markets—“[resettlers] grew, processed, and stored most of what they ate and relied on kin and neighbors as much as possible for everything else—credit, temporary shelter, or labor,” based on del Mar’s research. The centrality of local communities persisted through the next century. When the legislature passed a statewide land use planning bill—Senate Bill (SB) 100—legislators gave substantial deference to local communities in determining how best to meet statewide standards; any other treatment of local preferences would have made the bill politically unpalatable to numerous representatives and senators.  

The high regard for community—the creation of in-groups—has hindered and helped Oregon. When the in-group is defined narrowly and in opposition to an out-group this prioritization of community has led to the rejection and exclusion of residents. One of Oregon’s leading resettlers, Matthew Deady, saw his Oregon community as a specific in-group that had to actively stem the membership of outsiders. He advocated for individualism paired with localism—a preference for community-based solutions. In isolation, Deady’s emphasis on local solutions does not merit misgivings. The problem, from the perspective of inclusivity, was that Deady’s in-group required hostility to non-White migrants. His localism brought those among his “us” closer together while further isolating “them.” Narrow definitions of the Oregon community persist today. Some Oregonians have gone as far as to graffiti the cars and homes of new Oregonians from places like California. These recently resettled Californians have yet to become part of the “community” as defined by Oregonians that may (or may not) have deeper roots in the Beaver state. This does not have to be the case. 

A litany of media and entrenched interests push the idea that in-group affinity is a sufficient condition for out-group opposition. But that is not true. At times in Oregon’s history, as will be covered later, a broad definition of the in-group paired with a neutral, if not favorable, regard for the out-group has been achieved. At these times, the state’s emphasis on community-driven decision making has been an asset. 

The early geographic and economic conditions in Oregon reinforced the individualism of the state’s early residents. As mentioned, living on isolated plots built small communities and required self-reliance. Even if these communities proved incredibly adept at farming, the dearth of sufficient transportation options to get goods to market incentivized merely producing enough for you and yours. In turn, Oregonians expected to have control over their produce and labor. Deference to the individual over the collective, at least in the sense of a governed collective, led to the territory's provisional government initially only making tax payment voluntary. Modern regard for the individual took center stage in debates over vaccination exemption policies., Anti-vax advocates voiced arguments that Deady would have recognized: the government is meant to solve market failures, not control daily life; the best decision is a local one; and, formal authority means little when fighting local expertise. Former Governor John Kitzhaber refers to this value as rugged individualism. The rugged aspect of it reflects the willingness of a portion of Oregonians to prefer self-determined hardship over government-based support. Many Oregonians, throughout much of the state’s history, have tended to rank government intervention as a tool of last resort and, even then, expect it to defer to individual preference. 

For many resettlers, Oregon was both a land of individual freedom as well as an oasis. A high regard for Oregon as a place stems from the fact that many Oregonians, past and present, went out of their way to move to the beautiful state. In contemporary times, analysis of in-migration in the U.S. conducted by Michael Stoll, professor of public policy at UCLA, reveals a "longer-term trend" that large numbers of people are moving to Oregon due to a "want for outdoor activity and green space." Oregon has ranked among the most popular moving destinations, as measured by United Van Lines, for the past several years. At the time of the Oregon Trail, overlanders took a gamble of continental proportions in the belief that Oregon possessed Eden-like qualities. When they arrived, resettlers wanted to have their expectations verified. So they decided to see Oregon through a favorable lens. Early resettlers exaggerated the productivity of their pastures. Hyperbolic reports of beets two feet in size, for example, were used to encourage greater settlement in the area. Per William Robbins, who served as a professor of history at Oregon State University, there tends to be a correlation between the level of motivation required to begin a move and the distance and difficulty associated with that move. Unsurprisingly, the long move to Oregon required a high degree of motivation. Journalists willingly provided that motive, describing Oregon as "sublime and conspicuous." Missionaries that moved to the Northwest similarly shared positive news from the Oregon territory in an attempt to attract others. Governor John P. Gaines, who led the state from 1850 to 1853, used his inaugural address to paint Oregon as an Eden beyond the Rockies, “Our fertile valleys, our magnificent forests, our varied and extensive mineral resources, our salubrious climate, and our maritime advantages…” One of Gaines’ eventual predecessors, Governor LaFayette Grover, revived this celebration of Oregon’s promising environment in his 1870 address: “With a soil equal to the best, and a climate of a salubrity and healthfulness enjoyed by none other, with resources for the employment of industry of great variety and extent, it would seem difficult to predict for Oregon anything short of a most successful career." 

