A Just Cause

by Sieracki, Bernard; Edgar, Jim;

  The governor then attempted to refute charges related to the efficiency initiatives, that funds had been removed from one agency to another without legislative approval. Many considered the efficiency initiatives a simple shell game with little or no accountability. The governor began by extolling the many accomplishments of his administration and reminded the senators that in many past instances they had been his allies and that he could not have accomplished the “big achievements” without the senate’s support. He justified and obfuscated the alleged manipulations by stating that the expansion of health care to 750,000 families and an increase of $8.4 billion in education funding was not accomplished “on the backs of the middle class by raising their taxes,” but through “efficiency, consolidating functions,” and streamlining operations. He claimed that Central Management Services (CMS) found ways to save money and had saved over $500 million for taxpayers and “wanted to . . . allow us to be able to use that money in the General Revenue Fund to invest in healthcare and education and other general revenue items, but then the Auditor General got involved and said, stop, don’t do it.” Minimizing the situation as merely an administrative disagreement, Blagojevich likened the discussions between Auditor General Bill Holland and the head of CMS as “a couple of accountants kind of scrapping over the issue of whether or not the money should be spent in a certain way.” Blagojevich noted that CMS had stopped the practice and that this was another issue that had occurred during the first term (613–15).

  The last article in the impeachment resolution concerned abuses in hiring and firing state employees. The allegations were uncovered through an investigation of the hiring practices of the Blagojevich administration conducted by the Illinois inspector general. The house investigative committee reiterated the findings of the inspector general: that the governor’s Office of Intergovernmental Affairs directed the Illinois Department of Employment Security to bypass hiring protocol and violate the Rutan hiring mandate and veteran hiring preference.18 The governor said little about the charge except that he had supported the legislation that created the position of inspector general and that the allegations were not yet proven. He did not deny the allegation, but he claimed that the inspector general had not presented any evidence that the governor knew about the activity or was involved. He also reminded the senate that the allegations of employment abuse, like the other maladministration charges, had occurred during his first term in office. He dismissed the allegations as administrative disagreements that came about through his desire to help people (616–19). His message was clear: if he only had the chance to bring in witnesses, they would exonerate him.

  The governor had covered all the charges contained in the impeachment resolution and offered nothing more of substance. But he was not finished. Blagojevich now shifted from the role of the accused answering specific charges to a role where he was at his best—Rod Blagojevich on the campaign stump. His campaign speeches were structured with phrases and stories designed to stir audiences. Common content in his political speeches included expressions of humility, attempts to identify with the audience, displays of concern for the disadvantaged and downtrodden, tales of his focus on economic growth using unsubstantiated job projections, heartrending stories that the audience easily accepted and no one could challenge, acknowledgements of connections with famous people or with familiar people in the audience, and a self-narrative of Rod Blagojevich, the family man.19 While addressing the specific charges in the impeachment resolution, Blagojevich had occasionally referred to his notes. Now he did not need notes. His campaign-style remarks were guided by the instincts that the seasoned politician had acquired through years of campaign performances. He used all the hackneyed phrases and allusions commonly employed in campaign speeches, but he was addressing an audience of politicians who received his remarks with an air of incredulity and cynicism.

  Over and over, in dolorous tones, he implored the senate to give him a chance to bring in witnesses who could prove his innocence. Justifying his administrative actions, he claimed legal means with moral motivations. He was just trying to help poor people keep their health care and had “found a way that [he could] actually do something and help them be able to have a better quality of life, not ration their medicine, maybe extend their lives, [and] the means are legal.” In an effort to associate himself with other prominent public figures, he continued; “because if they’re not, then the governor of Wisconsin, the governor of Kansas, and Ted Kennedy and Rahm Emanuel and John McCain and others ought to be co-conspirators with me.” He again attempted to establish commonality and kinship with the Illinois senate and talked of the things they had accomplished together. To display humility and solicit compassion, he solemnly admitted, “I know sometimes I probably push too much and prod too hard. I know you guys have this impression that sometimes, you know, I go outside of you and say certain things” (620–21).

  He then launched into his familiar autobiography, painting a picture of Rod Blagojevich as the embodiment of the American dream—the poor boy who makes good. He told the Illinois senate that he was the product of humble beginnings and through hard work had risen to become the governor of Illinois. But he remained a man of the people, always looking out for the little guy, the poor, seniors, the sick, and minorities—always fighting those in power who sought to curtail him. Now he was the victim, the object of the wrath of entrenched power. Rod Blagojevich, champion of the underdog, was fighting again, this time to prove his innocence and his mettle. His good works would triumph over evil if only given a fair chance.

