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| Checkmate: County Republicans Score a Victory that will Live in Infamy |
By: Aaron E. Wicks
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Rochester, NY (February 12, 2008) -- Monroe County's political chess game ended not with a bang but a whimper. At 8:25 pm, the Legislature voted 15-14 -- along party lines as predicted -- to approve Tim Donaher as the County's new Public Defender. For chess fans, it was an impressive run of the board. For those hoping for a glimmer of bipartisanship or openness, it was a dream deferred.
For those fortunate enough to arrive early, the tone of the evening was set with unmistakable force. Residents waiting outside the legislature chamber witnessed over a dozen white-shirted Monroe County Sheriff deputies stream in from elevators and commence setting up a security checkpoint. Over an hour later, they were screened one by one and allowed to proceed to the chamber. In a scene reminiscent of the Old South, one Rochester resident, Ricky Snell, was told he could be asked to leave for staring at an officer the wrong way. For a moment it seemed as if the County Sheriff had hired Strother Martin himself to man the security checkpoint.
Five minutes from the start of the Legislature's scheduled meeting time, the Legislature gallery felt like Pinochet's Chile: countless people seemed to simply be missing. The clerk of the Legislature read through the names of those who had reserved time to address the body, but only a fraction were present. As he made his way through the list, the crowd began to respond "Downstairs" to each name, indicating the person was still stuck in the police cordon on the first floor and not allowed to go up to the gallery. While this occurred, Assemblyman David Gantt paced like a tiger in a cage along the banister separating the gallery from the legislators, growling mumbled threats to political foes.
When the meeting was gaveled to order by Monroe County Legislature President Zyra, Gantt sprang into motion, shouting "Let the people in!" Gantt made a legitimate point: the gallery was notably sparse and those present were, by this time, well aware of the chaos occurring three floors below in the lobby. Nevertheless, President Wayne Zyra, presiding with the vigor of a recently resuscitated Konstantin Chernenko, mumbled a request that Gantt be removed. After a 10 minute melee, Zyra's wish was granted and Gantt was escorted from the gallery. Gantt, never one to resist the urge to tarnish a noble cause, muttered that it was tactics like these that led people to shoot up their representatives in Missouri. This comment would later be cited by Quatro as a justification for the police presence (never mind the fact that the presence was already firmly established when Gantt made his despicable comment).
 
Assemblyman Gantt restrains Rev. Raymond Scott; moments later, Gantt is himself asked to leave the gallery
After Gantt's ejection, a Monroe County Sheriff Deputy yells, and a melee ensues
With Gantt gone, the Legislature turned to its usual order of business. The only note of decency in the whole evening was a respectful tribute to Officer Ricky Bryant, Jr. A moment of silence in his honor was testimony to the fact that his service and sacrifice would be the sole point of agreement in this gathering.
The Legislature then permitted public comment, all of which focused on the Public Defender issue. Sister Beth LaValley spoke first, urging calm and reconciliation among the legislators and the assembled public -- even inviting everyone present to coffee at the Mother House. She also read excerpts from this publication's namesake, Smugtown USA. It was ironic that a woman of peace had earlier been accosted by law enforcement who feared she might be one of those considering a violent act. Thankfully, Majority Leader Dan Quatro ordered up enough security to ensure that wayward nuns could not smuggle tire irons in their habits.
Initial speakers focused their criticisms on the selection process. Bob Bonn stated, "It's not an honor to be here tonight," then asked rhetorically "Why shouldn't we think something is wrong [with the selection process]" when only 3 candidates apply (compared to almost 40 previously), there is no effort to advertise the position, meetings were held on a Saturday morning and interviews barely lasted 45 minutes. Rev. Raymond Scott (one of those arrested on Saturday), took a harder line, telling the Legislature, "You rigged the process from beginning to end." To President Zyra, his contempt was clear: "I call you, Mr. Zyra, a coward."
Rev. Scott and most of the crowd would not hear the speakers to follow. After he concluded his remarks, Scott indicated there was no point in staying for the rest of the session. Most of the assembled crowd agreed and angrily walked out with him.
Rev. Raymond Scott leads a walkout as media and police look on
Rev. Richard Myers from the Greater Rochester Community of Churches -- perhaps another source of those "threats of violence" that sent Dan Quatro metaphorically under his desk -- lamented the state of affairs. "We are a broken community," he observed, "your grandchildren will read [tomorrow's] headlines ... I pray you will be able to look your grandchildren in the eye."
Later speakers -- many of whom had been forced to stand outside in frigid temperatures because they were told the gallery was at capacity -- focused their ire on both the opacity of the process and the literal shutting-out of the public during the defining debate. Sandra Frankel, Brighton Town Supervisor, chastised the Republican majority. "You have locked out the people in this community -- it is unconscionable." Fellow Brightonian Rick Dollinger called the scene "Democracy at its worst," decrying what he viewed as an intentional "policy of intimidation." Willa Powell, Rochester City School Board Commissioner summed the situation up as "really quite an embarrassment -- what's happening downstairs."
