How I Became a Citizen Redistricting Commissioner

God gave me a love for geography, demographics, and balance. That paved the way for me to a fulfill a unique civil service.

By Russell Yee

How does a quiet, private, apolitical teacher, sometime preacher
aspire to be a voting district partitioner, a statewide redistricting commissioner?
Why does he decide to go public with his relations, money, work, ideas, and affiliations?
In all his life, never a campaign bumper sticker, lawn sign, or partisan Facebook endorsement
Raised to lay low, mind his own business—such was his cultural reinforcement
But now he wants to make the State’s biz his
Why?

--Excerpt from Russell’s “A Non-Partisan Map Artisan,” inspired by Hamilton

O

n August 26, from my home in Oakland, California, I raised my hand via Zoom to take the oath of office to became one of fourteen 2020 California Citizens Redistricting Commissioners. It was the end of a year-long, seven-round process that began with over 20,000 applicants.

I’d never aspired to anything political before, or pursued such a long shot, or shared so much about myself in an open, public process. Our work will likely be among the most laborious things I’ll ever do.

So, what motivated me, at age fifty-nine, to pursue something so new, risky, and daunting?

A century ago my grandparents immigrated from southern China and settled in Oakland, where my parents, and then my brothers and I were all born and raised. We attended public schools, and I now live near the middle school where my wife and I met in seventh grade. I came to faith at my family’s Chinese Baptist church, trusting in the good news of Jesus’ love and message of sin and salvation, which remain my hope today.

I was raised to be law abiding, read the paper daily, vote in every election, and be a good neighbor. But we did not otherwise get involved in public matters (i.e. other people’s business). I was taught to value personal and family responsibility, financial prudence, academic achievement, and respect for authority. Based on such values, and that being the Cold War era, we were a Republican household.

My world broadened when I joined the board of our local Habitat for Humanity. Then the church plant I pastored became American Baptist because our members valued that denomination’s commitment to both evangelism and social action. Habitat and my former church became part of my life through fairly happenstance events—a chance conversation, a passing job posting. I think our political views often owe as much to circumstances as deeply considered principles.

For almost two decades now I’ve been part of an Evangelical Covenant church in Oakland, wrestling with matters of faith and social justice, class and race, cultural contextualization, community redevelopment, crime and safety, recovery, re-entry, and homelessness. Our church members vary widely in how to relate “giving the cup of cold water” with “naming the name of Jesus.” It gets uncomfortable, and we’ve lost members from the left and right.

While my journey has expanded, I still embrace my roots. I have a deep longing for balance. Differing views usually exist for good reasons. The best way forward often involves listening to each other, having the humility to self-critique and learn, and looking to a final result that may be different from what any of us initially wanted. I strongly resist simply “falling in” with this or that side.

Yet too much is at stake right now to do nothing: the American experiment feels truly at risk. Could there be a way of being on everyone’s side? To work together constructively in an actual bi- or nonpartisan way? And could there even be a way to use my interests in history, geography, and demographics?

I voted for the 2008 and 2010 California propositions that formed the Citizens Redistricting Commission. Citizen redistricting sounded like a really great idea, especially compared to legislator gerrymandering. Through all previous five election cycles (2002-10), only one California congressional seat changed parties, and only two incumbents lost in all 253 races. We also had a recalled governor; heavy-handed term limits; and yearly crippling budget deadlocks. Something had to change.

Kathay Feng of Common Cause authored the 2008 proposition, which squeaked by with the support of then-governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. The first Commission in 2010 was a total high-wire act under extreme time pressure. The commissioners had less than eight months to hire a staff; operationalize the 2010 Census data; hold three dozen public hearings across the most populous, diverse state in the union; apply the Voting Rights Act; draw draft maps and incorporate feedback; and then agree on the final maps with all 177 voting districts (53 congressional, 80 state assembly, 40 state senate, and 4 board of equalization).

There were many ways to fail and interests that wanted them to fail. But they made their deadline and their efforts are now widely considered a success.

In July 2019, I applied for the 2020 Commission. Being from a non-political family helped me avoid all conflict-of-interest disqualifications. Submitting my Form 700 public financial disclosures felt new and risky, but doing so was required. I made the pool of 120 interviewees, then the 60 who went to the state legislature for their review (their only role in the whole process), and then, somehow, the 35 finalists.

The first eight commissioners were picked by lottery on July 2, 2020. Sometimes the will of God comes down to bingo balls--and the will of God was for me to wait another month for the selection of the last six members.

My hopes ran thin. One of the first eight commissioners was also a Republican from Alameda County, so that alone seemed to eliminate me. But somehow my name kept appearing in most of the proposed slates, fitting into the needed mix of party, geography, racial diversity, and overall fit. On August 7, just over a year after first applying, a slate including me passed. I was in.

The author’s swearing in as a California Citizen Redistricting Commissioner. Photo courtesy of Russell Yee.

I had prayed long and hard during the year and asked many others to pray with me. But in my heart I’m a “Yet not as I will, but as you will” kind of petitioner (Matt. 26:39). Even though much of my life and temperament seemed to point to this work; even though I had made it through every other stage in the process; and even though I simply wanted the position very much; I was fully ready for God to say no.

So when God said yes, I almost didn’t know how to react. In the end, I’m simply grateful to be an object of grace, not only in eternal matters but now in this very temporal matter as well.

Meanwhile, American democracy feels like a house on fire. I’m not only a concerned citizen but am now under oath to defend my country and my state against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Presently this mostly means doing the best job I can as a California Citizens Redistricting Commissioner. It’s a tiny, necessary piece of a huge, complicated system. It’s not marching in the streets, or working on a campaign, or trying to directly change minds and hearts. But it’s now my way of working toward a more perfect union.

I love how the New Testament gives wide freedom of conscience to Christians. “Who are you to judge someone else’s servant?” (Rom. 14:4, NIV). Our ultimate loyalty and hope are in Christ, but our temporal circumstances and callings vary widely.

I hope our nation will have a new birth of freedom, decency, moral leadership, compassion, generosity, and unity. And I hope the work of the 2020 Commission will contribute to that. While my ultimate hope remains in Christ and his sure return, I’m grateful for this opportunity to be on everyone’s side and to actively work for the common good. 

Photo by Timo Wielink on Unsplash

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Russell Yee is a third-generation Oakland native and still lives there with his wife, Lisa, a family physician at Asian Health Services. He’s been a local church pastor and seminary professor, and helps with Fuller Seminary’s Asian American Center. He’s probably the only person in the world with degrees from both Dallas Theological Seminary (ThM) and the Graduate Theological Union (PhD). An avid marathoner, he’s bummed about his three races this year getting canceled, including Boston. He’s the author of Worship on the Way, which remains the only book-length exploration of Asian North American Christian worship.