Admit The Horse

by P. G. Abeles

  ~

  That Monday, there was another news item pulled off the wire services. Without explanation, the judge responsible for sentencing Joey Ali after his 14-charge conviction for RICOH violations announced that Ali’s sentencing date would be delayed— again. This time, the sentencing date was postponed— until December…after the election. When pressed by reporters, the judge declined to give a reason.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Erie, Pennsylvania

  IT WAS ON THE SCHEDULE—that immutable, unchanging plan for the day that might literally have been carved in stone, so strictly did the Okono campaign adhere to it—as just a quick 10-minute stop. The preternaturally calm Appelbaum would later be almost apoplectic on the subject, but in fairness to Okono’s handlers that day, it didn’t take much more. Okono was just supposed to do what the British royalty called a “walkabout”—a simple, waving, hand-shaking, baby-holding walk among the common folk. In this case, the common folk of a very important swing state that by every calculation Okono needed to win.

  The questioner was just a guy. An everyman. Nothing particularly good, or particularly bad, had ever happened to him. He was throwing a baseball to his son in the backyard of his modest one-story ranch when Okono came down the street, surrounded by a few dozen spectators and a buzzing drone of press people, reporters dragging heavy recorders in black micro- fiber messenger bags and sound guys waving unwieldy hanging microphones like little boys waving too-large fishing poles.

  Invited by the candidate, the guy asked a question—a pretty simple question. And Okono, who had been warned repeatedly about his propensity to become professorial, demonstrated why they never let him off the teleprompter, and why he’d never really actively practiced law. Because both successful politicians and expensive lawyers know to parse the question, to break it down to the elements they want to answer—and never to offer more information than necessary.

  “If you’re elected, will my taxes go up?” is what the guy really wanted to know. The guy was making about $30,000 a year as an electrician’s assistant. The easy answer would have been “No.” But, nobody wants to be seen living a small life. So because there were a lot of big press and big people around, the guy’s question got bigger, too. What the guy actually asked (stripped of all its frippery) was “When I’m really successful, will my taxes go up?” No way could Okono win with that one.

  What Okono should have said, was “Let’s not deal in hypotheticals—what are you earning right now?” Instead, he ended up explaining his worldview: that compensation should be determined not by work quality (skills or education required or market demand) but by quantity (how hard you worked). There was, said Okono, a moral equivalency between the waitress that was working hard and a lawyer working hard, and “I think when you spread the wealth around it’s good for everybody.”

  Rushing to get the tape back to New York, some reporters were, at first, not entirely sure they had heard Okono right. Okono was rarely off-message, never unscripted. His handlers seldom, if ever, allowed un-vetted questions from reporters, never mind the general public. “He said WHAT?” their producers barked in their cell phones. But soon enough, the network producers all had the videotape, and the tape recorded the exchange plainly enough. Still, no major networks ran the story. Only a New York daily picked it up. But, somehow, somewhere, someone posted the video on YouTube and it went viral. And then everybody saw it.

  The Okono supporters rushed to discredit the guy. An Okono-supporting state official was eventually reprimanded for routing around in government computers looking for the guy’s personal information. As usual, they did a great job—helped by a willing media. In subsequent weeks the media would make it about the guy. They would make much of the facts that the single father owed taxes (a modest $1,000), that he hadn’t completed his apprenticeship to be licensed as an electrician, that he refused to really endorse either candidate, and that he’d instructed his gay friends that he wouldn’t allow them around his kids. All of which might have been interesting to know, but was pretty irrelevant to the discussion. Okono supporters rushed in to explain that the guy would actually do better under Okono’s tax plan. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t about the guy or his question—it was about the answer. Okono didn’t believe in capitalism.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Rockville, Maryland

  EVERYONE WAS FEELING THE AFTER-SHOCKS of the recession. Everyone Lacey knew was worried about losing his or her job. People who’d over-invested in houses when it appeared the real estate market could never peak, were now trying to sell for less than they’d paid. Her husband’s internet business was no exception. At one time, he could barely keep the high tech computer toys that were his company’s staple in stock. Now they languished in his warehouse, as he was forced to cut prices again and again for just a few sales. Investments they had thought would provide a cushion in an emergency were themselves devalued to nothing. Beachfront property they owned languished in the real estate listings. No one was buying. They’d cut back on everything: piano lessons for the kids, the housecleaning service, even date night was forfeit. It wasn’t enough. Lacey had sent a résumé to a friend that was a corporate recruiter. He’d called her with the bad news.

  “Shit, Lacey. Have you ever Googled yourself?” he said by way of greeting.

  “No,” she answered, surprised.

  “There are all these crazy stories that you’re a racist.”

  “But it’s not true!” she protested.

  He sounded exasperated. “Of course, I know it’s not true. It doesn’t matter if it’s true. You’re controversial. No company is going to hire you for the type of position you’re qualified for. Actually, no company is going to hire you at all, for any position. The first thing people do these days is look people up on the internet.”

