If you stand near the fountain at the center of
Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C., and gaze up at the surrounding
buildings, you should be able to spot a large brass telescope in a
seventh story window above Books-A-Million. The device belongs to
Jim Tozzi, a former Reagan budget official, well-remunerated
corporate consultant, self-described regulatory policy "nerd," and
self-confessed voyeur. The telescope has become a "landmark," brags
the 65-year-old Tozzi, a gleeful cut-up whose "JJT" monogrammed
shirt cuffs belie his musician-jive patter. "That can get you in a
lot of trouble," he adds. "I'm a dirty old man. I love it."
If Tozzi is shameless about his extracurricular activities, he's
equally proud of the work that occupies his daylight hours. As the
flamboyant head of an industry-funded, for-profit think tank called
the Center for Regulatory Effectiveness, Tozzi has made his career
in the decidedly unflamboyant field of government regulation. In the
three decades or so since the Environmental Protection Agency,
Occupational Safety and Health Administration, and other agencies
were formed, industry has become adept both at weighing down the
rulemaking process with years of preliminaries and at challenging
regulations once promulgated. And for years, Tozzi--thanks to
official contacts and regulatory expertise gleaned from two decades
in government--has been a master of the game, gumming up the
regulatory works and, as he puts it, giving environmentalists and
consumer advocates "gastronomical pains."
But now Tozzi has a chance to change the rules of the game
itself. With assistance from the Bush administration, a little-known
statute called the "Data Quality Act"--conceived by Tozzi and passed
with little debate by Congress three years ago--allows businesses to
challenge not just government regulations, but the
taxpayer-sponsored science which agencies rely upon to formulate
these rules in the first place.
On its face, the Data Quality Act merely requires government
agencies to field complaints over the data, studies, and reports
they disseminate, in order to ensure the "quality, objectivity,
utility, and integrity" of the information. Though seemingly
unobjectionable, this provides a new workload for agencies that
could impinge upon their other duties. But it's just the beginning.
The Bush administration has used the DQA as a springboard to
implement an unprecedented "peer review" system for government
science, a cumbersome set of protocols that was strenuously opposed
by the nation's science community, which saw little in the original
plan resembling standard academic peer review. (As we went to press,
the White House released a revised "peer review" bulletin that
appeared to respond to some of these criticisms.)
If these efforts succeed, industry groups will have a new set of
tools to stop regulations before they even get started--often by
using questionable scientific critiques paid for by industry to
challenge legitimate science sponsored by taxpayers. "Anyone who is
involved in the regulatory process knows it begins ten years or so
before you ever see a rule," says William Kovacs, a Chamber of
Commerce vice president who's met with Tozzi "a hundred times" to
plot strategy. The Data Quality Act "allows you to begin inputting,
and access the process [from] the very beginning." In fact, the act
may also enable businesses to file lawsuits against agencies that
reject data quality complaints, a potentially powerful new device in
the deregulatory arsenal that could let motivated groups head
sensible regulatory changes off at the pass. "Up until the Data
Quality Act, the courts almost uniformly held you couldn't get
judicial review of government reports," says law professor Sidney
Shapiro of the University of Kansas, a member scholar of the Center
for Progressive Regulation.
Already, Tozzi's Data Quality Act has led to suits challenging a
government report on climate change and a National Institutes of
Health study on diet, both of which represent state-of-the-art
scientific work in their fields. The latter suit was recently filed
by the Chamber of Commerce and the Salt Institute, an industry
group, as a strategic test case to establish judicial review under
the Data Quality Act. Slowly, Tozzi and allies are laying the
groundwork for a broader assault on the regulatory state. Data
quality, says Kovacs, is going to have "a revolutionary impact on
the regulatory process."
Science friction
Tozzi's realm is a subterranean world of arcane rules and obscure
alphabet-soup agencies. A self-described "market-based
conservative," he's become a master of helping companies challenge
the scientific underpinnings of government rules by zooming in,
telescope-like, on alleged flaws in individual studies. Tozzi says
he's trying to "regulate the regulators"--blocking agencies from
releasing weak data or questionable information. Yet most of the
studies that Tozzi and his allies challenge are actually pretty
reliable.