Oregonians have since continued to proclaim the merits of the land and to protect it via legislation. Case in point, “[t]he movement for state-mandated planning originated in efforts [in the 1970s] by Willamette Valley farmers to protect their livelihoods and communities from urban engulfment and scattershot subdivisions, with their disruptive effects on agricultural practices.” Many Oregonians have long seen unchecked economic growth as antithetical to perpetuating the state’s bucolic reputation. The state’s constitution writers, for example, often times seemed to be dueling for the title of least business-friendly delegate; a "strong mistrust of corporations," as described by the Oregon State Archives, steered many delegates to the Oregon constitutional convention to limit the rights of corporations, perceived to be "large and uncaring machines of the economy that routinely chewed up farmers and workers." Then and much later (as late as 2013), no one wanted economic development to squeeze out individual Oregonians nor spoil the state’s lands. A survey of Oregonians in 2013 confirmed that the valuation of the environment continues to surpass that of economic development. When asked if they favored (A) Economic growth should be given priority even if the environment suffers to some extent or (B) Protection of the environment should be given more priority even at the risk of slowing economic growth, 57 percent of the respondents selected the latter and only 35 percent picked the former.

These values may shift in the years ahead as non-Oregonians form a greater and greater percentage of the state’s population. Changes in demographics, economic conditions, and political norms help explain how many of the values that have been relatively stable through the state’s history have shifted from being ubiquitously to uniquely held. Consider that from 1969 to 1980, each year brought an average of 38,355 new migrants to Oregon—comparatively, the annual average in the 1950s and 60s was less than 20,000; these large waves of new Oregonians accounted for an average 72 percent of the state's annual population growth in that era. From 1970 to 1980, the percentage of Californian-born Oregon residents jumped by five percentage points (six to 11). Today, more than 14 percent of Oregon residents were born in California and upwards of ten percent were born outside the United States. This non-Oregonian-driven growth has and will continue to result in large cultural changes as more and more residents hold specific values and follow specific ideologies not grounded in Oregon’s own political foundations.

Economic shifts have also disrupted the typical way of doing things. In particular, the collapse of the timber industry in the late 1970s, played a major role in reconfiguring the state’s political and cultural dynamics. With the industry’s decline came a shift in the relationship between Portland (and metro areas in general) and natural resource areas. The timber industry had tied rural communities to exporters in the metro areas of the state. With the decline in natural resource-based employment, opportunities for rural-urban connections dropped. Those opportunities were more than economic exchanges; they also fostered the exchange of values and norms. Timber’s demise finalized the opening of Oregon’s economy. Portland’s exposure to national and international markets and adoption of the non-natural resource economic activities meant that the sense of mutual dependence between Oregonians east and west of the Cascades was gone. 

Social Institutions

Michael Hendrix of the Manhattan Institute argues that, “Social institutions are an emergent phenomena arising out of complex forces in the space between man and the state. Like coral reefs, they are hard to create but easy to kill.” This holds true for the earliest social institutions in Oregon. Malcolm Clark’s summary of the men behind the organization of the state makes clear that the space between man and the state (read government) in early Oregon was as expansive as the High Desert Basin. Support for formal governing structures was low among resettlers; for example, Oregon voters rejected a constitutional convention on three occasions in the 1850s. Animosity toward delegating power to politicians pervaded political discourse. 

The wide berth between resettlers and any notion of a government fostered a high degree of receptivity to social institutions among Oregonians. Residents abhorred formal leadership that threatened to impinge on their rights. But they welcomed institutions that posed little threat to their autonomy while still carrying the potential to fill needs traditionally met by a formal governing authority. For instance, in the wake of several attacks by wolves on domestic animals, resettlers held "The Wolf Meeting" to form a committee charged with decreasing the frequency of the attacks. In the absence of formal governing structures, social institutions formed to meet the untapped demands of residents.

