William L. Spence: Commentary: Idaho Legislature is a reality show, and I'm addicted

Apr. 22—It's been nearly a decade since covering the Idaho Legislature switched from being a job for me to being an addiction.

I remember very clearly the moment it happened.

It was 2014 and proponents of the "guns on campus" bill wanted to talk with the media. I was at my desk in the Capitol newsroom when one of the sponsors came up and whispered, "We're having a press conference in the rotunda." Then she left.

There were several other reporters in the room at the time. I asked if any of them had heard her announcement, but she'd been so quiet none of them even realized she'd been there and gone.

It was like the punchline to a cliffhanger joke: "Lady walks into a newsroom and whispers, 'We're having a press conference.' Then she leaves."

Wha ... ? Why would she do that? The whole point of a press conference is to have the media there. You want reporters to know about it. So why whisper?

It was funny and bizarre, but it also involved one of the most controversial bills of the session, a measure that preempted higher education's authority to regulate firearms and allowed people with enhanced concealed carry permits to bring guns onto campuses as they saw fit.

That one incident pretty much summarizes my impression of the Idaho Legislature: It is at once humorous and absurd, a parody of reason — but one that deals with fundamental rights and policies that can raise or lower the quality of life for an entire state.

And it is ever-changing. A legislative session can be maddening, charming, deadly serious, astonishing, frantic and deliberate, uplifting and pretentious, a comedy and tragedy, sometimes all in the same day, sometimes on the same bill.

It is, to borrow a line from the ever-quotable Winston Churchill, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. It is unlike any other beat I've ever covered.

Local governments, by comparison, are bread-and-butter. County commissioners and city councils usually just focus on getting stuff done. They're scrounging nickels and dimes to pay for basic services; they don't have time for drama.

The Legislature? It's reality TV, man. It's "The Apprentice," "Survivor" and "The Real Housewives of Boise" all rolled into one. You find heroes, villains, scheming, backbiting and factional feuds in pretty much every episode.

And I have to say, the 2021 show has been a prime-time winner so far. It's been a 13-week-long WTF highlight reel.

I mean, killing the teacher pay bill because of "critical race theory," after a yearlong pandemic when parents found out just how hard it is to be full-time teachers? Who saw that coming?

Not to mention the sessionlong hand-wringing over freedom of expression and increasing voter turnout, "let every voice be heard," even as they do everything in their power to make sure the Legislature's opinion about what constitutes good government trumps everyone else's — the public included.

Vote to end Powerball sales in Idaho because Australia might use its share of the revenue for something we don't like? Pass the popcorn and don't touch that dial. What'll they think of next?

But then, just when the tin foil hat brigade seems set to take over the asylum, along comes something like last week's two-hour debate on House Joint Resolution 4.

If you want to see the true heart of Idaho lawmakers, listen to that April 15 floor session. It dealt with a proposed constitutional amendment giving the Legislature sole authority to legalize marijuana, medical marijuana and other illicit drugs.

I defy anyone — in all seriousness — I defy anyone to listen to that debate and not conclude that these are honorable and caring public servants. No matter their position on the bill, they clearly want what's best for Idaho families and communities, and want to do all they can to provide a better future for their kids and grandkids.

It was one of the best debates I've heard in the 13 years I've covered the Legislature.

Rep. Wendy Horman, R-Idaho Falls, shared a story about a Colorado woman who feared for her children after that state legalized marijuana. Then Rep. Mike Moyle, R-Star, talked about going to California and seeing parents smoking joints while pushing baby strollers.

Rep. Judy Boyle, R-Midvale, spoke about being a cancer survivor and voiced her appreciation for Idaho's "right to try" law allowing terminally ill patients to try experimental drugs — a practice that could be jeopardized if HJR 4 were approved.

Boyle also talked about her elderly mother, who got hooked on opioid painkillers and died because of it.

Rep. Mike Kingsley, R-Lewiston, mentioned a constituent who risks her job and freedom every time she drives across the border to Washington to buy medical marijuana to comfort a dying parent.

"We're causing people to be criminals," he said.

Rep. Joe Palmer, R-Meridian, didn't want to debate the resolution, but he knew it was going to be a close vote. So he stood up and started crying almost immediately, talking about his own son's struggles with drugs.

"Let's help the families. Let's support this and do what little we can," he said. "It's going to come, we're going to lose, but let's do our best to at least slow it down and save one, two, some. Don't let other families go through this."

"Wow, this is getting really real," said Rep. Sue Chew, D-Boise.

Yes, it is. The Idaho Legislature is as real as it gets, with all the complexity, humor, frustration, disappointment and redemption that entails.

That's what makes it so addictive.

Spence covers politics for the Tribune. He may be contacted at bspence@lmtribune.com or (208) 791-9168.