The biggest news out of April was that we hit our 100th city council meeting review! This project has crisscrossed the United States, with stops in Canada and Australia along the way. Who knows where the future will take us? Europe? Antarctica? The moon?!
Last month, we covered the full range of emotions: sad, angry, confusing…that’s it. But trust me, you’ll be as surprised as this lady to see what kind of council hijinks took place in April!
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM, and right here:
This is very exciting: our first visit to Africa! Michael Sun is one of 270 councilors in Johannesburg. We talk about how the meetings have changed since the 2016 election, the importance of singing and dancing, and the time tragedy struck.
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Q: Before the 2016 election when one political party, the African National Congress, had a majority, did council meetings go smoothly?
A: I would say it ran fairly smoothly and [there] probably was very little disruption from the opposition parties. I think the biggest disruption we’ve ever seen was a walk-out from council chambers. Other than that, we have not seen any violence as we have been seeing very recently.
Q: I do read the South African news and see stories about protesters, intimidation, and threats at the Johannesburg council meetings. Have you ever been threatened?
A: It’s very unfortunate that some groups of protesters would choose council to stage their protest. Our Constitution protects one’s right to protest. Some of them go as extreme as ending up in fistfights. It’s something that we are not accustomed to–something that we certainly condemn.
Q: I do have to be thorough because you are in Africa: has a group of elephants ever stampeded your chamber, sir?
A: [Laughs] Michael, we are a little far away from the Bushveld!
Q: Ah. Do councilors trust each other?
A: I trust my fellow councilors. Our position is that there’s no reason why we shouldn’t trust each other. But when doubts are being brought to the fore [about corruption], one needs to exercise discretion.
Q: I noticed that in your first council meeting after the election, a group of EFF councilors started singing and dancing. And at one point, most of the room was dancing! Does music have a role in your council meetings?
A: Oh, absolutely! Singing and dancing is part of our culture. Whether there are happy moments, we sing. Or sad moments, we sing. So political parties in a way of celebration or to express sorrow will break out into song. Often if you’re not exposed to this kind of display of culture, one would feel offended by the noise and gesture. But if you have an understanding of where the country comes from, you would appreciate the display.
Q: Mmhmm.
A: Sometimes we get up and sing at the top of our voices. Some of them don’t know all the words but we try our best!
Q: Going back to that first council meeting, one of the councilors collapsed. And a little while later, she died. I mean, you had singing, dancing, allegations of corruption, and now a death.
A: This is the first time that a councilor passed on in a council meeting. We would never wish for any councilor to suffer that fate. We understood afterward she had been ill. But because of the volatility of the contestation of the mayorship and the speakership, it was a very sad day for all of us.
Q: Is there any racial tension in your meetings?
A: I think as a country, we’ve really come a long way. Once you have so many ethic groups in one pot, it’s bound to spark. It’s also from the spark we will learn from each other. We know to respect each other. So racial issues has never really been a problem for me.
Follow Councilor Michael Sun on Twitter: @MichaelSun168
Nothing could have prepared me for the shocking twist in this week’s Lynn city council meeting.
A mild bit of controversy confronted the council right out of the gate: whether to give one convenience store a wine and malt beverage license.
Witnesses rotated to the podium like they were on a carousel, impressively arguing their case in no-nonsense, rapid-fire succession.
“I’ve known the owners at least 60 years. They’re a reputable family,” a man in a tan suit nodded.
“I work in the area and think it would be an improvement. That’s it,” another man grunted.
“I really think we have enough liquor stores,” countered a woman wearing a crucifix around her neck. “I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.”
“Too close. Very close,” a rival liquor store owner complained with arms crossed.
With each side fielding an equally compelling roster of testifiers, what would the council decide?
“This issue has come up a number of times,” a gravelly-voiced Councilor Peter Capano rubbed his eyes. “There’s just very strong neighborhood opposition, so I’d just make a motion to deny this.”
The rest of the council fell into line and unanimously shot down the license.
Council President Darren Cyr shoved his glasses onto his forehead and gazed across the chamber. “Any other business?”
“Motion to adjourn–” one councilor spoke up.
“No. I…no,” muttered Cyr strangely. “I wanna say something.”
From the back of the chamber, a man began speaking out of turn. Cyr instantly grew livid.
“HEY, JEFFREY! QUIET,” he screamed, slamming the gavel against the wooden desk. “IF I HAVE TO SAY IT AGAIN, I’LL ASK YOU TO LEAVE.”
Cyr braced himself on the podium. “As council president, this is probably the toughest moment that I’ve had,” he stared solemly at the ground. “I’m gonna ask Councilor Trahant to make a statement.”
