By Cassi Feldman

TURN TO CHANNEL 26, a cable television station dedicated to the day-to-day business of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, and here's what you're likely to see: A man. A white man. A white man talking for a really long time.

It's probably not the image voters had in mind when they decided to bring back district elections. Starting in 2000, it was touted as a way to create a more diverse and independent board. Since candidates would represent smaller geographic areas, they wouldn't need to raise much money or have friends in high places. They'd be a better reflection of the neighborhoods.

To a great extent, it worked. Tired of runaway development and insider deals, the city elected a slew of community leaders who vowed to stand up to Mayor Willie Brown. But in the process, something went awry: voters ushered in 10 men and only one woman.

"It's an outrage," said state assemblymember Carole Migden, who served on the board from 1991 to 1996. "The vigilance of the progressive guard and its adherence to equity have fallen woefully short."

And don't think the city's conservative forces haven't noticed. They would be more than happy to see a return to the old pro-business status quo. "There's a profound disconnect between what San Francisco is about and what the board looks like," said Nathan Nayman, executive director of the Committee on Jobs, a downtown lobbying group. "What district elections is showing is that it has not lived up to the hype."

But not everyone is ready to give up just yet. All over the city, small groups of women and community activists are looking for ways to rewrite the book on electoral politics. In the process, they're raising some serious questions: Who decides what qualities a good supervisor should have? Why don't more women want the job?

They have their work cut out for them. With the Aug. 9 filing deadline less than two weeks away, 34 candidates have announced their intention to run for supervisor in November – and 25 of them are men.

The role of gender

Maybe it shouldn't matter. According to a 1994 poll by David Binder Research, the majority of San Franciscans – about 66 percent – reported that gender does not affect the way they vote.

Most of the women we interviewed said a candidate's politics should trump all other concerns. "I'm much more interested in having a board that has certain principles and a commitment to social justice," said Margaret Brodkin, executive director of Coleman Advocates for Children and Youth. "Maybe I'm not a good feminist in that respect."

Others seemed reluctant to discuss women's interests apart from those of other underrepresented groups. Certainly, women aren't the only ones missing from the current board. In a city that's 31 percent Asian, for example, there is only one Asian American supervisor.

But taken as a whole, the problem of fair representation becomes overwhelming – and harder to change. "It always happens when people aren't looking," said Debra Walker, president of the Harvey Milk Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Democratic Club. "They start out with good intentions, and then it falls apart. If nobody fights, it's just status quo, which is predominantly male, predominantly white."

And that's not just in San Francisco. Only 13 out of 100 U.S. senators are women, as are a mere 60 out of 435 U.S. representatives.

"Generally, it's harder for women to raise money," said Janet Harris of Emily's List, an organization that campaigns for pro-choice Democratic women. "They're not part of the old boys' network, not part of the political establishment. One of the hardest things for women to do early in their race is show that they're viable."

Back-Scratching 101

Money is a key to success, but so are endorsements. Until recently the San Francisco chapter of the National Women's Political Caucus was the only one in the state that recommended men. According to NWPC secretary Helynna Brooke, its members felt that the power to endorse gave them more clout when it came time to pass woman-friendly legislation. But, Brooke said, they took it too far, recommending men over women in key supervisorial races (see District Elections Notebook, 9/27/00).

Dismayed that the chapter had strayed from its mission, the state NWPC threatened to yank its charter if it didn't stop backing men. The local chapter acquiesced, but most of its board members quit and formed a separate group, the San Francisco Women's Political Committee. Brooke stuck with the NWPC. "We sell ourselves too cheap," she said. "Until we have some parity, we need to work hard to recruit and train and elect women."

In a 2001 study the Center for American Women and Politics, a nonpartisan think tank based at New Jersey's Rutgers University, found that having more women in Congress increases the focus on issues such as education, health care, and domestic violence.

That's proof positive that gender does matter, said Mary Hughes, one of the few female political consultants in the city. She points out that while San Francisco has an impressive record of electing women to federal and state offices, it seems to have slipped locally.

There are only three female elected officials in City Hall: Sup. Sophie Maxwell, Treasurer Susan Leal, and Assessor Doris Ward. The school board, traditionally a women's realm, has only one female member out of seven; the community college board has only two of seven.

Berkeley, in contrast, has seven female supervisors a female city attorney, city auditor, and mayor.

Why is San Francisco lagging? "I think women are practical about solving problems," Hughes said. "I don't think they see City Hall as a source of solutions."

Sophie's voice

Sup. Sophie Maxwell might disagree. We asked the 51-year-old former electrician if she ever found it difficult to be a woman on a board full of men. "No," she said. "Not at all."

Amid a sea of men in black suits at the board's inaugural meeting, she wore a gold-and-brown African print jacket, giant earrings dangling against her neck. "Somebody said, 'You're the only woman,' " she announced proudly. "Well, I said, 'I'm going to look big, I'm going to look strong, I'm going to be blacker than everything else, so when they look up here, they can see.' "

But a year and a half later, some say they're not seeing all that much. While Maxwell has introduced major environmental and health legislation, certain "women's issues" – things such as prostitution, parental leave, and education – were addressed more often by her male colleagues.

Even Maxwell admits that Sup. Chris Daly has been a standout. "I don't know if a woman could be more sensitive to women's issues and to the elderly," she said.

Maxwell herself rarely garners such praise. "She's a disappointment," one activist said, speaking on the condition of anonymity. "She hasn't really taken the lead on a lot of things." Others note that Maxwell is often quiet in committee hearings, less likely to ask questions or to argue than the men on the board.