As of the late 20th and early 21st Century, Oregonians continue to display a proclivity for informal institutions where more formal ones may exist elsewhere. When rural Oregonians in timber communities felt forgotten by formal officials, organizations like the Rural Organizing Project formed—harkening back to what Arlene Stein labeled as “the tradition of progressive populism.” Similarly, “human dignity” groups formed around the state and spread the principle of working in small groups to achieve progress at the local level. More recently, as of 2013, fewer than 55 percent of Oregonians expressed a "great deal or fair amount" or trust in their state government—the 17th lowest rate in the U.S.—based on a Gallup poll. This dearth of trust evidences a preference or, at a minimum, a greater willingness to consider informal and grassroots solutions. Even a high level overview of social institutions in Oregon suggests that these organizations are intertwined with the vibrancy and resiliency of the Oregon Way. The correlation between the health of the Way and that of social institutions stresses the importance of correcting the modern downturn in social institutions. It is clear that the documented decline in the strength of contemporary social institutions has impaired the state’s (and nation’s) political culture. 

The rise and fall of one type of social institution—newspapers—illustrates the importance of these entities to the maintenance of a Way, especially Oregon’s Way. Newspapers rapidly developed during Oregon’s early years as a state. The papers served as coordinators of social and economic activity as well as sources of community information. By 1870, a newspaper existed for nearly every political ideology, interest group, and geographic area. The Oregon Statesman in Oregon City acted as the mouthpiece of Democratic puppet master Asahel Bush. The Oregonian, based in Portland and edited by Thomas Dryer, met the informational needs of Whigs and other non-Democrats. Alonzo Leland published the Democratic Standard in the Portland area to cater to the political proclivities of National Democrats. The Oregon Spectator briefly espoused the temperance views of George Abernathy before evolving into the Pacific Christian Advocate. Abigail Scott Duniway oversaw the publication of the New Northwest, which rallied support for suffrage and other issues. And, even southern Oregon—though sparser in population—supported the Table Rock Sentinel, William T'Vaults' rag. Each paper bound a community together and fostered more coordination among disparate interests and individuals. 

The presence of myriad papers does not alone distinguish Oregon from other states. Instead, the difference spawns from the centrality of Oregon papers to influencing political outcomes in the state as well as papers and, later TV, serving as the incubators of the state’s most transformative politicians. A review of The Oregonian's ability to shape politics demonstrates the power of newspapers as social institutions in Oregon. Before the turn of the 20th Century—before the paper was able to reach a truly regional audience, The Oregonian had already amassed substantial influence over the state’s politics. Based on research conducted by Harry Stein, the paper's original editor, Dryer, was able to make the paper a "cultivator of meaning, a tool for literacy, and a builder of reader-identity with place." The paper was a proxy for the stance of the state's Republican leadership, it's "political positions count heavily in shaping public opinion." 

That influence continued even after Dryer ceased to be editor. In fact, many attribute William McKinley's win in Oregon in the 1896 presidential election to the support of the paper. By the turn of the century, The Oregonian solidified itself as a social institution capable of binding people together by embracing technological and editorical advances that allowed the paper to reach and appeal to more people. By 1909, The Oregonian was in the hands of readers within a twelve-hour radius; its wide geographic reach—including to every county in the state and border communities in Idaho, Washington, and California—facilitated an entire region sharing a common source of information and, therefore, a common connection. Note that this type of mass-market reach was relatively rare among newspapers at the time. 

The Oregonian connected people to one another through articles on gossip, sports, local and regional news, and through comics and photographs. The array of content drew “male fans” and “women as stay-at-home consumers.” Over the decades, The Oregonian’s leaders continued to innovate on content and distribution, which enabled the paper to retain its hold on the attention of Oregonians (as well as its regional audience). Case in point, during the Great Depression, The Oregonian placed more resources in its radio station to continue to reach its readers as well as to remain profitable. It follows that well into the 1940s, the paper remained "a force" in the state; the paper’s success in navigating industry changes ensured that it “maintain[ed] its historic identity, reputation, and signature presence in the state’s opinions and affairs.” In contrast to cities and states that had their common source of information disrupted by the Great Depression, the unique influence of The Oregonian continued unabated on through the early 1970s.