He sniffed, then continued in his thick Boston accent. “I’m gonna stand beside him because he’s my brothah. He’s my friend. I’ve known him since I was five years old. I respect him more than I respect any other man.”
Oh, god. What horror is about to befall us? This feels like something out of a mob movie where someone gets 86’ed.
Councilor William Trahant hugged a tearful Cyr.
“Well, this a tough way for me to get up here, but I gotta do what I gotta do,” Trahant nervously gripped the microphone. “As everybody knows, about six months ago I had a pretty bad heart attack. I’ve got a leak into my valve and I need a little more time to rest.”
The room was dead silent as Trahant glanced from face to sympathetic face. “I’m so sad I have to leave. You guys–” he began to cry as Cyr rubbed his back. “You guys did everything for me. You’re like family.”
Other councilors wiped their eyes. Trahant hung his head and searched for the right words.
“I just gotta get better. And I’m gonna get better. I love you very much.”
He received a standing ovation as he stepped down, hugging everyone on the trek back to his seat.
“May god have his hand on you, Billy,” called out President Cyr over the applause.
“Love you, Billy,” Councilor Brian LaPierre whispered.
Final thoughts: For easily being the saddest meeting I’ve seen, I give Councilor Trahant 10 out of 10 “Get Well Soon” cards.
I won’t sugarcoat it: the North Little Rock city council meeting was a riddle wrapped in a mystery and stuck inside one of those Chinese finger traps.
Act I — How Do You Solve a Problem Like 7213 Westwind Drive?
“We have to deal with weeds that are taller than us. We have to deal with gutters coming down, lights coming down,” a woman pounded on the podium in frustration.
“I wish everybody would stand up and show that we’re all here wanting to say: IT IS A MESS. It is a safety hazard.”
Incredibly, virtually the entire audience rose to their feet and stood in solidarity as she pleaded for the city to dynamite that deathtrap.
The aldermen stared silently as irate neighbors aired their grievances.
“He’s using his yard for a bathroom,” a man shook his head.
“I have gone to court. I have watched as he has been fined. He just ignores it,” a woman frowned.
“We implore you to put an end to our neighborhood nightmare,” begged another man.
But if the eyewitness testimony didn’t seal the deal, the photos certainly did.
“There’s an air conditioner with an extension cord running through the tub–very unsafe,” a city employee flashed a picture onscreen as the council murmured in disbelief.
“That one scares me to death,” Alderman Debi Ross muttered, staring at an electric water heater without covers.
The city’s lawyer sighed and waved his hand. “We’ve given this man numerous opportunities. He’s been in jail. I don’t think he’s going to do it.”
“We’re gonna stop that cycle tonight,” Mayor Joe Smith stonily vowed. The council voted to condemn the house.
Act II — The Ghost in the Scrapyard
“A few weeks ago, I heard the noise in Glenview from this plant and they stopped at 11 o’clock at night,” Alderman Linda Robinson shared with the council, referring to a distant scrapyard.
“It’s my understanding that they don’t work late at night. But what I kept hearing–the boom, the boom–I called someone from that area. I said, ‘is this from that scrap metal plant?’ They started laughing and said, ‘yes, it is.'”
“I’m not sure exactly what noise you heard,” a city staffer shrugged and looked perplexed. “They have not been operating at night.”
“This was a few weeks ago and it was from THIS plant,” insisted Alderman Robinson. “We need to send the police out.”
The mayor bit his pen. “Well, I don’t know, Linda. If you heard it…” he trailed off.
At this point, one of the scrapyard’s owners stepped dramatically to the podium.
“We hire the North Little Rock police off-duty to be our night watchmen. So as far as the police on site–they are on site.”
From here, the plot thickened. “I personally approve the time cards,” he said. I haven’t seen anything since January 2015 where we had the crews that were working at night.”
Mayor Smith pondered hard about how to reconcile Alderman Robinson’s noises with the fact that no human was seemingly on duty.
“Surely you wouldn’t have anybody moonlighting down there that you don’t know [about]?” Smith inquired.
“They better not be because the police would be evicting them from the property and giving them a place to stay for the night,” the man replied with certainty.
Sir, you don’t need the North Little Rock PD at your scrapyard. It sounds like you need an exorcist.
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM, and right here:
After last week’s Dublin city council meeting, I talked with Ciarán Cuffe about why his council is so enormous, how the political parties get along without too much fighting, and whether the Lord Mayor does a decent job of keeping things on the rails.
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Q: Your city council has 63 members. That is a huge number! Be honest with me: do you know everyone’s name?
