Why Mitch McConnell should know better - campaign fund corruption in his home state of Kentucky

Washington Monthly, Oct, 1997 by Michelle Cottle

Forget everything you think you know about money in politics. The system is not broken. Sure, a few loopholes need to be closed to prevent violation of existing election laws (e.g., foreign money should not be financing U.S. political campaigns), but the current elections system and the level of money involved are not harming our democratic process. At least, such is the world according to Sen. Mitch McConnell, aka "the Darth Vader of campaign finance reform."

A firm believer in the Supreme Court's ruling that, in this country, money equals speech and must be protected as such, the junior senator from Kentucky has appointed himself protector-in-chief of the current fund-raising system. He argues that, if anything, Congress should raise the existing contribution limits to get even more "speech" into the election process. Pooh-poohing concerns over the outrageous amount already spent on campaigns, McConnell has, at various times, compared election spending to the price of yogurt, bubble gum, and McDonald's extra value meals. As for the undue influence such contributions provide special interest groups, Senator McConnell insists that legislators are above contamination by financial matters. As he told the National Press Club in March, "I think it is absurd on its face to make the suggestion that members are selling votes given the fact that the Supreme Court sanctioned limits on individual contributions and limits on PAC contributions" In other words, no self-respecting legislator would sell his or her soul for a measly $5,000 PAC donation. For what dollar amount a legislator might consider selling his soul, McConnell does not say.)

Self-righteously cloaked in the First Amendment, McConnell has waged a high-profile battle against campaign finance reform. But unlike many of his colleagues, he is neither embarrassed nor apologetic about his commitment to the status quo. After leading a filibuster in the 103rd Congress against legislation advocating voluntary spending limits, public financing which he disparages as "food stamps for politicians"), and lower limits on PAC contributions, McConnell declared the bill's failure "a victory for the Constitution." The proposed measure was, he said, "the kind of bill that gives gridlock a good name" Last year, with his party in the congressional driver's seat, McConnell had even less trouble killing reforms championed by Sens. John McCain and Russ Feingold. And as this year's Senate hearings on Bill and Al's campaign shenanigans goaded some 70 legislators into introducing their own reform bills, McConnell has amassed an unlikely cadre of anti-reform interests, ranging from the ACLU to the Christian Coalition, to lobby against any effort to slow the flow of money into the system. Not that McConnell has much to fear. As head of the National Republican Senatorial Committee (i.e., the guy in charge of fund-raising), McConnell is unlikely to be crossed on this issue by any GOP senator looking to be in his good graces come re-election time -- a fact of which McConnell is well aware. In February, National Journal reported that McConnell had already summoned several of the Republican senators facing re-election this November to his office for a chat about his desire to block McCain-Feingold again this session.

But make no mistake, we're not just talking about campaign money here. Although election funding is McConnell's passion, his faith in the better angels of politicians' natures extends to the way successful candidates, once in office, interact with lobbyists and other petitioners. In 1994, he lobbied hard against the Senate proposal to bar legislators from accepting gifts, meals, travel, etc. from lobbyists. The bill ultimately passed, despite McConnell's heroic efforts -- and without the substitute amendment he co-sponsored that would have weakened the reform, retaining many of the tasty perks legislators could accept.

Now, admittedly, different people have different opinions of human nature, and it may be that Mitch McConnell is a political Pollyanna. After all, it does seem cynical to assume that, just because a PAC contributes heavily to a particular party or a chummy lobbyist offers to spring for a few three-martini lunches, a politician would take a special interest in said contributor or lobbyist. It is entirely possible that, in Senator McConnell's experience, money has never proven to be much of a corrupting influence in politics.

Hear that? It's the entire population of Kentucky laughing hysterically. Whatever his experience in Washington, Mitch McConnell surely has not so lost touch with his constituency that he has forgotten that, right around the time he was battling for election to his second term in the Senate, his home state was split wide open by one of the most outrageous political scandals of the decade.

Operation BOPTROT, as the attendant FBI investigation became known (for reasons to be explained later), began in 1990 when a disgruntled businessman complained to the feds that Kentucky lawmakers were taking money from horse racing interests in exchange for legislative favors. The case generated little national press, but when it was finally closed -- five years and 21 indictments later -- 15 former and sitting Kentucky legislators had been snared, along with the governor's nephew, the state's top lobbyist, and the Jockeys' Guild. Charges ranged from extortion to racketeering to lying to the FBI. Some of the legislators involved had accepted campaign contributions in exchange for their influence, others had stooped to pocketing the cash outright. What all had in common was a willingness to put the desires of moneyed special interests above the public interest. And in all but a few cases, the sums in question were well below the level Senator McConnell dismisses as negligible in today's debate. Perhaps, as McConnell gears up to derail the latest push for political reform, a brief stroll down memory lane would help him recall just how little special interest cash is actually required to corrupt the system.