It's a Black Thing Joe Moore Can't Understand

“Joe Moore is pushin’ us out. We voting for Gordon.” CHICAGO (RPB) – Race and class have become major issues in a hotly contested race for Chicago’s city council seat on the city’s north side. The incumbent city council representative, or “alderman,” of the 49th Ward is Joe Moore. He has held the office since 1991, and faced his toughest challenged so far in his career during the past half year. He did not win the February 27 race, garnering only 49.3 percent of the votes cast. Of three opponents, challenger Don Gordon received 29 percent, the second highest vote tally. That puts Moore and Gordon in a run-off election, to be held on Tuesday, April 17. There are indications that voters will defy the usual expectations next week, as I learned in an unexpected way last night. I was completely caught off guard. Some of you will accuse me of fabricating this. It is true, all of it. The 49th aldermanic ward in the City of Chicago includes much of Rogers Park, one of the most ethnically and culturally diverse neighborhoods in the United States. Located in northeast part of the city, the 49th is bordered on the east by Lake Michigan and on the north by Evanston, home of Northwestern University. It has a stagnant business climate and high crime. Nevertheless, it is “gentrifying” with new condo conversions and young professionals moving steadily into the neighborhood. Although people of diverse backgrounds generally get along very well in this highly diverse community, Alderman Moore has managed to bring race into the campaign. Moore mentions the diversity of the neighborhood every chance he gets. He says he cherishes it. Like many entrenched politicians, Moore eagerly pays lip service to tolerance and a multiplicity of lifestyles and backgrounds. He often says that he is on the side of the little guy. But the “little guys” of Rogers Park know better. In recent weeks, Moore’s big money war chest has funded multiple weekly mailings of full-color, high-quality stock fliers. Each of those mailers costs upwards of $10,000 apiece. One after the other, each of those mailers has gotten increasingly more bitter in tone, viciously attacking fellow Democrat Don Gordon as a tool of Big Business, even going so far as to imply that Gordon is really a Republican. The little guys aren’t buying it. Little guys come in all colors, and across the color lines residents of the 49th Ward are generally fed up with what they see as Joe Moore’s campaign of sleaze, half truths and wild exaggerations. Specifically, black residents of the 49th Ward seem to be leaning heavily toward Don Gordon. I was walking along Morse Avenue near the CTA train station last night at approximately 11:15. That area is known across Chicago as rough, with shootings several times a year and constant drug dealing and prostitution. There was a group of five young black men, ages 19-23, standing on the sidewalk chatting with each other. In this neighborhood, it is difficult to walk two blocks at any time of the day without being asked for change or a cigarette. However, if somebody says “excuse me” I like to give them the benefit of the doubt. They may have a legitimate question, and when one the young men said that to me I stopped and smiled at him, eyebrows raised. “That a Gordon button?” he asked. “Why, yes. Yes it is,” I said. “I’m Tom. You” “Ronald. You for Gordon?” he asked. “You workin’ for him?” “I’m not working on his campaign, but I support him, yes,” I said, and at this point he surprised me by pulling a folded up Moore flier from his inner coat pocket. He unfolded it and thrust it out, holding it for me to see. I recognized it as a flier I had seen earlier that day. “This is bullshit,” Ronald said. “Moore lies.” “About what?” I prodded. “He says he’s for us, poor people, but he ain’t. He’s for the condos!” He stabbed a finger at the flier, still held out in his other hand. “He don’t care about us. He just want to push us out. I lived here all my life, see, all my life. It ain’t right to just push us out.” He was passionate. Ronald’s friends were silently nodding in agreement with him. “Well,” I said, “you see my Gordon button. I agree with you. Moore is in it for himself and his developer buddies.” More nodding, this time for me. “I gotta ask you guys, this is good to hear. I want to ask you if you talk about this with other black neighbors. What are they saying about Moore?” I took off my Gordon pin and handed it to Ronald. He smiled, took it, and put it on his coat. “Hell, they all voting for Gordon.” Chuckles and nods and a “hell yah” from another. “They voting for Gordon too, they see Moore bringing in all these condos and forcing us out. They close down the buildings and force the landlords to sell. Then where we go? It ain’t right.” Ronald was very eager to convince me that he was telling it straight. He pulled out a cell phone, the type with a speaker, and quickly dialed his cousin. “Listen to this,” he said, smiling. “Hello,” came Cousin’s voice from the speaker. “It’s me. Hey, who you voting for?” Without hesitation, “Gordon.” Ronald smiled widely, a sidelong glance at me. “Why you voting for Gordon?” he asked Cousin. “Moore pushing us out,” replied Cousin. “Thanks, later,” and the phone call ended. “See?” Ronald said to me “I see.” I smiled back. It was impossible for that to have been a setup. It was completely spontaneous and done far too quickly. I was convinced. “Ronald, there’s a lot of people like me in the ward who assume that most black neighbors will vote for Moore. You think that’s not accurate?” “Hell no,” he said, “they see through all the shit Moore do. Only time he ever come around here is when he wants something, like when there’s an election.” One of the young men had voted early. They all asked how they could help Gordon, so I told them where his office is. They seemed genuinely excited to go there in the morning (this morning) to get pins and literature to hand out to friends. Black voters seem to be going for Don Gordon, shunning incumbent alderman Joe Moore. Conversation turned to other, non-election topics, neighborhood stuff, women, the beach. A cop drove by very slowly and stared at us long and hard, probably wondering what this old white guy was up to talking to five young black kids on the street near midnight. I smiled at the cop and he drove on. All but one of my new friends left, on their way to another friend’s home. I continued to talk with the fifth one, and we exchanged phone numbers. He had much to say, and I hope to present his words to you in the near future. This should be an interesting weekend.