A: No, I don’t! Up until three years ago we had 52 members and even that was a bit of a struggle to fit into our chamber, which is in a building 250 years old. It’s a squeeze, and if you want to get out to get a glass of water, you have to hustle past several colleagues.
Q: What made you add 11 people?
A: There was a rebalancing in local government between urban and rural. The situation was that there was a lot more councilors in rural areas than in urban areas. So the then-minister at a national level decided to reduce the level of councilors in rural areas and increase it slightly in urban areas.
Q: I read that you recently decided to let councilors bring their children into the meetings. Is that true?
A: Yeah, there was an issue with one of my colleagues who wanted to bring her child into meetings and was told, that’s not something that really works. So Claire [Byrne] battled that and I’m glad to say that she’s now welcomed into meetings. I don’t think anybody would bat an eyelid if a mom was breastfeeding in a meeting. That’s certainly the norm in other European countries.
Q: Let’s get into the meat and potatoes–or, as you say in Ireland, the “potatoes and potatoes.” Your council is divided into political parties, I believe eight in total. Explain how these parties affect everything from who sits where, who is allowed to talk and when, and who gets along with whom.
A: Traditionally, we have two center-right parties in Ireland. But in more recent years, there’s been an explosion of left (a lot more left than Bernie Sanders) left-wing parties. You have People Before Profit, you have the Workers’ Party, the Socialist Workers Party. It gets a bit confusing. We talk about bank bailouts and we still have rows about that, and those rows find their way into council meetings. We tend not to have too many fisticuffs at the meetings, but you can have broad discussions.
Q: How do you rank current Lord Mayor Brendan Carr when it comes to running the meetings?
A: Brendan is trying his best but it’s a bit like trying to organize a roomful of screaming cats. Brendan is as challenged as many of his predecessors. The thing about the mayor in the Irish context is we don’t have a directly-elected mayor who’s there for five years. We don’t have an Ed Koch or a Giuliani. We have a mayor who is in for twelve months and they go out again. So they don’t command as much respect.
Q: After people are done being Lord Mayor, are they more wise or tempered?
A: I think they are. I think there’s a knowing glance amongst people who have been mayor. Though I haven’t been mayor, I have been in the national parliament. You’ve got to carefully understand the mood of the room.
Follow Councilor Ciarán Cuffe on Twitter: @CiaranCuffe
You would think that after 104 city council meetings, I’d have seen pretty much everything.
You would be wrong.
“Six students from Mr. Barger’s government class have been with council members today,” Mayor Damon Welch explained to onlookers curious about the half-dozen teens occupying the dais. “Tonight they will be participating in our council meeting.”
His young shadow mayor stood awkwardly beside him. “Whereas, seniors from Madison Consolidated High School–and actually one junior, by the way–” Mayor Welch bragged, jabbing a thumb toward his own protégé, “–learned about local government, I proclaim today Student Government Day.”
Like a driver’s ed instructor passing the keys, Welch then said, “without further ado, I’ll turn over the meeting to our Student Mayor, Clate Winters.”
Clate flipped over his notes and fidgeted with the microphone. Mayor Welch pointed with his pencil and whispered something.
“Mr. Clerk Treasurer, would you please call the roll?” inquired the Student Mayor hesitantly.
One by one, council members yelled “here!” from the wall behind their normal seats.
“Have you had the opportunity to review the minutes?” Clate read from his script, so nervous that he pronounced “minutes” as min-OOTS. “Is there a motion to approve the minutes?”
A great deal of whispering commenced at the dais. “Say aye!” council members hissed to their fill-ins. With some giggling, the minutes were approved.
The Student Mayor gestured to Student Council Member Casey Williams. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” Casey smoothly transitioned. “July 8 shall be known as Student Day. High school and college students will be given free admission to Crystal Beach Swimming Pool.”
“Nyla, you did speak a lot this afternoon about this,” eagerly interjected Mayor Welch. “Share some thoughts.”
The girl on the end chuckled anxiously. “We wanted the students to have…something to do, I guess!” She looked around for help.
Casey picked up the mic and launched into a confident explanation. “We wanted to present an opportunity that kept the student body active, but allowed them to exist outside.”
Nice job on the assist, Council Member Williams.
The Student Mayor flipped over his notes again. “Is there a motion to applause?” Welch tapped him on the shoulder. “Approve!” he corrected himself.
The audience was already applauding good-naturedly. But Clate recovered and casually threw Welch under the bus: “The mayor’s handwriting’s not that good!”
Everyone, including the mayor, roared with laughter.
As this boisterous meeting wobbled to the finish line, Mayor Welch asked the kids to explain the vast knowledge they had amassed as council understudies.
