The beauty of a representative democracy is that each year when the legislature convenes, we bring perspectives from across the state under one roof. My hope for this session is that each of my colleagues, Republican and Democrat, from rural areas to the cities, can engage in roundtable discussions where each voice is valued and holds equal weight.
…No matter how disheartening it may be to see bill after bill killed by our counterparts, adhering to our values and principles and carrying this with resolve into our work is our main objective.
— from a press release from Ty Winter, new Colorado House Assistant Minority Leader
Despite the beauty of a representative democracy, it must indeed feel a bit disheartening to be an “Assistant Leader”… and worse, an “Assistant Minority Leader”…
…and worse yet, an Assistant Minority Leader for the Republican Party that’s hopelessly outnumbered in the Colorado Legislature in 2024, when things aren’t looking nearly so dismal for Republicans on the national scene.
I can easily imagine a person like Rep. Ty Winter wishing he served in the Texas Legislature, where the shoe seems to be be on the other foot, and it’s the Democrats who get disheartened as they see bill after bill killed by their counterparts.
What’s harder to imagine is the Colorado Legislature functioning like a roundtable discussion where each voice is valued and holds equal weight. I can sooner imagine unicorns grazing in my backyard.
Rep. Winter first joined the Legislature last year, and he’s reportedly a fourth-generation cattle rancher, representing a House district full of cattle ranchers. He also operates a funeral home with his mother. These both strike me as rather peaceful lines of work. Not a lot of disheartening activities take place, typically. Although that could change, if Colorado keeps re-introducing wolves. (I’m referring to a cattle ranch, not a funeral home.)
From what little I understand about legislatures, though, they are meant to function less like a funeral home and more like a battlefield — with two opposing armies clashing over ways to best control and direct a poorly-informed citizenry hell-bent on holding onto whatever rights they might have left, while at the same time pleading for protection from ruthless corporations, drug dealers, corrupt politicians, and an education system trying to indoctrinate our children with a universal math curriculum.
Another metaphor might be opposing football teams. When the Democrats have the ball, the only thing the Republicans can do, really, is try and prevent a touchdown.
Not a very good metaphor, however, when the 2024 Colorado Legislature has 68 Democrats and 31 Republicans. (I’ve noticed that Colorado has been leaning more Democratic ever since marijuana was legalized. Maybe a connection there?)
I didn’t play football in high school. I was small and skinny, and not very fast. But I wrote about the games for the school newspaper. Other kids had to pay 50 cents for a seat in the bleachers, but I got in free. (The money was used for uniforms and equipment, I was told.) My point being, I didn’t understand how football actually works, seen from the inside, but I eventually got pretty good at describing it from a spectator’s point of view. So I can say, rather definitively: if one of the teams were allow to put 68 players on the field, and the other team was allowed only 31, the final score would obviously reflect an imbalance.
Rather than feel disheartened — which will be so easy for Colorado Republicans to feel in 2024 — an Assistant Minority Leader could take the advice of my dear old father:
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
Translation: Colorado Republicans, let go of your identity as the Opposition Party and help the Democrats. God knows, they seriously need help.
Otherwise you might as well buy the 50 cent seats up in bleachers, with the rest of us.
(Except my seat is still free.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.