美國的民主運作顯然已經被金錢和遊說所腐蝕，幾乎沒有幾個人記得美國其實有公費民主製（總統競選基金），隻是被政治獻金和民眾對政黨的信心幻滅給搞砸了。
我們已經在前幾章看到，民主運作有其成本，包括政黨運作和競選支出；而隻要政府補助無法適度分擔這些成本，少數優勢者的慷慨獻金就會取而代之，接管選舉機製，造成貪瀆與把持民主等重大威脅。
所有民調都顯示馬克宏大受經濟最寬裕、學歷最高的人民歡迎，卻極受經濟最窮困、學歷最低的人民反感。而這一切都導因於他五年任期頭幾個月所推出的經濟政策，也就是替有錢人減稅。那些資助他競選的富豪們想必一點也不後悔。而其餘的人嘛，就隻能靠每個月不到五歐元的住房津貼湊合了。
可惜美國的進展隻能用「終結的起點」來形容，因為新製度才上路就開始走下坡。這就是美國嘗試政治運作資金法製化的命運，而最高法院更是扮演了死神的角色，不僅反對聯邦政府訂定所得稅和最低工資規範，更長年主張金錢和言論自由是同一回事，導致政府規範政治獻金的努力功虧一簣。
早在川普崛起之前的1980年，就有億萬富豪柯氏兄弟的弟弟大衛（David Koch）以自由意誌黨副總統候選人的身分角逐大位，最後自掏腰包了兩百萬美元。如果大衛隻是普通公民，捐款就不得超過法定的競選政治獻金上限；但他既然是候選人，想捐多少給自己都可以。
大法官雖然不反對替候選人和政黨政治獻金設限，卻判定所有針對「獨立」支出而設定的上限均屬違憲。換句話說，隻要個人或團體沒有參選，也沒有跟候選人講好，捐款隻是想表達支持或反對，捐款金額就沒有限製，隻有企業和工會除外。因此，政治獻金唯有直接捐給候選人時才有上限，拿來助選則不受限製，也就是「硬錢」（hard money）有上限，「軟錢」（soft money）沒有。為什麼？因為聯邦最高法院對於「貪瀆」採取極為嚴苛的定義，必須有「對價關係」才算數。換句話說，某人直接（捐款）資助候選人有貪瀆的危險，因為他不免會期待候選人日後有所回報；但若這筆錢隻是表達個人的政治偏好，就沒有這個問題，至少最高法院這樣認為。既然候選人沒有收受任何東西，也就無以回報。出錢助選不過是捐款者的一種言論表達。
直接捐款有賄賂之嫌，而間接資助自然沒有這個問題。
2012年，聯邦最高法院在聯合公民案判決中（我們稍後還會詳談）再次重申了同一立場：「巴克利主張政府有足夠重大之理由預防貪瀆或疑似貪瀆行為，該理由隻適用於對價貪瀆。」然而，最高法院進一步裁決道，獨立於候選人及其競選活動之外的獨立支出隻是個人表達政治言論的一種形式，因此不可能引發貪瀆或疑似貪瀆之行為。反觀法國僅允許政黨和政治團體接受捐款或花錢從事選舉活動，乍看隻是徒增麻煩，實際上這個限製卻有效控製了候選人和政黨的競選財源。
聯邦最高法院早在一九七六年就廢除了競選支出總額上限，使得現在當上美國總統至少需要十億美元。
聯邦最高法院廢除私費選舉相關規範的理由很值得深究。所有判決都是以崇高的言論和資訊自由為名做出的。大法官的論點很簡單，但並非無可爭議。首先，民主國家的公民必須能做知情選擇，這點無庸置疑，因此美國憲法第一修正案是競選活動的核心精神，因為它確保人民有言論自由。所有候選人都必須以理念說服人民，讓人民知道由他當選有什麼好處。我想各位也會同意這點。然而，錢在這些事上扮演什麼角色？有能力宣揚或捍衛個人理念，甚至參與選舉，其實非常花錢，而且在現代愈來愈貴。1970年代，聯邦最高法院講到競選支出，心裡想的是電台和電視廣告，外加報紙文宣，現在還包括網路宣傳。因此，聯邦最高法院認為，設定候選人支出上限將大幅縮限候選人的言論自由，因為金錢不僅有助於候選人傳播理念，甚至不可或缺。這就導出第二個論點：限製競選支出就等於限製公共討論，因為用大法官的話來說，討論應當「開放、健全並不受阻礙。」但這裡就恕我不敢苟同了。要是參與者當中有些人可以花錢不眨眼，有些人不行，討論還可能「開放」嗎？對有錢的候選人來說，討論當然是開放的，但其餘候選人可能就得陷入你爭我奪。
不僅如此，從2010年開始，這場爭奪戰又多了兩項利器。個人隻要不直接捐款給候選人，就能無上限花錢助選，而且企業也一樣，因為企業等同於「個人」，同樣受憲法第一修正案保障。
聯邦最高法院在「聯合公民訴聯邦選舉委員會」一案果然裁決既有的禁令全數違憲，實質賦予企業「個人」身分，得以獲得憲法第一修正案的保障，捐款無須受到任何限製。換句話說，在美國法理體製下，企業等同個人，因此和個人一樣享有充分的言論自由，選舉期間可以盡情撒錢，因為金錢也是言論表達的一種。
聯邦最高法院隻提出一項限製，就是企業捐款必須「獨立」。但我們已經曉得，這項針對「硬錢」和「軟錢」的劃分完全是人為的，根本無法法阻攔私人獻金湧入選舉。