“I attended the Chamber of Commerce meeting,” Student Mayor Clate volunteered. “A lot went over my head because, yeah–I’m not used to the business jargon.”
He reflected. “I didn’t understand a lot of it!”
Council Member Laura Hodges introduced her shadow student, Taylor, who promptly took the microphone and described their visit to the sewage treatment plant: “we got to smell a lot of things.”
Council President Darrell Henderson was paired with Casey. “He’s the student rep on the school board,” Henderson explained, “so he thinks this is really an easy meeting.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” Casey deadpanned to chuckles. At least we know now where he gets that boatload of confidence!
Like a practiced politician, he added that council members “know more in 1/16th of their brain than I have known in my entire 17 years of living thus far.”
Hmm. Casey, howzabout you come back next meeting?
First impressions were VERY strong at the Columbus city council. No sooner had people risen to face the flag than a thundering orchestral rendition of the Star Spangled Banner blasted over the loudspeakers.
Council members stood at attention while the camera panned across the room. As the trumpeting ceased, onlookers were aided in the Pledge of Allegiance by a beautiful tapestry embroidered with the oath.
Talk about class, folks!
After this patriotic tour de force, Council Member Jaiza Page rattled off her own tour de fitness. “If I’m out there” on Bike to Work Day, she smiled self-deprecatingly, “you’ll probably see me last in line.”
She added, to chuckles, “just don’t run me over!”
More impressively, Councilmember Page revealed that daring Columbusites would soon be allowed to rapel 19 stories off the PNC Building–not for infamy, but rather for a fundraiser for sexual trafficking victims.
“I did go over the edge last year and I was thoroughly frightened for 20 minutes,” she admitted with no trace of anxiety. “But I would encourage those of you who are not interested in rapelling yourself to go out and just cheer the rapellers on.”
Yes, and also be sure to cheer on Page as she bikes, rapels, canoes, bobsleds, and hanglides her way to the title of “Most Adventurous Council Member.”
By all accounts, things were going swimmingly. (Council Member Page will probably be swimming for charity at some point, too.) Suddenly, after Councilmember Michael Stinziano smoothly moved $1.2 million to repair the city’s sewer pipes, President Pro Tem Priscilla Tyson stared down at her paperwork.
“We have several non-agenda speakers that we will take momentarily.” She glanced at the clock. “We will reconvene at 6:30 for zoning.”
With that, the screen faded to black.
A slow horror dawned on me: she had turned off the cameras for public comment.
I wanted to scream, but I realized that even if she were rapelling off the outside of the PNC Building, President Pro Tem Tyson probably would not hear me.
Within seconds, the council chamber faded back in. The time was now 6:30 and the room was substantially emptier.
“Regular meeting number 26 will now come to order,” Tyson cheerfully announced like Richard Nixon after he erased those 18-and-a-half minutes of tape.
We may never know what was said in public comment that day. All we know is that the zoning hearing was much, much more tedious.
“To grant a variance from the provisions of Sections 3332.039, R-4 residential district; 3321.05(B)(2), vision clearance; 3321.07(B), landscaping; 3332.25(B), maximum side yards required; 3332.26,(C)(3), minimum side yard permitted,” Council Member Page read for nearly a minute off of the numbers-heavy ordinance.
“This is a very interesting situation,” a neatly-dressed white-haired man said as he stood eager to explain the nuances of zoning. “We have a building that covers close to 100 percent of the parcel that doesn’t comply with the zoning district or the university planning overlay.”
Yes, quite thrilling. You know what else would be an interesting situation? SEEING THE PUBLIC COMMENT.
What a shame that a council meeting with such high production quality should fumble this basic feature.
Final thoughts: While the V.I.P. here is clearly Council Member Page for doing “Fear Factor: Columbus,” the capital city’s lack of 100% transparency forces me to give this meeting only 2 out of 5 buckeyes.
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM, and right here:
Nancy LaRoche may be a new council member in Crystal, but she has been observing the meetings for quite some time. She told me that after the council changed its rules, meetings have gotten much friendlier. Plus, all of you animal lovers will hear about the council’s tiny unofficial mascot!
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Q: You are in your fifth month of city council meetings and the one thing the people want to know: WHO is Bart?!
A: Bart is a box elder bug that I named and gave a title to! My first night, Bart made his presence known on the dais. I watched him walk from one end to the other towards me and I went, “what a curious little fellow.”
Q: Ha! Would you call Bart a regular council attendee?
A: Yes. As a matter of fact, he seemed to favor [city manager Anne Norris] because one meeting he landed on her face, hung out on her cheek for a little bit, and then made his way down and hung out on her hand.
Q: Ick.
