Money is the silent plus-one at every major political decision in Salem, Keizer, and Marion County. We’re talking about campaign contributions - a steady drip of cash that somehow always seems to pool where developers, industry players, and business PACs need it most. 

Salem, in particular, has gone from modestly-funded council races to six-figure slugfests where the winner’s donor list reads like the city’s Chamber of Commerce directory. And, wouldn’t you know it, the policies that follow tend to align neatly with those donors’ wish lists. So weird!

Marion County plays a slower, subtler game, but the choreography is similar. Industrial giants like Covanta Marion have poured enough money into the right campaigns, often at the state level, to secure exemptions and favorable contracts worth far more than the initial “investment.” 

Timber, agriculture, and construction interests have a seat at the table too, and it’s not by accident. The decisions that come from our 3 Republican Marion County Commissioners often match donor priorities with uncanny precision, all while avoiding the messy fireworks Salem’s City Hall seems to specialize in.

Keizer, the quieter conservative neighbor, has mostly avoided big-money brawls until recently. Historically, their elections have been polite affairs with minimal fundraising. But when a real contest shows up, so does the cash, mostly from local business owners and developers who like their taxes low and their growth boundaries flexible. Keizer’s officials don’t tend to make the headlines for donor-driven decisions, but they’re reading from the same playbook: keep your contributors happy, and they’ll keep you in the game.

The past 10 years show notable correlation between who funds elected officials and the policy decisions or legislation those officials support. Oregon’s historically loose campaign finance laws (until very recently) allowed unlimited donations, enabling businesses, developers, unions, and other interest groups to pour cash into local races (opb.org). As a result, elected officials in these jurisdictions often received sizable contributions, and patterns have emerged suggesting that donors’ interests sometimes align with (or even precede) official actions. 

In this article, we examine:

Salem’s local elections have seen an unprecedented surge in campaign money. In 2024, the Salem mayoral race shattered all previous fundraising records: City Councilor Julie Hoy raised over $300,000 – more than five times the incumbent mayor’s $59,000 – in a race for an unpaid position that traditionally required only around $10k to be competitive (opb.org). 

Over half of Hoy’s war chest came from large donors in real estate and business, including developers, property management companies, and industry PACs (salemreporter.com). For example, the Oregon REALTORS Political Action Committee alone spent over $71,000 on in-kind support for Hoy (salemreporter.com). Likewise, prominent Salem developer Larry Tokarski (president of Mountain West Investment Corp.) personally gave Hoy $20,000, with his company chipping in another $19,000 (salemreporter.com). 

Such sums dwarf what Salem candidates raised in earlier years and indicate a new level of big-donor involvement in city politics.

These contributions have effectively polarized Salem’s nonpartisan races into contests between “business-backed” candidates and “progressive” candidates (opb.org). Business-backed candidates (often Republicans or right-leaning in practice) enjoy heavy funding from developers, construction/realty interests, and conservative PACs, whereas progressive candidates rely more on small donors, issue-based groups, and sometimes labor unions. 

This divide was evident in the 2024 mayor’s race, where Julie Hoy’s donor list featured multiple developers, realty PACs, and a conservative local PAC (far right extremist Marion + Polk First) sending supportive mailers (salemreporter.com). Her opponent, Mayor Chris Hoy (no relation), raised a fraction of that amount. 

Tokarski and a network of business interests have consistently bankrolled the business-friendly contenders in Salem (opb.org). This trend suggests that large donors have strategically invested in candidates likely to champion lower taxes, pro-development stances, and fewer regulations – positions often aligned with donors’ economic interests.

Corresponding with these financial alignments, there are clear instances of campaign contributors benefiting from council decisions. 

A notable case arose in late 2024, when the Salem City Council voted on a land-use appeal affecting a new subdivision in South Salem’s Creekside Golf Course area. The city’s Planning Commission had approved the development with a requirement to build an off-site sidewalk at a cost of about $216,000 (salemreporter.com). The developer (Creekside Golf Course LLC, managed by Mountain West Investment Corp.) appealed that requirement – and won. 