2008年，歐巴馬出馬角逐總統。為了擺脫支出上限的束縛，歐巴馬成為美國首位放棄政府補助的總統候選人。扣掉政治行動委員會的獨立捐款，光是他個人的競選支出就將近十四億歐元，相當於每位成年人口四點七八歐元。更令人震撼的是選舉期間政治行動委員會的捐款變化，從1990至1992年選舉週期的五億歐元飆漲到2016至2017年的三十億歐元，充分展現了最高法院判決的影響。
我們應該就此投降，對默瑟家族或柯氏兄弟伏首稱臣，朝這些向來是政黨金主，有時還身兼媒體大亨的億萬富豪低頭嗎？目前最需要的其實是人民挺身而出，發動真正的民主反擊。誰能想到幾年前美國竟然有上百萬人走上街頭支持槍枝管製？
為什麼會有成千上百萬的美國人站出來？答案很簡單，因為對他們有利。數十年法規鬆綁的苦果再明顯不過了，美國政治已經淪為有錢人的發聲筒。唯有當輿論真的撼動政治人物，他們才可能有所行動。麵對政治明顯不具代表性，解決之道絕不是大規模放棄投票，也不是茶黨──這樣一個組織比誰都更仰賴開口閉口就是經濟法規鬆綁和減稅的保守派財閥資助，竟然成為政治上缺乏代表的底層人民的代言人，真是莫大的反諷！我們其實需要的是更多規範，就算修憲也在所不惜。不論如何，當務之急就是讓私費選舉和言論自由脫鉤。
美國的例子清楚顯示了司法機關照理應該超然獨立，卻有許多時候站在民主的反麵，其成員無須向任何人負責，完全照著自己對憲法的詮釋來製定或取消法律。一邊是你選出的民意代表，雖然不完美，至少憑藉選票而有民主正當性，理論上會依據多數人的偏好製定法律，另一邊則是法官，有些還是終身職（例如美國就莫名其妙用這種教皇製來展現其民主精神），而且常被捧為不受政治考量左右的中立專業者。然而，目前在法國沒有比憲法委員會更政治的機構了。它或許沒有去捅民主運作經費來源這個馬蜂窩，卻在財稅方麵展現了驚人的行動力。累進製全民社會繳款？不行。低所得職工分擔額減免？不行。跨國公司財務透明？不行。穀歌稅（Google tax）？不行。廢除巨富稅或改成隻針對不動產開徵（其實殊途同歸），連帶打破各類財產同等對待原則呢？馬上辦，因為咱們親愛的法官大人唯一在乎的就是公眾利益。憲法委員會的財政裁決其實充滿了政治和意識形態，十有八九顯露出毫無憲法根據的保守主義，卻裝作一切純粹出於法律考量。
美國過去幾十年來民主規範不斷鬆綁，這件事為何值得憂心？競選支出飆漲到了可比歐洲足球巨星轉會費的地步當然是理由之一。如今還有誰敢說出確實數目？聽到隻會讓人瞠目結舌。當零多到一個境界，數字就失去了意義。然而更令人害怕的是，比起低收入族群，有錢人和超級有錢人的政治偏好愈來愈常反映在政府政策裡。少數遠遠壓倒了多數。
紀倫思根據數十年的調查結果告訴我們，如今每當有錢人和窮人在經濟、政治或社會方麵看法分歧，政府決策已經不再考慮貧困階級的支持與否。換句話說，就算「底層百分之五十」的美國人有九成要求聯邦政府提高最低薪資，但隻要「頂層百分之一」的人反對，提案就不可能通過。重點是美國的最低薪資自雷根當選以來，除了柯林頓和歐巴馬在位期間有過幾次小幅調整，就再也沒變過，但民眾購買力自1970年代以來卻下滑了超過三分之一。受創的不隻是窮人，中產階級也持續在和超級有錢人的對抗中落敗。因此，不論百萬和億萬富豪加稅或提高最低薪資，就算底層和中產階級表達支持也毫無用處，超級有錢人隻要認為不符合眼前所需，這些提案就不會出現在政治議程裡，不僅財政和經濟政策如此，文化、社會和外交等其他領域也是。總之，所有政府施政都一樣。
其實政府施政通常符合民意，但那隻是因為頂富階層的偏好正巧和多數人相同。政治人物不是因為底層階級要求這個或那個而決定採行這個或那個政策。他們會這樣做的主要理由，甚至是唯一的理由，就是超級有錢人也想要這個或那個政策，例如墮胎合法化和出兵伊拉克就是同時滿足有錢人和普通人偏好的政策。紀倫斯和佩吉稱呼這種現象為「湊巧民主」。我們能接受這種現狀嗎？就如紀倫思和佩吉所強調的，湊巧民主的問題出在巧合很容易就變成暴政。而且就算沒變成暴政，它能稱得上是真正的民主嗎？從這個角度看，問題又和慈善事業一樣：少數億萬富豪比多數人更有能力替多數人決定，理由當然是金錢之神特別眷顧他們的選擇。
政治衝突就成了身分之爭，成為「他們」與「我們」的對抗。身分之爭並不是種族衝突（雖然我們之後會談到，美國政治辯論從來不缺種族的麵向），也不一定是美國人與外國人之爭，更不是困擾歐洲的宗教（尤其是伊斯蘭教）衝突，而是美國人和美國人、隻喝黑咖啡派和低脂拿鐵馬奇朵假惺惺傲慢自由派（也就是民主黨員）的對抗。
咖啡之爭或許聽來好笑，但法蘭克告訴我們，這對於了解那些明明需要大政府（提供優良公立教育與更好的健保製度等等）的美國人為何會投票支持削減稅負、政府支出與重分配非常關鍵。在這些美國人眼中，政府是「惡」，是那些不代表也不了解他們的「那些人」的化身。這是一場價值之爭，而茶黨正是靠著價值而非經濟訴求贏得了選民的支持。