A: She was trying to get my attention but I was so engrossed being a new council member that I didn’t notice him with her.
Q: Does your accepting–and some would say cavalier–attitude about Bart send a message to any citizen that they can bring their box elder bug into the council meetings?
A: [Laughs] Well, they might be subject to one council member’s extreme disdain for box elder bugs. I heard a few slams on the counter. So, fair warning.
Q: Who is this Butcher of Crystal to whom you’re referring?
A: That was our Council Member Jeff Kolb.
Q: You mentioned that the previous council members changed some rules about how the meetings operate. Why did they do that?
A: If you go back to council meetings prior to 2015, you will see the tenor and the tone quite changed from the way it is now. I think that was the decisive reason why those things were done. When a citizen is watching these meetings, it seems more of a personality conflict. Winning was more important than carrying on with the city’s business.
Q: So it’s not just that you got two new council members this year and everything was resolved. The old council said, “our procedures are making us not get along.”
A: The procedures back then left it wide open. I remember sitting in one meeting where they kept arguing about moving an agenda item–and it was because they could. It was more to antagonize either the mayor or the other council members. I believe they had a mediator come in because things were getting so difficult.
Q: Wow.
A: If you come back to now, it’s much more professional. Things are moving smoothly.
Q: Did more people show up to watch back then in case something wild happened?
A: I believe attendance is probably the same. But that lack of attendance might be speaking to the fact that overall, people are pleased with the level of services. Also, people are busy, so they watch us online. Our streamed meetings get quite a lot of views.
Q: Well, most of those views were from me. I’m sorry for goosing your numbers this week!
Follow Council Member Nancy LaRoche on Twitter: @nwlaroche
Councilors were packed tighter than marshmallows in a Lucky Charms box at the Dublin city council chamber. And as with any group of Irishmen this size, things quickly got heated.
The subject was innocent enough: a tame discussion about the maternity hospital. But suddenly, Councilor Paddy Bourke stared down Lord Mayor Brendan Carr.
“On a point of order, I think it would be safer if the members of the board left the room–and that includes yourself,” he demanded.
Lord Mayor Carr, a member of the hospital’s board, pointed his pen defensively. “There’s a lot of us on different boards around the city. And no one’s ever asked to leave the chamber.”
But he dialed back his annoyance and gestured around the room. “I’ll leave that up to the council to make the decision.”
“I don’t think we should create a precedent of the people who are best informed having to leave,” argued Councilor Rebecca Moynihan in disbelief. “Otherwise, we should resign from all the boards. I don’t think that you should leave, Lord Mayor.”
Another councilor began yelling for a point of order. Carr glared at him, warning, “there’s another councilor before you.”
As the belligerent councilor persisted, the Lord Mayor sharply cut him off. “I chair the meeting!”
At this point, the clearly un-amused Councilor Daithí Doolan was all but ready to smother this ruckus and head to the pub.
“There’s certain elements in this chamber tonight trying to gag ourselves and straightjacket ourselves. It’s ridiculous,” he groused. “We’re adults. If people want to leave the chamber, feel free to leave. I trust councilors to make the right decision.”
Having gauged the temperature of the room and the purity of his intentions, the Lord Mayor reached his decision. “I have absolutely no conflict of interest. I don’t intend to leave the chamber.”
After this wee bit o’ discord, I reasoned that the meeting would be smoother than a field of four-leaf clovers from here on out.
I thought wrong.
“There was a challenge that came in from a member of the public,” Carr announced three hours into the meeting, referring to a citizen complaint, “and we have to try to resolve it.”
He glanced up at the clock. “We’re now agreeing to suspend the meeting and I’ll ask everyone who’s a member of the Protocol [Committee] to meet and come back.”
THAT sent councilors into a frenzy.
“Point of order! Are YOU telling ME we’re about to break up this meeting,” Councilor Kieran Binchy hollered into the microphone, his voice rising throughout the rant, “in order to hold a separate meeting so the Protocol Committee can make decisions in PRIVATE?!”
Other councilors nodded and grunted in support. Now I know where the term “Fightin’ Irish” comes from.
“You cannot convene a meeting right now!” Binchy exclaimed with wild eyes.
“There was an issue that came in from the public,” the Lord Mayor patiently explained. “We were then given legal advice that the Protocol Committee should meet–please sit in your seats.”
Carr held up his hand while pleading for councilors to listen–with some difficulty. “Someone show a bit of respect somewhere!”
“This is ridiculous,” Councilor Binchy wailed as Carr opened the voting machine. “This isn’t the way to do business!”
Unfortunately for him, three-quarters of councilors sided with their Lord Mayor. The meeting was recessed.
City Council Chronicles 