Ten Ring Circus : Cleveland's Ward 14

Chances are, in the city, town or county you live in, there is one part of the political map that every few years resembles something of a side show. Crooked politicians, personal attacks, renegade candidates, scrappy populists, and so on – all vying for the attention of a handful of voters who honestly couldn't care less.

In Northeast Ohio, that place has a name : Cleveland Ward 14

One of the worst performing wards in the state with horrifyingly bad voter turnout rates, Ward 14 is a political dead zone. Its transient make-up, with residents often coming or going, leaves hundreds (maybe thousands) of voters on the rolls who have long since left. Add into the mix high poverty , sky high unemployment, endless streets of boarded up and foreclosed properties, and a significant drug trade, and it's no wonder that the handful of people left find themselves ready to throw up their hands at any moment.

There is one unifying block that keeps the neighborhood from falling into total disarray. Ward 14 is the home of Cleveland's strongest concentration of Latino residents. New Americans and second generation citizens from Central America, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and most of all, new mainlanders from Puerto Rico make up the core of the community. Ward 14 is quite often the first place new Latino residents lay their head when they arrive in the Midwest. It is no wonder that the Ward is represented in City Council by a man with Puerto Rican roots. It is a strong community with a unique character.

Since 2006, Joe Santiago has worn the lapel pin as a member of Cleveland City Council. In addition to being the only Latino on the body of 21, he is the only (and believed to be the first) openly gay member of Council. This would normally be cause for celebration with both Latino and LGBT voters, but in Ward 14, there's always a little more to the story. Or a lot more to the story.

Santiago was elected in the fall of 2005, defeating the incumbent, Nelson Cintron Jr. by only 120 votes. That sounds really close until you learn that only 2,800 people voted in the election. The campaign was a nasty affair with Santiago supporters calling attention to Cintron's alleged incidents of spousal abuse, corruption and general incompetence. Cintron's supporters returned the favor with some sleazy over-the-fence talk about Santiago's sexual orientation.

Everyone knew that no matter the outcome, the end result would be close and down to the wire.

For Cintron, it was about holding on to a crumbling base. For Santiago, it was about finally taking down a councilperson who spent way too many resources in one of the three neighborhoods he represented while completely ignoring the other two (which were doing well without his help). Cintron's control over the Clark-Metro neighborhood was growing, but in the Tremont and Ohio City neighborhoods, Cintron was widely considered a flake and the few voters there couldn't wait to replace him.

Santiago earned some support of elected officials in the race while Cintron's base was quickly shrinking. Led by Rosemary Vinci, Santiago's campaign manager, the group pulled out a close one on an election night. Hours after his loss, Cintron appeared at Santiago's victory party, removed his council lapel pin, placed it on Santiago's jacket and embraced him telling the crowd that Santiago was "my councilman."

The drama was only starting.

Only a few weeks in office, complaints started coming in to neighborhood meetings and local press about Santiago's style and his friends. Suddenly, the man who was elected talking about representation for all, became the champion for owners and managers of some of the cities most dangerous bars and night clubs. Drug dealing, shootings, vandalism, excessive noise at all hours of the night were just the beginning of the complaints Santiago would hear from residents who thought a Santiago victory would mean a change in approach to neighborhood nuisances. What Santiago turned out to be was a carbon copy of his predecessor. Santiago and his political mentor, Rosemary Vinci, worked to secure liquor licenses for a new bar in Clark-Metro that the neighborhood didn't want. In Ohio City, Santiago told residents he was opposed to the license of the controversial Moda night club, but in fact, was quietly supportive behind the scenes. When Moda finally caved and closed, the giant bronze statues that appeared outside the night club magically appeared in Santiago's back yard. When asked by local media how the statues got there, he initially said he didn't know. He later changed his story to suggest they were a gift from his father.