Finally, other speakers emphasized the broader issue of justice and respect. Bryan Hetherington, from Empire Justice Center spoke about his experience working with low income people in the judicial system. Gaining trust of clients can be very difficult, he noted; each of us, as citizens, pledge to ensure justice for all -- no matter how alienated they are from the justice system. "I implore you, " he urged the legislators, "live up to the pledge you made tonight."
With the public comments complete, it was time for the legislators themselves to address one another. Interestingly, the Republican majority was largely silent; Democrats were not. Ted O'Brien led off the debate (is it truly a debate if the final vote is already known?) citing research that demonstrates people are more likely to comply with the law if they believe the system is fair. Of course, that is simply bleeding-heart liberal pabulum -- those ghetto youth should just assume the position, we need not ask them their "feelings" about justice.
Willie Lightfoot and Paul Haney displayed more emotion describing the evening. Lightfoot, pounding his desk, emphatically stated "What I saw here tonight was racism!" He noted -- quite accurately -- that the gallery has many times been packed with cheerleaders and others, but this evening, security wands and reduced-capacity signs reigned supreme (Quatro would later wryly note that this was not an issue of race, just the differential threat posed by cheerleaders and people like David Gantt -- difficult to argue with him on that point).
Paul Haney's comments were perhaps the harshest indictment of Republican behavior of the entire evening. Haney, a longtime Rochester City Councilman who returned to public service just two years ago, is known as a thoughtful, policy-oriented legislator with a keen eye for fiscal detail. This evening, Haney was beside himself with anger. Voice quavering, he angrily stated that since his first election in 1973, he "never saw anything like tonight. This place was a gulag, a police state... the way the public was treated was disgusting...I stand here and tremble, I tremble at what occurred here tonight." Summing up his feelings -- and portending what might yet come -- Haney lamented "we will all someday be held accountable for the travesty of this night." Haney spent most of the evening with his head in his hand, visibly distressed at the evening's events.
Aside from Majority Leader Dan Quatro, only Bob Colby on the Republican side felt moved to participate in the discussion. Sensing the arguments that would be made -- and had been made -- against his fellow legislators, Colby clarified that he is not a "yes person" who simply obeys the commands of party leaders. He also observed -- not without laughter from the gallery -- that he found the selection process "acceptable" (an endorsement Jose Cruz would later seize as evidence of the less-than-high standards Republicans had set for the selection process).
Carrie Andrews reiterated the point about previous packed houses in the Legislature, but also added a new and interesting point: the "Maximum Occupancy" sign had been changed. Previously the exterior sign had permitted well over 150 people in the gallery area; tonight, one row of seats had been removed and the "new" occupancy limit was only 75 (it is worth noting that at no point did it appear there were actually 75 people in the gallery). "This," Andrews summarized, "is embarrassing and appalling."
In addition to noting Colby's understated endorsement of the "acceptable" selection process, Legislator Jose Cruz also observed an additional irony: the legislature would be voting to pass a requirement that the Public Defender refrain from engaging in partisan activities. Members of the gallery could be heard murmuring -- presumably breathing sighs of relief that Mr. Donaher had already engaged in the necessary political activity to be awarded the job and no longer needed to pay his political dues -- literally.
Wrapping up the debate for the Democrats was Harry Bronson. Bronson opened his summation asking, not entirely rhetorically, "Where did we go wrong?" He then partly answered that question, admitting very candidly that he had screwed up as Democratic leader. First, he had naively signed on to the proposed selection process before realizing just how stacked it was and second, he genuinely believed he was part of the process itself. One can question the wisdom of this debate strategy -- admitting naivete and shortsightedness generally does not precede a damning argument -- but this was actually part of Bronson's point: how cynical must one be to work effectively with the Republican majority? Apparently very cynical indeed.
Addressing charges that the community outcry was a political connivance, Bronson bristled. "Did we orchestrate this? Absolutely not." This claim seems quite credible: Democratic organizational skills (if they can be called that) could not have produced the interest shown by several faith-based and community-based groups.
"I don't know where we go from here," Bronson concluded. "Maybe we can build the bridge we tore down this evening."
In his response, Quatro, to his credit, sounded some notes of conciliation. He conceded this was "not a proud night for this community." He also noted his respect for Cindy Kaleh, the newly-appointed legislator from the 28th LD who announced that her daughter was recently deployed to Iraq. He also concluded his comments with an apology to Paul Haney and Sister Beth LaValley for the manner in which she was treated.