An economics Ph.D. who hung around New Orleans until he realized
he'd never make it playing jazz, Tozzi began his Washington stint in
1964, reviewing regulations at the Army Corps of Engineers. Having
established a reputation as "that nerd over there in the Pentagon
that really likes to review rules," as he puts it, Tozzi later
joined the Office of Management and Budget during the Nixon
administration. Tasked with scrutinizing regs churned out by the
newly-created Environmental Protection Agency, he became infamous
for second-guessing the agency's enforcement efforts.
Environmentalists would ask, "Christ, who's running EPA--Tozzi?", he
recalls with a cackle. Tozzi stayed at the budget office through the
election of Ronald Reagan, who named him deputy head of a new OMB
division dedicated to overseeing proposed regulations. Soon enough,
Tozzi's domain became known as the "black hole" of the regulatory
process for its reputation of sucking in rules proposed by agencies
and never letting them see light again. He earned the nickname
"Stealth." "I don't want to leave fingerprints," he once told The
Washington Post.
In 1983, after 20 years of learning how to induce regulatory
sclerosis from the inside, Tozzi set up a consulting
shop--Multinational Business Services--to do it from the outside.
MBS clients have included everyone from chemical companies to tire
and rubber manufacturers, but Tozzi's most controversial client was
undoubtedly the tobacco industry, which during the 1990s sought to
battle the emerging scientific consensus that secondhand smoke was a
danger to those who were over-exposed to it, particularly people
living or working with smokers. One of tobacco's strategies was to
advocate standards for "good epidemiology" that would have made it
almost impossible to conclude that secondhand smoke was dangerous.
These standards insisted that unless secondhand smoke doubled your
risk of getting cancer, it should be ignored--a standard, notes
tobacco researcher Stanton Glantz of the University of
California-San Francisco, that would bar regulation of nearly any
environmental toxin.
Tozzi played a key part in this push, earning hundreds of
thousands of dollars from Philip Morris for such activities as
supporting "legislative mandates on epidemiological standards" and
increasing "debate on [secondhand smoke] risk assessment within
EPA," according to internal company documents. In one instance,
Tozzi deployed a phalanx of lobbyists to his old haunts at the OMB
to block the implementation of a government medical code, used for
Medicare and Medicaid claims, that tracked secondhand smoke
illnesses. By presenting itself as "a defender of good science, not
tobacco," noted the Los Angeles Times in a 1995 article, Tozzi's
company succeeded in getting the rule changed--an obscure but major
victory for his client. As he explains today, had the government
been allowed to accumulate such statistics, tobacco firms "could
have been subject to tons of legal actions saying, 'Look at all
these illnesses caused by secondary smoke.'"
Although Tozzi says tobacco companies are no longer contributing
to the Center for Regulatory Effectiveness (founded in 1996), the
fight over secondhand smoke was very much a warm-up for his later
efforts. Among other work he did for Philip Morris during the mid-
and late-1990s, Tozzi circulated information and proposals
concerning two pieces of legislation. The first, a "data access"
law, would allow interested parties to obtain, under the Freedom of
Information Act, "all data produced" by any publicly funded
scientific study. The second was the Data Quality Act (though Tozzi
insists it was originally his idea and that other industries besides
tobacco were interested as well). Together, the proposals would
allow regulated companies to conduct detailed internal audits of
unfavorable studies--and then battle to stop those unfavorable
studies from getting translated into unfavorable regulation.
By the end of the 1990s, as formerly obscure government studies
became widely and easily obtainable on agency Web sites--sometimes
affecting a firm's stock valuation simply by being posted--business
groups and their GOP allies made a concerted effort to make Tozzi's
proposals a reality. And instead of calling for the kind of massive
"regulatory reform" campaign that had fizzled in 1995, they took a
backdoor approach, attaching Tozzi's proposals to must-pass
appropriations bills. The data access amendment, also known as the
"Shelby Amendment" for its sponsor Richard Shelby (R-Ala.), was
passed in 1998, and subsequently minimized in scope by a wary
Clinton administration. The Data Quality Act rolled through three
years ago, and was welcomed with open arms by the Bushies. Now
Tozzi's timebomb sits waiting to detonate. In the end, says Kovacs,
"what we're going to get is far more than we could have ever gotten
by having a comprehensive regulatory law passed."
