The case for giving the Boston Bombers the right to vote.

This letter is for those concerned enough to entertain thoughts and logic that extend beyond the time and effort needed to consume a headline, and immediately rush to an instant conclusion.

Opposition to allowing prisoners to vote stems from the desire to punish the guilty. Support stems from the greater need to defend the innocent from unjust prosecution.

When the United States made slavery illegal, via the 13^th Amendment, a caveat was included that allowed states to deny the tight to vote to those convicted of committing crimes. For over a century, former slaves and their descendants have been marginalized by the millions, arrested by laws written by politicians who avoided responsibility to those citizens who lost their vote along with their liberty, and with it any prayer for justice.

Ehrlichman, an advisor to President Nixon, admitted that the motivation for the “War on Drugs” was to politically suppress “blacks and hippies.” There is a broad consensus today that our nation has sent too many to jail. Our “War on Drugs,” while never successful at reducing the flow and consumption of drugs, was quite effective as a means to incarcerate millions, and stripping them of their right to vote in the process.

Had they not been deprived of their vote, the politicians authoring the devices of their destruction would have had to answer to them for the laws they created at election time. The ability to remove political opposition through incarceration is a moral crime, and, like all crimes, a crime that is spawned by opportunity. Guaranteeing citizens the right to vote, no matter what crimes they commit, would deny the motivation to arrest people in order to strip them of their vote.

Downtown Bumpout

“Have you looked outside?”

“No running today, Claire?” the Mayor asked, calling from the kitchen where he held his coffee mug in a death grip.

After a pause, filled by the sound of the to-and-fro of her rowing machine, she replied, calling from the basement room a half flight downstairs from the kitchen, “Have you looked outside?”

Mayor Dannel looked out the window and saw the rain falling silently. Until then his focus had been consumed by the swirls of his cream rising in his coffee, as seen through the sides of his glass mug.

 He sighed, disappointed with himself for being unaware of the weather in view, but unseen. He did a quick 3X3, looking at three things (the clock, the trickle of water gathering in the gully at the end of the yard, and his cup of coffee), listening for three sounds (the kettle releasing steam, the wind whistling outside, and the to-and-fro of the rowing machine), and, finally, touching three things (taking his pulse – 76 BPM, toeing the pedal at the base of the kitchen trach receptacle, and then putting his coffee mug against his cheek, warming his face for a minute with his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, Claire was standing in front of him, staring. “How come your drinking coffee here? Aren’t you getting a cup at Coffee Corner?”

He stifled a sigh, answering after a short delay, “Not today.”

She shook her head from side to side, “But it helps to patronize a struggling retailer.”

“Nothing is going to help those poor bastards. They owe three month’s rent, and the Chief is in no mood to negotiate.”

“Maybe I should rephrase, it helps YOU to patronize a struggling retail.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not in this case, Claire. ‘Success has a hundred fathers, but is an orphan.’ I don’t need to be associated with a failure right now.”

“Maybe you should tell the Chief that ‘pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered.’”

“Maybe. Maybe after the city car is out of the shop and I return the car on loan from the Central Fire District.”

“Maybe you should ride your bike. I am sure the bikers would appreciate the gesture.”

He stuffed a zip-lock bag filled with celery sticks in his breast pocket, and picked up his briefcase. “Have you looked outside?”

Claire stared out the window for a moment at the trickle of water in the gully at the end of the yard, before returning to look at her husband, poised to leave. “Those damn bumpouts!”

Mayor Dannel stepped to her, planting a kiss goodbye on her lips. Walking out the door to the garage, he turned over his shoulder, smiling, he said, “Amen.”

Where the street has no name 

On Main Street, the Mayor passed the Corner Coffee Shop at the corner of Main and a currently unnamed section of pavement. The work of the state on the bumpouts, reducing the length of the pedestrian walkway by reducing the width of the street, had removed the existing street sign. When time came to replace the street sign, the City claimed jurisdiction over the naming rights, so the street became officially unnamed. Until a new name could be decided on , the state would not replace the street sign. Until the state replaced the street sign, the work remained incomplete, and the sidewalk remained an ongoing work site, surrounded by yellow police tape, closed to pedestrian traffic, despite the fact that  no work was being done.

Oxford Scholar

From his City Hall office, the Mayor could see the far shore of the Connecticut River. The docks in Portland were immersed below the swollen currents that had risen above flood stage overnight.

The sound of his admin through the intercom broke his trance, “Counsel is here.”

“Send him in.”

“She’s coming in.” The Mayor greeted the woman coming through the door without formality, “Doublefee couldn’t find the time?” he asked.

She grinned, “No, said he had work to do.”

“Sounds like there isn’t much to worry about.”

“Or, maybe he did not care to be the bearer of bad news.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“The Council may not like the report we have to offer tonight, either.”

The Mayor swiveled in his chair towards the river for a moment, then returned his attention to the Deputy Counsel. “Well,” he gestured to a chair with an open palm, “No sense not making yourself comfortable just because you can’t offer any comfort to me.”

“Thank you, Mayor. Rest assured, I hate the first Monday of the month as much as anyone.”

“Yes, nothing like presenting the truth to the Twelve Apostles of City Hall in an election year to up your blood pressure.”

She nodded, then paused to put an end to the small talk. “The Resolution was read, redacted, and read again. It passed the Council, was published, and ratified by the Referendum. There isn’t any legal reason to block it from going into effect.”