Maxwell admits that her communication style is different and somewhat less aggressive, but she doesn't see that as a shortcoming. "I think the way things get expressed is different," she said. "Some men think they have to convince everyone that they're right. They take things so personally."

And though she'd like to see more women on the board for the sake of camaraderie, she said there's not much stopping them from being there. "After the race, I started looking at who ran and what did they have and what didn't they have," she said. "The men were very engaging people. Were [the women] engaging? Had they been active in their communities?" If women want to get on the board, she said, they "need to be more politically involved."

Doing the dirty work

It's hard to imagine anyone more politically involved than Renee Saucedo, director of the Day Labor Program. A small woman with a big voice, she's right up front at rallies, screaming into a mic. But Saucedo doesn't think it's that easy for a woman, even one as outspoken as herself, to jump into city politics.

"Sexism is alive and well," she said. "Women leaders are treated differently than their male counterparts. There are so many women of color who do fantastic work in our community. What are we doing to make elected office an option for them?"

Evidently not very much. Of all the women interviewed for this story, few could imagine themselves ever wanting to run for supervisor.

"It's not in women's nature to talk about themselves and to campaign to the detriment of another candidate," said attorney Julie Soo, who ran unsuccessfully for the Democratic County Central Committee in November.

Krea Gomez, a family advocate with the Homeless Prenatal Project, agrees. She said that even in community organizing, men and women often take on different roles. "Yes, I do the groundwork; yes, I do a lot of the pushing and pulling to get things done," she said. "But I wouldn't take the leadership role unless I had to."

Others point out the actual job of supervisor might be harder for a woman, especially if she's a mom. While there is a child care center in City Hall, it costs as much as $1,285 a month, and there are 150 kids on the waiting list. A supervisor's pay – currently $37,500 – isn't enough to support a family.

"It's hard to be in the political life if you're the primary caregiver in your family," said Martina Gillis, executive director of the Coalition for Ethical Welfare Reform. "We need to be more accommodating to a mother's schedule and make sure that child care issues don't prevent women from participating in the process."

First aide?

But even single women seem reluctant to run for public office. Many we talked to say the culture of City Hall feels decidedly male. "Under the current way of doing things, you have this club of men who make these backroom decisions about who should run and who'll support whom," Saucedo said. "Everytime I go to City Hall, the majority of aides I see are men."

Each of the 11 supervisors has two aides, one who generally does the bulk of the legislative work and one who does more scheduling and acts as a community liaison. While each office divides work differently, only one woman is generally considered a top, legislative aide: Bronwen Trice, who works for Sup. Gerardo Sandoval. Interestingly, Trice doesn't see herself that way. When we asked her about it, she was quick to note that she and her colleague Boris Delepine share their work equally.

Two of the supervisors – Matt Gonzalez and Mark Leno – have all-male offices. Some would argue that it shouldn't matter as long as the most qualified person gets the job. But would Daly have introduced a charter amendment calling for paid parental leave if his aide Rachel Redondiez didn't have a baby this year? "I like to think that it's something I would do anyway," Daly said. "But to be honest, I probably wouldn't have thought about it."

Determined to learn more about life under the gilded dome, we called each of the female aides and asked them to attend a group interview about being a women in City Hall. The reaction was generally the same: "Oh, I'm glad you're doing that," followed quickly by "you can't quote me."

Off the record, several of the women said that working in government isn't easy. Those who survive tend to have big egos, one said, "very big egos."

For men, such egos often lead to higher office. Two members of the current board are running for state assembly, and no fewer than five have been rumored to be running for mayor. In the past women have also used city office as a stepping stone (think Dianne Feinstein) but few are positioned to do that now.

"We kid ourselves," one female aide said. "We think we're a liberal city. But how does someone get picked and groomed? Who decides?"

In order to be taken seriously, another said, women have to behave more like men. Her colleague agreed: "You gotta strap one on and go in the hallway and lobby."

At the same time, the aides noticed a certain advantage, too. Because they are women, they said, their male bosses are careful to listen when they speak. And even if they aren't the ones making deals, they are often the ones making a difference. As one explained, "I don't need to have a title to be able to find solutions."

Perhaps that's why none of the female aides we spoke with – not a single one – wants to run for supervisor.

Sex change

It's not a good sign. If even the women drawn to work in City Hall don't want to run for office, then what woman would?

Lynne Newhouse Segal, a candidate for supervisor in District Two, hopes November's election will help shift the balance of power. "In San Francisco we have these very high-level women officials, and we are lulled into this sense of complacency," she said. But on a local level, "we have a paucity of women elected officials. Looking at the board makes me feel like there's a real need for me and my voice"

That also helped motivate Eileen Hansen, who narrowly lost the District Eight seat in 2000, to try again. "I'm not a supporter of identity politics," she said, "but we need to look at what a woman might do for a community versus what a man might do."

For her part, Hansen helped form the Progressive Alliance, a group trying to level the playing field for both women and people of color.

Meanwhile, in the Mission District, Saucedo and other neighborhood activists are developing a new process for selecting supervisors. Since Board of Supervisors president Tom Ammiano will likely run for mayor in 2003, they will soon have a slot to fill. Rather than wait to see who steps forward, she said, they plan to hold town hall-type meetings where the community could contemplate different candidates. Only if she were chosen by her peers would Saucedo herself consider a run.

There's a certain irony in the fact that "it takes a village" to elect a woman supervisor. But if that's what it takes, maybe it's time for the village to get political. If not, district elections could easily be overturned.

"It's not just about electing women," Hansen said. "It's about electing women and people of color who are truly community representatives as opposed to women and people of color who are tools of the political machine."

Research assistance by Desiree Evans.