  He stated that his father had been “a Republican cold warrior [who] spent four years in a Nazi prisoner of war camp.” He told of how his father immigrated to the United States and “was a factory worker, a steel worker, and worked all the time, 50, 60, 70 hours a week.” Attempting to draw a connection with individual senators and prompt them to identify with his story, he said, “He got to a point in his life, and you know this probably from your parents, when you realize it ain’t there for you, so I’m going to do everything I can to create opportunities for my kids.” His father had to “scratch and claw and sacrifice” for the betterment of his children. His mother worked as a ticket agent for the Chicago Transit Authority, and “everything they did was to work and sacrifice for their kids and give us a chance at a better life that wasn’t there for them. And then one day their youngest son grows up, and he becomes governor of the fifth largest state.” He remarked how proud he was to reach the governor’s office, how he had “hit a pinnacle.” He tried to connect with Cullerton, saying that he suspected the senator had felt the same pride when he became senate president that Blagojevich felt when he became governor. He recognized Senator Willie Delgado as coming from the same type of neighborhood and Senator James DeLeo as having had similar life experiences (621–24).

  Blagojevich told the senators the story of a hardworking woman raised by an immigrant Mexican mother who could benefit from the expanded FamilyCare program. In graphic terms, he explained how she was a working woman who struggled each day: “She’s up before dawn. Her kids are still in bed. She sits down. Mom comes up, her mom, has a cup of coffee with her. They talk about the things of the day, and then she’s ready to go work. It’s still dark outside if it’s winter. She tippy-toes into the bedroom and kisses her boys goodbye and leaves them to their grandmother.” The heartrending story was carefully constructed. The woman was the daughter of Mexican immigrants and, importantly, a working woman. She has quiet, soft, reflective moments as she wakes in the early dawn, speaking intimately with her mother “about the things of the day” (625–28). Listeners could visualize the darkness outside, feel the cold associated with winter, and sense compassion as the woman quietly kissed her children before she had to leave them to someone else. On the campaign trail, it would have been a good story. To the senate, it was recognized as pure fabrication.

  In penitent tones, Blagojevich confessed that he became impatient and frustrated with legislative grid
lock. Yes, his methods were sometimes harsh, but his policies came from his desire to do good and had always been about helping families like the woman in the story. “I confess maybe I fight maybe too much, but I ask you to remember it ain’t about me,” he said. “Charge it to my heart. Charge it to my desire to help families I came from and life stories I’ve heard along the way in my life and as governor” (628–29).

  He drew attention to the common experiences he shared with senate members and talked about his two daughters. Blagojevich pleaded with the senate, “I didn’t let you down, give me a chance to show you. It’s painful, and it’s lonely.” He concluded his defense by asking each senator to “think about the dangerous precedent” they would set if they removed him “without proving any wrongdoing.” And finally, “Think about all the good things we’ve been able to do for people. Give me a chance to stay here so we can roll up our sleeves and continue to do good things for the people” (634–36).

  Blagojevich was at his campaign best, but his concluding remarks failed to sway the senate or the spectators. He was speaking to an audience of seasoned politicians and political observers who had heard it all before. They could not reconcile Blagojevich’s self-defined image of the pious, sincere street kid from Chicago who only wanted to help people and was wrongfully accused with the vulgar, plotting, scheming voice revealed on the FBI recordings or the experiences of many who had attempted to work with the governor for the previous six years. The stony stares on the faces of the senate members betrayed their reactions. There was an awkward silence as senators and spectators digested the governor’s speech. His closing remarks were the insincere ramblings of leftover campaign rhetoric, and his motives were transparent. In the galleries, there was noticeable shifting. Some were amused at his audacity, but most were amazed. In Springfield’s medieval market fair, the governor had become the jester. He had lost any semblance of substance or trust and could offer only a woefully inadequate performance.

  The silence was quickly interrupted by the procedurally efficient Chief Justice Fitzgerald, who informed the governor that since he had filed to appear before the senate to represent himself, he was welcome to remain. The governor thanked the chief justice and replied that the senate was “welcome to deliberate whatever they think is right,” and indicated that he would leave (636). As Blagojevich was exiting the building, he quipped to Deputy Governor Louanner Peters, “Well, baby, we’re out of here,” and departed through the capitol’s basement entrance.20 Cullerton and Radogno each asked for a one-hour caucus, and the senate recessed.

  Senator Don Harmon, a Democrat from Oak Park, commented to those sitting around him, “When the cameras are on, you see one person, and when they are off, you see another.”21 Senator Matt Murphy, a Republican from Palatine, who had worked on the senate impeachment rules, was “fuming” at the impudence and patronizing tone of the speech and worried that the general public would again be fooled by his performance.22 Senator Dave Luechtefeld, a Republican from Okawville, looked at Senator Dale Righter, shook his head, and said, “It doesn’t get any better than that.” Luechtefeld was “absolutely amazed” at the audacity of the performance he had just witnessed.23 And there was reaction from the national press. A native of Illinois, the Washington Post’s David Broder wrote, “Blagojevich has tried to duck responsibility for his foul words and deeds while cloaking himself in phony martyrdom.” Taking his journalist colleagues to task for the cavalier reporting of Blagojevich’s recent media appearances, Broder sincerely wrote, “That’s a joke to some people, but not to a state I love.”24