The trouble didn't stop there. When Rosemary Vinci's name surfaced as part of the county corruption probe, it further raised doubts about Santiago and his credibility. Vinci, a former strip club manager, was a county employee who reported to the Commissioners, yet seldom appeared at work. When asked by the Plain Dealer what her responsibilities were, no one seemed to give a straight answer. When the FBI raided county offices, they allegedly sought a photo of Vinci and Dimora as part of their collection of evidence. Even today, it's completely unclear who she worked for, what she did, and what role in any criminal activity she had. Vinci was found dead in her Tremont home last year.

Two years into his term, Santiago faced a new challenge. Voters in his ward petitioned for, and received, a recall election. While never claiming leadership of the drive, anyone with any sense at all knew who was behind it. Nelson Cintron, coming off a primary loss to then-County Recorder Pat O'Malley (who is currently in jail for a host of things), was anxious to get back in the game. Removing Santiago would give him that opportunity.

For all the campaigning, including a door knocking drive featuring almost every sitting member of council, the recall effort drew only 1300 votes - just 8.4% of the registered voters in the ward. Santiago beat back the recall 60%-40%, but it was clear that his seat was already in jeopardy.

Fast forward to 2009.

As Cleveland City Council planned to redraw ward lines and eliminate two seats in the process, everyone assumed Ward 14 would be split up. At the end of the day, it was. However, while losing a few small parts to the north and west, the ward picked up a sizable piece to the south in what is currently Ward 15. The councilman there is Brian Cummins.

Cummins, one of a handful of candidates in the October 2005 Ward 15 primary, beat back the campaign of Rick Nagin (Nelson Cintron's then-Administrative Assistant at City Hall), to face off against the incumbent, Emily Lipovan Holan in November. A fractured Old Brooklyn neighborhood then elected Cummins to council where he immediately became a thorn in the side of Council President Marty Sweeney. Considered by some at City Hall to be brash and vocal, many voters in his ward admired his aggressive style in challenging the Mayor and Council leadership when he felt it was needed. Right or wrong, Cummins approach didn't play well down the hall, and when it came time to redraw the lines and eliminate members, Cummins became expendable and Santiago became tolerable.

When the final maps were presented for the first time, Cummins now faced a decision. Would he run for the area he represented the last four years, or would he run in the new ward where his home was now carved in to? Cleveland's City Charter does not require members of council to live in the wards they represent, so Cummins could have made either decision. In fact, Santiago lived outside of his own ward, residing in an area represented by Councilman Joe Cimperman.

After doing some polling of both wards, Cummins decided to run in the new Ward 14 and challenge not only Santiago, but Cintron as well.

Oh, but that's not all. Adding to the drama are a host of wild cards.

At the time of this report, petitions had been pulled by ten candidates including Cintron's old staffer (and Cummins rival) Rick Nagin, and (yes, you're reading this correctly) Tim Russo of the always provocative blog, Blogger Interrupted. Others who have pulled petitions include Luis Cartagea, James D'Amico, Gary Horvath, Moises Torres, and Orlando Viccarone. Only Cintron and Cummins have been certified to date.

So, what to make of this mess? Well, there are a whole host of scenarios that seem incredibly plausible.

Cintron and Santiago could easily split the Latino vote (with others taking votes from both).
Cummins and Nagin could battle again for votes they fought for in the part of Ward 15 now in Ward 14.

And a guy with a name like Russo, which has graced the ballot in Cuyahoga County for generations, could suddenly get votes of people unfamiliar with Cummins and Nagin, but opposed to Santiago and Cintron.

All this, with the very real possibility of fewer than 3000-4000 votes being cast, means the two primary winners could emerge with as few as 700 to 800 votes. Could it be a Santiago-Cintron rematch? A Nagin-Cintron friend-to-rival matchup? A Cummins-Santiago battle? Could Russo land enough votes to survive a primary and end up facing off against Santiago or Cintron - practically ensuring his election to council? All of this is possible, which is why it is so exciting to watch. You can be certain OhioDaily will be there to catch the drama in this political circus.