Permit a few empathetic words about a nice guy who has landed in a tight political spot, House Speaker Kurt Daudt. He may have landed there of his own volition. But that can't make his position any less uncomfortable.
As special-session talks give way to special-session blues at the State Capitol, plenty of eyes are on the 42-year-old Republican speaker from Isanti County. He's the fellow who on May 22 gaveled the Legislature's regular session to a close without completing action on the year's primo bill, a billion-dollar bonding measure coupled with a few hundred million in cash for highway projects. He spurned that package because the DFL-controlled Senate had added permission for Hennepin County to borrow enough to pay for Southwest light-rail transit.
Minutes later, Daudt asked DFL Gov. Mark Dayton to call a special session to revive the bill he'd just killed, minus the "train to Minneapolis." Dayton wasn't about to do that — not unless the bonding and spending bills are enlarged to Dayton's liking. And not unless a way is found to allow metro rapid-transit construction to proceed on schedule, lest $900 million in federal funding be lost.
Four weeks and one tax bill veto later, that's pretty much where things still stand. DFLers say they are waiting for Daudt to bring them a new offer. None has come.
That's likely because any move in Dayton's direction would bring Daudt trouble with his GOP base. It would embolden rivals in his caucus who already covet his job, and hand an issue to Daudt's primary-election opponent Alan Duff, a conservative who once served with Daudt on the Isanti County Board. Hard-right critics were already circulating anti-Daudt fliers at the GOP state convention on May 21 because the speaker backed an $800 million bonding bill they deemed too large. (It failed to pass the House because it was too small.)
But sitting tight is also risky. No special session would mean no tax cuts, no building projects and no new money for transportation. It would mean facing the voters with little to show for two years of GOP House control. That could cost House Republicans their majority and Daudt his gavel — especially in a presidential election year, which traditionally brings more DFL voters to the polls.
Last week, Daudt sounded like a speaker who's honing his talking points for a decision to stand pat.
"Our offer is the [tax and bonding] bills that passed the House," he said Friday. "Those bills were already compromise bills. They are absolutely mainstream. If we don't get them, we won't be the ones to take the blame for that. We are getting no pressure to change our position."
But a "do-nothing" legislative outcome is never easy to defend — either in this year's legislative contests or in a statewide race in 2018. The Capitol has buzzed for months about Daudt's growing interest in running for governor. (Dayton has said he won't seek a third term.)
Speakers before Daudt have found that it's tough to run for governor as a legislative leader who is associated with prolonged gridlock, or who compromised with the other party, or who as his party's legislative campaign general lost the majority. But truth be told, it's hard for a speaker to be elected governor under any circumstances. Through 158 years of statehood, only one sitting speaker made the leap to the governor's office — William R. Merriam in 1888.
Just hanging on to the speaker's job is tough enough. Daudt is the 11th person to occupy the big chair at the front of the House chamber in the past 30 years.
I asked three former speakers about the job's political downside.
"People say the speaker's job is the second-most-powerful in the state. It may be the most interesting one politically," said Margaret Anderson Kelliher, DFL speaker from 2007 through 2010 and unsuccessful 2010 gubernatorial candidate. That's because a speaker leads — and is accountable to — multiple overlapping constituencies. The speaker is the leader of his or her caucus; of the House; of his or her party, and at times, of the entire Legislature. A speaker needs the support of voters in his or her district, plus voters statewide.
Establishing those bases of support is hard enough. But then a speaker must govern, and given Minnesota's penchant for divided state government, that means compromise — moving toward the governor and the Senate and convincing all those constituencies to move apace.
"You are always negotiating internally with your caucus to bring people along," Kelliher said. "It's inevitable —there's going to be disappointment. The trick is to disappoint your followers at a rate at which they can accept."
The state's second-longest-serving speaker concurred. "The speaker's position is not a good springboard for higher office," said Republican Steve Sviggum, speaker from 1999 through 2006. "You can't be as hard-line philosophically as either the left or the right in the two parties would want you to be. If you don't compromise, there's no moving ahead. But when you compromise, you are disappointing some people."
They declined to share their advice for the current one, citing an unwritten pact of mutual respect among former speakers. Kurt Zellers, Republican speaker in 2011-12 and unsuccessful gubernatorial candidate in 2014, came closest. "It's well worth working toward a special session. The bonding bill has projects of real merit that meet real needs," Zellers said.
Columnists aren't as reticent: Mr. Speaker, please don't be guided by calculations about how best to hang on to the slippery speakership or to run for governor in 2018. You have a here-and-now opportunity to do what's best for Minnesota's future. Make that your aim, and no matter what comes next, you'll have the satisfaction of having served your state well.
Lori Sturdevant, an editorial writer and columnist, is at lsturdevant@startribune.com.
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