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| Running for Office
Elizabeth Harris 09/01/2006 |
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Rich Tarrant, a former software executive, has spent about $3.5 million on his quest for the Senate seat soon to be vacated by Vermont’s Jim Jeffords. But Tarrant, like other wealthy political novices seeking to emulate the electoral successes of New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg and New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine, is finding that self-funding a political campaign can be an expensive gamble against some very long odds.
Since Congress passed the Federal Election Campaign Act some 35 years ago, it has sought to level the playing field by providing for the public funding of election campaigns. Because of this, self-funding is now rare. It was not until 1992 that a self-funder—Ross Perot—attempted the nation’s highest office (running on a platform of campaign finance reform). But his failure that year, and again in 1996, along with Steve Forbes’ quixotic 1996 presidential campaign, illustrated not only the growth in self-funded political gambits, but the problems that plague them. Successful self-funders have typically invested enormous sums
to win. In 2000, Corzine, former CEO of Goldman Sachs, spent a record $60
million on his winning bid for a Senate seat from New Jersey. Five years later,
he spent $40 million in a successful bid for governor. In 2005, Bloomberg, who
founded the news and financial data behemoth that bears his name, spent $85
million in his bid to head up New York City.
Even this is less of an advantage than it was in the past. Congress passed the so-called Millionaires’ Amendment in 2002 as part of a revised federal campaign finance law. The amendment attempts to offset the perceived financial advantage enjoyed by those with substantial means. It dictates that if one candidate lends or contributes to his or her own campaign beyond a certain threshold—set according to the population in the state or district—the opponent may seek contributions from individual donors of up to $6,300 for House races and $12,600 for Senate races. With their fiscal weaponry blunted by this legislation, today’s self-financed candidates are finding that not only does their wealth fail to give an electoral edge, but it can become a millstone. Rivals typically paint even the most homespun wealth-holders as out of touch with their constituents. And candidates who hope to shield themselves from the compromises inherent in fundraising have discovered that this may also keep them from establishing a network of supporters and the type of diplomatic skills necessary to pursue legislative initiatives successfully. Embarrassment of Riches
Although Vermont has a historical tradition of sending Republicans to Washington, Tarrant’s campaign is seen as a long shot. His rivals and the press have excoriated him for his affluent lifestyle, which goes over poorly before an electorate made up of thrifty Yankees, despite his attempts to downplay it. At public events, he usually dresses casually and was rarely spotted in a tie this summer, as he crisscrossed the state, hosting a spaghetti dinner in Hardwick, a pizza lunch in Rutland and stopping by for a photo op at BJ’s gun shop in Williston.
Despite this, Tarrant’s biggest challenge is not establishing his Vermonter credentials in the minds of voters, but gaining the political credibility needed to beat his Democratic opponent. If he captures the Republican primary (Boston College’s Steen found that self-financing is more successful in primaries than general elections), he will face an opponent in Sanders who, although he was born in Brooklyn and still displays hints of an accent, is so familiar that Vermonters refer to him simply as Bernie. Tarrant’s local roots, wealth, entrepreneurial credentials and folksy manner may not be enough to offset the popularity Sanders has built during his 16 years in Congress. Indeed, Davis believes Tarrant has little chance against Sanders; many Vermonters see him as something of a reverse carpetbagger. Some speculate that, if Tarrant loses, he will retreat south to Florida. The candidate himself remains inscrutable on this point, responding tersely, "I don’t think about losing." Strife of Interests Dayton’s family fortune is rooted in the Dayton’s department store chain (now part of Federated Department Stores), which gave him the advantage of name recognition. He also had public-sector experience, having served as popularly elected state auditor and as legislative aide to Minnesota favorite son Walter Mondale. Still, he struggled against a scornful public’s perception of a wealthy man dabbling in politics. He lost a bid for the Senate in 1982 and for governor in 1998. However, those campaigns, and his work as state auditor, earned him public-sector credibility in the eyes of voters. That, and the $12 million of his own capital he spent, finally secured him a seat in the Senate in 2000. (The run was actually more costly, Dayton notes. Accounting for the capital gains taxes he paid on the assets he sold to finance his run, he estimates that it actually cost him about $20 million.) Although he invested enormous resources, Dayton’s commanding personal style, independence and idealism alienated his Senate colleagues and limited his effectiveness as a lawmaker. Larry Jacobs, director of the Humphrey Institute’s Center for the Study of Politics and Governance at the University of Minnesota, says Dayton’s independent streak verges on bull-headedness and pushed a wedge between him and his Senate peers. This kept Dayton from forming the necessary political collaborations and prevented significant bills he championed from advancing. But Dayton insists he was unwilling to compromise his political positions—such as his opposition to the war in Iraq and growth of the deficit—even if he could have made legislative progress by doing so.
The obvious drawback to self-funding for Dayton is his
inability to continue to do it; he is not seeking reelection mainly because he
cannot afford to finance another campaign. He attempted to raise some capital in
January 2005, but his efforts met with a tepid response, which is not surprising
because he finds the idea of asking for contributions distasteful. "The way I
was brought up, it was just something you didn’t do," he says. "We had money, so
we didn’t have to ask for it. I don’t enjoy it per se." He adds, "I don’t have a
problem raising money for organizations or even other candidates, but just hate
to ask for money for myself."
Dayton also dislikes the quid pro quos embedded in political contributions, seeing them as "investments for which [contributors are] looking for something in return." His reluctance to fundraise has left him without the crucial database of individual supporters needed to support a reelection campaign. And, while self-funding allowed him to indulge his independent streak, it also isolated him from well-connected insiders. "I’m not a ready compromiser," he admits. This is a particularly debilitating character trait for those serving in a minority party, which he found frustrating. He strongly disagrees with the Bush administration on issues ranging from the Iraq war to the size of the deficit. "My own political convictions are what drove to me seek this office and to serve in it." Despite the differences and setbacks, Dayton says he values his experience on Capitol Hill. "It was extremely expensive, but it was worth it." Elizabeth Harris, based in New York, is a staff writer for
Worth. |
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