茶黨說服這些落隊的美國人，眼前其實是一場道德危機，美國正在走下坡，文化不斷沉淪，而這一切都是那些從他們頭上飛越的菁英們的責任。正是墮胎議題，讓共和黨的極端保守派在堪薩斯首嚐選舉勝利，隨後又將黨的主導權輸給了茶黨。這些保守派反墮胎、反智、重信仰，藉由重新定義政治辯論而贏了選戰。他們將階級衝突轉化為價值之爭，極其成功地改以「正牌」（authenticité）美國人定義階級關係，不再以財富區分社會階級。
這些人的政治手腕之高，讓人不得不讚嘆。文化衝突的好用之處，就在讓最受剝奪者以為自己是贏家。
美國夢已淪為空談，子女所得高於父母的機率從1940年代的百分之九十驟降到五十年後的百分之五十。
反墮胎在保守派論述裡已經超越宗教層次，成為攸關道德與文化價值的問題。
我們不該被價值衝突蒙蔽，忽略了最底層階級所遭遇的經濟困境。政治辯論轉向文化價值非但沒有抹去階級衝突的基本問題，反而變本加厲。
過去四十年來，美國整體經濟成長了百分之五十九，感覺相當不錯，至少比法國的百分之三十九好得多。但這個數字背後隱藏了極度的不平等：最有錢百分之十人口的經濟所得成長了115%（最有錢百分之零點零零一人口是685%），底層一半人口的經濟成長卻是負百分之一。對所得位於全國後半的美國人來說，經濟狀況不僅沒有改善，反而更糟了。
這些人顯然沒有權力，因為政治上已經不再有人真正代表他們。這些人沒有權力，而有權力的人不理會他們，不在意他們的需求與偏好。
既然如此，這些美國人為何不支持有錢人加稅，也就等於有權者（因為金錢可以買到權力）加稅呢？他們為何不要求財富和權力重分配？為何不投給「左派」，投給承諾加強重分配的候選人呢？「德行」的概念在此再次成為關鍵。對這些白人居多的美國中西部居民來說，所有重分配或社會保護政策的主要得利者都是窮人。那些窮人平白得到好處，是法國右派口中坐享社會福利的「伸手牌」（des assistés）；而他們這些信奉努力工作、行得正坐得直的堪薩斯和威斯康辛鄉下人卻什麼好處也沒有。這些人認為自己是重分配的受害者，稅繳得多福利拿得少，這當然是錯的。但他們認為自己被拋棄是對的，因為過去數十年來的經濟成長確實遺落了他們。隻不過偷走經濟果實的「那些人」並非和他們處境相同的窮人，而是有錢人。
這些說法讓人想起社會學家霍希爾德（Arlie Russell Hochschild）的描述。她充分掌握到了美國普通白人男性深埋內心從未表明的挫折，隻不過地點換成了路易西安那州。這些男性感覺自己一輩子都在排隊，等著爬上美國夢所應許的社會階梯。他們耐心等候，結果看到了什麼？一個又一個「少數族群」插隊搶到了他們前麵：先是女性，再來是黑人，然後是同誌和身心障礙者，等等等等。所有人都擠上去了，隻有他們還像一群被拋棄的孤兒在排隊。於是他們火冒三丈，氣政府總是踐踏他們這些「小人物」（little guys）。他們隻剩誰能依靠？神。
對勞動階級來說，他們不僅從主流媒體集體消失，「自由派菁英」不得不正眼看他們時，眼神裡又充滿了輕蔑。
不論法國、美國或英國，儘管勞動階級（包括受雇者和勞工）仍然占總人口一半以上，卻在國會大幅缺席。這可以部分解釋為何大多數人民覺得自己沒有被代表，並且是出於被迫，而非選擇。如果有選擇，他們寧可支持勞工出身而非管理階層出身的候選人，因為那會直接影響國會最終通過哪些政策。
美國茶黨之所以成功，是因為他們成功將辯論主軸從階級鬥爭轉變為文化對抗。不過，最主要的理由還是民主黨的失敗，因為他們率先退出了階級鬥爭的戰場。
過去數十年來，美國民主黨不僅拋棄了勞動階級，更不再批評華爾街的偏差行為，隻要想想希拉蕊到高盛集團或花旗銀行演講就明白了。這樣做或許讓她賺進了大筆經費，卻也損失慘重。代表民主黨角逐總統的她在演講裡顯然對金融界的濫行妄為輕輕放下，否則不會堅持不公開。那些演講不僅是在滿足大方出錢要她插手政策的人的虛榮心，也在迎合未來金主的利益。
民主黨為何拋棄了階級鬥爭？部分原因出在他們想向富人爭取更多競選經費，而最慘的是他們顯然成功了。2016年，希拉蕊募得的競選政治獻金比川普還多，也花得更多。最後她贏了資金，卻輸了選舉。由於她幾乎不理會勞動階級，結果就是失去了他們的選票。
麵對美國近幾年來的經濟成長，民主黨既想延續，也想追求同樣的模式，完全無視於所得分配不平等。
自金融危機結束以來，美國的經濟成長有一半以上落入了最有錢百分之一人口的口袋。
就算中低收入戶在民主黨執政時期比共和黨執政時期所得成長較快，也遠低於富人的所得成長速度，即使在民主黨執政時期也是如此。共和黨執政時期，幾乎所有經濟成長都被頂富階層端走，民主黨執政時期他們隻端走大部分。就算不是有錢人全拿，最後效果也是一樣，貧富差距不斷惡化。
