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The First City: Chicago sometimes makes political history by producing the first of this and that

Miriam Santos
Mike Cramer

When former City Treasurer Miriam Santos plea-bargained her way to a single mail fraud count last November and was sentenced to the three months and 17 days she had already served in a downstate Illinois prison camp, it was noted somewhere in most news reports that she was the first Hispanic ever elected to a city-wide office in Chicago. What they didn't say was that she's likely to be the last, at least for the time being.

And so it goes in Chicago, and much of Illinois, for the often-mentioned but rarely realized emergence of minorities in political and governmental life.

The city of Chicago has slipped in the population ratings in recent decades, making it the third-largest city behind New York City and Los Angeles. But, in spite of that population dip, it still clings jealously to its title as "The Second City." In politics and government, though, it can more accurately take claim to the title of "The First City."

The problem, however, is that, though Chicago sometimes makes political history by producing the first of this and the first of that, it is much harder to produce the second of this and the second of that.

Mayor Harold Washington, for instance, was the first black mayor of Chicago. Between the late 1960s and early 1990s, there were several blacks who were elected mayors of major cities, including Cleveland, Gary, Los Angeles and New York. Yet when Washington was elected Chicago's mayor in 1983, that was seen throughout the nation as a landmark event, paving the way for a burgeoning (to use one of Washington's favorite words) movement to place African Americans in charge of cities and governments where blacks represent a big chunk of the electorate.

Since Washington's death in 1987, his black successor has been nowhere to be found. A few African Americans made runs for the office, most recently U. S. Rep. Bobby Rush and former Illinois Attorney General Roland Burris, but they were quickly and ignobly vanquished by Mayor Richard M. Daley and what is left of the Cook County Democratic machine. Today, Daley seems to have an iron grip on the big wooden door to the fifth floor mayor's office in City Hall, and shows no inclination of leaving it ajar for anybody else.

Conspiracy theorists sometimes whisper that Daley has cut a deal with U. S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr., promising to hand over the keys if and when he decides to leave office. But that theory is usually discounted by more savvy politicians as a case of wishful thinking by what has become a disjointed and usually placid body of African-American politicians.

During Washington's reign, his overwhelming political power in the city's black wards and his equally overwhelming personality served to stifle most other African-American political wannabees. Washington had a huge hammer of clout that he wielded so effectively that it was hard to believe he hadn't been in a position of power most of his life. But, as he often said, he had been struck by the hammerhead so many times in his life that he enjoyed holding the handle.

The same held true for Mayor Jane Byrne, the first woman elected to that post. Women had been given grudging nods of acceptance in the macho world of Chicago politics ever since the first Mayor Richard Daley decreed in the late 1960s that the Democratic Party should name female "co-committeemen" in each of the party's wards and districts. It was a largely ceremonial gesture - the men were elected committeemen, then named women to act as their political "partners." But Byrne upset the system, running against incumbent Mayor Michael Bilandic (the first and probably last Croatian to hold the mayor's office) and the Democratic Party. She served for one term, losing to Washington. Since then, no woman has emerged as a serious contender to become the second woman to hold that job.

The Firsts have held other offices, as well.

Harold Washington
Credit Mike Cramer
Harold Washington

Carol Moseley-Braun, a once and likely future Chicagoan, made national headlines when she ousted U.S. Sen. Alan Dixon to become the first black woman elected to the U.S. Senate. She was adopted as the symbolic darling of President Bill Clinton's administration and the biggest holiday of the Year of the Woman. But the Year of the Woman apparently only lasted until Election Day, and the highly touted movement seems to have petered out. Moseley-Braun served one six-year term, then was replaced by Peter Fitzgerald, probably the least Moseley-Braun-like character in Illinois history.

Despite the major political parties' claims that they are striving for diversity, reaching into the ranks of minority groups to cultivate new leaders, these last three examples - Washington, Byrne and Moseley-Braun - all achieved their successes outside of their party's structures. Washington and Byrne beat the Democratic machine, and Moseley-Braun beat the incumbent, who was backed by the Illinois Democratic Party. Santos, the most recent "first" to leave office, was initially a Daley ally, but spent most of her tenure as city treasurer at odds with her former sponsor and his City Hall cronies.

The major political parties, it seems, publicly declare their commitments to diversity, but minorities have to succeed on their own.

Minorities fare better in reaching the lower rungs of the government ladder, such as the Chicago City Council, where most minority groups are represented. But that is a result of geographical divisions rather than political unity. Each of Chicago's 50 wards has a population of about 55,000, slightly more than Rock Island and slightly smaller than Champaign. It just makes sense that a ward with a predominantly African-American population will elect a black alderman, and a ward with a large Hispanic population will send a Hispanic to the City Council.

