Mellower, more mature Valley Interfaith celebrates 25 years of achievements

McALLEN -- Valley Interfaith celebrates its 25th anniversary today, but in the life cycle of a community organization, the local group has entered a comfortable, productive middle age.

Once criticized for being demanding, seditious and radical, Interfaith is now a mellower player in the political game.

Its wildest protest days are through; leaders are generally confident in having a seat at most any table where education funding, colonias or job training for the Rio Grande Valley is discussed. Representatives are always ready to share their stories and put a face to the need.

But don't think they've lost their edge. Politicians from Lt. Gov. David Dewhurst down to Hidalgo County Commissioner Tito Palacios - any official who has attended one of the group's infamous "accountability sessions" or made the mistake of snubbing them - can show you fresh, publicly inflicted scars.

"As the organization has built power and gotten to the table, we're doing true politics," said Executive Director Elizabeth Valadez. "You don't want to do protests (outside) forever."

Today, at a large anniversary gathering at the McAllen Convention Center, a matured Valley Interfaith will celebrate its victories and discuss current initiatives, joined by politicians from across the state and leaders in the Catholic Church.

OUTSIDERS

Interfaith's first convention, in December 1985, was protested by 16 people.

The Concerned Citizens for Church and Country set up outside the convention in Mercedes to protest the Catholic Church's involvement in what members said was a socialist political group.

Although Interfaith generally professes to be a nondenominational, nonpartisan organization, dedicated to improving the quality of life for Valley residents, the majority of its members are connected to local Catholic parishes and a sprinkling of Methodist churches.

CCCC no longer has a visible Valley presence, nor could the members quoted by The Monitor in 1986 be located.

"I remember many times in the papers that we were called communists," said Eddie Anaya, an Interfaith leader who as a young man would drive his mother, Carmen, to the group's meetings. "They meant we were not supposed to talk. We were not supposed to complain. It was taking power from someone else."

A similar theme - that the troublemakers were outsiders rather than disenfranchised locals - arose during the group's effort in 2000 to give poorer areas of McAllen proportional representation on the City Commission rather than electing commissioners to serve at large.

In response to such disparaging claims, Interfaith assembled police officers, firefighters and lifelong residents in support of single-member districts outside the polling place at the old City Hall, striking out publicly to leave no questions in voters' minds.

The accusations targeted what was most fundamental to Interfaith: its grounding in community concerns and the community itself.

On a recent morning, a few Interfaith leaders gathered in Las Milpas to proudly show off the paved streets where once, school buses wouldn't go for fear of getting stuck in deep mud.

But talk quickly turned to the persistently poor drainage on Nani Road. Hurricane Dolly left the neighborhood underwater, despite the curb-and-gutter system, said Maria Grimaldo, who lives a block away.

CONFRONTATION

Hidalgo County Judge J.D. Salinas and County Commissioner Palacios use the same word to describe "accountability sessions" with Valley Interfaith:

"Interesting."

The typical format has elected leaders or candidates for office posted alone in front of a room full of interested residents, shorn of their usual entourage of aides. Although Salinas said they are generally briefed about the issues to be discussed, absolutely no waffling or qualifying statements are permitted once a politician - elected or looking for votes - takes his seat.

"They're very well prepared. They have the facts, and they ask you straight out. It's either a ‘yes' or a ‘no' - no ‘Well, I have to look at the budget.'"

The tactic causes squirming, but once a commitment is given, the official is held to it.

"All of a sudden, that is in the forefront of your administrative agenda," Salinas said with a laugh.

Palacios, whose district includes the Las Milpas colonias, said he has aged in politics along with Valley Interfaith and developed a healthy respect for their effectiveness.

"Sometimes it's very pointed - down to brass tacks. I enjoy it," he said. "In the beginning, their approach was a little rough at times, but since we have been talking to one another over a number of years ... it has mellowed quite a bit, on both sides."

Business leaders and politicians were taken aback at first, Anaya said.

"They would always say, ‘You're too confrontational.' We were not maybe as willing to sit down and negotiate - we were demanding, instead."

Interfaith won't talk to liaisons or staffers. And politicians who don't play ball can expect a disproportionate response.

HARD CHOICES

Lt. Gov. Dewhurst passed group members off to his staff this past April - and immediately found himself the subject of an Austin news conference decrying his unwillingness to meet personally and his callous disregard for sick children.

Proposed legislation calling for increased funding and a relaxation of eligibility requirements for the Children's Health Insurance Program was stuck in committee, and Interfaith wanted it put to a floor vote.

"It was (Dewhurst's) Senate," said Valadez, the group's executive director. "He was the power person. It's like if you have a problem with a school, do you go to a teacher or the head of that institution?"

A gutsy move like that could have backfired. It could have turned a power broker into an enemy.

But it didn't. Instead, Dewhurst immediately scheduled a meeting, attended an Interfaith accountability session himself and has since met with leaders since, Valadez said. The lieutenant governor is even among the guests slated to appear at today's anniversary celebration.

Hardball can end with people getting hurt, however. Ask the state representatives who voted with Interfaith on a compromise education funding bill in 1984.

"Some of the people I served with lost because of that issue," said Alex Moreno, a representative from Edinburg from 1983 to 1991.

Interfaith was heavily involved in negotiations with H. Ross Perot over a bill that would equalize school funding across the state but also imposed a controversial teacher certification exam.

"What we got for putting in the test was a 20-percent raise for the teachers," Moreno said. "(But) teachers were going to have to prove that they were professionals. ... A lot of teachers felt insulted."

The result killed a few political careers, he said.

"Everybody who had opposition in the Valley at that time lost, except for me. ... I had to go around and apologize to a lot of people."

To this day, Moreno is pretty sure he made the right choice. Interfaith had been involved in the high-level negotiations with Lt. Gov. Bill Hobby and Perot and had come out with a lot of the things the group wanted.

"The agenda was the most important thing," Moreno said. Per-student spending on education increased in the Valley, "and it was well worth all the blood, sweat and tears that it took to get it."

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Sara Perkins covers Mission, western Hidalgo County, Starr County and general assignments for The Monitor. You can reach her at (956) 683-4472.