DETROIT -- Detroit's mayor is facing felony perjury, conspiracy to obstruct justice, obstruction of justice and misconduct in office charges. Kwame Kilpatrick says he's innocent and promises when a jury hears "the facts" he will be vindicated.
While quite different in many obvious ways, Detroit's embattled mayor and our nation's lame duck president are quiet alike in fundamental ways: Both loudly and frequently claim God chose and anointed them for their duties and both use lies on a monstrous scale to get what they want.
President George W. Bush has survived largely unscathed by avoiding oaths and the high risk of perjury. When Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Vice President Cheney's former chief of staff, lied under oath to conceal his role in trying to discredit former ambassador Joseph Wilson, who told the truth about a monumental lie used to sell war with Iraq, he was convicted of perjury. Bush quickly commuted Libby's sentence and he will surely get a full pardon before the president rides into the Texas sunset.
Bush respects and rewards the loyalty of liars who protect him, as does Kilpatrick. Bush and Kilpatrick came from different backgrounds and took different routes, but both arrived in the halls of power to exercise control in isolated fortresses of arrogance.
Bush came from inherited wealth and the entitlements that come with it. Although a barely adequate student, he went to the best schools. Bush's excesses disabled him, but he later claimed God saved him from the grip of Jack Daniels. He then turned to politics for his salvation.
In his book "The Faith of George W. Bush," Stephen Mansfield describes how Bush, then governor of Texas, told evangelist James Robinson about his divine summons to the Oval Office.
Bush used the tragedy of the 9/11 attacks to transform a suffering nation into a bellicose bully and deliver billions of dollars of taxpayer money to military contractors, obscenely enriching his family, friends and political supporters.
Kwame Kilpatrick did his own lying and undoing. Kilpatrick grew up in a political family. His mother, Caroline Cheeks Kilpatrick, is a member of Congress and chair of the Congressional Black Caucus. She was a longtime state representative before moving on to the House. Her son took her seat in the state legislature and quickly rose to become Democratic minority leader.
Kilpatrick's father, Bernard, is a former Wayne County commissioner and former deputy county executive. Wayne County, by the way, has a larger population and budget than many states.
Kwame Kilpatrick was a fine student at Detroit's prestigious Cass Tech High School. He was a gifted athlete and played football on a scholarship at Florida A&M. He was an NFL prospect, but an injury derailed that career path.
Kilpatrick is an imposing figure, a mountain of a man. He earned a law degree. He is smart, charismatic, articulate and passionate. He is also arrogant and self-destructive, and like Bush, claims God chose him for the office he holds.
Preparing for his run for mayor in 2001, Kilpatrick described how he arrived at his decision to Detroit's Metro Times. He didn't mention his political pedigree and the fact that term limits were forcing him to give up his seat in the legislature and he needed a job.
Kilpatrick said his age -- 31 at the time -- made him wonder if he was ready to become mayor. So, as he told the Metro Times, he sought prayer: "He opened his Bible and turned straight to the book of Samuel and its account of how a 30-year-old David became king and went on to unite the 12 tribes of Israel."
The Lord had spoken. "That day, I decided to do what God wants me to do, instead of making excuses," Kilpatrick said. He conquered a divided electorate, choosing among a field of 21 candidates, giving Kilpatrick with a well-known name more than 50 percent of the primary vote. He waltzed through the general election.
Detroit's long-declining downtown was already showing signs of revival, much of it the work of Kilpatrick's widely respected predecessor, Dennis Archer. But Kilpatrick comfortably rode the wave of progress and the city successfully hosted high-profile events like the Super Bowl and Baseball's All-Star Game.
Detroit, however, still has impoverished neighborhoods, and the loss of jobs in automobile manufacturing adds to the suffering. But as the people struggle, Kwame Kilpatrick lives like a Saudi sultan in America's poorest large city.
Often wearing a diamond stud earring, Kilpatrick was called America's hip-hop mayor. He and his police security entourage tooled around town in luxury Lincoln Navigators as they hit the nightclub scene with regularity.
They lived and traveled high, running up huge tabs on city credit cards for important events like a night at a strip club in Washington, D.C. Rumors began circulating about parties at the Manoogian Mansion, the mayor's plush, publicly provided residence on the Detroit River.
Two Detroit police officers -- Deputy Chief Gary Brown and mayoral bodyguard Harold Nelthorpe -- began looking into reports that some officers had padded overtime payments and, at one wild party at the Manoogian, a stripper hired for the occasion was injured in a fight.
The woman, Tamara Green, known as "Strawberry," was murdered four months later in a drive-by shooting. The motive and murderer remain unknown. Michigan's attorney general, Mike Cox, once called the party where Green allegedly performed "urban legend." He's now re-opened that investigation.
Gary Brown and Harold Nelthrope were fired when Kilpatrick learned they were snooping around. His chief of staff, Christine Beatty, engineering the dismissals. Brown and Nelthrope filed a whistleblower lawsuit, and a jury awarded them $6.5 million dollars.
Kilpatrick vowed an appeal but suddenly dropped it, and the city agreed to pay the officers $8.4 million. The reason for the flip-flop soon became apparent.
During the trial, Kilpatrick and Beatty both testified that they had not plotted to fire the officers and they did not have a sexual relationship. Those lies were exposed when the Detroit Free Press got hold of text messages Kilpatrick and Beatty sent on their city-owned pagers.
The messages -- clear and raunchy -- show how they schemed to fire the officers and how they described their sexual appetites and planned their encounters. When the lid blew, Beatty was sacked and Kilpatrick made an address on live TV from his church, flanked by his wife. "I'm sorry," the mayor said, while he never explained for what. He pleaded for privacy.
"Oaths mean something," Wayne County prosecutor Kym Worthy said, in announcing the criminal charges against Kilpatrick and Beatty. "Honesty and integrity in the justice system is everything. That is what this case is about."
Worthy spoke with outrage about what happened. "This was not an investigation focused on lying about sex," she said. Noting the fate of the fired officers, she added, "Their lives were forever changed. They were ruined financially and their reputations were completely destroyed because they chose to be dutiful police officers. The public trust was violated."
Kilpatrick vows to stay in office, to the benefit of countless relatives, cronies and contractors. He blames the media for his plight and hides behind his family, his race and religion.
On a radio talk show hosted by a family friend, Kilpatrick proclaimed, "I believe I am on an assignment from God."
Here's my simple prayer: "Dear God, Don't give any more assignments to George W. Bush or Kwame Kilpatrick. Amen."
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | April 1 2008 |