Newspapers like The Oregonian did more than just provide a connection through content, they also connected communities to journalists that oftentimes jointly served as political leaders. Oregonian's high regard for and reliance on newspaper and local media shines through a look back at the career of Charles Sprague. After becoming part-owner of the Ritzville Journal Times, Sprague left Washington for Oregon. Once in the Beaver State, he joined the publishing team at the Corvallis Gazette-Times before becoming editor of the Oregon Statesman journal. Then, he became Governor but nonetheless continued to publish the Statesman while in office. The public’s acceptance for this arrangement illustrates their reverence for journalism and its ability to connect with and inform politics. In documenting Sprague's transition from commenting on politics to participating in them, historian Floyd McKay noted that "[e]ditors were known as men of substance in business as well as journalism." In this pre-WWII era of journalism, Sprague acknowledged that "papers were [] ardently committed to causes, and their reporters let their prejudices, or their publishers' prejudices show through." Even after WWII, journalists attained political success in Oregon. As will be more extensively covered later, Richard Neuberger followed the same path as Sprague by turning his stint as a journalist into a political springboard. In Neuberger's case that jump from being one of the "the region's premier journalists," at least in the eyes of Williams Robbins, into the political arena led him all the way to the U.S. Senate.

Perhaps the most emblematic episode of the role of local papers and TV as social institutions and integral pieces of the state’s political culture came in 1962 with Tom McCall’s production of Pollution in Paradise, an exposé of Portland’s deplorable environmental conditions. The documentary, per Robbins, was a "tour de force, pressing home the idea that there was no contradiction between jobs and quality of life in Oregon." Robbins pointed out that "McCall's position as a television commentator helped elevate him" to political office; the documentary was the platform for his emergence as a political figure. Oregonians widely viewed and then responded to the series. McCall’s episodic examinations of egregious environmental behavior played a major role in inciting legislative reforms that would forever change how Portlanders and Oregonians developed their land. This reporting would have fallen on deaf ears had Oregonians not been able to turn to other social institutions to act on McCall’s pleas. The documentary spread like pollen in Lane County—reaching far beyond its origin—thanks to educators and community groups hosting secondary showings. The expanded public awareness of the dismal state of the river directly led to legislative action in Salem. It follows that the health of social institutions in one sector can spill into other sectors; even a single entity can create a virtuous cycle of issue identification followed by institutional mobilization. 

Oregonians were not alone among Americans in building out their social institutions, especially in times of need, but they seemed to create these institutions sooner and join them with greater alacrity than residents of many other states. A quick historical overview of labor movements and their membership rates in Oregon evidences this tendency among Oregonians. As the timber industry and other economic shifts brought more laborers to Oregon in the 1870s, the number of trade unions in the state increased ten fold in the 1880s. What’s remarkable about the strength of unions in the Pacific Northwest isn’t that laborers saw the need to work collectively, it’s that they had to create their own unions rather than join the established ranks of larger, national unions as the American Federation of Labor (AFL). Both workers in lumber camps and sawmills were “paid minimal attention” by the AFL because of their migratory and unskilled traits but, nevertheless, many organizations “formed, renamed, and combined” among workers in the extractive industries of the Pacific Northwest. These unions did more than just unite laborers behind workforce depends; they created newspapers and other affiliated institutions that turned unions into communities. 

Later, in the 1910s and 1920s, the International Workers of the World  (IWW) gained prominence around the nation but especially so in Pacific Northwest. Research conducted by Heather Meyer shows that the IWW was more than just a male-driven organization in Oregon; the IWW in this region included single women and families—what Meyer refers to as “Wobbly teams.” Accordingly, unions such as the IWW came to reach far beyond connecting individuals on labor issues by serving as a means through which individuals of both sexes could “organize, educate, and agitate for social justice.” This wasn’t the case around the nation, where the official IWW line was that the ideal member was a “free-footed Wobbly with no wife or kids to hold him back.” This inclination toward creating and joining social institutions was especially evident during disruptive economic episodes. 

Shortly after the timber industry collapsed in the Great Depression, timber workers rallied together in strikes that evidenced their willingness to form broad collectives. In 1935, approximately half of the timber workers in the region went on strike, representing various unions such as the Sawmill and Timbers Workers Union. It was one of the largest strikes in the region's history. When union chapters in Oregon weren't taken seriously by their national parent organizations, they had no problem leaving those organizations behind and forming their own associations—another show of the loyalty to and faith in social institutions possessed by many Oregonians. Importantly, these unions were not confined to single parts of the state but instead forged connections across the Cascades. 

