by Carl Hiaasen
Miami politics has caused lots of good, decent folks to roll over in their graves. Next time, let them cast a ballot. At this point, what could it hurt?
Miami Voters' create new kind of open election
December 14, 1997
Miami's election scandal has taken an intriguing twist, with the revelation that scores of people who "voted" on Nov. 4 don't even live in the city.
Some didn't know they'd voted at all.
Investigators call it fraud, but there's a more positive interpretation. Think of Miami elections as the ultimate in participatory democracy, accessible to anyone—living, dead, residents, nonresidents … even those who don't particularly want to participate.
It might be crooked, but it's also an ingenious remedy for the problem of low voter turnout.
If authorities allow the results of last month's election to stand, we could soon see a day when Miami boasts more registered voters than live human beings—a democracy flush beyond the wildest dreams of Jefferson or Paine.
Many of Miami's questionable ballots were filed in support of Commissioner Humberto ("I'll Take the Fifth") Hernandez and Mayor-to-be Xavier ("I'm Not Deranged!") Suarez.
When the scandal broke, Suarez appointed none other than Hernandez to counter-investigate the state's investigation. This was highly humorous for two reasons:
1) Hernandez is awaiting trial for alleged bank fraud and money laundering.
2) His own campaign manager, Jorge Luis De Goti, figures largely in one of the city's most dubious voting patterns.
Records show several "voters" switching their registrations to addresses in Hernandez's district, just in time for the election. At least nine of those supporters registered at homes owned or occupied by family of De Goti.
When reporters tried to find some of the new Hernandez voters, they found them dwelling at other locations, miles outside the city. (Hernandez himself said he'd never condone such a thing.)
Equally peculiar were absentee ballots filed on behalf of Francisca Brice, Cipriano Alvarez and Gloria Alvarez. Since they live in Hialeah and Hialeah Gardens, they hadn't thought about voting in the Miami elections.
They were surprised to find out they had. Their ballots were "witnessed" by 92-year-old Alberto Russi, another campaign worker for you-know-who.
Russi had been arrested for other alleged voter fraud, including signing a ballot for a dead man. Russi said he didn't intentionally do anything illegal on behalf of candidate Hernandez.
Cynics see the unfolding scandal as yet another sleazy chapter of Miami-style corruption. Others might regard it as a historic opportunity to broaden the political process to include those who customarily have been shut out—the dead, distant or otherwise ineligible voter.
A strong democracy depends on citizen involvement, and what was Alberto Russi allegedly doing but striving to involve as many citizens as possible?
Talk about open elections—Miami has a chance to redefine the term. What a bold experiment it would be to unlock the polls not just for the sneaky pals of candidates, but for anyone, anywhere.
Because Miami's image reflects upon that of the whole state, an argument could be made that all Floridians should be entitled to vote here. And because Florida's image reflects upon that of the whole country, a case likewise could be made that all Americans should be able to take part.
Indeed, every U.S. taxpayer has a substantial stake in Miami's future, based on the FBI's investment of time and manpower here.
Theoretically, a ballot cast from Nome, Alaska, is every bit as relevant as a ballot cast from Hialeah Gardens. And with millions of absentee ballots pouring in, it would be hard for our local scammers to steal an election.
The prospect of voting in Miami without actually having to reside here (and constantly worry about commissioners going to prison or the city going bankrupt) could have national appeal. Get registered now!
Or perhaps you already are, and just don't know it.
Strike a blow for democracy: Sell your vote
January 15, 1998
Ten bucks a vote.
That's what some Overtown residents got paid to cast absentee ballots for Xavier Suarez before the Nov. 12 mayoral runoff.
Suarez, who won the election, says neither he nor his campaign staff was involved in any votes-for-cash scheme. Then who was paying off those people in the parking lot of the St. John Baptist Church?
A patriot, that's who! Overzealous perhaps, but still a red-blooded American patriot.
Everybody complains about low voter turnout in Miami but nobody does anything about it. Now, finally, here's a guy who put his money where his mouth was.
Oh sure, we all say we love democracy, but how many of us are willing to dig into our pockets and pay cash for it? How many of us value the electoral process so highly that we'd spend a long hot day rounding up total strangers, then haul them downtown to cast their absentee ballots?
Mayor Suarez should be proud to have a secret supporter who cares enough to make such a financial sacrifice, yet is so modest that he won't come forward to take credit for his bold deeds.
I see this anonymous Angel of Overtown, whoever he might be, as a rock-ribbed Citizen Doe who simply got fed up with voter apathy.
He resolved to do whatever it took to get voters to the polls, and what it took was moola. He probably didn't think of it as a bribe, but as a $10 voucher to a civics lesson.
Maybe he went a bit too far, but such was his fervent concern for the future of his beloved city. Barry Goldwater, another brave American, said it best: Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice!
Well, the same goes for vote-buying. It's extreme, for sure; a crime, yeah, if you want to get picky. But a vice? Not so fast.
Yes, hard questions have been raised about the motives of the $10 voters. Is this really the kind of political system Thomas Jefferson envisioned, a system in which people sell their ballot privileges on the streets?