  Lacey was speechless, near tears.

  “It gets worse.”

  “How could it get worse?” she asked. She didn’t really want to know.

  “Your husband’s not going to be able to get a job, either. You guys cross-reference on a lot of these stories. He’s screwed, too.”

  “Oh, God,” she replied. It came out like a moan.

  “But everyone said it would blow over…” her voice was pleading.

  He replied with an ironic laugh: “Today’s headline is tomorrow’s birdcage liner, or whatever?”

  “Something,” said Lacey, the strain in her voice obvious.

  “Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “that was before the internet. Now, everything—even the most outrageous stuff some college-dropout posts from his parent’s basement—with no effort at verification— lives forever.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Lacey said. “Tell me. What do I do?”

  “Lacey, I’m sorry. I know this is really unfair. I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t know.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Medford, Oregon

  LATE AS IT WAS, HE ANSWERED ON THE FIRST RING.

  “Hey, it’s Connor. I need some help.”

  “Sure.”

  “You guys were looking into the threats against members of the Congressional Black Caucus a few months ago?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Were you checking out Miriam Carter?” Connor asked. There was a pause.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you pull phone records?”

  “Connor, c’mon,” the voice was amused, exasperated.

  “Any line on the threats?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Well, some college kids…”

  “Okono’s?”

  “Some of them worked for the campaign…just goofy kids.”

  “Anything else?” Connor pressed.

  “Yes.” There was a long pause.

  “You gonna tell me?” Connor asked. Again, the man paused, then seemed to make a decision.

  “Why not? Re-routed calls. Untraceable. Professional.”

 
“You guys take them seriously?”

  There was a dry laugh on the other end of the line.

  “Since she’s dead, that’s a bit of a loaded question, wouldn’t you say, Connor?”

  “Just trying to get your read on things.”

  “Yeah, we took them seriously.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Who?”

  “Miriam Carter. You must have been keeping tabs on her,” Connor replied.

  “Maybe.”

  “So what was she doing?”

  The man on the phone sounded almost amused for a moment. “Well, the night she died, she was meeting with a group of McCracken supporters.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Connor “Tea and cookies were in her stomach.”

  The man laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t describe it as a tea party exactly…”

  “No?” Connor was surprised.

  “No, more like the overthrow of the Democratic Party complete with embarrassing press revelations of the opposition.”

  “No shit?” Connor said. There was a pause. “You know the M.E. thinks she was murdered?” Connor asked softly.

  “Of course, she was.”

  The line was silent for a few seconds as Connor mentally composed himself.

  “You guys have a bead on who?” asked Connor.

  The voice was dismissive. “You never did homicide, did you?”

  “Not really, no,” Connor said.

  “Well, you look at who benefits.”

  “Okay.” Connor paused, waiting.

  “So, if a feisty middle-aged lady who appears in generally good health—”

  “Great health, actually.”

  “Right, okay…and who is known for her determination…and ah…let’s say… powers of persuasion, is planning to lead a floor fight for her candidate on the floor of the Democratic National Convention. On live TV…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, who benefits if she dies rather suddenly?”

  “The other candidate?”

  There was a chuckle on the other end of the line.

  “Good night, Connor.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Columbus, Ohio

  LACEY STEPPED OUT OF THE GATE at the Columbus airport and was immediately spotted by Betty Jo. It was a happy reunion. The two women had become close friends in the process of coordinating thousands of McCracken supporters for Joe Malloy. Hundreds of those volunteers were now converging on Ohio and Pennsylvania from across the country in the weeks before the general election to pass out flyers and electioneer for Joe Malloy.

  By any measure, Betty Jo would be hard not to like. But Lacey now knew that her carefully coiffed hair, high-heeled boots and impeccable grooming hid a secret; Betty Jo was no Barbie Doll. Beneath the hairspray and nail varnish lay the fearless heart of a warrior, and Betty Jo wasn’t just brave, she was smart. You never had to explain things twice to Betty Jo—she got it. It was like she had a switch—if she was ‘on’, then she was passionately committed; if she was ‘off’, then she was completely uninterested. The Republicans in Ohio didn’t know what hit them.

  If they’d expected someone to sit politely by as they explained their strategy to woo McCracken supporters, they didn’t know Betty Jo. She’d been volunteering in political campaigns a long time, long enough to know that Malloy’s 28 year old volunteers didn’t know what they were doing. But, more to the point, the Malloy campaign needed to re-calibrate their skill set to a Democratic audience.

  If Governor Malloy wanted to broaden his appeal —and voting base—his campaign needed to emphasize those aspects of his character and record that would appeal to Democrats and independents. It should have been easy to do. Malloy was an essentially moderate guy, but the Republican experts in marketing on Malloy’s staff were used to selling a different kind of candidate to a different audience. Their earliest efforts merely superimposed the new candidate onto the old strategy. Betty Jo could see right away it wouldn’t work. To their credit, they mostly listened to her.

