David Michael Miller
While covering the recent Wisconsin Supreme Court race for Isthmus, I noticed that one of the candidates, Michael Screnock, had received a contribution in excess of legal limits.
State law says individuals may give up to $20,000 per statewide race. But the Wisconsin Ethics Commission’s website showed that Baraboo resident Joseph J. Screnock III, who happens to be the candidate’s father, donated $24,250 on Sept. 6, 2017. I mentioned this in an article and after the election (Screnock lost) sent an email inquiry to the commission.
In response, a staffer confirmed this was an apparent violation, but noted that it could be easily remedied: If Joe III were married (he is), the campaign could amend its report to reallocate some of this donation to his spouse. Apparently, when people break the law, the Ethics Commission helpfully suggests ways to smooth things over.
I asked what the commission would do about this apparent violation. The answer: prior to a routine audit of filings starting in February 2019, nothing. “The only way the Ethics Commission can open an investigation is with a certified complaint,” I was told, which “you or any individual may file.”
Here’s the backstory: When the Legislature dismantled the state’s Government Accountability Board in 2016, it ended the ability of ethics officials to initiate investigations on their own. Now staffers who notice even glaring violations cannot do a thing about them.
“Yes, it’s a loss that neither commission members nor staff can investigate allegations without [an external] complaint,” Kevin Kennedy, the GAB’s former director, told me last week. He explains the rationale for this change: “It’s a way of ensuring that the staff doesn’t go rogue, as they thought we did.”
The GAB was dismantled by vindictive state lawmakers including Senate Majority Leader Scott Fitzgerald and Assembly Speaker Robin Vos, because the agency had the temerity to look into whether the governor’s campaign broke the law. (It did, but the Legislature and state Supreme Court got around this by changing the law and its interpretation.)
As punishment for this transgression, the GAB was split into two commissions made up of partisan political appointees, purposely rendering both agencies less effective. The Ethics Commission’s annual report, issued last August, noted that it had conducted only one investigation during its first full year of operation. The Wisconsin State Journal, in an editorial, said this proved the Legislature’s intent: “They don’t want a powerful and independent watchdog agency sniffing around for violations of campaign finance, lobbying and ethics laws.”
But achieving this goal was not enough for Fitzgerald and Vos. They went after the heads of both the Ethics and Election Commissions, forcing them out without a shred of evidence of any impropriety. This purge was meant to signal that these agencies operate under the Legislature’s thumb, and must tread carefully in all they do.
Back to my case: To get an answer to a simple question about an apparent violation, I had to file a formal complaint, sworn and notarized. This I did, on April 9, noting the amount of Joe III’s contribution, the law, and the seeming conflict between the two.
On April 24, the Ethics Commission considered my complaint in closed session. That’s another thing that’s changed over time, according to Kennedy. Until 2008, when the GAB launched, campaign finance complaints were aired in open session. In 2016, as his agency was being ripped apart, Kennedy told The Capital Times his only criticism of how it operated was that “we forced too much of it … behind closed doors.” Under the new system, he noted, “None of that changes. None of the discussion is going to be public.”
Later that same day, April 24, I got a letter from the Ethics Commission’s staff counsel. It said, “After reviewing the materials presented, the Commission made a finding of no reasonable suspicion that a violation of law occurred.” Thus, the complaint was dismissed.
That was it: You’re being unreasonable. Go away. No further explanation.
In a follow-up contact, the commission’s interim administrator, Colette Reinke, provided me with an answer I should have gotten from the start. (I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for it.) Eighteen days after Joe III made his $24,000 donation, the campaign refunded $5,000, to comply with legal limits. This does not show up on the contributions file because the refund was reported as an expense.
So the Screnock campaign did nothing wrong under the law. But the Ethics Commission made the process of gleaning this needlessly complex due to its rules requiring secrecy and its clear fear of incurring legislators’ wrath. We’ve got the ethics watchdog lawmakers want, not the one we need.
Bill Lueders, an Isthmus contributor, is managing editor of The Progressive.
