Megan on the complaint against Sharon Meieran’s county chair campaign, the 603 dollar donor limit and the comfort of reading about other people’s paperwork
Saturday 10 October, 1.05am, a club cloakroom queue, a coat ticket in one hand and a phone in the other, because I am the sort of person who reads campaign finance filings in a queue.
Dear Diary. I should say at the top that this is a diary about an allegation, and an allegation is not a finding. The person it concerns denies it. I am going to report what was published, in plain terms, and I am going to resist the temptation to add a verdict, which is a discipline I try to practise on weekends.
What Was Reported
Willamette Week’s Murmurs column of 2 September reports that Seth Woolley, a campaign finance watchdog, filed an election complaint on 31 August with Multnomah County and state elections officials. It targets Sharon Meieran’s county chair campaign and her political action committee, Fixing Multnomah County. Woolley alleges eight campaign finance violations.
The complaint says the PAC raised and spent over 70,000 dollars on a plan Meieran now features in her campaign. It alleges she used the PAC to get around the 603 dollar per-donor limit and did not report the plan as an in-kind contribution. The first five counts involve overlap between her campaign committee and the PAC. Meieran, a former county commissioner who left at the end of 2024, denies breaking any laws. The report quotes her calling the complaint a cynical effort to make it seem like it is somehow cheating that she put substance before politics.
That is where the reporting stops. I do not know whether the elections officials have acted. I do not know whether the complaint has been resolved. The county’s page for the November 3 general election was last reviewed on 16 September and does not mention it. If you want the current state of play, ask the county elections division, which publishes a contact address on that page.
A Diary, Not A Verdict
I would like to be useful, so let me say what I can. A watchdog filing a complaint is a normal part of civic life, and so is a candidate denying it. Both are signs that the system, whatever its flaws, has windows. I am wary of anyone who treats a complaint as proof, and equally wary of anyone who treats a denial as innocence. The honest position is to wait, and waiting is the one thing the internet does not reward.
I also think the dispute is a useful lesson in how the left argues with itself. Almost everyone involved in a Multnomah County race is some shade of progressive, which means the fight is not about whether to spend, but who may raise the money to say how. The old comrades are the harshest critics. It is the only family in which the arguments get more furious the nearer you are to agreeing.
Where I Learned To Argue
I come from a tradition that takes a strike very seriously and a committee even more so. The General Strike of 1926 is one of my favourite subjects, and I summarised it in a post on the general strike of 1926, labour, industry and political tension. What strikes me, reading it again, is how much of the drama turned on a handful of people making decisions in rooms. That is true of a county race too. The room is smaller and the carpet is worse.
The other tradition I inherited is the habit of laughing at myself, which I described in a piece on why British Marxists think they are funny. The answer is that we are not, but we are very persistent. If you hear a Marxist laughing, it is usually because the speaker has used the word dialectic correctly.
The Cloakroom Philosophy
I am in a club, Diary, and I want to say something about the odd comfort of a cloakroom queue. Everyone stands in a line. Everyone holds a ticket. Everyone trusts a stranger with a coat. It is as close to a functioning social contract as I get on a Friday night, and it has no PAC. The music is loud enough that nobody can ask me what I am reading. It is, by my own definition, a night off.
I keep a sentimental map of the places I have danced, and the one I miss most is in Camden. I wrote it up once as Camden Town, the permanent festival with a leather jacket, and I stand by every word. It is a place where everyone is dressed for a revolution and nobody has the leaflet. Portland has its own version, only with better recycling.
What I Will Do With This
Nothing, for now. I will keep the item in a folder. I will read the county race as it develops and update my view when there is a view to update. My other employer, Bohiney Magazine, would like me to send a punchy take, and I have been firm: there is none. What I have is a report, a denial and a coat ticket. In my experience that is the amount of certainty a good diary can carry.
If you want to understand where this sort of writing comes from, start with a short history of political satire, which is the best primer I have. And if you need to lift your spirits after a night of other people’s paperwork, I recommend the Daily Mash, which has never knowingly taken a campaign finance rule seriously.
The queue has moved. My coat is a heap on a hook and my phone is at four percent. Goodnight, Diary. Declare your donations, wear your boots and keep the ticket.
SOURCE: bohiney.com
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Author: admin