因此，錯不能全怪共和黨，民主黨也有責任，甚至責任更大，因為他們宣稱自己站在社會弱勢者這一邊（而共和黨則是維持一直以來的階級位置，站在大企業和超級富人那一邊）。民主黨讚許經濟成長，卻沒有採取行動讓經濟果實分享更平等，結果反倒助長了不平等的惡性循環。
經濟不平等會助長政治不平等，而政治愈不平等，造成經濟更不平等的政策就愈多。
維繫任何政治團體都必須麵對以下關鍵問題：誰擁有權力？這些人對誰負責？他們有什麼行動手段？仰賴哪些資源？當金錢成為行動分子和菁英之外的主要權力手段與唯一的必要資源，就會破壞既有的勢力均衡。
傳統共和黨人不僅失去對黨的控製，連選舉也保不住。三五位堪薩斯億萬富豪的政治偏好不可能代表所有共和黨選民。2012年，被「柯氏章魚」纏住的共和黨既沒有選擇最佳的總統候選人，也沒有提出最有力的政治主張，而是從候選人（羅姆尼）到政見都是錢錢錢。
過度仰仗極端保守派億萬富豪不隻影響了共和黨對候選人和政見的選擇，連競選方式都會受到左右，尤其利用個資精準投放文宣。柯氏兄弟連共和黨的全國代表大會都不放過，迫使共和黨放棄過去自行分析選情的做法，改用他們旗下數據分析公司i360研發行銷的資料庫。
如今在美國就算是地方初選，沒有募到幾十萬美元是別想參選的。錢已經成為新的選舉稅，隻有少數口袋夠深的人繳得起。
社會議題方麵，民主黨金主比共和黨金主更傾向自由派，主張婚姻平權，在墮胎議題遭受批評時也會挺身回擊，甚至支持嚴格管製槍枝。但一講到經濟議題，他們就變得非常保守，有些人更和共和黨金主相去不遠，稅製就是其中一個例子。這些好心的慈善家總是樂於給予，從政黨、慈善組織到公益活動無所不捐，但幾乎都反對加稅。於是，民主黨的政治人物便遷就他們，無視傳統支持者的偏好，給了那些慈善家前所未有的低邊際稅率，最終導致選民大批出走。
根據2014年七月的華盛頓郵報，「不論美國或全世界發生了什麼大事，歐巴馬總統的行事曆上永遠不缺一樣東西，那就是募款。」據該報統計，歐巴馬於第一任總統任內共主持了三百二十一場募款活動，雷根是八十場，老布希一百三十七場，柯林頓一百六十七場，小布希一百七十三場。你可以說這是一股趨勢，過去數十年來不斷增加，但歐巴馬才真的誇張。身為民主黨總統，並從不避諱自己對聯合市民的反感，歐巴馬或許背負著眾人的期望，沒想到他非但沒有逆轉潮流，反而變本加厲。不僅如此，他的募款活動想當然耳以有錢人為對象，而非一般大眾，結果造成勞動階級和民主黨更疏離。這點也可以解釋歐巴馬八年總統任內的經濟政策為何相對保守，絲毫沒能減少美國的貧富差距。以他花在募款活動的時間，我們實在很好奇他到底能不能把總統做好。
過去數十年來，美國的防線逐一潰散，再也攔不了金錢湧入政治，從獻金來源到公開透明都被沖蝕得一點也不剩。共和民主兩黨似乎都被金錢把持，政治人物不分左右隻會迎合有錢人的政治偏好。
所以，德國模式到底是什麼？一方麵如本書第五章所言，德國過去資助政黨及其附屬組織的製度很有新意，但另一方麵又令人意外。許多國家不隻會限製私人獻金，還會提供公共補助，但德國除了要求公開透明，對於個人及企業獻金完全沒有任何規範。這讓我們得出第一個重點：不論和過往經驗或其他國家相比，錢與民主的關聯在德國從來沒有得到完整冷靜的討論。因此，德國在某些方麵很先進，某些地方則很落後，不僅政黨支出（包括競選和一般活動）和收受獻金總額沒有上限，政府還每年大手筆撥款補助政黨。
德國企業和雇主協會資助政治活動非常大方。至於背後動機，最令人意外的一點就是他們往往捐款給不隻一個政黨，而且左右都捐。
我認為我們不應該小看德國的這種扭曲現象，尤其捐款全都來自出口導向為主的大型企業。這或許可以部分解釋德國對貿易順差的執著態度，就算出口經濟占比高到不合理也依然故我。而我們都曉得這種態度對歐元區在2008年金融危機後的組織與運作造成了哪些後果。
根據國際透明組織報導，俄國近年來在倫敦大舉投資，其中許多資產都是大型的「洗錢機器」。
不少俄國寡頭大亨都有英國籍，而英國政府也樂於讓他們歸化，以換取對方在英國投資，使得這些寡頭大亨都能慷慨資助英國政黨。
問題是還有最後一個壞消息，那就是歐洲已經決定仿效美國，將金錢和言論自由畫上等號。為什麼？顯然是為了破壞限製政治獻金的所有規範。
歐盟對政黨和競選財源最明顯的介入，莫過於歐洲人權法院一九九八年針對「鮑曼訴英國」一案所做的判決。
簡單說，歐洲人權法院的判決就是禁止購買政治廣告違反言論自由。
Review Julia Cagé's The Price of Democracy
Cash Rules, How we pay for democracy.
