[BfB(oG)] omygawd: "Politics is the Bargain of the Century"
Jim Buell
jbuell at uiuc.edu
Sat Aug 12 02:03:25 CDT 2000
Egads, Biff. The new turks of $ilicon Valley just have no respect for old
monaay.
(Would somebody please tell me this piece I just found in the Times is a
satire?)
http://www.nytimes.com/library/magazine/home/20000813mag-dotcom.html
---------------------------------
The Nasdaq-ing of Capitol Hill
Think big money rules politics? Wait until the new dot-com lobby
makes good on its plan to hand out stock options as campaign
donations. By SARA MILES Photograph by JIM GOLDBERG
M ost of the
Democrats
gathering
this week in Los
Angeles for their
national convention
don't know yet who
John Witchel is. But
he and his friends
are planning to
crash the
Democrats' party
with a
straightforward
message: they
want in. "We
already drive every
significant sector of
the economy,"
Witchel says. "The keys to the kingdom are squarely in our hands.
I'm here to say there's a next generation of Internet executives, and
we're ready to become national political players."
John Witchel is a big, driven man, a former Stanford jock with a
booming voice. At 32, he is running his third successful company,
the San Francisco-based Red Gorilla, while serving on the boards
of seven other Internet start-ups. But Witchel's current obsession is
not business but politics -- an arena he feels is ripe for the
attention
of entrepreneurs. "Priced today," he says, sounding slightly
surprised by his discovery, "politics is the bargain of the
century. For
$10 million you could do anything."
Not that Witchel is interested in buying politicians. What he wants,
simply, is to be a political somebody, "one of a small handful of
trusted people," as he puts it, "who can be helpful when needed." So
Witchel has just helped start a new enterprise, PAC.com, a political
action committee aimed at centrist Democrats. Along with Witchel,
the main organizers include his Red Gorilla colleague Wade
Randlett, Tim Newell of E*Offering, Joe Kraus of Excite at home,
Chris Larsen of E-Loan and E. David Ellington of NetNoir. While
these power brokers lack the star power of Hollywood, they have an
even more glamorous currency that they plan to start handing out:
equity.
For starters, PAC.com's 20 members will each contribute $1,000 a
month in plain old cash to politicians who meet with them for dinner
and conversation. (This year, they're focusing on Congress, where
a small group has more "leverage," and not on the presidential
race.) That's the traditional part; what's new is that members will
also give stock in their pre-I.P.O. or newly public companies to
PAC.com to put into a kitty and disburse over time. "We can cash it
out and give it to a politician," explains Randlett, "and say
here's five
grand. Or we can say here's $5,000 worth of shares; you hang on to
it and see where it goes."
This kind of equity could have vast
implications for the world of politics. If
Joe Kraus of Excite, for example, had
contributed just $1,000 worth of stock to
a senator right when the company went
public in April 1996, three years later,
even after some scary losses and plunges, that senator would have
had $15,992 to spend on campaigning.
It's a pretty tempting proposition, though even tech-friendly
politicians express reservations. Representative Adam Smith, a
Democrat from Washington and the campaign chairman for the
New Democrat Network, which has worked hard to forge links to
high tech, believes that few candidates will be willing to play the
market with their campaign budgets. After all, the stock could just as
easily be eToys as Excite.
Smith does believe, however, that the identification with PAC.com
and its pool of stock might "help brand candidates a little bit
further"
by linking them to the New Economy. Senator Patrick Leahy of
Vermont doesn't accept money from PAC's himself, but he, too,
sees the appeal of the idea. "I think it's an intriguing way for young
dot-com people to participate," says Leahy, who has long
championed Internet issues. "It makes sense to them. As far as
ethics, the bottom line is, whenever you take any donation, it's
reported, it's public knowledge. Whether you take cash from or
stock in Polluters-R"-Us.com, if you're voting against an
environmental issue, the public will know."
If politicians are cautious, campaign-finance
reformers have already made up their minds.
