Tom Steyer ran for governor of California as a climate crusader endorsed by Bernie Sanders’ political organization, Our Revolution. He also spent at least $216 million of his own money on the race — and in the end, that was the only thing voters seemed to remember. With nearly 58% of the vote counted, he is running third.
For generations, a personal fortune was among the surest assets in American politics — the thing that bought name recognition, blanketed the airwaves and cleared a primary field. This year, for Democratic candidates across the country, it is starting to look like a liability.
The timing is unkind to the ultrawealthy. In a March YouGov survey, 77% of adults said the wealthy have too much political power, and 52% said the government should try to reduce the share of wealth held by billionaires. More than half of adults told a May Politico poll that cost of living is the “worst they can remember.” Against that backdrop, self-funding candidates — once a recruiter’s dream — have become a harder sell.
Steyer, who made his money founding and running a hedge fund, found that out the hard way. In California’s liberal electorate, his wealth became the case against him. His advertising blitz provoked attacks: Xavier Becerra’s campaign posted videos telling voters they “have the power to put an end to the Tom Steyer ads.” With a one-time billionaire tax set to appear on the November ballot, the idea of electing one of the ultrawealthy at the same moment proved too much for some. “In the end, I didn’t want to vote for a billionaire,” one voter, a 22-year-old UC San Diego student, told The New York Times plainly.
Steyer is not alone.
In San Francisco, Saikat Chakrabarti, a former tech engineer who was running to replace retiring speaker emerita Nancy Pelosi, loaned his campaign $8.8 million and finished in a distant third — roughly $550 for each of the 16,000 votes he earned. (He had planned to challenge Pelosi from the left before she announced her departure from the seat she has held for 40 years; she remains widely popular in San Francisco, and running against her was always a steep climb.)
In California’s 4th District, former venture capitalist Eric Jones spent $5 million of his own money to challenge incumbent Democratic Rep. Mike Thompson. He is currently sitting in third — behind Thompson and a Republican — with about half the vote counted.
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The story looks different on the Republican side, where a large personal check still buys a candidate a hearing.
In South Dakota, political newcomer Toby Doeden, a car dealership owner, steered $4 million into his own campaign and outpolled the sitting governor in the GOP gubernatorial primary. In Georgia, Rick Jackson, a billionaire healthcare executive, jumped into the Republican gubernatorial primary as a political unknown, pledging to spend $50 million of his fortune, then spent closer to $80 million. Running on the slogan “From Foster Care to Billionaire,” he blanketed local television and advanced to a June runoff, knocking out Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger. He’ll face Lt. Gov. Burt Jones, who has funded his own campaign to the tune of $17 million.
Money, of course, has never been a stranger to American politics. Nelson Rockefeller used his family’s fortune to win four terms as governor of New York and to lose two presidential bids — and none of this captures the larger ways the wealthy shape elections through donations and outside spending.
What is changing is the cost of being seen to have too much.
In a year defined by anger over inequality and the price of nearly everything, the fortune that once bought a candidacy increasingly buys a target on your back.
Armand Manoukian
Armand Manoukian is a producer on “The 11th Hour with Ali Velshi.” He also analyzes elections results for MS NOW.