As a similar sign of strength, even when economic conditions improved, unions thrived in Oregon. Case in point, as of the late 1950s, the International Woodworkers Association united "loggers, truck drivers, millworkers, and other forest product works," according to Cain Allen, "in more than a dozed communities...including Coos Bay, Bend, Eugene, Garibaldi, Klamath Falls, Prineville, Gold Beach, Heppner, Portland, and Roseburg." Today, Oregon still ranks among the top eleven states in terms of union membership, despite the decline in the timber industry.

The willingness of Oregonians to form and join social institutions at times has had deleterious byproducts. Regrettably and horrifically, in the late 1920s, the energy with which Oregonians approached social institutions propped up the Ku Klux Klan across the state. It also allowed for the success of groups such as the Good Government Congress (GGC), which formed in Southern Oregon during the Great Depression. The GGC, per the research of Jeff LaLande, gained strongholds in rural Oregon and especially among the working class residents of Medford. Led by a "demagogic" newspaper published and a "perennially unsuccessful political candidate," the GGC gained national attention as it experienced some electoral success. Eventually, though, "ballot fraud, theft, street violence, and murder" resulted in the demise of the group. As a whole, the GGC episode—"known as the Jackson County Rebellion"—evidenced the speed with which Oregonians will join ranks with one another to form alternative means to fending for themselves in times of trouble. The GGC did not have a lasting impact on the state’s politics nor its economics but the rush to join the organization signified a desire among Oregonians to collaborate and agitate whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Urban Oregonians have similarly joined ranks in difficult circumstances. Portland's neighborhood associations (NAs), which, based on a historical review completed by Michael Mehaffy, are "often cited as an example of the city's strong tradition of participatory democracy," took form in the 1950s. At that time, Portland was "falling into a downward spiral of urban decay." Where the government wasn't taking sufficient action, citizens joined and formed local and regional planning initiatives as well as NAs. As will be covered more extensively later, these NAs brought diverse community members in Portland and beyond together to push for meaningful, long-term changes in the city. 

By the 1970s, the maturation of social institutions came to play a role in cities around the state. Again, nowhere was that more true than in Portland, where social institutions were intertwined with the city’s most recognizable pieces of legislation. “The Portland experience,” as defined by Portland-based historian and professor Carl Abbott, “[with large land use planning and policy making changes] suggests the importance of following such highly visible activities with continued discussion through ongoing newspaper coverage and through conferences, meetings, and specialized publications sponsored by locally based institutions.” Abbott continued, “These institutions might be urban universities, government agencies, or nonprofit advocacy organizations (such as 1000 Friends of Oregon or the Regional Planning Association of New York).” 

This brief review of social institutions in Portland evidences how social institutions can act like an avalanche. When directed toward a good solution, this amplification effect deserves celebration; in the case of Portland’s planning effort, each addition of another social institution brought new voices to the conversation and increased the diversity of the stakeholders. These new participants soon became partners in seeing the effort bear fruit. Notably, though, if the gathering of social institutions is too narrow or misdirected, then the avalanche effect can foster negative outcomes that separate rather than unify people (see the Portland Vice Scandal later in the book). 

Over time the bonding of diverse social institutions around a common cause has waned—diminishing the efficacy of these organizations in weaving a stronger social fabric and in promoting values and enforcing norms across the state. As will be outlined, social institutions in Oregon experienced a shift away from filling the void between (wo)man and state beginning in the late 1970s. Instead of occupying this void, institutions found themselves pulled toward political interests. As party identity became more closely correlated with institutions’ actions and missions, the institutions lost their statewide relevance. As institutions mapped further on to ideological lines, they persisted in their ability to identify values and enforce norms but for much narrower audiences.

The restoration of the Oregon Way requires making social institutions more amenable to compromise and collaboration as well as less involved with partisan priorities and agendas. When social institutions near this normative state, they will serve as better sources of information and superior conveners of people in every corner of Oregon. Abbott summarizes this thought: “Whatever the issue, the need for long-term commitments to a broad public interest argues very strongly for networks of community support that outlast the short term election cycle. Self-conscious coalitions built on shared visions of a community future potentially have the necessary staying power.” This thesis has been tested in modern times. Neighborhood councils in Chicago offer a model for empowering community groups and leaders in a non-partisan, hyper-local format. These councils devolve power usually reserved for elected officials to residents and, as a result, have allowed residents to solve problems without being steered by partisan actors.  Oregonians have designed social institutions like this in the past...and can do so again in the future.

