A Just Cause

by Sieracki, Bernard; Edgar, Jim;

  The house prosecutor had summarized the evidence and made his case. His argument was well organized, succinct, and compelling. The recordings of the governor’s voice still resonated in the senate chamber, and his culpability seemed evident to all. Now Ellis summarized the impeachment process and the governor’s reaction to it. Even though Blagojevich had chosen not to participate and had instead referred to the trial as a “kangaroo court” and a “sham,” claiming that “the fix is in,” Ellis reminded the senate that the proceedings had been beyond reproach. He said that their actions and the actions of the house did not warrant any of the accusations leveled by Blagojevich. The senate had questioned the witnesses presented by the prosecution and had deliberated fairly. The evidence presented was overwhelming and unquestionably exhibited a pattern of abuse of power. He again interjected the names of Ali Ata and Joe Cari and their admitted corrupt activities with the Health Facilities Planning Board. Ellis ended his closing argument by declaring, “The people of this state deserve so much better. The Governor should be removed from office” (586–88).

  As Ellis left the podium, the senate chamber remained hushed. The proceedings had reached the final stage, and all eyes focused on the door behind the senate rostrum. Everyone waited anxiously for the governor to appear. Following the procedure established by the senate parliamentarian, the chief justice asked, “Is the governor present?” Fitzgerald then informed the senate that he was advised that the governor was in the building and would arrive shortly. He told the senators to stay close to the chamber and to stand at ease. The chamber gave a collective sigh of relief as the senate disengaged from the spectacle before them. Some senators spoke quietly with each other, while the galleries remained silent.

  John Cullerton instructed Andy Manar to find the governor and bring him to the senate floor. Madiar, Manar, and Cullerton had discussed just how to summon the governor. Andy Manar had worked with the governor on budget matters during the last session, and all three felt that Blagojevich would be more comfortable with someone he knew. As Manar left the senate floor, the pressure of working seven days a week for the last two months began to take its toll. He was anxious. Both Manar and Madiar had officially been in their jobs less than a month, but during the preceding two months, working through the Christmas and New Year holidays, they had organized the senate with new people and new committee assignments, directed swearing-in ceremonies, and prepared for the unprecedented event of a senate trial to remove the governor. The trial was being covered by national and international press, and both men felt that the world was watching. Madiar and Manar even synchronized their watches to the senate clock to ensure that the proceedings progressed in a timely fashion. Still concerned about the governor’s antics—“How do you outthink crazy?”—Madiar spoke with the senate sergeant at arms, Claricel “Joe” Dominguez Jr., and asked the eight-year veteran of the US Marine Corps to stay close to the governor. Madiar and Manar were painfully aware that this had to go right.15

  The governor had to come to the senate floor, but Manar was not convinced that Blagojevich would appear. Earlier that morning Manar had checked with the Illinois Department of Transportation to verify that the governor’s plane had left Chicago for Springfield and that Blagojevich was on it. Now he had to find the governor. He left the senate floor and entered the hallway behind the senate chamber. The security staff had cleared the hallway, and the press was restricted to the senate galleries and a small roped-off area at the hallway’s east end. Security staff had also closed the elevators, so Manar made his way past the press to the steel stairwell and walked down one floor to the governor’s office on the capitol’s second floor. He entered the backdoor of the governor’s suite, where he was met with a strange silence. The office was empty—no staff and no security. Andy Manar was familiar with the governor’s office; as the former policy and budget director, he had been in the office many times. He passed through several rooms and the conference room. “No one, not a single person was there,” he later recalled. He went to a reception area outside the governor’s office and noticed a man he did not recognize. When the person asked what he wanted, Manar said he had come to get the governor and escort him upstairs. He was told to wait in the conference room he had just walked by.

  In the dark-paneled room the minutes passed, and Manar began checking his watch. Five minutes went by, then ten minutes. Suddenly the governor walked by the conference room. Blagojevich behaved as though there were nothing special about the day. He seemed to be in his usual campaign mode, walking with a spring in his step. He often would enter fund-raising events like a prizefighter enters the ring, with his staffers leading the way, their hands on each other’s shoulders, chanting something unrecognizable. Now, on this final day, he seemed to have no appreciation of what was transpiring one floor above. “Hey, Andy, what are you doing here?” he asked. Manar had no time for small talk. “Governor, we need to go upstairs,” he said. Blagojevich looked puzzled. “Why do I have to go upstairs?” he asked. After an awkward moment, Blagojevich seemed to regain himself and acknowledged what was happening. They went into the governor’s office, where moments later they were joined by a group of people. Deputy Governor Louanner Peters was among them, but the rest were strangers to Manar. The group began to joke and engage in small talk. Manar was cognizant of the time and the people waiting upstairs. “Governor, it’s time to leave,” he said. Rod Blagojevich seemed to acknowledge the moment. He went into the washroom just off the governor’s office, and after several minutes the door flew open. The several minutes in the washroom seemed to rejuvenate Blagojevich. If he had been hesitant before, he was running now, toward the back stairs, with his entourage running behind. Andy Manar struggled to catch up.

