Jerry Brown was the youngest man to ever serve as governor of California. After leaving office, he embarked on a peripatetic career that included studying with Mother Teresa, hosting a radio show and lecturing a UC Berkeley class (Regarding the title of Hillary Clinton’s book, “It Takes a Village,” he deadpanned to the students: “Doesn’t it give you a warm fuzzy?”).
Brown then jumped back on the political hamster wheel, running successfully for mayor of Oakland and state attorney general and, finally, becoming the oldest man ever to serve as governor of California.
You’d think the notion of strict term limits would be an anathema to a four-time governor. You’d be right, but not for the reasons you’re expecting.
In June, San Franciscans will weigh in on Proposition B; voters last week began receiving their mail ballots. While city supervisors and mayors must, presently, sit out for four years before running for potential third and fourth terms, Prop. B would install a lifetime cap of two terms, full stop.
Since term limits were imposed on San Francisco supervisors nearly 36 years ago, only one has ever served more than two terms. And if you can’t guess who it is, Gov. Brown will tell you.
“This is not complex,” he says. “This is all directed at one person in San Francisco: Aaron Peskin. People are giving hundreds of thousands of dollars because they’re worried he will support policies they don’t like.”
“You have a Trumpian move, almost something you might expect from Putin,” Brown continues. “One person is identified and barred from democratic participation. It’s a major abuse of the democratic process.”
“People say this is a solution looking for a problem. But it’s a solution looking for a problem that already happened: You’re a decade late, dude. I had my fun.”
Aaron Peskin on Prop. B
The present term-limit system was passed in June 1990 and was in effect for the election of November 1990. The political consultant Jim Stearns undertook an analysis of all the mayoral and supervisorial contests since that time. Factoring out runoffs, which were in place until the adoption of ranked-choice voting in 2002, 109 candidates ran for mayor and 587 ran for the Board of Supervisors (120 citywide, 467 in the districts). So that’s nearly 700 candidates in the course of not quite 36 years.
Of those, only two had served two or more terms in office before seeking an additional term: Peskin (he won) and John Avalos (he didn’t). Doing the math, Prop. B would’ve affected not quite three-tenths of one percent of the candidates running for office since November 1990.
Absent its function as the Aaron Peskin Privatization Act, it’s difficult to parse just what problem Prop. B is purporting to solve.
Prop. B is Supervisor Bilal Mahmood’s legislation. He insists that it has nothing to do with Aaron Peskin. He insists that it’s simply a “good government measure” to clarify “voter intent” and close a “loophole.”
Mahmood’s persistent repetition of the term “loophole” does not pass the Inigo Montoya test: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
He insists that because in 1990 this was pitched as the “eight years is enough” measure and because some ballot arguments and media coverage simply stated it would impose a two-term limit, that voters made assumptions. This is the so-called loophole.
But any voter who actually looked at the brief description atop the June 1990 ballot would see that it clearly stated “Shall persons be prohibited from serving more than two consecutive four-year terms on the Board of Supervisors, and be prohibited from serving as a Supervisor again until four years have elapsed…?”
Within the official argument for the 1990 measure was the following line: “Former supervisors may run for office again after 4 years.”
So there was no ambiguity here. And no loopholes.
Mahmood insists that Prop. B will create new opportunities for new leadership. That’s a hell of a claim for a measure that would’ve been irrelevant for 99.7 percent of the candidates who ran for the board or mayor over the past three-and-a-half decades. It’s also an amazing thing to say when the mayor and four of the six supervisors elected in the latest cycle had never before held office.
Here’s a thought: If Mahmood and fellow Prop. B supporter Supervisor Matt Dorsey were truly committed to opening up the limited number of San Francisco elected positions to up-and-comers, perhaps they should resign the seats they simultaneously hold on the Democratic County Central Committee. You know, get some “new blood” in there.
Mahmood noted that in pushing Prop. B, he and his fellow supes were “holding ourselves accountable. … It limits my ability to serve a third term.”
Hold on there, champ — Mahmood hasn’t yet been elected to a second term. And his legislation would not keep, say, Dean Preston from giving him another run in 2028.
When told that only two politicians have attempted to run for additional terms out of nearly 700 candidates, Mahmood noted that former District 2 supe Michela Alioto-Pier is exploring her possibilities.
Stop the presses: Add her in and the relevancy ratio grows from 0.29 percent to 0.43 percent.
Prop. B has, thus far, raised nearly $347,000. That includes $200,000 from crypto billionaire Chris Larsen and $50,000 from billionaire retired VC and San Francisco Standard founder Michael Moritz, who have become two of Mayor Daniel Lurie’s most ardent backers. SF Believes, a PAC with Lurie ties, has also kicked in $20,000.
San Francisco’s tech barons and the political organizations they foster have no fondness for Peskin. Moritz in 2024 penned a New York Times op-ed laying the blame for decades of city mismanagement on him, labeling Peskin the chief zealot in a “coterie of longstanding political zealots.” The billionaire wrote in his op-ed that “Democrats like me” were “fighting to take the city back.” That part of his jeremiad, at least, seems to be indisputable.
Our messages to both Larsen and Moritz querying why they donated to Prop. B were not answered. Surely it’s just a “good government measure” to clarify “voter intent” and close a “loophole.”
Unlike the Chronicle, which inveighed against Prop. B in a particularly sharply worded editorial, Mission Local cannot do endorsements. As a nonprofit, we cannot tell you how to vote. You can vote however you wish for whatever reason you wish; you can, like my high school chemistry teacher used to say, make a pretty pattern with the bubbles you fill in on the sheet.
We would be surprised if fewer than 60 percent of voters went for Prop. B — voters like term limits. Regardless, Mission Local can’t tell you what to do.
But we’re under no obligation to keep mum when city officials piss on your leg and tell you it’s raining.
Jerry Brown is 88 and he doesn’t have time for any of the arguments from Bilal Mahmood or other Prop. B supporters.
“Look, that’s just a cover story,” he says. “There is only one operative motive here: Keep Peskin out to please some very well-heeled contributors. I’m not even sure the supervisors are the leaders. They may be the pawns, too.”
Peskin, meanwhile, says he has no plans to run for office against Supervisor Danny Sauter in 2028. But, to be fair, Peskin had no plans to re-enter public life in 2015 either and only did so after a concatenation of strange and terrible events.
“People say this is a solution looking for a problem,” he says of Prop. B. “But it’s a solution looking for a problem that already happened: You’re a decade late, dude. I had my fun.”
With 17 years, Peskin is the longest-serving district supervisor and, if Prop. B passes, that title likely becomes permanent. In the pre-term limits days a little-remembered at-large supervisor named Dewey Mead served from the mid-1930s to the mid-1950s. In the present day he doesn’t even merit a Wikipedia page.
“I spent 17 pretty intense years working 17 or 18 hours a day,” Peskin says. “It’s pretty nice living, I don’t want to say stress-free, but a vastly stress-reduced life.”
“It’s nice being able to walk down the street and not be barraged by 20 different people asking for 20 different things, 10 of which are intractable problems.”
Actually, that’s not entirely true. Even out of office, gobs of North Beach Frank Capra characters stop Peskin on his walks to and from Caffe Trieste; some even hand him sheaves of paper from the planning department or building department notices of violation and ask him how to extricate themselves from trouble.
Yes, Peskin admits, that’s still happening. “But now,” he says, “I just give them Danny Sauter’s number.”