Democratic Processes

A review of speeches from Oregon’s earliest governors reveals their faith in free institutions and citizen-led democratic processes. In the words of Governor John P. Gaines, these institutions and processes acted as a means of preventing "the insidious approaches or open assaults of despotism." Similar sentiments were echoed later in Oregon history during the John Whiteaker administration. Governor Whiteaker set forth the aims of the Oregon government: governing by mutual consent and compromise. These words may seem hollow but Oregonians took them to heart. (Note that Whiteaker held deeply racist views that undermined many of his calls for civic engagement).

As an aside let it be said now and explicitly that Oregon’s racist past is despicable. The origins of Oregon’s racist institutions and their impact on the state’s history as well as modern community members is thankfully receiving necessary attention from contemporary researchers such as David Frank at the University of Oregon. A full account and condemnation of Oregon’s racism will not occur in this book, however I encourage all readers to educate themselves on the topic as well as to learn from those better suited to and better studied in ways in which we can all work together to make Oregon a better place for all individuals to call home.

The story of the first segregated school in Oregon provides an example of compromise while illustrating the power of democratic processes as well as the influence of social institutions on making sure those processes function. William Brown tried to admit his Black children to one of the two public schools in Portland in 1867. When the board of directors rejected his efforts, Brown recruited the cases of sixteen of Black children to present an even more compelling argument to the board. To further bolster his case, he partnered with the local Methodist community to have them lobby the board on the behalf of the children. These actions conveyed the will of the Black community to engage with democratic processes as well as the benefits that can be derived from partnering with social institutions. The board again rebuffed Brown, who then filed a lawsuit against the board. This maneuver forced the reluctant board into a compromise of sorts—they created a segregated school in 1869; just three years later, though, the remaining schools in the district were integrated. Brown’s knowledge of democratic processes and willingness to lean on social institutions resulted in a compromise that eventually led to the desired outcome. 

Fast forward by more than a century after Governor Whiteaker and land in 1973. In that year, Oregonians still subscribed to Whiteaker’s aims—mutual consent and compromise. Abbott records that “the Oregon legislature followed the Progressive era tactic of depoliticizing governmental decisions in the interest of ‘good government’ when it placed the state planning system under an independent commission.” This compromise in the name of empowering civic participation and community-based decision making will be outlined in more detail in later chapters.

The decades between Whiteaker’s comments and Abbott’s observation also contained evidence of pursuing mutual consent and allowing for compromise. In some cases, this meant moving the democratic process out of the hands of overtly partisan actors. The Capitol Reconstruction Commission (CRC), for instance, entrusted a group of citizens with substantial decision making power as partisanship imperiled policymakers from reaching any sort of compromise on the reconstruction of Oregon’s Capitol in the mid-1930s. Even though CRC members were appointed rather than selected through an application process (which would have been a more open approach), the nominators acknowledged the value of bringing in members with a shared love of Oregon but for wildly different reasons. The CRC represented a wide swath of Oregon society (at least by the standards of that era). Governor Martin appointed Edith Waldo Johnson of Salem, World War I veteran Dr. Ernest C. Dalton from St. Helens, and a Baker County farmer by the name of G.A. Marshall. Other members included a Portland union official, a hotel manager from Eugene, the Mayor of Pendleton, the owner of the Bend Bulletin, the chair of the Salem School Board, and the President of the Oregon Fireman Co. 

The CRC wasn’t merely for show; the legislature was counting on them to take meaningful action. This collection of Oregonians recruited an architect, planned and built the new Capitol and oversaw the construction of the State Library. Then, as a sign of duty-focused service, the committee disbanded. McKay recalls that the legislature relied on citizen boards to reach Whiteaker's lofty aspirations in several other periods as well. Legislators established fish and game boards in the 1890s, a labor board in 1903, a forestry board in 1907, a highways board in 1913, and a higher education board in 1929. By bringing the people into policymaking, legislators tacitly admitted that partisan priorities occasionally pushed them away from reaching the compromises Oregonians deserved and expected.

