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Tuesday, Nov 24, 2009
Facing a possible indictment for corruption, the veteran political deal-maker shut down death row in Illinois. Is he trying to save lives -- or his own legacy?
Jan 16, 2003 | On the eve of commuting the sentences of every prisoner on death row, Illinois Gov. George Ryan sat at a white Formica-topped table in Manny's, a cafeteria-style delicatessen favored by Chicago's political insiders. As he chomped on a corned beef sandwich, his cellphone rang. Nelson Mandela was on the line. Ryan had already received letters from Desmond Tutu and Pope John Paul II. Mandela wanted to join them in praising Ryan for his integrity.
The incongruity of this scene could only be properly enjoyed - or scorned -- by a fellow Illinoisan. After 37 years in politics, Republican Ryan left the governor's office Monday as a wretched and slightly pathetic figure. "Disgraced" is how the Chicago Tribune put it. While much of the world has praised Ryan's courage in taking on the unfairness of the death penalty, locals are wondering whether they're talking about the same Ryan. The state is in debt $5 billion, and Ryan's party has lost control of government for the first time in nearly three decades -- largely in reaction to the scandals that have plagued his one-term administration.
So the local and national Ryan headlines have made for a surreal contrast: The former governor could win the Nobel Peace Prize for his death penalty stand -- he's been nominated already --or he could go to jail for corruption. Or both.
Before leaving office, Ryan padded the state payroll with cronies. Meanwhile, 52 of his former employees have been convicted and another 20 aides have reportedly been subpoenaed in connection with the federal Operation Safe Road investigation. Operation Safe Road was prompted by a bribery scandal in which nine people were killed by truckers who illegally obtained driver's licenses from Ryan's employees when he was Illinois' secretary of state in the 1990s. Some of that bribe money found its way into his campaign fund. The investigation has uncovered a system that pressured managers at driver's license facilities to sell tickets to Ryan's political fundraisers. The biggest producers were rewarded with promotions, and, prosecutors say, the process encouraged the selling of licenses for bribes.
On Tuesday, less than 24 hours after Ryan's official departure from the Governor's Mansion, his former chief of staff and head of his campaign committee, Scott Fawell, faced a variety of charges in federal court, ranging from racketeering to the use of taxpayer dollars for campaign work to accepting a free trip to Costa Rica that included prostitutes. Fawell and Citizens for Ryan are also charged with conspiracy to obstruct justice. Within the last few weeks, newspaper stories have claimed the feds are still secretly taping phone calls made to Ryan.
Public opinion is generally against the former governor, no matter how people feel about the death penalty. A recent poll showed 60 percent of Illinoisans have an unfavorable opinion of him. Some were surprised the poll was so positive: Callers to one talk-radio show in downstate Springfield, the state capital, overwhelmingly agreed that Ryan should have been taken away in handcuffs during the inauguration ceremony of his successor, Democrat Rod Blagojevich. Monday's Chicago Sun-Times prominently displayed the grief and fury of families whose loved ones died at the hands of murderers now facing life in prison rather than death sentences.
Page 1 of the tabloid even featured an angry quote by an outraged Joseph Birkett, the DuPage County prosecutor who relentlessly pursued the exonerated death row inmate Rolando Cruz when all evidence pointed to another man. During Cruz's second murder trial, Birkett ignored the confession of another inmate. When DNA evidence pointed the finger directly at that inmate, Birkett still forced Cruz to endure a third capital trial, which ended, finally, in acquittal. Cruz was eventually released from death row in 1995, after proclaiming his innocence for more than a decade.
Despite a flood of similar stories in recent years, most people here continue to attribute Ryan's commutation of the 167 death sentences to a concern over his historical reputation, not a stand on principle. But that doesn't make much sense. If a politician were truly concerned with his legacy, why would he take such an unpopular step? And with federal investigators hot on his trail, why would he do something that was sure to anger law enforcement authorities?
In the movie "Bulworth," Warren Beatty portrays a veteran politician who has a nervous breakdown and hires a contract killer to assassinate him. In the short time he has left to live, he discovers he's finally free to say and do what he truly believes.
After deciding to not seek reelection midway through his first term, Ryan increasingly did whatever he pleased -- legacy be damned. He lashed out at the press. He traveled to Cuba to meet with Fidel Castro. He slammed his party's nominee for governor (after the candidate claimed to lag in the polls simply because his name was also Ryan). He behaved as though he were the only man who could afford to tell the truth -- the man with nothing left to lose. It's one of the most remarkable -- and, yes, courageous -- national political stories in years, maybe decades.