  On the landing before the third floor, he finally caught up with the governor and stopped him. A few feet above, the press waited in the hallway behind the roped-off area. Stopped on a narrow stairway landing, the small entourage was isolated from the crowd of reporters that waited a few feet away. Their voices were amplified in the cavernous stairwell and resonated between the capitol floors. Manar began telling the governor what to expect when they arrived in the hallway behind the senate. The crush of reporters would be on the left behind a rope, he explained, and they would proceed directly to the senate floor, through the door from the back hallway. He informed Blagojevich that no one else would be allowed on the senate floor. Blagojevich insisted that a woman with the group be allowed to accompany him to the senate floor. “This is personal,” he said. Aware of the time passing, Manar relented after some discussion, even though he did not know who the woman was. Upon reaching the third floor, he discovered that the woman had a press badge. Manar told the governor that no members of the press were allowed on the senate floor and that the woman would not be allowed to accompany him. After further, somewhat intense discussion, the governor finally relented.

  Andy Manar and Rod Blagojevich entered the senate hallway and walked quickly past the suddenly animated reporters shouting out questions. The woman and the rest of the entourage proceeded up one more flight of stairs to the senate gallery. From the senate hallway, a small wood-paneled corridor leads into the senate chamber. The corridor has a door to the hallway and, at the opposite end, a door leading to the senate chamber. Manar and Blagojevich entered the corridor, and Manar closed the hallway door behind them. Alone with the governor, Andy Manar was “struck by the strange silence.” The audio system was on, all the senators were in their seats, the galleries were full, but the chamber was deafeningly silent. Blagojevich had stood at the senate rostrum when swearing in the senate a few days before, but now Chief Justice Fitzgerald was at the rostrum, presiding over the impeachment trial. Manar wanted to make sure that the governor knew where to go; he did not want an awkward moment. He explained to Blagojevich, “I’m going to open the door, Governor, and when you walk in, turn to the right and a podium is set up for you to speak from. There’s a pencil and paper on the podium for you to use.” With th
ose words, Andy Manar reached for the door to the senate. Before he could open the door, however, the governor reached over and put his hand on Manar’s forearm. Looking straight at Manar, Blagojevich said, “Andy, I didn’t do anything wrong.” “Governor, you don’t have to convince me,” Manar replied, pointing to himself. “You have to convince those fifty-nine people out there.” He opened the door, and Rod Blagojevich walked onto the senate floor.16

  When Chief Justice Fitzgerald noticed the governor, he called for the sergeant at arms, Joe Dominguez, to escort the governor into the chamber. Fitzgerald welcomed the governor and informed him that the podium was the same one used by the house prosecutor and that it would be permissible to move a “step or two away” if he needed to (590). Blagojevich, dressed in a finely tailored dark suit with a solid-colored tie, set his notes on the podium. The governor had not taken part in the preceding days of the senate trial and had chosen not to be represented by counsel, but he had lawyers observing from the senate gallery.17 He had been briefed on the events of the past days and knew what had been said.

  He began his statement by telling the senate that in the past weeks he had been talking “to as many people as [he] possibly could” about his desire to appear before the senate to “tell the whole story” and show that he had “done absolutely nothing wrong.” Blagojevich had appeared on radio and television entertainment talk shows, pleading to be allowed to call witnesses who could attest to his innocence. The witnesses Blagojevich was presumably referring to during his public-relations campaign, and now before the senate, would address the criminal charges brought by the US attorney, which would be the subject of a trial in federal court several months or perhaps years later. The senate had limited access to the evidence concerning the criminal charges, as only four recordings had been provided by the US attorney. Although the first eight articles of the house impeachment resolution addressed criminal charges, only the evidence concerning the governor’s attempt to coerce a campaign contribution for signing the horse-racing bill was made available to the Ellis and presented to the senate.

  The governor’s defense strategy was to claim his innocence and demand that witnesses be subpoenaed and allowed to be cross-examined during the impeachment trial. Blagojevich argued that if the government released all the tapes and he was allowed to call and question witnesses, he could prove his innocence. The house prosecutor had previously addressed this strategy. During both the house investigation and the senate trial, Ellis had often reminded the bodies that they were not a court of law. The proceedings were not intended to determine whether the governor had committed the crimes he was charged with by the US attorney, but to decide whether justifiable cause existed to remove him from office.

  Blagojevich told the senate he wished to bring in Rahm Emanuel, President Obama’s chief of staff, and US senators Richard Durbin, Harry Reid, and Robert Menendez, all presumably related to the charge of trading Barack Obama’s Senate seat. Repeatedly, he emphasized how his inability to bring in witnesses was unfair: “fundamental fairness, fundamental justice, natural law and constitutional rights suggest I should be able to bring witnesses in to say I didn’t do the things they said I did.” He asked the senate to put themselves in his shoes and repeatedly proclaimed that he had not done anything wrong (591–94).