Of course not. But neither could Jefferson nor any of the founding fathers have envisioned a place such as Miami, where pretty much everything and everybody has been up for sale at one time or another.
When Cesar Odio was city manager, he was for sale. When Miller Dawkins was a city commissioner, he was also for sale. And when Manohar Surana was the city's finance chief, he was for sale, too.
So it's understandable why some residents might feel their time has come. If public officials peddle themselves to the highest bidder, why (voters might wonder) shouldn't we do the same?
The sentiment grows with each new scandal. It's possible to foresee a day when every eligible voter in Miami refuses to go to the polls, unless they get paid first. On a positive note, voter turnout could easily soar to 95 percent or higher, depending on how much cash is spread around.
Purists argue that bribing voters can taint the political process. That might be true in other cities, but in Miami the practice actually could lead to cleaner elections.
Look what happened in the Overtown incident. Despite rampant ballot-buying, not a single penny was paid to voters who were already dead. That's a record of which other precincts would be darned proud!
Perhaps we'll never know the identity of the Angel of Overtown, or what brought him and his wad of greenbacks to that church parking lot.
Yet we can still applaud the populist ardor that made him reach out so big-heartedly to his fellow citizens.
He definitely made a difference in the mayor's race. He got lots more citizens interested and involved, if only for a few hours.
Most importantly, he showed us how a participatory democracy can also be a profitable one, for voters and candidates alike.
A patriotic soul won't let death cost him a vote
February 8, 1998
This week, Miami-Dade Circuit Judge Thomas S. Wilson Jr. will begin hearing evidence of widespread vote fraud in the absentee ballots cast in Miami's November general election. One of those disputed ballots bore the signature of a man named Manuel Yip, who
submitted the following sworn deposition:
Q: Please state your occupation, Mr. Yip.
A: Well, you could say I'm retired. Seriously retired.
Q: And where do you live?
A: Bad choice of words.
Q: All right, where do you reside?
A: Right here on Second Avenue.
Q: In a house or an apartment?
A: Very funny. It's a graveyard, as any dolt can plainly see.
Q: So you are legally—
A: Dead, that's correct. I'm deader than a doornail. Expired, expunged, departed, checked out, eighty-sixed, sleeping the big sleep, whatever. And I suppose you got a problem with that?
Q: Yet you voted in the city elections on Nov. 4.
A: You betcha I voted, and nobody had to pay me, either. It's my proud duty as a late citizen of this great democracy. Ever since I passed away, I've become much more involved in local politics.
Q: Why is that?
A: Well, for one thing, I've had a lot more free time to study up on the candidates.
Q: And you've voted in how many other elections?
A: Before or after I died?
Q: After.
A: A total of four times.
Q: And always by absentee ballot?
A: No, smart guy, I just hop out of my coffin and hitchhike down to the polls. What're you, a comedian? Of course I vote by absentee ballot. I'm frigging deceased, remember?
Q: Mr. Yip, there's no need to lose your temper.
A: What, you think dead folks don't keep up with the current events? I see the headlines, pal. Newspapers blow through here all the time. My understanding is, anybody can vote in Miami. It's like the Publishers Clearing House—all you gotta do is fill out a form and send it in, no questions asked.
Heck, you don't need to live in your district. You don't even need to live in the city. Me? It just so happens I live in the hereafter.
Q: You've made your point, Mr. Yip.
A: Why shouldn't my vote count the same as the ones from Goulds and Hialeah Gardens? Heck, at least this cemetery is inside the Miami city limits.
Q: Mr.Yip, did anyone representing a candidate encourage you to cast a ballot?
A: I didn't need any encouragement. The corruption scandals, the budget disaster—how could I just lie here in heavenly repose and let the city go down the tubes?
Q: And you feel that, as a nonliving person, you're still entitled to vote.
A: Absolutely. Just because we don't pay taxes anymore doesn't mean we don't have an interest in good government. I mean, look around this place—would it kill 'em to cut the grass? Maybe spritz a little 409 on these grungy old tombstones?
Q: Just out of curiosity, do you know of any other dead persons who voted in Miami?
A: Boy, could I make a joke right now.
Q: Oh, we've heard them all, Mr. Yip. Please answer the question—were there other dead voters or not?
A: Let's just say the election results speak for themselves.
Q: And it's your intention to vote again in the future?
A: Every chance I get. Hey, what can they do to me? I'm already—
Q: Dead. Yes, we know.
Clean election? This is a job for Jimmy Carter
March 5, 1998
The good news is: A judge has ordered a new election to decide who will be mayor of Miami.
The bad news is: The election will again be held in Miami.
So how do you prevent it from being stolen like the last one? That's the predicament facing local officials.
Convicted felons, out-of-towners and even a corpse voted last November. Other citizens cheerfully sold their ballots for $10 apiece. Sleazy history could repeat itself in May unless the voting is more closely supervised.
Believe it or not, there is a "supervisor of elections" office in Miami-Dade—and the staff was hard on the job last fall. The problem was, the law saying who gets to vote was so easily subverted, and the fraud so widespread, that authorities were caught unprepared.