These dulcet notes, though, were largely drowned out by Quatro's single-minded determination to paint all opposition to the selection process as being rooted in partisan cupidity. Quatro, in a bit of effective political strategy, used David Gantt as the poster-boy for the opposition. Gantt's disturbances -- intentional on his part -- were a clear signal, argued Quatro, that Democrats had no desire for any process to be effective. Indeed, he observed, "it did not serve the partisans in this community for this process to go smoothly." Quatro also rejected Bronson's claim of naivete, throwing back at the Democrat his initial words of support for the selection process (Bronson later noted that the quote in question was signed off on the day before Thanksgiving as part of an effort to accommodate the majority -- an accommodation that will not likely recur).
As the clock approached 8:30, the fateful -- and fated -- vote occurred. Predictably, it was 15-14. Within minutes, a motion was made to combine the remaining evening's business into one motion, which was seconded and passed. Legislators could not leave quickloy enough.
Reflecting on the evening, Paul Haney was clearly disgusted. He characterized the partisan divide as "unbridgeable." One example, Haney described a proposal he had made repeatedly over the past year that would urge the state to permit County taxpayers to make partial payments on their property taxes. Time and again he was told this plan was not workable, too complicated and therefore not actionable. With bitter irony, he then withdrew from his briefcase a proposal, to be voted on in March, that was virtually identical to his. But this proposal will be acted on -- and will likely pass -- because its author, Tony LaFountain -- is a Republican.
Asked to predict the future, Haney sighed, "We'll play the game the way they (the Republicans) want to play it -- and the next two years will sheer hell."
So Republicans have won. They proved that just as gangs and the mafia enforce discipline by rewarding loyalty and punishing defection, political parties can be just as craven. No one expected a single Republican to buck the party on this vote: to do so would be political suicide. And granted, the position of County Legislator may not be the apex of political power, bucking the Republican leadership could mean more than just a loss of office perks. It would mean a likely primary and more subtle modes of exclusion. You simply do not go against the family. No one wants to be the Monroe County version of Ruslan Khasbulatov, challenging the leadership and finding themselves surrounded by tanks.
Bronson noted another tragedy of the process, the breakdown of trust. While it was mentioned by some speakers, one cannot emphasize enough how important trust is as a glue that keeps our community together. Ted O'Brien was right to note the role of trust in the justice system: suppose you are a young black male and you do not believe the public defender cares about people like you. He recommends you cop a plea and take a reduced sentence rather than push the matter to trial. And while this might truly be in your best interests, you cannot be certain -- so you go to trial. In short, lawyers for the public defender's office will have to win back the trust that our legislators have pissed away. And earning that trust could take time.
But also important is the trust that must exist between legislators. It is very clear that Monroe County's legislators deeply distrust one another. As citizens, one becomes accustomed to political rhetoric and debate. What few people realize, though, is that in healthy political systems, legislators are able to distinguish between political and personal differences. Throwing oratorical bombs at one another on the floor of the legislature is all in a day's work; afterward, they go to the steak house and talk about their families, sports or their upcoming vacation. It is quite evident that these relationships are few and far between among Monroe County's lawmakers.
Finally, there is a clear gulf in our community that few people want to confront head-on. Suburban observers gleefully cheered Gantt's arrest while many city residents rallied to his side (even though, truth be told, even people who like Gantt find him to be a bit of a jerk). This taking of sides is not something that occurs in the rational mind, it is a visceral, subconscious allegiance we feel. Some people look at Gantt and these other troublemaking preachers and say "what a disgrace they are to their community. Do they have nothing better to do than whine and complain about how unfair everything is?" Perhaps those people are correct: maybe there is too much whining, too much of a reliance on charges of racism rather than an acceptance of one's own failings. But it is also certainly the case that there is some fire beneath all this smoke. There is a palpable distrust between blacks and whites in our community, whether one feels it is justified or not. The fact that it exists is justification enough to expose it and address it. Throwing David Gantt in jail, while certainly a pleasant release for many, does little to get at the underlying pain in our community.
Republicans in the County legislature have a majority. They are the only ones in a position to act because only they can deliver 15 votes. They have won this particular chess game, but the victory is a Pyrrhic one at best. Tim Donaher has a nice new job that has proven to be an excellent return on his investment with the Republican Party. Republicans have proved they will not let those blacks and bleeding heart liberals hoodwink the decent hardworking people of the suburbs. But one gets the sense that the cost of these victories has not yet been calculated and may not be easily known. The cost will be subtle but severe. The life of the majority need not come at the death of openness, public input and a sense that the system responds to the public, even if the system does not always yield the desired result.
Incidentally, the word "checkmate" has an interesting origin. It comes to us from the Arabic "shah mat" meaning "the king is dead" or "the king is unable to escape." It is ironic indeed that while Republicans were declaring checkmate inside the County Legislature, there were many members of the public who felt voiceless, trapped and unable to escape.
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