Quality act
Business groups haven't wasted much time making use of Tozzi's
labors. Last August, the Competitive Enterprise Institute, a
conservative think tank partly funded by the energy industry, filed
suit under the Data Quality Act over a Clinton-era report on global
warming, known as the National Assessment of Climate Change. Though
the suit was ultimately settled out of court, government lawyers
agreed to attach a disclaimer to the report stating that it was "not
subjected" to the Data Quality Act. There's little evidence that the
study was flawed. But the suit appears to have given the Bush
administration a pretext to ignore the National Assessment when it
issued its own 10-year plan on climate change research in June of
2003.
More recently, in September of 2003 Tozzi submitted a data
quality complaint challenging the government's intent to use a World
Health Organization report in assembling U.S. dietary guidelines.
The WHO report called for individuals to cut dietary intake of
so-called "free sugars"--a recommendation considered utterly
uncontroversial among mainstream nutritionists, but sharply opposed
by the sugar industry, which stood to lose a fortune if the WHO used
the report to bolster a global anti-obesity strategy. (Tozzi admits
his petition was filed on behalf of "somebody in the food business,"
but declined to be more specific.) Here, too, "data quality" was
merely a cudgel by which to block the government from considering
good science when making policy.
Tozzi likes to point out that the act has not gummed up the
federal regulatory system with challenges, as some environmentalists
feared. But that may not last for long. Even now, Tozzi and his
allies are preparing to expand the act's scope by making agency
rejection of a data quality complaint grounds for a lawsuit.
"Somebody has to test whether it's judicially reviewable," says
Kovacs. If they succeed, they'll have created two new entry points
into the regulatory process. Industry groups will not only be able
to saddle agencies with scientific complaints over their studies
that could be costly and time-consuming to answer. They'll also be
able to force agencies to defend their responses in court. Hence the
term Tozzi's critics often apply to his type of strategy: "Paralysis
by analysis."
Tozzi also points out that the Data Quality Act can be used by
anybody. And to be sure, a few opportunistic environmental groups
have filed data quality complaints with agencies. Most of the
current challenges, however, have been brought by industry, which
shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Over the past few decades,
business interests have spawned an entire infrastructure to generate
so-called "counter research," exploiting the nuance and openness
inherent to good science in order to "manufacture uncertainty" where
little exists. Now that capacity can be deployed not only at the
back end of the regulatory process--the P.R. battles waged in the
popular and scientific press--but also at the front end, before
regulators can get their shoes on.
Tozzi himself insists that he doesn't have anything against
government or bureaucrats--after all, he used to be one. He says he
just wants government to run more efficiently, and believes that "if
you intervene in the market, there should be a compelling need to do
so, and you should demonstrate that." But while there are no doubt
some bureaucrats who live to stick it to big business, the Data
Quality Act is transparently a solution in search of a problem. As
legal scholar Wendy Wagner of the University of Texas pointed out in
a recent article entitled "The 'Bad Science' Fiction," there's
little evidence to support the notion that government agencies churn
out "junk science" or that their existing peer review protocols are
inadequate. The Center for Regulatory Effectiveness, Wagner charges,
"provides virtually no evidence to support its assumption that a
bad-science problem exists."
Tozzi's timebomb
That hasn't stopped Tozzi from seeking to increase the Data
Quality Act's scope in a variety of ways. He's written letters both
to the WHO and universities warning that if they want their science
to influence the U.S. government, it had better meet data quality
standards. In one controversial letter, Tozzi even invoked the Data
Quality Act in an attempt to disallow comments submitted to the
Environmental Protection Agency by an environmental group.
Most importantly, he's drafted sample legislation for states.
Near the close of a long interview in his spacious office, Tozzi
stands up, saunters past his piano and a globe containing a hidden
alcohol stash, and collects from his desk a sheet of paper that he's
been saving for me. The state of Wisconsin, Tozzi says, has adopted
a version of the Data Quality Act. "It's like kudzu, baby," says
Tozzi. "You can spray it, shoot it--here," he says, handing over the
text of the act. "Now there'll be a whole rumor mill around
Washington," he continues. "There's that goddamn Tozzi…."