By Jan-Werner Müller, the teaches at Princeton. His new book, from Farrar, Straus and Giroux, is Democracy Rules.
August 11, 2021
The title of Julia Cagé's The Price of Democracy will prompt Americans to think of the obscene cost of their elections. The amount spent on the 2020 federal races is said to have been a staggering $14 billion (more than twice the price tag for 2016). State elections consumed close to $2 billion. Almost 90 percent of the House candidates who spent the most money ended up winning.
In The Price of Democracy, Cagé offers us a deeply researched account of how states regulate campaign finance. Comparing countries as varied as India and Belgium, she finds that even the seemingly more egalitarian democracies have failed to do so successfully. In response, she proposes an attractive alternative that puts the financial responsibility for democracy squarely in the hands of citizens: a publicly funded voucher scheme that allows individuals to support their preferred candidates and parties, combined with severe restrictions on all private donations.
Democracy, of course, has never been free. The ancient Athenians constructed complicated sortition machines through which officeholders were chosen by lot; they also built an amphitheater for an assembly in which thousands of citizens could participate. They even thought that ordinary people who took part in politics should be paid, much to the outrage of the anti-democratic philosophers, who deemed democracy the most expensive political system around—even if the annual expenditure for the assembly was roughly the same as the amount needed to feed the horses of the 1,000-strong Athenian cavalry.
