The 2010 ballot initiative giving the citizen commission authority over Congressional districts was sold to voters as a game changer. Not surprisingly, it was strenuously opposed by California's Democrats, who continue to control the Statehouse.
No fewer than 35 Democratic politicians—including Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi—and their allies spent a total of $7 million to campaign against the proposition. The effort included mailings from faux community groups that derided the commission's $1 million annual budget as "bureaucratic waste." Despite this effort, Californians voted 61 percent to 39 percent to wrest federal redistricting from the hands of state lawmakers.
Immediately, Democrats began organizing to influence the citizen commission. There were numerous opportunities.
According to civics textbooks, the aim of redistricting is to group "communities of interest" so that residents in a city, neighborhood or ethnic group wield political power by voting together. The commission took an expansive view of this concept, ultimately defining a "community of interest" as anything from a neighborhood to workers on the same commute, or even areas sharing "intense beach recreation."
This gave savvy players an opening to draw up maps that benefited one party or incumbent and then find—or concoct—"communities of interest" that justified them.
Democrats set out to do exactly that.
On March 16, members of the California delegation gathered at Democratic Party offices to discuss how to handle redistricting. They agreed that congressmen from the various regions of California—North, South and Central—would meet separately to "create a plan of action," according to an email recounting the day's events by Alexis Marks, the House aide. Among the first tasks, Marks wrote, was determining "how to best organize communities of interest."
Democrats were already working "BEHIND THE SCENES" to "get info out" about candidates for the job of commission lawyer who were viewed as unfriendly. "I'll keep you in the loop, but do not broadcast," Marks wrote.
"The CA delegation has been broken down into regions that will be discussing redistricting at the member level," read another party email from late March. "Members will be asked to present ideas on both issues"—communities of interest and district lines—"and will be asked to come to some consensus about how to adopt a regional strategy for redistricting."
Over the next several weeks, California Democrats huddled with Mark Gersh, the party's top mapmaking guru. Officially, Gersh works with the Foundation for the Future, a nonprofit whose declared goal is "to help Democrats get organized for the fight of the decade; the fight that will determine Democratic fortunes in your state and in Washington, D.C. for years to come: Redistricting!"
The foundation is well-funded for this fight. Its supporters include longtime supporters of the Democratic Party: the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees as well as the American Association for Justice (previously known as the Association of Trial Lawyers of America). The foundation was launched in 2006 when Nancy Pelosi's office worked with both groups to start it.
Neither Gersh nor participants would describe in detail what was discussed at the meetings. But from Marks' emails and other sources, it is clear that California's Democrats sat down together to discuss mutually agreeable districts that would protect incumbents.
The value of coordinating efforts to influence the commission cannot be overstated. If each Democrat battled separately for the best district, it was likely that one Congress member's gain would harm countless colleagues. Creating Congressional districts is a lot like a Rubik's cube: Each change reshapes the entire puzzle. The Democrats' plan was to deliver synchronized testimony that would herd the commission toward the desired outcomes. If it worked perfectly, the commissioners might not even know they had been influenced.
Over the summer, Marks sent out more than 100 emails about redistricting, according to multiple recipients of the messages. According to House records, Marks earned $112,537 in 2010 in her post as deputy director of the California Democratic delegation. That makes her a federal employee. But although many of the messages were sent during the work day, a spokesman insisted Marks did so in her after-hours role as a political staffer for Democrats. They were sent from a Gmail account. Lofgren's office did not make Marks available for comment, citing policy that staffers do not speak on the record. Instead, they pointed to Rep. Lofgren's statement.
Federal employees are not allowed to do campaign work on government time, or use government resources, according to House ethics rules.
The emails alerted staff and legislators when the commission was scheduled to discuss their districts and they encouraged them to have allies testify to "community of interest" lines that supported their maps.
Marks told members they would be asked to raise money for a legal challenge if things didn't work out. Th edelegation, she said, was working with Marc Elias, who heads an organization called the National Democratic Redistricting Trust. (The trust shares a website with The Foundation for The Future.)
Last year the trust persuaded the Federal Election Commission to allow members to raise money for redistricting lawsuits without disclosing how the money was spent, how much was raised, and who had given it.
The commission blinds itself
Back in California, the commission was getting organized. Its first task was to pick commissioners. The ballot initiative excluded virtually anyone who had any previous political experience. Run for office? Worked as a staffer or consultant to a political campaign? Given more than $2,000 to a candidate in any year? "Cohabitated" for more than 30 days in the past year with anyone in the previous categories? You're barred.
More than 36,000 people applied. The state auditor's office winnowed the applicants to a group of 60 finalists. Each party was allowed to strike 12 applicants without explanation. Then, the state used Bingo-style bouncing balls in a cage to pick eight commissioners—three Republicans, three Democrats and two people whose registration read "decline to state" (California-speak for independent). The randomly selected commissioners then chose six from the remaining finalists to complete the panel.
The result was a commission that included, among others, a farmer, a homemaker, a sports doctor and an architect. Previous redistrictings had been executed by political pros with intimate knowledge of California's sprawling political geography. The commissioners had little of that expertise—and one of their first acts was to deprive themselves of the data that might have helped them spot partisan manipulation. 
The law creating the commission barred it from considering incumbents' addresses, and instructed it not to draw districts for partisan reasons.
The commissioners decided to go further, agreeing not to even look at data that would tell them how prospective maps affected the fortunes of Democrats or Republicans. This left the commissioners effectively blind to the sort of influence the Democrats were planning.
One of the mapping consultants working for the commission warned that it would be difficult to competently draft district lines without party data. She was overruled.
The lack of political data was "liberating," said Forbes, the commissioner. "We had no one to please except ourselves, based on our best judgment."
"I think," he said, "we did a pretty good job."
The commission's judgments on how to draw lines, Forbes and others said, was based on the testimony from citizens about communities of interest.
"We were provided quite a number of maps from various organizations," said another commissioner, attorney Jodie Filkins-Webber. If the groups were basing their maps on political data to favor one party, "they certainly did not tell us that."
"Districts could have been drawn based on voter registration," Filkins-Webber said, "but we would never have known it."
The commission received a torrent of advice—a total of 30,000 separate pieces of testimony and documents. Records suggest the commission never developed an effective method for organizing it all. The testimony was kept in a jumble of handwritten notes and computer files. The commissioners were often left to recall testimony by memory.
The difficulties in digesting and weighing the reams of often-conflicting testimony enhanced the value of people or groups who came bearing draft maps.
"Other people offered testimony; we offered solutions," said Stuart Waldman, president of the Valley Industry and Commerce Association, a powerful business group outside Los Angeles that persuaded the commission to adopts its Congressional map for the San Fernando Valley.