Gavin Newsom Wants to Be Governor of California. Would You Hire Him?

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Polarizing Figure: During Newsom's first campaign for mayor, he has burned in effigy by gay activist who accused him of turning against the city's poor. Photograph by Creative Commons

"It seems that all my friends are running for governor," says Marc Benioff, CEO of San Francisco -- based Salesforce.com. Benioff, whose grandfather was a city supervisor largely responsible for the BART transportation system, says gubernatorial candidate Jerry Brown is a family friend; they have the same yoga teacher. "And Meg is a friend. I'll be contributing to both campaigns." (He adds, however, "As a CEO of a company in San Francisco, I have trouble supporting a candidate who is pro -- Prop 8 [which banned same-sex marriage in California]. It's just too difficult for me. I have so many employees and friends who are gay, and I've seen how that proposition has just ripped them apart.") But Benioff sees a winner in Newsom. "He is incredibly bright and understands the issues," Benioff says, noting that, unlike previous mayors, Newsom has made a serious effort to address the city's significant homeless problem. He concedes that the controversies around the mayor's personal life have been a distraction -- "but he deals with them really well." Where others criticize Newsom's trips to Davos, Benioff sees an upside: "He works well with other leaders around the world. They support him."

Newsom has begun tapping a committed fan base outside the state. In early May, he attended a fund-raiser at Halo, a gay bar in D.C. Hailed as a "straight ally" for gay civil rights, he told a story about a time not so long ago when it was illegal in 16 states for blacks and whites to marry. "The history of the rights movement has never been defined because the majority decided casually the fate of minorities," he said. "It's been decided historically because the courts have protected the rights of the minorities from the whims of the majority." It's not hard to imagine similar rhetoric about the tyranny of the California voter -- mandating funds for specific programs, blocking taxes to pay for other essential services, and, in Newsom's view, taking away the rights of minorities with initiatives like Prop 8 -- being melded into his stump speech.

This is one of the ironies of San Francisco politics: Many of the same people who adore Newsom now hated him just a few years ago. The first fight was over the controversial Care Not Cash program he proposed as a city supervisor, which limits cash payments to the poor, providing services instead. "My idea was that we were hardly solving anybody's problems and abdicating responsibility by handing over cash and walking away," he says. "That hardly seemed compassionate." The outcry from mostly liberal (and gay-activist) camps was swift. He was accused of turning his back on the poor. "People forget that they literally shut down the streets and burned my body in effigy," he recalls. Fliers were distributed with his address, and he was harassed at all hours of the day and night. "I had to sell my home!" The program, which had its fifth birthday on May 3, has had mixed results, but, says Newsom, "We've seen an 82% decline in the [homeless] caseload." Some 2,600 people have been housed, and some 700 more have found housing on their own. (San Francisco remains a mecca for the homeless; according to the most recent city survey, 40% of the homeless have been there for less than three months, and total numbers, down dramatically since 2002, have edged up over the past two years.) Recalling the bitter fight to get Care Not Cash approved, Newsom re-creates his rallying cry, one that will surely come in handy in the days ahead: "I kept saying, 'Don't assume me wrong; prove me wrong.' "

Shortly before I met with the mayor in May, the Civil Grand Jury, an annual performance review peculiar to San Francisco and conducted by citizen volunteers, tried to do just that. Among other things, the Grand Jury urged him to start "managing the city by the numbers, rather than just publicizing those favorable to him." Newsom is still incredulous at the criticism, pointing to his insanely detailed State of the City address, seven-and-a-half hours' worth on YouTube, as proof that he shares all information, good and bad. "We use statistics and measurements, and organize our department meetings around real-time information," he explains, something he calls his "accountability matrix," which he says he stole from New York's Mike Bloomberg. "And we grade ourselves first." Ultimately, he says, bristling, "I don't think they understand how you govern a city."

Then he dismisses the Grand Jury report with a wave. "You walk down the street and six out of seven folks are going to be saying, 'What's up, Mayor? Thanks for everything!' And the seventh says, 'You make me sick to my stomach. I can't believe you're the mayor.' It used to be the other way around." Pointing out the window, he says, "I can give you 10 public-policy things we did in this square block alone."