Today, the costs of democracy range from those of the actual machinery of voting to the transportation of mail-in ballots to the maintenance of party organizations and political campaigns. In most democracies, taxes ultimately pay these costs, which was also the case in ancient Athens. In the contemporary US, by contrast, election laws and a number of fateful Supreme Court decisions since the 1970s allow corporations to play a large part in financing politics and the ultra-wealthy to dominate campaigns through “dark money.” But the glaring inequality of the US system is hardly unique. As Cagé reminds her readers, “radiant Dorian Europe” (the reference is to the Oscar Wilde character) should not feel reassured by “the very existence of Gray America.” For, in Western Europe, donations are also highly concentrated among the wealthiest: In France and the UK, 10 percent of “megadonors” account for more than two-thirds of the total given. And in countries where corporate donations are allowed, companies play an obviously unsavory role. In Germany, for instance, the auto industry and the cigarette maker Philip Morris spend lavishly on the largest center-left and center-right parties; the tobacco giant also sponsors party conventions and “summer parties” in Berlin, expenditures that largely go unnoticed.
True, many democracies offer public funding to political parties, but at the same time they set very weak limits on private contributions. Less obviously, in countries that seemingly put the financing of politics directly into the hands of the people—offering tax deductions for citizens who spend generously on their system of self-rule, so to speak—the effect is highly skewed: Since the wealthier pay much more in taxes, they disproportionately benefit from such schemes.
Cagé emphasizes the injustice of a situation in which the poor end up subsidizing the political preferences of the rich, who tend to be much more conservative when it comes to economic policies. Though money will not reliably buy every election (a fact that Democrats were reminded of in South Carolina, Maine, and other states last year), the system overall will skew toward the interests of those who contribute the most.
