The Economist on Freedom of...

Liberty, privacy and some bottles of beer

Want to talk politics with your neighbour? Better ask permission

May 20th 2010 | SEATTLE | From The Economist print edition

PAT MURAKAMI runs a small computer repair shop and does a little political agitating on the side. She worries about her neighbourhood, a vibrant area full of Vietnamese shops and veiled women waiting at bus stops. The city of Seattle tried to declare parts of it “blighted”, which would have enabled it to seize people’s homes and hand the land to private developers.

Mrs Murakami started a group called “Many Cultures, One Message”, to rally her neighbours in protest. She prevailed. Or at least, the plan to knock down chunks of her neighbourhood was shelved in 2007. But she worries that the politicians and their developer chums may try again, so she wants to reform Washington state’s rules on “eminent domain”, which give local government extraordinary powers to condemn private property.

She ran into a second little-known state law. If she prints some flyers, calls some meetings and urges her neighbours to write to their state representative demanding change, she has to register as a “grassroots lobbyist”. This rule applies to any group that spends more than $500 in any given month trying to influence the legislature. That sum includes not only cash but also anything else of value.

To comply with the law, Mrs Murakami must provide details such as the name, address and occupation of everyone who helps organise her campaign or who contributes more than $25 in cash or kind to it. All this information is then made public on the internet. She must also provide monthly reports on all the group’s activities and expenditures. Failure to follow the rules can result in ruinous fines; $10,000 per violation, which could mean every time she sends out a mailshot.

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Mrs Murakami is suing to have this law overturned. If the first amendment means anything, she reckons, it surely protects the right of Americans to talk politics with their neighbours. Many of Mrs Murakami’s supporters are recent refugees from autocratic regimes. If getting involved means having their personal details published, they would rather not.

The same worry afflicts supporters of unpopular causes. Alfred Petermann, who runs a discussion group called “Conservative Enthusiasts”, says it is “unbelievable” that he has to publish the name, address and occupation of anyone who brings $25-worth of beer to a meeting. “Conservative” is a dirty word in Seattle, he says. Some in his group fear repercussions at work if they are outed.

All states regulate professional lobbyists: ie, paid agents who communicate directly with politicians in the hope of swaying them. Fair enough. But a new report from the Institute for Justice, a libertarian group, reveals that 36 states also impose restrictions on “grassroots lobbying”, meaning people like Mrs Murakami. The rules are often complex and unclear. The first sentence of the Massachusetts guidelines for grassroots lobbyists is but a whisker shorter than the Gettysburg address and comprehensible only to a lawyer. Small groups cannot afford lawyers. Yet a few states even threaten criminal penalties for breaking the rules. In Alabama, the maximum sentence is 20 years in jail.

The most severe punishments are seldom, if ever, applied. But they still have a chilling effect on the exercise of free speech. The constitution says people have a right “peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances”. Politicians hate that.