The Oregon variant on governing by mutual consent ties disparate parts of Oregon’s history together. In between the bookmarks set by Governor Whiteaker and Abbott, a unique evolution and refinement of democratic processes took place. But too far beyond the latter bookmark—after the 1980s—the evolution of Oregon’s democratic processes slowed and eventually stagnated. Presently, democratic processes often go abused by a few and unused by most. As one example, citizen boards have grown in number, diminished in power, and achieved limited diversity., , , ,

The celebration of participation was always conditional on the characteristics of the potential participants. In other words, a “citizen” board has only been as inclusive as the definition of citizen has been expansive. In 1865, Governor A.C. Gibbs vocalized this claim. He shared his interpretation of "citizen" in the Oregon Constitution: it "means more than a man [who] has been born and raised in the United States. It implies that he is a law-abiding, loyal man-one who has not forfeited his rights by the commission of any crime.” The loaded word in this definition of citizen is loyal. 

The sort of loyalty flagged by Governor Gibbs tends to be informed by an exclusive perspective. From the viewpoint of the governing class, loyalty throughout Oregon’s history has been heavily tied to duration of residency, respect for and knowledge of Oregon history, and esteem for Oregonian values. It is this definition of loyalty—one grounded in exclusion or Oregon-related expertise, depending on who you ask—that qualifies the degree of openness of Oregon’s democratic processes. Even in the 1970s, politicians only wanted a certain kind of Oregonian to reside in the state and shape its future. Governor McCall encouraged people to visit, but not to stay in the state partially out of a lack of trust in their reverence for Oregon and its way of life. 

High regard for this notion of loyalty has not stopped Oregonians from implementing participatory processes. Shortly after the turn of the century, William U’Ren and the Lewelling family, a particularly politically-engaged family in Oregon, developed the Oregon System. U’Ren was by no means a man trained in statebuilding nor political organizing, yet he was able to rally a broad coalition around the importance of the initiative and referendum. The Lewellings helped turn U’Ren’s passion into actual progress toward these aims. Fueled by a fervent belief in the value of a citizen-led government—"good government being to us, [the Lewellings], what religion is to most people"—the Lewelling homestead became a church for U’Ren’s gospel. 

It was not just activists like U’Ren preaching the populist word. Consider that U’Ren’s efforts were bolstered by the support of someone of a very different station: Jonathan Bourne. Wealthy, powerful, and popular, Bourne represented Oregon in the U.S. Senate from 1907 to 1913. If contemporary norms were applied to this era, it would be surprising to find the established Bourne and activist U’Ren agitating for the same cause. Yet, Bourne deserves a fair amount of credit for instituting the Oregon System. He followed through on a promise to place “principle above party” and adhered to progressive aims even when doing so challenged his political standing. U’Ren championed progressive values throughout the state, sometimes to an extreme bent, while Bourne brought similar values to D.C. For example, he called on the highest officials of all political parties to make sensible reforms—such as the popular election of senators and public disclosure of campaign expenditures—visible parts of their platforms.

Bourne’s list of legislative priorities reveals that Oregonians expected their state and federal leaders to explore means to empower citizens to have more input in their governance. Oregon leaders have met this expectation for most of the state's history. During the 1950s, Governor McKay spotted a flaw in the initiative and referendum—proposals before voters often lacked key information—and set about trying to improve it. His push for including information on spending totals and budgetary sources in all initiatives with financial provisions showed not a disdain for deference to the average Oregonian but rather a desire to equip voters with the knowledge needed to meaningfully contribute. Governor Hatfield brought this same desire to improve and expand democratic processes into the 1960s and 1970s. As Governor, he advocated for pre-election campaign expenditure and contribution reports so that voters could better trace the forces influencing elections. 

The fact that Oregonian elected leaders across time, from Bourne to Hatfield, championed the causes in the same vein of more open, transparent processes does not alone differentiate the state; other states have similarly supported elected officials with common agendas. But the consistency of Oregon’s focus on and progress related to democratic processes that foster civic participation places it on the far end of the nationwide spectrum. The state has long been regarded as a leader in creating and instituting new means for better governance. 

Leaders on both sides of the aisle have fostered this reputation in more recent times. In some cases, they have focused on promoting participation in these processes. In the face of increased incidents of bigotry and hatred in the early 1980s, Governor Atiyeh, a Republican, chastised Oregonians who do not want to get involved because their absence only gives "courage to the lunatic fringe." In other cases, contemporary leaders have overseen the approval of new processes. Under Governor Kitzhaber, a Democrat, Oregonians ushered in vote-by-mail via initiative in 1998. In doing so, voters made the state the first in the nation to conduct all elections by mail. And, in line with the values expressed above, for a long time Oregonians responded to calls to fulfill their civic duties and participate in new processes. For instance, the 2000 presidential election, which Oregon conducted by mail, brought a near nation-leading 67 percent of Oregon voters to the mailbox-based polls. 

