Citizen Lobbyists Confront Discouraging System
By
Kelley Benham
Capital News Service
Wednesday, May 1, 2002
Bereano Knows Best
By Kelley Benham
Capital News Service
Wednesday, May 1, 2002
ANNAPOLIS -- The Big Daddy of State House lobbyists, Bruce Bereano's
prowess is so secure he withstood a felony conviction -- pushing bills
from a pay phone while serving time for mail fraud.
Bereano learned the system as a staffer first, and eventually became
the first lobbyist to earn $1 million in a year. He told Capital News
Service -- at no charge -- what it takes to play his game.
1. Be nice.
"I've seen it again and again over the 30-plus years I've been
lobbying. A good positive attitude goes a long, long way."
2. Be patient.
"Understand their (lawmakers') time pressures. You might have to walk
them down the hall or wait an hour for five minutes of time."
3. Learn the System. "At some level you have to understand the
institution you're coming down to lobby so you can be effective."
The pros know who the decision-makers are, how the committees and
chain of command operate, who is on board already, who still needs
convincing and how many votes will get the bill passed. And that's just
for starters.
4. Be an anthropologist...
"This is an institution of a unique category of human beings. They are
very driven, very motivated. They have to make sacrifices, to be willing
to live in a fishbowl and put up with the guns and arrows and slings."
5. And a psychologist.
"You have to understand the legislators as individuals, their lives,
background, character, the jurisdiction they come from. Understand their
thinking, and you can understand their actions."
6. And even a pal.
"Relationships are critical. They are in any endeavor." (Note: Of
Bereano, Senate President Thomas V. Mike Miller Jr., D-Calvert, has said, "I'd be less than candid if I didn't say
he was one of my closest friends." One delegate has said he is "like an
uncle.")
7. Have your act together.
"Be prepared. Know what you're talking about. Don't be long-winded,
don't be overemotional."
Keep in mind that in many legislative hearings, presentations are
limited to three minutes. And many face-to-face encounters with lawmakers
take place between the bathroom and the elevator.
8. Expect the unexpected.
"I learn something new every day of every legislative session. How
incredibly unpredictable and varied is the human personality. You think
you've seen and heard it all, and something else happens that blows your
mind."
(Capital News Service: What? That's it? Are you forgetting something?)
"I know the press and the goody two-shoes try to make money the most
important thing, but it isn't."
(CNS: But aren't you the guy who said you've never bought a lobbyist,
but you've rented a few?)
"I said it, but it's always meant as a joke," he said. "There's no
truth to it at all."
Copyright ©
2002 University of Maryland College of
Journalism
|
ANNAPOLIS - Willie Collier knew he was an outsider the first time he
climbed the State House steps.
He came seeking money for schools, because at his, the track is too
torn up to host a competition, ceiling tiles fall in the middle of class
and the auditorium is so leaky performers stomp in puddles.
Inside the capitol, he encountered a daily Annapolis ritual --
lawmakers and lobbyists mingling in the marbled halls, hand shaking,
backslapping and cheek smooching.
"It was intimidating," said Willie, 18. "It seemed like one big game."
He wanted to play, but he didn't know the teams or the rules. He was
just one of hundreds of citizens to try to influence lawmakers this
session -- a regular guy without a briefcase, suit jacket or rulebook.
Trickling through the metal detectors every day were people like him
-- grandmothers, students and widows; busloads of felons and college
students; parents of the gifted, the disabled and the underprivileged;
lovers of dogs and ferrets; even one indignant and determined
cock-fighter.
They left with varying degrees of satisfaction, and, usually, a
different understanding of how democracy works here.
The lawmakers' handshakes and smiles and promises left Willie
unconvinced, uneasy.
"It's nice," he said, "but I think there's a lot of underground,
beating- around-the-bush stuff going on."
He's not wrong, both insiders and experts say.
There is an underground Annapolis, a place where votes are courted and
traded with campaign contributions and pork, party blessing, leadership positions or cushy districting. It's a place where elected leaders demand
their way and a chairman's wishes outweigh the combined will of his
committee.
"There's no question it is much more complicated than the average
citizen understands it to be," said R. Scott Fosler, a visiting professor
at the University of Maryland's School of Public Affairs. "And it's
gotten a lot more complicated."
That complexity makes the system less accessible and harder to
navigate, a place where ordinary voices are drowned out by lobbyists,
corporations and campaign contributors.
For newcomers, it can be discouraging and bewildering.
Consider the ferret people. They arrived enthusiastic and determined,
with a willing lawmaker on their side. No one told them the committee had
agreed on its vote hours before anyone ever testified.
Consider Mike Tabor, a "leftover activist from the '60s," who believes
big business targets kids in school. He backed a bill regulating school
soft-drink machines before a Senate committee.
In the other corner were vending and soft-drink companies led by Bruce
Bereano, the flamboyant heavyweight champ of Annapolis lobbying.
