Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Dear Commissioner,

I know the name "Mario" is confusing, but let me assure you that I am black. Really! How black am I? Well, how black do you want—black as night? Black as tar? How black is black enough?

With all due respect, I know what I am. This morning I checked in the mirror, just to make sure.

The fact of my Latin heritage doesn't change the color of my skin, or lighten the struggle of being a black man in America. I am as wounded by racial hatred as any person, whether they were born in Overtown, Kingston or San Jose.

I'm black, commissioner. Trust me on this.

Certainly Dawkins wants to make sure that minorities are represented in all municipal endeavors—cities often need to be pushed, shamed and bullied into racial fairness.

However, in his quest Dawkins implies that some blacks are more deserving than others. Those with recent roots in Haiti, Jamaica, Nicaragua, Cuba or Puerto Rico are suspect, and must undergo scrutiny and interrogation about their true cultural identity.

To be so humiliated by anyone, much less an elected official, is an insult. It's only exacerbated by the irony that Dawkins himself is black.

At least he says he is.

This junket stinks to high heaven April 4, 1990

From the Thick-as-a-Brick Department:

Metro Commissioner Larry Hawkins flies on a developer's private jet to New Orleans for wine and brunch at a fancy restaurant.

Days later, back in Miami, the commissioner votes in a way that would have helped that same developer build luxury homes on an old Indian burial site.

Noooooooo problem. The junket had no influence on Hawkins' vote—and he makes the argument with a straight face.

He sees no conflict of interest in accepting a free whirlwind day trip from a developer, then voting on a matter that directly affects that developer's fortunes. The commissioner says he has a right to a private life, and that his friendship with developer Lowell Dunn does not sway his judgment as a public servant.

Sure, Larry, and we still believe in the tooth fairy, too. It's merely coincidence that when Dunn wants something—whether it's zoning protection, or a big county construction contract—Hawkins votes to give it to him.

Whatever the commissioner lacks in common sense, he makes up for in style.

Many politicians would have settled for dinner at Cye's, or a pair of skybox tickets at Joe Robbie Stadium. Not this guy. He goes all the way to New Orleans for authentic Cajun ambience.

And he doesn't fly commercial, either. We're talking the big L—a Lear. Seats that swivel. Cute little curtains on the windows. Plus you don't have to rent the earphones.

And when Commissioner Hawkins arrives, a private limousine awaits to carry him through the historic Garden District to that elegant eatery known as Commander's Palace—jeepers, if only we'd alerted Robin Leach ...

Nobody would begrudge Hawkins a little glamour and adventure on his day off, but the Louisiana excursion wasn't the most brilliant move he's ever made. It gives not only the appearance of impropriety, but the stench of it.

Even the most chowderheaded officeholders know that, like it or not, they are judged by the company they keep. Friendship is one thing. Voting in a way that shovels money in your friend's pocket is something else.

Believe it or not, Dade County has a Code of Ethics. I'm not kidding.

It's an actual law that says Metro Commissioners can't accept gifts from anybody who does business with the county—"whether in the form of money, service, loan, travel, entertainment, hospitality, item or promise in any other form."

The Code of Ethics has been a source of much befuddlernent to the county attorney, especially when commissioners get caught in egregious escapades. The Hawkins case is no exception.

A fourth-grader can look at the ethics ordinance and know that Hawkins broke it (note the terms travel and entertainment) but the language remains strangely impenetrable to County Attorney Robert Ginsburg, who declared: "We will not comment on things that have already taken place … and we don't engage in speculation."

Or enforcement, for that matter.

By his bizarre utterance, Ginsburg seems to be saying that commissioners can do whatever they please—just don't tell him ahead of time. After it's happened, he's not interested. Perhaps the State Attorney's Office can pick up the slack.