Continued refinement of and participation in democratic processes has stalled for most of the 21st century. Some meaningful reforms have taken place, such as automatic voter registration (AVR). But those reforms are often not paired with a reciprocal jump in involvement. Oregon led the nation in implementing AVR, but the corresponding increase in voter registration rates ranked last among the six other states that later pursued AVR. Of Oregonians that registered to vote for the first time and used AVR, only 36 percent actually voted in 2016. Comparatively, of all registered voters, 80.33 percent voted. The disparity in participation may suggest that efforts to make it easier to vote have decreasing marginal impacts on actual participation. Other reforms such as moving to a top-two primary system, which was on the 2014 ballot, have been stymied by partisan Oregon officials despite being touted by good governance experts. The then-Chair of the Democratic Party categorized the proposed primary system change as “the broken primary system.” Monied interests have also blocked campaign finance reform, allowing special interest groups and ultra-wealthy individuals to continue to crowd out the common Oregonian in the battle for electoral influence and impact.

As with social institutions, the contribution of democratic processes to the strength of the Oregon Way has diminished with time and with increasing overlap with partisan institutions. The joint efforts of Republican and Democratic officials to thwart primary and campaign finance reforms illustrates how contemporary officials have wandered from the Way. Democratic processes have become a means for maintaining or establishing control rather than facilitating broader participation. A temporal juxtaposition of officials’ responses to a similar issue—lowering the voting age—reveals the extent to which officials have come to place party outcomes over participatory gains. 

Governor Tom McCall, when given the opportunity to advocate for lowering the voting age during his 1967 inaugural address, made a principled stance: he'd support expanding the right to vote to "sharply qualified, keenly concerned Oregonians", which meant he questioned those opposed to the expansion for unfounded concerns such as being "too young". His support for lowering the voting age was (at least outwardly) based not on forecasted electoral outcomes, but rather the demonstrated capacity of young Oregonians to contribute. A leap to 2019, when Oregon officials again started debates around lowering the voting age, uncovers a different conversation. In the modern version of the same issue, the debate centered around the partisan implications of younger voters more so than the democratic merits of including all Oregonians capable of fulfilling their civic duties. Republican officials, in particular, have labeled attempts to broaden enfranchisement as Democratic gamesmanship and, therefore, refused to substantively engage on the issue. 

Strengthening the fourth leg of the Oregon Way will not come easily. Partisan interests have become the largest defenders of the continuation of current processes that have grown tired and unfulfilling. Meanwhile, experiments in democratic improvement are taking place beyond Oregon’s boundaries. For instance, in Barcelona, Spain, the city government is exploring community-based management of public resources. Similarly, the GovLab at New York University is helping governments around the world form petri-dishes of democratic projects; the Lab worked with the Municipality of San Pedro Garza Garcia in Mexico to test a crowdsourcing platform for gathering and acting on citizen input. In a different era, these sorts of projects may have originated in Oregon. 

It appears that partisan interests, in part, have dissuaded voters from trialing new ways of improving the state’s democracy with smaller scale experiments. Many voters have opted not to test on innovative experiments at the local level. Even social institutions seem more keen to discuss novel ideas for democratic process reforms rather than to help actualize them. Take, for example, the Portland City Club’s advocacy for multi-member City Council districts as a means for improving the representativeness and responsiveness of the City’s government. Though the Club produced a report on the topic and pledged continued research on it, the Club has yet to transition it’s proposal into action by way of working with elected officials and/or candidates for office. Restoring the vibrancy of the democratic processes that sparked the Oregon Way necessitates actively experimenting with and then expanding processes that incentivize non-partisan behavior, foster closer relationships between the community, civic institutions, and officials, and generate qualitative and quantitative feedback from a diverse range of Oregonians. 

Analysis of roots of the Oregon Way, discussed in the next chapter, shows that the Way’s maturation took time and required addressing some despicable flaws that resulted from the nature of Oregon’s resettling. Nevertheless, certain attributes of the state’s resettling population and its leaders readied the state to one day find its Way. Oregon’s task now is to determine which of those attributes it should aspire to update and leverage in pursuit of rediscovering and reinventing its Way.