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The perils of campaign-finance disclosure laws
By Brian Doherty

Politics is a realm of unintended consequences. In California, a wave of post-Watergate revulsion with arrogant, corrupt politicians led to the passage of the Political Reform Act in 1974. That law slapped strict campaign-finance disclosure requirements on state political campaigns. Twenty years later, the same law is being used to strike at private citizens who attempted to discipline a powerful politician they considered arrogant and corrupt. The results raise worrisome questions about the possible abuses of even the seemingly most innocuous regulations on citizens' participation in politics. ...

...Still, special complications of recall campaigns against powerful politicians, even beyond the time-consuming paperwork burden, raise the question of whether campaign-finance disclosure laws are appropriate for every kind of political campaign.

One of the motives for the Roberti recall was that he had spearheaded the Roberti-Roos Assault Weapon Control Act, a 1989 law that banned "assault weapons" in California. Because of the popular perception of the recall as a "gun-nut" issue, "We had people afraid of going to jail if their name gets on a list," Howard says. "'We've got a potential Roberti-Roos violator here, let's go check out their home.'"

(Despite consistent media portrayals otherwise, however, gun-rights activists weren't the only ones upset with Roberti. The recall coalition included groups with no direct interest in guns, such as Operation Slushfund, a legislative-spending watchdog group. Roberti was perceived by many as generally too soft on crime and too linked with political corruption. Three men he appointed to committee chairs in the state Senate were later convicted of felony corruption.)

Others had different reasons to fear being publicly connected with the recall effort. Bill Dominguez, one of Roberti's Democratic opponents in the recall election, says that a local newspaper columnist's habit of printing the names and donation amounts of contributors to the recall effort spooked many grassroots activists. "I haven't seen this done for any other political campaign or grassroots group. I've never seen anyone plastering names all over the place like this. We were not being painted in the best light. Every third word in connection with this was white supremacist or neo-Nazi." Some donors received swastikas in the mail, Howard says.

Even beyond public obloquy, anyone working for or doing business with the state of California would understandably be leery of advertising that they were trying to oust the president of the state Senate. "Lots of people applauded what we did but wouldn't touch it with a 10-foot pole for fear of bad things happening to their legislative agenda," Howard says. "Even lots of senators wanted to get involved but couldn't for fear of retribution, worries about 'What'll happen to my crime bill?'"

Neither Howard nor Cicero can afford to pay the $808,000, which they are jointly liable for. Cicero works part-time as a software consultant, and is now already in debt and in default on his mortgage. Howard, a former stockbroker, lost his job because of his work on the recall election and has lately been doing carpentry work around his father's house. Cicero informed the FPPC that he can neither afford to pay the fine nor hire a lawyer, and is now waiting for the next step. Howard will be getting legal help from the Institute for Constitutional Rights, a nonprofit public interest law firm dealing with free speech issues. They are currently seeking a lawyer with the appropriate expertise for the case.

The deadline to pay the fine was December 11. Possible action, says the FPPC's Huckaby, could include garnishing of wages and income tax refunds, attaching bank accounts, and seizing property and automobiles. In its 21 years, the FPPC has failed to collect over one-third of the $6.7 million in penalties it has levied. But the commission has recently stepped up enforcement efforts, Huckaby says. Diligent enforcement of this fine would have Howard and Cicero working the rest of their lives to pay it off.

"I just didn't imagine that there was some sort of Rube Goldberg huge manual that I had to satisfy at peril of my financial future and life to exercise my First Amendment rights," Howard says. "We're just a grassroots organization. If you want to get involved in politics, you should be able to do it. If you have a beef, get involved. But if you get involved above the level of just voting, then the state says they control the whole process. And that's just not right."