The Mayor turned away from her, looking out at the river, This time he could not break from its spell. Without facing her, he ended her briefing with a closing statement, uttered in a muted tone, “I have a family obligation at 6. Looks like I’ll miss out on the fireworks.”

After a short stint sitting silently, she stood and exited the office without further comment.

…

Dannel pulled into one of the parking spaces reserved for patients and cut the engine. He left the accessory on so he could listen to the end of “Games without Frontiers” on the radio. For the first time all day, he enjoyed what he was hearing.

When he left the car, he left behind his briefcase, and with it the papers within that documented and defined his role in government, making him feel somewhat undressed. He walked through the clinic doors without a portfolio, without any status, just another patient. The undressing continued inside until he was stripped down to his briefs and a johnny.

He was led by a medical assistant to the MRI, and carefully loaded into the machine, sliding in head first. The magnets whirred, punctuated by thudding sounds. He declined the offer to take sedatives that some needed to overcome the tight confinement. It bothered him that he could not come and go at will, but he suffered silently as the machine and its operators completed their scan.

…

At Six PM in the City Council Chambers, the Deputy Mayor, acting as Chair in the Mayor’s absence, gaveled the meeting to order. “First on the list is the City Counsel.”

Attorney Doublefee rose from the chair behind the podium, stepped to the podium and spoke to the microphone, facing the City Council. “Good evening. My staff and I have reviewed the exact language of the Resolution adopted in September by the Council and ratified by the voters in the November referendum and are prepared to answer your questions on the matter in detail.”

The Deputy Mayor looked to his left and right, asking, “Is there anyone wishing to pose a question to the City Counsel?” Four hands shot up simultaneously. “Umm, more than one? Who should go first?”

“Your call, Chairman,” replied the minority leader, Sebarino Marino.

“If I may begin, “ began Alotta Ballot, co-leader of the majority party’s rebel faction.

“OK, uh, “ the acting Chair began. “Let’s go with age over beauty this time. Seb, you go first.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Counselor, what is the effect of the resolution as it pertains to the way the Fire Districts’ leases are to be governed?”

“The critical phrase in the resolution, when read as printed, provides the City Council authority over leases and naming rights of the South Fire District.”

A gasp rose in the crowd, which included all those filling all the chairs in the chambers and all those standing in the lobby outside watching the proceedings on closed-circuit TV.

“What about Westfield and Central districts?”

At this, the active Chair slammed his gavel, “Councilman Mrino, you asked your question, and he answered it. We are not here to hold debates with the City Counsel.”

“Debate? I am just asking for clarification.”

“There are other counsilors who also have questions, and we are going to proceed in order. The Chair recognizes Councilwoman Ballot.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chair. I had another question in mind, but I would first like to echo the request of Councilor Marino as to why Counselour Doublefee sees the Resolution only applying to the South Farms District, which has no leases to speak of, whereas the Central Fire District, in particular, has a death grip on our Downtown businesses and it was the whole purpose of the Resolution to take control of their leases and put them in the hands of the City Council?”

Attorney Doublefee nodded slowly, “I believe my deputy, who performed the technical analysis of the language of the resolution, can speak to this in detail.” With that he sat back down, making way for his deputy to stand at the podium.

She stood and stepped close to the microphone, speaking softly so had her words not been amplified electronically they would not be heard by the City’s legislature, seated ten feet in front of her. “the case law firmly confirms that the absence of an ‘Oxford comma’ in the text of legal code cannot be remedied thorough clerical insertion of a comma that would change the meaning. This is even in the case where the true intent of the legislation is arguably very different from the effect of the code as written.

“The pertinent language of the Resolution reads, ‘The leases and naming rights of the South Fire District – COMMA – Westfield District and Central Fire District shall be governed by the Common Council.” Without a second Oxford comma before the ‘and’ between ‘Westfield District’ and ‘Central Fire District’, the phrase logically applies ‘leases and naming rights; to the South Fire District, exclusively.”

Councilor Ballotta pressed down on the table in front of her, pushing her torso upward, “Wait one second!”

The gavel came down again. “This is not a debate! The Chair recognizes Councilman Bishop.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chair. I would also be curious as to what meaning the resolution gives to the two districts mentioned that somehow are not, on a technicality, related to leases and naming rights?”

The Deputy Counsel glanced back at Doublefee to see if he wished to resume his position at the podium, but he remained staring at the floor, and did not meet her gaze. She turned back to the Council, speaking softly into the microphone, “Yes, this, I believe, goes to a second, albeit arguably unintended consequence of the change to the City Charter. The phrase separates, by virtue of the lone comma, the added powers of the City Council in two components, the first being everything to the left of the comma, and the second being everything to the right of the comma. The result is that the Common Council is to control A) the leases and naming rights of the South Fire District, and B) the Westfield and Central Districts, in their entirety.”

A second gasp rose from the crowd. At this point a mixture of looks of pleasant surprise and befuddlement appeared on the faces of the members of the Common COunil, and the crowd gathered.

“Councilman Blank-Card, your question.”

The co-leader of the majority party’s rebel faction paused before finally asking, “So, are you saying the City Council now has jurisdiction over all aspects of the Westfield and Central Fire Districts?”

“That is correct sir.”

The crowd erupted into a babbling of exclamations.

The Chairs raised his voice to be heard over the clamor, “Are there any further question? Hearing none, the special session is adjouned.”