"A sweetheart deal in pre-I.P.O. stock has a
back-room stench to it, even if it's legal,"
charges E. Joshua Rosenkranz, president of
the Brennan Center for Justice at the New York
University School of Law, which has been
studying campaign finance. "If you believe
contribution limits mean anything, then making
a contribution that explodes in value within a
few days is a blatant subversion of them."
Ronald Turovsky, a partner at Manatt, Phelps &
Phillips in Los Angeles and the election-law
specialist who is advising PAC.com, sounds
unconcerned, however, and asserts that he
has "no doubt" that it's appropriate for
politicians to receive stocks. "There's nothing
in the F.E.C. regulations or statutes that would prohibit it," he
says.
In fact, in correspondence with PAC.com, officials at the Federal
Elections Commission affirmed the plan to give out stock.
While PAC.com is a small, start-up operation, it is undoubtedly what
its founders like to call, in Internet jargon, "scalable": other PAC's
and individuals from around the country can borrow the idea and
take it where they want to. For better or worse, the world of
campaign finance is likely to change. Like so much else in American
culture, politics will be pulled even further into the orbit of
the stock
market and the Internet economy. And along with it, the influence of
men like John Witchel stands to grow.
W hen Microsoft first got into trouble with the justice
department, the established tech companies, who used to
keep their distance from national politics, swiftly beefed up
their lobbying operations and began playing the Washington game.
PAC.com, however, represents a different trend; its members have
little patience for doing government affairs by the book and tend to
see the big computer companies as hopelessly old-fashioned. "The
C.E.O.'s who ruled Silicon Valley five years ago are middle-aged
and corporate," Witchel says disdainfully. "Our guys are in their 20's
and 30's. They have 25 employees. They don't have lobbyists. They
don't go to Business Roundtable meetings."
Witchel and his allies don't even look like traditional Silicon Valley
types; they're more frat boy than geek. At 40, Tim Newell calls
himself "the old man" of the group; a husky Vermonter, he towers
over most Internet executives like a football player among
chess-club nerds. Newell, a former White House aide turned
investment banker, runs E*Offering, which enables individuals to
invest in I.P.O.'s online. Joe Kraus, a founder of Excite, is a
goateed
29-year-old; his company, begun in a burrito shop during his senior
year at Stanford, had a market value early this month of $5 billion.
David Ellington, the cigar-smoking, 40-year-old C.E.O. of NetNoir,
runs the Web's leading black-oriented site. Chris Larsen, 39, a
windsurfing enthusiast, is the founder and C.E.O. of E-Loan, an
online lending service whose original interface he programmed
himself. Wade Randlett, 35, who favors tailor-made suits, was a
Democratic political consultant who helped found Silicon Valley's
first PAC, the Technology Network, in 1997 -- hands-down the
single person who defined high-tech fund-raising," says Newell.
"We're like NASA was in the 60's," claims David Ellington. "Then,
everyone wanted to hang out with the astronauts. Now everyone
wants to be down with the future."
hese self-styled "Astronauts" are largely Democrats. They
made their fortunes on Bill Clinton's watch and became
natural allies of his centrist, pro-trade, "New Democrat"
agenda. Of course, plenty of Internet entrepreneurs remain
Republicans; George Bush has raised millions in Silicon Valley, and
Republican congressmen like J.C. Watts of Oklahoma have made
pilgrimages there to court high-tech supporters. But Witchel and his
fellow PAC.com members share a Northern California ethos that
makes them culturally out of tune with traditional Republican values.
PAC.commers say they care about choice and the environment.
They don't want the Ten Commandments posted in schools. They
love making money and are perfectly comfortable doing it alongside
homosexuals and foreigners. What they see in Gore and the New
Democrats are politicians who will not only respect their style but
who will also make sure that their industry stays as unregulated,
un-unionized and untaxed as possible.
Already, PAC.com has established what
Randlett calls "a strategic co-marketing
agreement" with the New Democrat
Network, a group of pro-business Capitol
Hill Democrats who borrow freely from the
metaphors and values of the New
Economy in their quest to modernize their
party and wean it away from the labor
unions and old-line liberals. In just four
years, billing itself as "a venture capital
fund for the Democratic Party," the group
has become the largest caucus in the
House, with 65 members. It now has 14
New Democrat Senators as well, and it runs its own PAC and
recruits, promotes and finances promising centrist candidates.