Tabor grew dismayed and angry when senators walked out of the room,
fiddled with e-mail and made phone calls during the hearing.
"There was a certain atmosphere of ... I think sleaze," he said
afterward. "We don't have any money. We don't have a lobbyist. We just
hope -- and the fact of the matter is it's probably a naive hope -- that
we are not wasting our time."
Consider, then, a group that didn't bother. Charter school advocates
have pushed for state authorization year after year. But this year, they
were scarce.
"I don't feel like being disappointed again," said Joe Hawkins, co-chairman of the Jaime Escalante charter school board. "You get so tired of
going down to Annapolis. Nothing happens."
That kind of discouragement is one dangerous effect of an unwieldy system, said Sean Dobson of Progressive Maryland, a group working to
empower working people.
"There's a growing cynicism," he said, pointing to voting rates that
have fallen below 50 percent. "It's poison for democracy when people just
drop out and give up."
To be successful, citizens need leverage, said Fosler, who has studied
citizen participation from all sides -- frustrated voter, elected
official and former chairman of the National Civic League, a group trying
to make democracy more democratic.
The first obstacle can be citizens' own expectations, he said.
The General Assembly this year dealt with 2,427 bills in 90 days. When
time is tight, no citizen passion can sway lawmakers from high-impact
issues such as reforming education or balancing the budget, as the ferret
fanciers discovered.
With small staffs and increasingly complex issues, lawmakers depend on
lobbyists -- professional and amateur -- for information.
There were 695 registered lobbyists in Annapolis last session,
according to the State Ethics Commission, plus some unregistered
regulars. That's almost four lobbyists for each of the 188 lawmakers.
Top
lobbyists can earn $1 million a year, usually representing large
corporations, not do-gooder groups.
The uninitiated, armed with nothing but idealism, tend to lobby the
wrong people the wrong way at the wrong time, said professional lobbyist
Robin Fogel Shaivitz.
Her leverage comes from 24 years of experience, a six-figure salary
and an expense account funded by one of the top firms in town, Alexander
& Cleaver.
"The advantage I have over the citizen lobbyist is I'm there all the
time, I'm clued in, I have relationships," Shaivitz said. "I have access
to people the average citizen just does not have."
"My heart goes out to those people," she said. "They're putting in all
this time and energy, and they don't have a chance."
Adam Levner hasn't figured his chances, yet. A rookie lobbyist for
Stand for Children, his job is to round up parents, grandparents and
students like Willie and get them involved.
He'd have better luck taking a tour of historic, rather than
political, Annapolis.
"There are no signs explaining where to go," Levner said. "No
visitors' desk. No map saying your delegation is on second floor.
Honestly, all the buildings look the same. We're not taught how to do
that kind of stuff, this real kind of civics.
"People can go their whole lives without having any idea how decisions
get made."
Cash makes decisions, Dobson said.
"Let's keep our eye on the ball, here," he said. "The real problem is money."
In the last election cycle, corporations accounted for 87 percent of interest group donations. Less than 1 percent of Marylanders contributed.
Not only do the odds favor big business, Dobson said, but the $35
million pumped into state lawmakers' campaigns went primarily to
comfortable incumbents and party leaders, strengthening the top-heavy
system and empowering the leaders farthest from citizens' reach.
Tabor, the parent against soft drinks in schools, did not make a campaign contribution. He found the bill sponsor, Sen. Paul
Pinsky,
D-Prince George's, accessible and helpful. Pinsky supports campaign
finance reform.
But his opposition contributed thousands in the last election cycle.
And their lobbyist, Bereano, reported annual earnings of $497,751
recently.
"What's the sense of testifying?" Tabor said. "Why did we go through
this? I'm not going back unless I have to. All I have to do is just send
money."
Citizens can win access without a large cash outlay -- with sheer
numbers, if they are organized.
About 1,000 Morgan State University students flooded State Circle to demand a new library, obtaining the right permits and lining up nine
buses, 50 car pools and 450 lunches.
They yelled so loud lawmakers had to close the windows to get work
done.
"It's doable," Fosler said. "It isn't a myth. It really is a
remarkably open system ... if you put in the time."
In the end, the ferret and vending bills died swiftly. The charter
school bill died slowly. The Morgan State kids sparked debate and praise,
but left with an IOU.
The cock-fighter, despite being alone in opposing a bill to toughen
laws against his way of life, and to the dismay of veteran lawmakers and
lobbyists, won his case.
So did Willie.
Schools got the largest funding increase in state history, thanks to a
last-minute compromise. Willie's county, Prince George's, got the most.
He is not naive enough to think he had much to do with that. But, he
says, it doesn't matter.
Democracy was served, in a small way, just because he showed up.
"A lot of people say, you can't make a difference. They say that's
just the system," he said. "Well, I think that's the wrong attitude to
have. If you influence just one person, you made a difference.
"At least I can say I came down here. At least I did something."
Copyright ©
200 2
University of Maryland College of
Journalism
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