Unfortunately, that geographic pragmatism doesn't hold up for women or such minorities as Asians or gays or, even, Republicans. Those groups are scattered spice-like throughout the city and don't yet have the concentration of numbers that will virtually guarantee a seat in the City Council. The Asian population is growing rapidly, but still represents only about 100,000 in a city population of nearly 2.8 million, and it is concentrated in clumps from Chinatown on the South Side to Uptown and Ravenswood on the North Side.

Although there are many gays and lesbians living in the community centered at Belmont Avenue and Halsted Street on the North Side, they, of course, live everywhere else in the city, the suburbs and, for that matter, downstate. If the often-disputed estimate that 10 percent of the national population is gay or lesbian is used as a guide, the homosexual community would number about 270,000 in Chicago alone, a voting bloc that, as with other minority groups, would entitle it to four or five City Council seats. At present, there are no acknowledged gay members of the Chicago City Council (though there is a First openly gay state lawmaker).

So, what gives? Why is Chicago (and Illinois) a place for Firsts, but rarely Seconds?

This sample gives some indications. These Firsts all had something in common. They were all products of themselves. They were strong personalities who made their political fortunes (and misfortunes) through the strength of their characters and not through acceptance of the established political structure. That is not to say that they didn't get a lot of support from their race or gender "groups" after they were in a position to get it, but they usually got to that position on their own.

And, as is often the case but most dramatically represented by Washington, once they took power, they were so possessive of it that they did little or nothing to ensure that their legacy would be preserved. It often was said in City Hall in the 1979-1983 years of Jane Byrne's mayoral reign that she did less for women in government and politics than her predecessors, including Richard J. Daley and Michael A. Bilandic. Her appointments of women were to lesser posts, and some of her biggest battles were with other women, including former Chicago Schools Superintendent Ruth Love.

Washington did open a lot of opportunities for minorities in city government, but none of his allies managed to develop a power base similar to that of Chicago's First Black Mayor. He used his massive political power to stifle dissent among allies, and no African-American politician was allowed to voice even the mildest opposition without fear that Washington would crush him in his own home community. In a bit of Chicago trivia, it should be noted that Chicago had a Second Black Mayor in Eugene Sawyer, who was appointed by a largely white majority of the City Council after Washington died, but he failed in his bid to get elected to his own term.

Carol Moseley-Braun
Credit Mike Cramer
Carol Moseley-Braun

Moseley-Braun, who was elected by a huge turnout of energized women and black voters, was eventually retired to her ambassadorship in New Zealand because her former supporters turned on her six years later, disappointed in her performance and in her apparent failure to carry their water to Washington.

When Miriam Santos emerged from the Federal Building courtroom last November, she had swapped her city treasurer job for her freedom. But while she indicated that her political life was over, she hinted there might still be life after conviction. Yet it was a half-hearted attempt at potential resurrection. She conceded that she probably would lose her law license as a result of the felony conviction and was more than ever an anathema to the political bosses and the Boss who runs City Hall.

So, while Chicago continues to be "The First City," it's unlikely to lay claim in the near future to political Seconds or Thirds. Washington is dead, and all attempts by African Americans to replace him have failed. Byrne still lives in her high-rise apartment just off North Michigan Avenue, but today she spends more time baby-sitting her grandchild than in plotting a comeback, as she once did. Moseley-Braun is about as far away from Chicago and Illinois as she can be. And Santos, once the pride and exemplar of the Hispanic political movement, is just happy for the moment to be spending time with her family rather than fretting alone behind prison walls.

And what lesson can she, and we, find in her experience? Santos, who spoke with reporters after her guilty plea, was asked at one point if she had words of advice for those young Hispanic women who might be contemplating a career in politics and were looking to her as a role model. In a bittersweet reply, Santos gave the expected words of encouragement to all aspiring applicants for the honor of being "The Second." But then she added one last bit of advice that might apply to any person of any race, nationality, ethnicity or gender looking to enter the political fray. "Trust no one," she said, before walking away to enter the history books and an uncertain future. 

Robert Davis, a journalism lecturer at the University of Illinois at Chicago, spent more than 32 years covering government and politics for the Chicago Tribune. He was The First reporter ever ordered evicted from Chicago's City Hall, when Mayor Jane Byrne gave the unsuccessful decree during a spat with the Tribune in 1980.

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