Simon Rosenberg, 35, the president and founder of the New
Democrat Network, has made alliances with Silicon Valley a central
part of his political strategy from the beginning. Rosenberg
recognizes that Internet entrepreneurs need politicians, as Newell
says, in order "to be in the conversation." They want access,
relationships and connections in Washington.
There are plenty of issues on the table in Washington right now -
Internet taxation, privacy regulations, export controls, visas for
high-tech immigrant workers -- that Witchel and his group might
want to weigh in on. But the PAC.commers insist that they're less
interested in short-term lobbying for a specific agenda than in
building networks of influence. "Look at where the great power
bases of the world are," argues Witchel. "One is in venture capital.
Another is in Washington, D.C. Just as I spend an enormous
amount of time getting to know investment bankers before I actually
need their money, I do the same with politicians."
Behind Witchel's approach is a firm belief that Internet businesses
are models for how all social and political institutions can work more
effectively. The young entrepreneurs of PAC.com tend to use the
buzz words of the Internet economy to describe every facet of life.
They want to "disintermediate" political go-betweens and substitute
their own networks for established political machines. They want to
"identify an expanded target market" and then "aggregate
high-net-worth individuals" to change the base of support for the
Democratic Party. As Newell boasts, PAC.com's modest goal is to
"transform the business of politics and the politics of business."
In the end, Newell says, politics is the same as investment banking:
"You have a product, you have to go out and raise money." He
chuckles. "PAC.com is just old-fashioned grass-roots politics --
grass-roots organizing of millionaires."
PAC.com, for the moment, eschews soft-money donations -- the
uncapped gifts to political parties rather than individual
candidates --
but other high-tech figures have begun experimenting with the
system. Marc Andreessen, the 29-year-old founder of Netscape,
chairman of Loudcloud and ber-geek, is part of PAC.com's broader
network. He has been hanging out with Vice President Al Gore for
years and recently dropped a quarter of a million dollars on the
Democratic National Committee. It is, Andreessen admits, "a lot" by
the standards of politics. "But in my world," he adds, "if I invested
just $250,000 in a new company, they might think I wasn't all that
serious."
The difference between the value of money in Silicon Valley and in
Washington -- what Andreessen calls "arbitrage" -- gets the
attention of young entrepreneurs.If you think there's a lot of
money in
politics now," Andreessen says, "you haven't seen anything yet."
In the world view of PAC.com, that's nothing to be afraid of;
politicians are merely the last ones to get dealt into the game. After
all, in the New Economy, argues Witchel, everyone from
receptionists to C.E.O.'s is getting paid in stock already. "It's
just the
way we do business," he declares. "Doesn't it make sense for
everyone to participate in the same system?"
Campaign-finance watchdogs certainly don't think so. At a time
when the market's reach into every corner of civic life seems almost
unchecked, critics ask, why make politics, too, dependent on stock
prices? "Candidates are already treated as commodities to be
invested in; we might as well slap logos on them," says
Rosenkranz. "Contributing stock is the perfect completion of the
circle."
Witchel himself is torn. He'll exalt the power of skyrocketing stock
options one minute, then turn around and critique the culture that
has grown up around them. "The thing about Silicon Valley that's a
problem for me," he says, "is when it's just about money. It's
spiritually bankrupt. People get rich, they start to smell like money,
dress like money. It makes the whole culture ugly and hollow."
Perhaps that's what politics offers to the callow entrepreneurs of
Silicon Valley: a spiritual dimension, a meaningful, civic-minded
pursuit beyond the world of business and money. But first they have
to buy their way in.
Jim Buell
jbuell at uiuc.edu
graduate student in Ed Psych, UIUC
The Prairie Greens: http://www.prairienet.org/greens/
Why Nader anyhow?: http://www.salon.com/comics/tomo/2000/07/24/tomo/index.html
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