Councilors Julie Hoy and Deanna Gwyn voted to waive the sidewalk requirement, directly saving the developer over $200,000 in infrastructure costs (salemreporter.com; opb.org). Both councilors had recently received substantial campaign donations from Mountain West and its president Tokarski. In fact, Tokarski and his company had contributed roughly $39,000 to Hoy’s mayoral campaign and $3,000 to Gwyn’s council race (salemreporter.com). 

Under Salem’s city charter, officials are supposed to recuse themselves from decisions involving donors of over $500 if it creates an appearance of bias (salemreporter.com; opb.org). Hoy and Gwyn did disclose the conflict but chose not to recuse, arguing that reasonable people understand campaign support “does not create bias or conflict” and that donors simply support candidates who already share their views (salemreporter.com). 

Nonetheless, their participation helped the appeal pass 6–2, yielding a highly favorable outcome for their contributor (salemreporter.com; opb.org). This incident suggests a trend where major donors in Salem – especially developers – often find sympathetic ears on the council when their financial interests are at stake.

The appearance of pay-to-play did not go unnoticed. In November 2024, Salem’s council (led by outgoing Mayor Chris Hoy) formally censured Julie Hoy and Deanna Gwyn for violating the city charter’s conflict-of-interest provisions (opb.org). The censure stated they should have recused themselves from the Creekside vote involving their donor. (Hoy and Gwyn, for their part, labeled the censure a political ploy and maintained they did nothing unethical (opb.org).

While state ethics law does not consider campaign contributions a “gift” to the official (campaign funds are legally distinct) (salemreporter.com), the local reaction shows growing concern about trust in government. From a psychological perspective, these episodes can erode public confidence and may introduce cognitive bias for officials – even if unconsciously – to favor those who funded their campaigns. 

Salem’s example illustrates how large donations raise questions of impartiality, prompting calls for clearer recusal standards and campaign finance reform to ensure decisions are made on merit rather than donor influence.

Blending campaign finance data with policy outcomes shows political donors influencing broader policy decisions in Salem. Tax policy is a prime example. In 2023, a majority of the Salem City Council (mostly progressive-leaning members) approved a new 0.814% citywide payroll tax on wages to fund emergency and homeless services (salemreporter.com). 

Julie Hoy and three councilors opposed the tax, insisting voters should decide on any new levy (salemreporter.com). Almost immediately, a coalition of local business owners and conservative activists – many likely the same circles that fund “business” candidates – launched a referendum campaign to overturn the tax (opb.org). They gathered enough signatures to force a citywide vote, and in November 2023 Salem voters overwhelmingly repealed the payroll tax, aligning with the anti-tax stance of business donors (opb.org). 

When Chris Hoy subsequently faced Julie Hoy in the 2024 mayoral election, the payroll tax controversy became a central issue, with Julie (backed by the business community) attacking the tax and Chris defending it (opb.org). The outcome – Julie Hoy’s victory – reflected the sway of an energized, donor-backed anti-tax movement. In short, campaign contributors in Salem have not only supported candidates but have also directly shaped legislation (e.g. defeating a tax measure) through funding referendums and backing candidates who promise to advance or block certain policies.

Underlying all these trends is the escalating cost of campaigning in Salem. Competitive city council races and the mayor’s office now routinely attract tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. For instance, a 2022 open-seat mayoral contest saw one candidate raise $132,000 – more than double her opponent (salemreporter.com). 

By 2024, that record was blown out of the water with the $283k+ raised by Julie Hoy (salemreporter.com). Much of this money comes from interest groups (e.g. Realtors, homebuilders, landlord associations) and high-net-worth individuals with business before the city (salemreporter.com). 

This arms race dynamic means Salem’s elected officials are increasingly beholden to a smaller pool of big donors, or at least aligned with their agendas, simply because those are the resources needed to win. 

Without contribution limits, Salem’s elections have essentially invited the kind of pay-to-play environment more common in higher levels of government, all at the expense of ordinary constituents’ influence.

Marion County’s Board of Commissioners has also seen patterns linking campaign donations to policy outcomes, albeit in less publicized ways. County commissioners have typically been supported by business, agricultural, and industry donors, and these relationships often dovetail with the commissioners’ policy decisions.