This time ought to be different. One intriguing idea, suggested by my son, is to have Jimmy Carter come down and monitor the new Miami elections, as he did in Nicaragua, Haiti and Panama (where he debunked Gen. Manuel Noriega's farcical victory).
True, the Miami of today is more politically backward than all those places, so Carter would face a steeper challenge. For security the former president would need several crack divisions of U.N. troops encircling the polls just to keep out all the bogus voters.
Carter's past willingness to serve as an elections watchdog stems from his own dismaying experience with voter fraud. In his book Turning Point, Carter describes how his first run for the Georgia Senate was nearly upended by flagrant ballot-stuffing and—you guessed it—a mysterious turnout of dead voters.
Surely the former president would sympathize with all those honest Miamians victimized by last fall's electoral larceny.
Yet when I phoned his office in Atlanta, Carter's assistants seemed doubtful he'd be able to fit the Miami crisis into his busy schedule. In their voices one could also detect wariness about sending him into such a messy quagmire.
That's understandable. Carter is well familiar with South Florida's reputation for tolerating skulduggery and graft. After Hurricane Andrew struck, I told him that while entire subdivisions of expensive homes in South Dade blew to pieces, most of his low-cost Habitat for Humanity houses didn't lose so much as a shingle in the storm.
"Well," Carter said with a wry smile, "we use nails in ours."
He was on an airplane Wednesday when I tried to reach him to ask if he'd fly to Miami for the elections. His spokeswoman, Carrie Harmon, was diplomatic but cautious.
"To date, the Carter Center has only monitored elections outside the United States—Africa, Latin America. We've never monitored a U.S. election," she said.
I asked what it usually takes to get the former president involved.
"Normally when we're dealing with developing countries, we have to be invited by all parties—the current government and the major opposition parties," she explained. "That's the only way it works, if everybody agrees to it."
But what about developing cities? Suppose Xavier Suarez and Joe Carollo, the front-runners for Miami mayor, extended a joint invitation—then would Carter consider monitoring a U.S. election?
There was a good-natured pause on the line, and perhaps the trace of a chuckle. "Well, we've never done it before," Harmon said, "but we wouldn't absolutely rule it out. Definitely not."
Now it's up to the candidates: Pick up the phone, guys. Call Jimmy now. If Noriega could do it, you can, too.
Ex-Mayor lives in own x world
March 26, 1998
Tips for tourists and visiting journalists who are having trouble keeping track of Miami's mayors:
The current mayor and former ex-mayor, Joe Carollo, is fondly known as Crazy Joe. He occupies City Hall. The former mayor and current ex-mayor, Xavier Suarez, is fondly known as Mayor Loco. He occupies a mystic parallel universe.
The current mayor was restored to office after courts agreed that widespread ballot fraud had corrupted the November elections. The current ex-mayor has vowed to regain the post with a multipronged legal assault.
The battle promises to drag on, bitterly dividing Miami. That's why a parallel universe is useful.
While Carollo returns to the lugubrious chore of trying to balance the city's threadbare budget, Suarez's supporters can go on pretending he was wrongly deposed by a sinister cabal that includes the governor, law enforcement, the English-speaking media and the entire judicial system.
Having two different Miamis and two different mayors isn't so weird, when viewed in a psycho therapeutic context.
Experts say fantasizing can be a healthy escape from extreme stress. And these days few places are more extreme or stressed out than Miami—hobbled by debt, humiliated by Wall Street, shamed by graft and scandalized by flagrant thievery at the polls.
Denial is an u
nderstandable reaction to such grim reality, though the breadth of Suarez's denial is notable. Imagine a frothy make-believe world in which the city's image glistens, the budget is in rock-solid shape, the elections are honorably conducted and normal behavior includes driving around and surprising people at their homes after dark.
That's the whimsical parallel universe in which the current ex-mayor dwells.
Almost two weeks ago he showed up unexpectedly on the doorstep of the former ex-mayor. Carollo said Suarez came to confront him about charges that furniture had disappeared from City Hall after Suarez's exit. Carollo said Suarez was jabbering away, upsetting the children.
"He made no sense," the former ex-mayor said. "We just wanted to get this man, the best way we could, out of our front door and out of our property."
However, in Suarez's parallel universe the trip to the Carollo homestead went very smoothly. "Cordial," is the way the current ex-mayor recalled it. "A nice, nice discussion." He saw nothing rude or inappropriate about his unannounced visit, which is one of the fringe benefits of living in a fantasy world—there's no such thing as bad manners.
Sometimes the two universes do converge in potentially dangerous ways. A few months before becoming ex-mayor, Suarez made that infamous late-night sojourn to the home of a feisty Little Havana constituent who'd criticized him in a letter.
Alarmed at the knocking on her door, the woman (who obviously did not live in the same world as Suarez) picked up a handgun and peeped outside. Luckily for the future ex-mayor, the woman recognized him and held her fire.
Since then Suarez has made other surprise nocturnal jaunts, not all of them publicized. He is becoming Miami's own midnight rambler, in both the itinerant sense and the verbal sense.
This week an appellate panel declined to reconsider his plea for reinstatement. In a parallel universe, that could mean the judges are part of the secret anti-Suarez conspiracy.
