A Fighting Chance

The banking industry bought everything; they even bought their own facts. The industry commissioned three different studies, each of which was touted as “independent.” Each explained the urgent need to change the law—exactly the way the banking industry wanted it changed. One particularly damaging result of these bogus studies was a claim that bankruptcy cost every hardworking, bill-paying American family a $550 “hidden tax.” The number was entirely made up, fabricated out of thin air, but the press reported it as “fact” for years.

This one hit me hard. I’d spent nearly twenty years sweating over every detail in a string of serious academic studies, agonizing over sample sizes and statistical significance to make certain that whatever I reported was exactly right. Now the banks just wrote a check, commissioned a friendly study, and purchased their own facts. Then they had their press people distribute the facts and lobbyists hand the facts to congressional staffers. From the halls of Congress to the front pages of newspapers all over the country, these new “facts” became reality.

This strategy—and the cynicism behind it—made me furious. It also scared me. If the facts about bankruptcy could be purchased, then who knew what they would claim next?

The commission report had been delivered in October 1997, and for the next three years we fought off the industry as best we could. But in 2000, we were running out of ways to counter the relentless campaign. The industry-supported bankruptcy bill passed the House and the Senate by sizable margins. Fortunately, one last warrior held out against the banks and the credit card companies: President Clinton. In 1998 I had met with First Lady Hillary Clinton to discuss the proposed bankruptcy legislation, and after our meeting she had declared that she would fight on behalf of working families, against “that awful bill.” Now the president was under enormous pressure from the banks to sign the bill, but in the last days of his presidency, urged on by his wife, President Clinton stood strong with struggling families. With no public fanfare, he vetoed the industry’s bill.

We were still stacking sandbags, and working people would be protected a little longer.





An Obscene Phone Call

The banks lost in 2000, but they didn’t quit—they just spent more money on lobbying and campaign contributions. Soon the banking industry was outspending everybody else—tobacco, pharmaceuticals, even Big Oil. Credit card companies lined up to boost George W. Bush’s presidential campaign.

In 2001, the bill looked sure to pass Congress again, and now George W. Bush was in the White House, promising to sign it into law. The recent election kept the House in Republican control, and every single Republican was ready to support the bill. The Senate was evenly split between the two parties, but one of the bill’s lead sponsors was Democratic powerhouse Joe Biden, and right behind him were plenty of other Democrats offering to help.

Never mind that the country was sunk in an ugly recession and millions of families were struggling—the banking industry pressed forward and Congress obliged. Eventually, versions of the bill were passed by both the House and the Senate, and in late 2002, a final version of the bill emerged from conference. A few weeks earlier, we had lost a friend and key champion when Senator Paul Wellstone was killed in a plane crash. Now it seemed that our epic battle was all but over.

By that point, I was resigned to the outcome. We had rallied some great organizations and terrific people to our cause: since 1997, we had protected a lot of families from disaster. We had fought the good fight, but now we would lose.

One day in mid-November, I sat in my office writing the final exam for the term.

When the phone rang, I jumped. I picked it up and answered with my usual, “Elizabeth Warren.” My mind was still on the exam.

I heard a man shouting. He was struggling to catch his breath, and mixed into his shouted words was a jumble, including what sounded like some surprising epithets. “We showed those #*&!!s. They shouldn’t mess with us!”

I thought: Wow, my first obscene phone call—and it’s happening at Harvard. Who knew?

I had taken the phone away from my ear and was about to hang up when I realized that the voice sounded oddly familiar. There was something about the accent.

I pulled the phone back to my ear and listened for another few seconds. Then I said: “Senator Kennedy?”

“Yes, yes!” he yelled into the phone. “We’re here. We’re in the cloakroom. We did it! We pushed back—and we won! Here, talk to Dick.”

Senator Durbin came on the line and told the whole story. The politics were fierce, he said, and they revolved around … abortion.