Welcome to chicken-fried life in Texas
A big-money donor speaks the truth: State government is for sale to the highest bidder.
Should you eat a chicken-fried hot dog? With gravy?
You wouldn’t put the Alamo up for sale. There’s no check big enough to buy Big Bend. But the Pink Dome of the Texas Capitol is on the market to the highest bidder — or at least the decisions made inside.
The corrupting effect of money in politics is often discussed in hushed tones — we’d like to think the fundamentals of our representative republic can withstand a few big-dollar checks. So it is with some cynicism that we thank developer George McMahan for speaking the truth loud enough for everyone to hear.
This truth should inspire Texans to call for better ethics and transparency in state government.
You see, McMahan pledged $10,000 to Gov. Greg Abbott and joined the local committee hosting a fundraiser for the Republican’s campaign in Lubbock earlier this month. Then, in an interview with a local television station, the generous donor explained why:
“You make a large donation to the governor, and in turn you are eligible for appointment to the Board of Regents,” he told the ABC affiliate station, KAMC, referring to the Texas Tech University board.
It isn’t too hard to see where he gets that idea.
Every board member, except the student representative, had donated to Abbott’s campaign in recent years, Chronicle reporter Emily Foxhall wrote last week. Collectively they gave $1 million. Abbott’s campaign didn’t like what McMahan said, however, and asserted that his suggestion was false and would be illegal bribery. His donation was returned.
But it seems like McMahan’s only sin was explicitly saying what everyone else is thinking.
During the past legislative session, the Texas House tried to prevent “pay for play” by passing a bill that would prohibit the governor from appointing donors who had contributed more than $2,500 in a single year to the chief executive’s campaign. At the time, at least 71 of Abbott appointees would have been banned. In total, those donors had given Abbott more than a combined $8.6 million, according to the Texas Tribune.
So why is it still legal for people like McMahan to write a check and hope for an appointment? Because the “pay for play” bill died in the Texas Senate. Then the representative behind the bill had other parts of his legislative agenda vetoed by the governor.
Efforts to stifle government ethics aren’t stopping there. Apparently it isn’t enough to let aspiring appointees give unlimited funds to the governor. Now there’s a movement to let them do it in secret.
The Texas Ethics Commission provides a sliver of sunlight into the shady machinations in Austin. Created in the 1990s, the TEC enforces the state mandates that compel donors and lobbyists in Texas to report their habits. Part of an informed democracy means letting voters know who is cutting checks and greasing palms.
The rich and powerful don’t like it when you report what they do. So, Empower Texans, a right-wing advocacy group funded by rich and powerful millionaires like Tim Dunn, has been waging a legal war to dismantle the TEC.
You would think that a self-proclaimed constitutionalist like Attorney General Ken Paxton would be excited about defending the TEC — its very existence is written in the Texas Constitution. But Paxton, who has been indicted for securities fraud, refuses to take the case.
Why? His office said it won’t comment. However, it is worth noting that Paxton’s campaign has received $377,000 from the Empower Texans PAC since 2014. Empower Texans also secured a $1 million loan for Paxton’s campaign in 2014. Dunn is Paxton’s largest patron, with $405,000 in donations since 2014.
Empower Texans has also given $100,000 to Paxton’s wife in her race for the state Senate.
You can thank the TEC for making that information public.
Consider that Texas taxpayers pay Paxton a $153,750 salary. It’s hard not to feel like we’re being outbid.
Because of Paxton, taxpayers also have to write another check. The TEC has been compelled to pay $300,000 every year for outside counsel to buy the legal representation the attorney general refuses to provide.
The Alamo might not be on the market, but the ideals it embodies — a representative government inspired by liberty — are clearly up for sale. If Texans want things to change, then they’ll have to use the two things that can’t be bought: their voices and their votes.