Cagé observes that neither the traditional social democratic parties nor the self-declared left-populist upstarts have ever really addressed these inequalities—and sometimes, she argues, they have made things worse. Under Tony Blair, who cuddled up to British finance in the hope that its riches would help pay for an expanded welfare state, the Labour Party became more reliant on large private donations than on membership fees. (This tendency was reversed under Jeremy Corbyn but is once again on the rise under a new leadership that is desperate to distance itself from the socialist “Corbyn project.”) Italy’s left-leaning Five Star Movement railed against the corruption of what its founder, the comedian turned people’s tribune Beppe Grillo, referred to as la casta of professional politicians. It successfully campaigned for the abolition of public funding for parties, but the result has been to push more private dark money into politics. (The party, claiming that it is really a “movement,” has refused to follow legal transparency requirements and does not publish the names of those who donate more than 5,000 euros.) Five Star also made a big show of having its deputies contribute their salaries to worthy causes, but the money was likely still pocketed by Grillo’s self-declared virtuous amateurs.
In France, Jean-Luc Mélenchon’s France Insoumise, another left-wing antiestablishment party, could hardly be less transparent about its own finances. Its only answer to the question of whether its deputies hand over a portion of their official salary to the party is “Ask Jean-Luc!” (Communists used to hand over all of it and got a compensatory payment from the party in return.) And in the United States, lest we forget, many Democratic candidates who declare their opposition to a politics dominated by Wall Street have opted out of public financing to rake in private donations (albeit many small ones). This includes everyone from Barack Obama to Bernie Sanders, and who can blame them? Had Sanders, for example, stuck with public funding in 2016, he would’ve had $10 million for the primaries; instead he raised $228 million and spent all but $5 million of it.
What is the alternative to a situation in which private funding is winning the battle of ideas and, almost always, the battle at the polls? Cagé, like a number of US constitutional lawyers, has a concrete proposal: Citizens should receive individual vouchers, which they may distribute incrementally or all at once to the parties and candidates of their choice, with the possibility of contributing cash up to a strict limit in addition (a commonly cited figure is $250). All larger donations, and thus the opportunity for corporations to buy themselves a political voice, would be prohibited. New parties would also face an initial hurdle to qualify for receiving such vouchers: They would need to raise funds from a sufficient number of citizens or prove they have nontrivial support in the polls. Unused vouchers would be distributed according to the last election outcome (which is how funding in many countries is already decided today).
There are several advantages to this scheme. It would be a significant, if still imperfect, check on the political uses of concentrated wealth—what even mainstream social scientists in the US no longer hesitate to call oligarchic tendencies. Less obviously, it would strengthen the open and dynamic character of at least some existing democracies. Newcomers could get real support, even in the middle of an election cycle. Losers—let’s say, traditional parties—would lose less if their supporters wanted to punish them in an election but not see them wiped from the political map: Think of left-leaning French citizens who wanted to sanction the Socialist Party for François Hollande’s less than glorious presidency but still maintain an effective alternative to Macron.
While the amounts involved might seem tiny, being able to contribute something could also provide individual citizens with a feeling of efficacy in a democracy. This sense of increased participation would be even stronger, of course, if such a scheme forced politicians to engage with a wider range of voters than they are able to in the US, where Congress members are said to spend four or more hours every day soliciting donations from the affluent, making them seem more like telemarketers for a particular segment of the population than representatives of all their constituents. During his first term, Obama hosted 321 fundraising events, up from 80 for Ronald Reagan and 173 for George W. Bush.
What numbers do we talk about when we talk about vouchers? Cagé’s suggestion is a seven-euro “Democratic Equality Voucher” for every voter. This hardly adds up to an outrageous sum; it is roughly what the German state contributes annually just to the foundations associated with political parties, which among other things are supposed to develop policy and further civic education. (Whether they really do that, or simply reinforce the power of traditional parties, is a legitimate question.) In the US, people like Yale Law School professor Bruce Ackerman and Congressman Ro Khanna have suggested “democracy coupons” worth $100, provided in $20 increments, or “democracy dollars” in $50 amounts, stored in a special credit card account.