  Blagojevich acknowledged that the impeachment resolution was divided into “basically two portions”: allegations that he referred to as an abuse of “executive discretion” and allegations of criminal activity. The only evidence presented to the senate, he rightly said, were the four recordings that dealt with the allegation of coercing a campaign contribution related to the horse-racing bill. Justifying his remarks in those recordings, and speaking familiarly to the senators, he said, “You guys are in politics. You know what we have to do to go out and run—run elections. There was no criminal activity on those four tapes.” He reminded the senate that “those are conversations relating to the things all of us in politics do in order to run campaigns and try to win elections” (596–97). The senators were stunned by the remarks. They sat motionless, their faces radiating disdain. The spectators in the galleries were amazed, some mildly amused. Several spectators began to shake their heads in disbelief, while others smiled. The governor was telling the senate that extortion and coercion were business as usual in public service, in politics. He was telling the senators that they all did it. With that one remark, it seemed to many that Blagojevich sealed his fate.

  The governor then returned to the issue of witnesses and complained that it was unfair that he could not call people who could challenge the allegations. He argued that the house prosecutor had not proven criminal activity and asked the senate, “How can you throw a governor out of office who is clamoring and begging and pleading with you to give him a chance to bring witnesses in to prove his innocence?” Over and over he repeated his mantra: let me call in witnesses; give me a chance (597–99).

  Blagojevich had prepared notes, but he rarely consulted them. His remarks were in the form of a campaign speech: establish some talking points, engage in small talk, and try to connect with the crowd. Several times he veered off the topic, and in an attempt to bond with the senate, he told stories. He told of serving on a congressional committee and being in the same room with US senators Ted Kennedy, John Glenn, John McCain, and John Warner. Warner, he pointed out to the senate, had been married to Elizabeth Taylor, and he told of the time Senator Warner thought he was a young staffer and told him to fetch him a cup of coffee (600–601). Although this was a favorite story on the campaign trail, here the tale felt lame, inappropriate, and overtly manipulative to the senate and spectators.

  The instincts of a seasoned politician were apparent. Blagojevich used the familiar Warner story as a lead to defending his actions with the Joint Committee on Administrative Rules. Some senators served on JCAR, and Blagojevich attempted to establish a parity with them by noting his having served on a US congressional committee. “I know how important it is for those of you who are appointed to a committee like that, but let me respectfully suggest a couple of things,” he said. He maintained that JCAR was only an advisory committee and could not dictate policy to the executive branch, saying, “12 lawmakers picked by . . . legislative leaders cannot constitutionally thwart the executive branch.” He reminded the Democrats that he had worked with senate leader Emil Jones and, recalling the past animosities between Jones and Speaker Michael Madigan, stated that the house had blocked his and Jones’s efforts to fund an expansion of health care. He appealed to his purpose—to help poor families obtain health care. “Now, how is it an impeachable offense to protect low-income parents from losing their healthcare?” he implored. The governor said that he had received the advice of lawyers and, attempting to appeal to the Democratic members of the senate, that his actions were in concert with the senate Democratic leadership. Besides, he continued, the issue of JCAR’s authority had not been settled and was still the subject of litigation (601–5).

  He turned to the procurement of the flu vaccines and told of warnings by the US Centers for Disease Control that the flu season of 2005–6 would be “one of the worst flu seasons in recent American history.” A portion of Illinois’ normal supply of flu vaccine was contaminated, and it had been determined that a shortage existed. His decision to obtain the vaccine from Canada “was a no-brainer” and was for a straightforward reason: “because I was foreseeing the possibility that our elderly and infants might be vulnerable to flus that could conceivably take their lives.” In a self-righteous tone he added, “And by the way, if I get criticized for it, that ain’t the first time.” He claimed that officials in other states contemplated the idea until the FDA became involved and blocked the delivery of the flu vaccine to Illinois. He said the state had not lost $2.5 million because the case was not settled and was still before the Illinois Court of Claims, and Illinois’ attorney general had argued that the state’s taxpayers should not pay the bill. Again he argued, “How can you throw
a governor out of office who was acting to protect the lives of senior citizens and infants and trying to find ways to be able to help families?” (605–8).

  Blagojevich turned next to an arguable point: the charge related to the flu vaccine had taken place during his first term, but the house did not pass or even consider an impeachment resolution in 2005. He had stood for reelection and the people had again elected him, presumably with the full knowledge and approval of his actions (609). This valid and problematic argument had worried the house prosecutor and the senate chief legal counsel, Eric Madiar. Should the Illinois senate invalidate the sovereign will of the electorate expressed through the reelection of Rod Blagojevich?

  The governor moved next to the I-SaveRx program, his effort to provide lower-cost drugs from Canada. “I can’t wait to talk about this one,” he said. Blagojevich told the senate that the idea was given to him by Rahm Emanuel, and again attempting a personal connection, reminded the senate that Emanuel was his congressman and also Senator Cullerton’s congressman at the time. “Think about the morality of this,” he posed to the senate. He had thought about helping senior citizens and families, he said, “and I loved the idea, and we did it.” He claimed to have worked with Senators Ted Kennedy and John McCain on the issue of importation of prescription drugs and said that if what he had done was so wrong, then “let’s demand that President Obama fire Rahm Emanuel.” Again he reminded the senate that the I-SaveRx incident had also occurred during his first term, pointing out, “The people of Illinois elected me a second time knowing what I did with regard to prescription drugs for our senior citizens” (609–12).