A Land of Beggars

America has become a land of beggars. Not the beggars we traditionally imagine sitting on a sidewalk with an outstretched hand. No, these beggars wear suits, occupy impressive offices, appear on television, and carry titles such as mayor, judge, governor, senator, member of Congress—and even President.

They are constantly asking us for money.

“Donate $25.”

“Chip in $50.”

“We need your help before midnight.”

“Help us reach our fundraising goal.”

Email after email. Text after text. Day after day.

Fundraising has become so deeply embedded in American politics that we barely stop to consider how extraordinarily repulsive it is. People seeking the privilege of governing one of the wealthiest nations on Earth must devote enormous effort and time to asking others for money.

The begging does not necessarily stop once they are elected. That may be one of the most troubling aspects of our political system. Elected officials should focus on the work we elected them to do. Yet campaigning and fundraising compete with the time they spend on their duties, like meeting constituents, studying legislation, understanding budgets, attending hearings, consulting experts, negotiating compromises, and making difficult decisions. Nevertheless, elected officials facing another campaign also have donors to call, fundraising events to attend, political networks to cultivate, and campaign accounts to replenish.

Every hour spent raising money is an hour that cannot simultaneously be devoted to the public job for which the official was elected.

Think about the absurdity of that! We elect someone to represent us, pay that person to represent us, and then create a political system in which that same person must devote significant time and attention to raising the money necessary to keep the job.

Even the judiciary is not entirely immune. In many states, judges face voters in elections, creating campaign-finance pressures in an institution whose very legitimacy depends upon impartiality. The people appearing before a judge should never have reason to wonder whether the lawyers, corporations, organizations, or individuals involved in a case helped finance that judge's election.

Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with asking for financial support. A scientist applying for a research grant seeks resources to discover something that may benefit society. A charity raises money to feed the hungry, fight disease, educate children, or help people in need. And contributing to a political campaign is itself a legitimate form of democratic participation.

The problem begins when money becomes the oxygen political life cannot survive without—when fundraising becomes a modus vivendi, a way of political life that can become increasingly difficult to navigate ethically.

Consider two hypothetical candidates.

One is thoughtful and experienced, possesses a strong moral compass, listens before making decisions, respects democratic institutions, values expertise, and is willing to make difficult decisions even when they are unpopular.

The other has access to enormous personal wealth or a network of wealthy supporters who can finance a massive political campaign.

Which candidate is more likely to be heard?

That is unfortunately the uncomfortable truth of modern American politics. Money buys communication. It buys advertising, consultants, polling, social-media campaigns, staff, travel, databases, mailers, lawyers, and organizations dedicated to putting a candidate's name and message before the electorate.

Money buys political power and amplification, and money can buy elections. It does not buy votes directly, nor does it guarantee victory. But it buys something almost as important in an election: the ability to be seen and heard repeatedly.

That raises a fundamental question: How equal can political opportunity be when political voices have profoundly unequal financial amplification? And how do we ensure that the people best qualified to lead have a realistic opportunity to do so?

The problem is more complicated than outright corruption. Most political contributions don't often involve someone handing a politician a check while explicitly demanding a favor in return. Influence is usually subtler. People and organizations naturally support candidates who share their interests. Businesses advocate policies favorable to their industries. Labor organizations promote their members' interests. Advocacy groups support particular causes. Lobbyists seek access to legislators and government officials—and access is valuable precisely because they hope to influence public policy.

Much of this is perfectly legal; the politicians have made sure of that. But legality does not eliminate unfair advantages, and it robs “We the People” of good leaders.

These days, it seems that wealth is the only measure of human worth. However, a person's bank account tells us remarkably little about whether that person possesses judgment, empathy, integrity, or respect for institutions. Virtues like intelligence, wisdom, integrity, honesty, character, or someone's ability to govern have basically become irrelevant in the face of money and greed.

Politicians know who raises money. Campaigns know which organizations, industries, political committees, and wealthy individuals can help finance political activity. And elected officials know that another election is always approaching.

So when one election ends, the cycle begins again: Raise money. Campaign. Win. Govern. Raise more money. Campaign again.

And everybody wants something.

The donor wants something.

The lobbyist wants something.

The political party wants something.

The advocacy organization wants something.

And the voter wants something too.

But the ordinary voter usually wants something quite different.

The voter wants the promises made during the campaign to become reality. Fix the roads. Improve the schools. Control government spending. Protect Social Security. Make healthcare affordable. Keep the country safe. Protect individual rights. Create opportunities for our children. Govern competently and responsibly.

Then Election Day passes. The speeches become quieter. The campaign signs disappear. The television commercials stop.

But the money remains in the room.

And so does the need to raise more.

That is where the system deserves serious scrutiny.

The question is not whether wealthy Americans should participate in politics. They should, as everyone else. Nor should successful people be viewed suspiciously simply because they have accumulated wealth.

The more important question is whether one citizen's wealth should allow that citizen to acquire vastly more political influence and amplification than another citizen could ever hope to possess.

Our democracy rests on an extraordinarily powerful principle: One citizen. One vote.

Yet political campaigns increasingly seem to operate in a parallel universe.

One citizen may have one vote, while another may have millions of dollars available to amplify a political message capable of influencing thousands—or millions—of votes.

Money does not automatically determine elections. Voters can and do reject heavily financed candidates. A large campaign account cannot guarantee trust, enthusiasm, good judgment, or electoral success.

But money buys something extremely valuable: the opportunity to be heard.

Without sufficient financial backing, a thoughtful, qualified candidate may struggle to enter the national conversation or even the local conversation.

That should concern Americans regardless of political affiliation.

This is not fundamentally a Democratic problem or a Republican problem. Both parties raise enormous amounts of money. Both compete for wealthy donors. Both operate within the same political-financing system.

Perhaps we should start asking different questions of people seeking public office.

Instead of asking: How much money can you raise?

Perhaps we should ask: What kind of person are you?

Can you listen? Do you genuinely care about the people you represent?

Can you change your mind when the evidence changes?

Can you distinguish expertise from ideology?

Can you compromise without abandoning your principles?

Can you admit when you are wrong?

Can you tell your supporters something they do not want to hear?

Can you make a decision because you believe it is right, even when that decision may cost you politically?

And can you govern without constantly calculating how today's decision will affect tomorrow's fundraising?

These qualities cannot easily be measured by polling numbers, campaign advertisements, television appearances, or the size of a campaign account. But they may tell us far more about someone's ability to govern.

America should aspire to remain a marketplace of ideas—not become an auction house for political influence. We urgently need to reform our extended election process and the money involved.

Public service should attract people who genuinely want to serve. It should not require them to spend a substantial portion of their political lives pursuing the money necessary to obtain and retain office.

And perhaps that is the greatest waste created by our obsession with political fundraising. It is not simply the billions of dollars flowing through elections. It is the thousands upon thousands of hours of human talent and attention consumed in pursuit of those dollars—time that could instead be spent studying problems, listening to citizens, working across political divisions, developing policy, and actually governing.

Perhaps the irony deserves to be stated plainly.

In one of the richest countries in human history, those who seek the extraordinary privilege of governing its people must first master one essential political skill: LEARN HOW TO BEG.