There is a serious question about whether the political spending decisions of individual citizens should be made public. Businesses might not respond well when their workers are on record giving funds to an anticapitalist party; alternatively, they might pressure their employees to donate to a particular candidate. But on the matter of how to distribute the funds, Cagé puts forward an elegant solution: Governments should use tax returns to deploy each person’s democracy vouchers, possibly giving special credits to the millions who earn so little that they do not pay income tax at all (which means, concretely, at least half the eligible voters in many countries). This would also prevent anyone from buying up vouchers at a premium or even at face value, in the way that privatization vouchers were amassed by savvy investors in Central Europe in the 1990s. Also, there would have to be a way to erase the information after a short period, so as not to transform such a voucher scheme into a system of open voting.
Is the voucher scheme a political fantasy? One such reform was actually implemented for local elections in Seattle. Citizens received vouchers in the mail; alas, many of them thought the envelopes contained junk and tossed them away; others left them lying around and forgot to contribute their democracy dollars. Pessimists about the political capacities of ordinary people will feel vindicated by the fact that only 3.3 percent of Seattle residents who received vouchers used them. Like other ideas from what one might be tempted to call the democracy innovation industry, vouchers are no panacea. Scholars of campaign finance speak of the “hydraulic power” of money: Block one channel and it will find another. An admirable reform in Brazil significantly reduced corporate donations, yet corporations still found ways to use WhatsApp to spread disinformation, which helped Jair Bolsonaro win his election. In the US, when money for candidates was limited by law, it went to parties instead; when it could no longer go to parties, it went to super PACs; and so on.
Critics of the private financing of politics often conflate different issues. One concern is corruption, which even a conservative Supreme Court recognizes as grounds for restrictions (although Chief Justice John Roberts and his colleagues understand corruption in the narrowest possible sense of a quid pro quo, not as the more general dependency on a donor class that can set, and limit, the political agenda). Another issue is equality of opportunity to influence politics, which is distinct from corruption: A self-financed billionaire—as Donald Trump kept emphasizing during his first campaign—arguably cannot be corrupted; but if only oligarchs have a shot at office, political equality is violated.
Cagé’s proposal is likely to reduce dependence on the donor class, and it can certainly be justified as a step in the direction of equality of political opportunity. But those with more time, and especially those with more power due to their position in corporations (or trade unions, for that matter), would still exert more influence than poor, stressed, and generally underinformed citizens. The Kochs of this world would still fund libertarian think tanks, and the Murdochs would still do, well, what the Murdochs do. As scholars who study campaign finance have argued, a lot more would have to change structurally for equality of opportunity to become real; and the cost to democracy—in particular, the cost of restricting the liberty of political expression for the well-off—may well be too high.
Cagé sees the difficulty and includes a further reform proposal, arguing that parliaments should reserve a certain proportion of their seats for manual workers or members of the “precariat.” She notes that the representation of the working class within the halls of government has declined precipitously since the end of World War II. In her scheme, a third of the French National Assembly would be filled with “social representatives,” addressing the problem that, currently, fewer than 3 percent of parliamentary deputies have working-class backgrounds. (The number is 2 percent in the US and 5 percent in the UK, where, earlier in the postwar period, it had been as high as 20 percent.)
Cagé’s idea for parliamentary quotas is somewhat in tension with her demand for what she terms, following the French historian Pierre Rosanvallon, a “permanent democracy,” which is to say a dynamic, open process in which citizens and representatives constantly interact. After all, who should decide exactly which categories of people are currently underrepresented and, when society changes, how representative assemblies should be divided anew? These are not knock-down objections, of course, but compared with her detailed proposal for Democratic Equality Vouchers, the scheme for representation based on occupation feels more tentative and lacks the proper backup in democratic theory.
Still, Cagé’s book is an important contribution that tackles one of the root problems of democracies in the West. She offers a truly comparative perspective—not just across countries from Canada to India but also across time, with many fascinating details from 19th-century electioneering (which at times was even more expensive and obscene than what we witness today). Cagé wears her learning and statistical acumen lightly; rather than evoking dry social science, her prose veers into the sarcastic and witty, especially when it comes to commenting on the antics of “King Macron.” This is often amusing; behind it, though, is a justified indignation in the face of a democratic world that too often proves to be not that democratic after all.
