A Fighting Chance

Guy Cecil, a gifted strategist who helps Democrats organize Senate campaigns, is a true believer. When he talks about how his grandmother fled an abusive husband with five little children in tow and then waited tables for forty years, he turns the story into a deeply optimistic parable about what’s possible in America—if people are given a fighting chance. Guy was once a Baptist minister; when he came out as gay he knew his congregation wouldn’t accept him, so he left and eventually started living his values through elections.

Back when I was first thinking about running for the Senate, Guy came to see me. He told me that I’d probably need to raise $20 million to $30 million.

I was stunned. I’d never run for office, and I was ready to stop right there. I looked at Guy and said, “Thirty million dollars—are you kidding me?”

Guy has a very gentle smile, exactly the kind you’d expect from a kindly pastor. He turned that smile on me and said in a calm voice that he knew it was a lot of money, but I needed to understand the hard reality of campaigning for a competitive Senate seat. It’s really, really expensive.

In fact, Guy was wrong about what it would take—or maybe he was just trying to ease me into the shallow end of the pool. By July 2012, our campaign had already raised $24 million, and we weren’t even in the homestretch yet. We were headed for a number that was a lot bigger than $30 million.

Raising money was exhausting. It was endless. I spent hours on the phone, and then spent more hours, and then more. There were days I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No matter how many calls I made, no matter how many people said yes, I needed to raise more money.

Every time I sat down to make calls, I thought about the polls: I was still behind. Scott Brown still had a big money advantage. People told me that if I didn’t raise enough money, in the final stretch Brown would blitz all the television and radio stations and drown out any message I tried to deliver. And then the race would be over. I would lose.

So I picked up the phone and made another call.

I was incredibly lucky—and deeply grateful—to get so much generous help. I met a couple in Newton who celebrated their anniversary by eating sandwiches at home and writing me a check for the amount they would have spent on dinner at a nice restaurant. A boy still in grade school raided his piggy bank and brought me a bucket of change. A man wrote me a check for the exact amount of his tax refund, with the comment that it was “unexpected money, so I figure it can do some unexpected good. Go win!”

Paul Egerman and Shanti Fry organized people to host house parties and breakfasts and bring their friends into the campaign. Smart and driven, they donated hundreds—maybe thousands—of hours to the campaign. In turn, they persuaded countless numbers of others to give money to our cause. And they had terrific partners in two members of my staff, Michael Pratt and Colleen Coffey.

We also raised money online, along with lots of support. EMILY’s List and the League of Conservation Voters encouraged their members to help, and they really came through, adding great momentum to the campaign. The Progressive Change Campaign Committee signed on early with the petition encouraging me to run, and they stayed with me every day right through the election. MoveOn.org also put their shoulder to the wheel. And Daily Kos, Democracy for America, and Progressives United rallied their huge e-mail lists time and again behind our campaign. To say I felt humbled by these extraordinary efforts doesn’t begin to cut it. So many people made real sacrifices, and I was profoundly grateful for all their help.

Eventually, we closed the money gap with Scott Brown, and we were able to open campaign offices all over the state and get television ads on the air early and stay on straight through Election Day. Meanwhile, the People’s Pledge was holding, so I didn’t have to fight both Karl Rove and Scott Brown simultaneously.

Still, I felt like I had my hand out all the time, and I hated having to ask, over and over. The first contest we had run during the campaign was to ask our supporters what slogan should go on the back of our Elizabeth-for-Senate T-shirts. The winner was: “The best senator money can’t buy.” I thought about that slogan every day—and every time I sent yet another e-mail asking people to donate. I asked for help because I needed to compete with Wall Street money; it was my only chance.

The same wretched system that had given giant banks such extraordinary influence over Congress also forced every candidate to constantly ask for money. And I had to wonder: If politicians didn’t have to raise so much money, would the bankruptcy wars have ended differently? Would Washington have responded differently in the wake of the crash of 2008? Would the government have focused more on saving homeowners and less on saving giant banks?

Money, money, money—it whispers everywhere in politics. It twists a little here, bends a little there. And far too often, it tilts in the same direction: in favor of those with buckets of cash to spend.

I believed in what I was fighting for, and I worked hard to raise money for the campaign. And I would do it all over again. But to make lasting change, to level the playing field so that everyone gets a chance, the money part of elections has got to change. I knew it during the campaign and I know it now. Our democracy deserves better. We deserve better.