  Heather Wier Vaught, Mike Kasper, and Cindy Grant returned to Ellis’s capitol office. They had not eaten and Weir had ordered Jimmy John’s sandwiches. As the prosecution team sat eating lunch, Ellis banged on the desk and said a few choice words about the governor. He could not believe what he had just heard. When contemplating the governor’s appearance, he had assumed that Blagojevich would attempt to address the charges against him. The prosecution team had worked in the house chambers past midnight the previous night, preparing a rebuttal for what Ellis thought Blagojevich might say. Then Ellis had returned to his hotel room and continued to work through the final version. But in court today, rather than addressing the charges, the governor had merely given a political speech. Ellis was angry and expressed his frustrations to the rest of the prosecution team in a somewhat animated fashion. “That’s what you have to do,” Cindy Grant said, her index finger pointing directly at Ellis. “Get mad. Talk right back at him.”25 Vaught and Kasper agreed. Kasper, who had been standing close to Harmon when he made his remarks concerning cameras and Blagojevich’s speech, repeated them to the group: When the cameras are on, you hear one version of Blagojevich; when they are off, you hear another. “Tell the senate what he did not say,” Kasper advised Ellis. “Tell them he did not address the charges and offer any defense. Instead, he came to the senate and gave a political speech.”26 Ellis agreed. He did not need to prepare notes. The prosecutor’s remarks would not be a rebuttal of Blagojevich’s defense, as he had offered no defense, but rather a denunciation of the governor’s audacity to come before the senate on such a grave occasion and deliver a political speech to fifty-nine politicians. Ellis took a bite of his sandwich.

  When the senators returned to the floor after their caucus, Chief Justice Fitzgerald called the senate to order and recognized the house prosecutor, David Ellis. The chief justice allotted the prosecutor thirty minutes for his closing rebuttal, but a confident Ellis said he would not need that much time. Indeed, Ellis’s remarks were surprisingly brief. He did not use a script. His anger now keenly focused, he remarked on what the governor had not said or done. Echoing Senator Don Harmon’s observations at the end of Blagojevich’s speech, and following Kasper’s suggestion, Ellis opened by telling the senate, “When the cameras are on and he thinks people are listening, the Governor can give a pretty good speech, but I want to talk about the Rod Blagojevich when he’s off camera when he doesn’t know people are listening” (638). The house prosecutor sensed that behind him were millions of Illinois residents, and “they demand better and they deserve better” than what Blagojevich had just given them, he later recalled. For the normally controlled Ellis, it was an emotional moment.27

  Ellis reminded the senate of the governor’s remarks on the FBI recordings about the tollway and children’s hospital shakedowns. When the camera was on, he wanted to create jobs and provide health care for children, but in the recorded conversations, Blagojevich spoke of coercing contributions in exchange for funding. The house prosecutor then drew a distinction between the governor’s public professions to be “for the little guy” and his private proclamation recorded by the FBI stating his selfish motivations: “legal, personal, political” (638–40).

  The witnesses the governor had claimed would exonerate him could not be called, Ellis said, and further, the case was built not on what others did or did not do, but on the governor’s own words. He questioned why the governor chose not to testify under oath, why he said the words that were caught on tape, and why he did not at least provide the context of the recorded conversations. Instead of participating in the trial, Ellis pointed out, the governor went on national television to proclaim his innocence. Blagojevich did not say a word to the senate about selling the vacant US Senate seat, the Tribune Company, or the pay-to-play allegations. Instead, “he comes in and says there’s no evidence and gets off the stage.” Ellis emphasized that there were sixty recorded conversations confirmed by a federal agent. Referring to the governor’s appeal that the senate “walk a mile in his shoes,” Ellis said, “if I were innocent and I were in his shoes, I would have taken that witness stand and I would have testified and I would have told you why I was innocent” (640–42).

  Ellis concluded the prosecution’s rebuttal by addressing the mismanagement of the Blagojevich administration. Impeachment was warranted, he said, because the citizens of Illinois had to be protected. He mentioned the state’s f
alling bond rating, which would cost the taxpayers more money, and the fact that Illinois was the only state whose governor did not “have access to security information from the federal government,” because the governor’s security clearance had been withdrawn at the time of his arrest. “Every constitutional officer” and the president of the United States had asked the governor to resign. Although Rod Blagojevich had “a constitutional right” to “a fair trial and proof beyond a reasonable doubt” in court before being put in jail, “he does not have a constitutional right to be Governor,” Ellis declared. “Being Governor is not a right, it is a privilege, and he has forfeited that privilege.” Ellis said that “the people of this state have had enough,” and they wanted to know if the state was going to begin “a new era.” He asked rhetorically, “The people want to know are we finally going to turn the page?” (643–44).

  After Ellis concluded his rebuttal, John Cullerton and Christine Radogno each requested an additional party caucus for one hour. The requests did not surprise the senators, but the observers in the galleries were intrigued by the request for an additional caucus. There was speculation that the senate did not want to deliberate and vote to remove Blagojevich until they were assured that the state plane had left Springfield and was on its way back to Chicago. Once Blagojevich was removed from office, he would no longer have access to the state plane, and getting back to Chicago could have been a problem for him.