  But it didn’t really matter. What most people following the election in those last weeks didn’t realize was that, for the Republicans, the situation in Ohio was dire. And the likely electoral result would have more to do with lawsuits wending their way through state and District courts than whether Malloy could expand his base with women or Latinos.

  Ohio had a tessellated electoral history. If the vote counting controversies in Florida were perhaps better known nationally, citizens of Ohio had witnessed more than their share of double-dealing, fraud and down-right cheating in previous elections by Republican state officials. So much so, that polls showed a majority of the state’s residents questioned the fairness of the previous presidential election’s results and voted out the Republican incumbent responsible. Unfortunately, for those looking for balance, his Democratic replacement was no less partisan.

  Previously, the state had followed a protocol for new registrations in accordance with the 2002 Help America Vote Act. After a voter registered, a postcard would be mailed to verify their mailing address and correct information. When the prospective voter returned the postcard, they would be formally registered.

  If the card was returned to the board of elections ”return to sender” –a notation would be made on the voter rolls that further authentication was required and the registration would be forwarded to the secretary of state’s office where they would try to match it against drivers licenses registered with the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles. If there was a match, the voter was registered.

  If there was no match in the state database, the registration would be sent to the Social Security Administration to see if they could verify the applicant’s social security number. If the Social Security Administration made a match, the voter was registered.

  If, however, after all these steps, no one in the system could verify the information provided, the voter’s registration was suspended, pending documentation. Even most voter advocacy groups considered the process fair.

  But the new Democratic Secretary of State, Gwendolyn Brown, had decided to institute a new policy to allow for early voting. Under the new rules, a voter could register by showing a copy of any utility bill and providing the last four digits of their social security number and then immediately cast an absentee ballot.

  In the middle of August, Brown had ordered county election officials to immediately give all new voters who registered an absentee ballot, so that they could simultaneously register and vote.

  County election officials cried foul. Under Brown’s instructions, a cell phone registered to a post office box address would meet the requirement for a utility bill, and applicants could provide any four digit combination of numbers they wanted—they were allowed to cast a ballot before the numbers could be verified with the system.

  In early September, Monroe County officials point blank refused the secretary of state’s directive as illegal. Under Ohio state law, they pointed out, a voter is required to be registered for 30 days before they are eligible to cast an absentee ballot. Further, they argued, because Brown refused to keep these ballots separate from voters whose information was already verified —there was no possibility of further scrutiny or checking of these ballots.

  But Gwendolyn Brown had powerful friends. Brown’s former campaign manager was now director of the Ohio arm of SEED. So, perhaps not coincidentally, Power Vote sued the Monroe County Board of Elections on behalf of a homeless coalition.

  Meanwhile, the Republicans demanded more scrutiny of the process. If the early voting were to take place, they insisted they be allowed to have election observers present to witness the process. When Brown refused, they filed suit and further requested that Brown be required to turn over names of registrants with mismatched records to county election officials so the names could be authenticated.

  Complicating the situation further was the economic crisis. As of October 2008, more than 5% of mortgages in Ohio were delinquent or in foreclosure. From Januar
y to June, that number was topping out at a staggering 67,658 foreclosures. Brown and the Okono campaign claimed that the Republicans were perfidiously trying to use foreclosure lists to block qualified voters from participating in the election. Moreover, voter participation had always been a half-full/half-empty partisan issue. Democrats were always inveighing against voter suppression and Republicans always howling about voter fraud.

  So, even Democrats who disagreed with Brown and were privately shocked by her blatant partisanship and banana republic tactics—couldn’t find it in their hearts to speak out. In their view it was a moral issue: fraud was preferable to suppression. Many were also concerned about the Okono campaign’s allegations of “caging”—a vile practice previously utilized by the GOP to cherry pick certain ‘undesirable’ zip codes with election mailings and disqualify ethnic voters who did not verify their addresses. But the allegations had no merit here—not only was the secretary of state’s office controlled by a Democrat, but a law passed in 2005 required election officials to mail election materials to all registered voters.

  In the Power Vote case, the lower court judge ruled that Ohio counties were prohibited from requiring potential voters to provide a mailing address—the court ruled that applicants must be allowed to list “non-building locations such as park benches as their address”—essentially making it impossible to verify if the person was even a resident of the state.

  However, on October 14th, the U.S. Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals reversed the lower court and ruled that Ohio Secretary of State Brown had to take additional steps to authenticate the new voters. But just as the Malloy campaign breathed a sigh of relief, three days later, that decision was overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court on purely technical grounds. The Republican National Committee, who had filed the suit, was not a qualified party, the Supreme Court ruled. Not only was Gwendolyn Brown not required to provide the names of the suspicious registrants to the county officials, she instructed the 88 county boards to ignore public records requests for the information, as well.