One striking example involves Covanta Marion, the New Jersey-based company that operates the waste-to-energy incinerator in Brooks. In 2019, Covanta was lobbying to avoid new environmental regulations (salemreporter.com). In the months leading up to the 2019 Legislature, Covanta donated roughly $21,750 to the campaign committees of Oregon’s governor, key legislative leaders, and members of the committee drafting the carbon-reduction bill (salemreporter.com). 

The result? The major climate legislation that year included a special carve-out exempting Covanta’s Marion incinerator from having to buy carbon allowances (salemreporter.com). The Covanta saga underscores how Marion County’s policy outcomes have been influenced by corporate contributions and lobbying at higher levels of government.

Beyond Covanta, Marion County’s political financing tends to involve sectors like timber, construction, and agriculture. For instance, Commissioner Danielle Bethell – first elected in 2020 – has drawn support from major timber interests. In 2025, as she explores a run for governor, Bethell received a $25,000 contribution from Freres Lumber’s president (sweethomenews.com). Locally, Marion County commissioners have generally been friendly to development and industry. Statistically proving a quid pro quo is difficult, but the alignment is evident: commissioners who receive donations from real estate developers also advocate for “logical growth” policies, expedited permits, and opposition to stringent land-use restrictions that developers dislike.

Keizer presents a contrast to the big-money trends of its neighbors. For most of the last decade, Keizer’s elections were low-budget and often uncontested. Longtime Mayor Cathy Clark ran unopposed for years, and council races rarely attracted significant funds. However, even Keizer has begun to see hints of increased campaign activity when real competition arises.

In 2024, Keizer experienced its first competitive mayoral race in over a decade (salemreporter.com). Former Mayor Lore Christopher challenged incumbent Cathy Clark. While small by Salem standards, this race demonstrated a jump in fundraising by Keizer’s norm. 

Christopher raised about $22,000 versus Clark’s $5,400. By the end of the campaign, Christopher’s totals grew to about $28k, roughly three times what Clark spent (keizertimes.com). The fact that a Keizer candidate marshaled over $20k signals that when stakes rise, donors step in. Christopher’s support came partly from individuals tied to Keizer’s business community and her legacy projects (keizertimes.com).

Overall, Keizer’s council decisions have not faced the kind of donor-related scrutiny seen in Salem. The scale of contributions is smaller, and the city has a reputation for fiscal conservatism and consensus-driven governance. 

That said, some trends in alignment can be observed. Both 2024 mayoral candidates publicly took stances against tax increases and spoke of facilitating homebuilding by expanding Keizer’s urban growth boundary (salemreporter.com). These positions align with business and developer interests and the concerns of contributors who are often local realtors or owners of buildable land.

Across Salem, Marion County, and Keizer, the last ten years reveal a common thread: campaign contributions and political outcomes are deeply intertwined. In Salem, especially, we see a dramatic infusion of money from private interests correlating with decisions that favor those interests. Marion County’s examples show that corporate donors can leverage contributions to shape policy even at the state level. Keizer, though quieter on the money front, is not immune to these patterns.

Strip away the civic speeches and public hearing niceties, and you’re left with a blunt truth: in Salem, Keizer, and Marion County, campaign money doesn’t just talk—it drafts the agenda. The amounts vary, the tactics differ, but the through line is clear: donors rarely gamble without expecting a return, and the elected officials they back tend to “coincidentally” deliver.

It’s not always a villain’s lair scenario—sometimes a donor just backs someone who already shares their worldview. But in practice, it’s a distinction without much difference. Whether it’s a waived development fee, a tax repealed before it can take root, or a quiet exemption carved into state law, the result is the same: those with deep pockets have a louder voice in shaping the rules everyone else lives under.

The challenge now is whether the region can write a new script. Contribution caps are coming, and ethics codes exist, but unless they’re enforced with the same zeal campaigns are funded, they’ll be more theater than reform. Until then, the safest bet in local politics is this: follow the money, and you’ll usually find the plot twist before it happens.

(Ed. Note: Campaign finance data from ORESTAR, throughout)