Campaign Funding Limits Go on Trial

If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary.

--James Madison in The Federalist Papers

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To paraphrase James Madison, if politicians were angels--if they weren’t tempted by money to deal out favors--we wouldn’t need campaign finance laws to protect the public from corruption.

Corruption comes in many shapes. There’s the illegal kind that led to 14 convictions following an FBI sting at the Capitol in the 1980s.

Then there’s the more common corruption that is legal, even if odorous.

Not just the conspicuous sleaze--stinking up the hallowed Oval Office by using it for fund-raising, renting out the revered Lincoln Bedroom to fat cat strangers. No, we’re talking here about garden variety shadiness--peddling public policy for political bucks.

There’s also a corruption of language, as when Democratic state Chairman Art Torres last week told a federal court that in all his 20 years as a legislator, he never once saw big money influencing a vote. This was a particularly puzzling comment because in all those years I never once saw Torres wearing a blindfold.

Torres was testifying on behalf of the political establishment--the Democratic and Republican parties--against Proposition 208, which the public passed by a landslide 61% vote last November. U.S. District Judge Lawrence K. Karlton, who in 1990 quashed another campaign finance reform that the voters had approved, has been pondering the constitutionality of 208. Torres was on the stand to refute former Sen. Barry Keene (D-Benicia), who had depicted the system as essentially depraved.

“Over a period, you build up denial mechanisms,” testified Keene, who had been the Senate majority floor leader. “It’s almost Pavlovian. The more you do it, the less wrong it seems to feel.”

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This is not a sexy trial--no football hero, no young nanny. Only a few pols and reporters have been showing up each day in the cavernous courtroom. The judge himself calls it just a way station en route to the Supreme Court. But however he rules will have a huge impact on the 1998 state elections.

There has been a lot of whining about 208, especially by the political pros whose livelihoods depend on bulging campaign coffers: Too complicated. Drives good people away from politics. Not enough money to communicate our message. Hurts challengers without name ID. Benefits rich self-financed candidates who aren’t affected. . . . Damn do-gooders again.

No question, 208 has complexities. And the normal candidate will have to get by on much less because of limits on individual contributions and campaign spending. The most troubling aspect for me, however, is that the zillionaire candidates--the Al Checchis--can spend unlimited amounts of their own money because the Supreme Court considers this “free speech.”

Increasingly, you hear the pros asserting that the best solution is simply to deregulate the whole business--abolish all limits--and rely on “full disclosure.” Report all donations promptly on the Internet and let browsing voters decide if anything reeks.

But James Madison also warned against relying solely on the voters to regulate politicians: A dependence on the people is no doubt the primary control on the government; but experience has taught mankind the necessity of auxiliary precautions.

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Already, there is one thing that has worked well under Proposition 208, something barely mentioned in court.

It used to be that at the end of each legislative year--in late summer--the lawmakers would hold fund-raisers virtually nonstop. They’d pick the wallets of special interests, intimidating the lobbyists whose year’s work was at stake because of pending votes on hundreds of bills.

“It was an extortionist practice,” ex-floor leader Keene told me.

Proposition 208 bans these subtle shakedowns in nonelection years. At the least, the Capitol smelled better last summer. It’s also possible that 208 helped to make the 1997 session one of the most productive in years by focusing legislators’ attention on public policy.

A few legislators now have begun tapping lobbyists for charitable contributions. That’s legal. Sen. Jim Brulte (R-Rancho Cucamonga) turned his annual fund-raising golf tournament into a $95,000 benefit for a ministry group that leads legislators in Bible study. Sen. Patrick Johnston (D-Stockton) raised $15,000 for kids’ basketball.

“Politically, identification with a good cause is beneficial,” Johnston says candidly. “And I worked off a little purgatory time.”

Maybe some politicians are influenced by angels--the celestial kind, not just campaign bankrollers--but they still need to be regulated by mere mortals.