XPost: ny.politics, sac.politics, alt.fan.rush-limbaugh
XPost: alt.politics.republicans, talk.politics.guns

In April of 2020, as the gravity of the pandemic was becoming an
omnipresent reality, I wrote an opinion piece for The News praising Gov.
Cuomo for keeping New Yorkers and much of the country informed in the
darkest days of the COVID pandemic. It was a highly praiseworthy column,
and I heard from more than a few of my progressive friends, who didn’t say
it out loud, but in the gentle way friends do, that I had perhaps lost my
mind.

Didn’t I know who Cuomo is, they pondered? Haven’t you heard about the way
he conducts politics?

The answer is, yes, of course I had heard about Andrew Cuomo’s
intimidating brand of politics, but it was what I didn’t hear about him
that gave credence to my friends’ loving admonitions against praising him.
When I spent the better part of two years researching for a book on Mario Cuomo, Andrew’s legendary father and progressive icon, I heard story after story of his decency, his authenticity and his character. I never heard a
harsh word against him, at least not the kind rooted in anything but
opposition to his policies.

But I heard no such things about Andrew Cuomo. Knowing I was writing about Mario, people would on occasion bring up Andrew, and in all frankness, I
never heard a single word of praise for his character. Not once. So, yes,
I had heard, and more importantly, did not hear, all I needed to, to
confirm the idea fixed in so many people’s minds, that Andrew Cuomo was
purely a political creature and nothing more.

Still, I didn’t believe that negated the very good work he was doing
keeping New Yorkers and the country informed, and more so, calmed by his
steady diet of news conferences and media appearances, particularly at a
time when the sitting president was doing everything he could to undermine
the grim reality of the moment, with talk of opening back up by Easter and
so forth. It seemed at the time, that Andrew had matched his love of power
with the requirements of the political moment, and that was fine by me,
and to many who may have been critical of his policies, but thankful for
his work fighting the pandemic.

But the moment began to evaporate almost from the beginning. There was
word of a book the governor planned on writing in the midst of the
pandemic. News began to emerge of the governor’s heavy-handed approach to handling medical and health-care experts and what their roles were during
press conferences. Before long, the governor was using the word “experts”
in air quotes. Soon, some began to speak out against the toxic work
environment the governor oversaw and fueled. Even his handling of the
pandemic began to be scrutinized as the governor seemed to cook the books
with respect to the number of deaths in the state’s nursing homes.

And then, accusations began to emerge from a number of women, accusing the governor of sexual harassment, including sexual assault. What had started
in the spring of 2020 as an annus mirabilis, morphed into a year of
misery, as the governor began to more closely resemble the man in the
White House, at least in political form, than his father.

Past is prologue

My first exposure to Andrew Cuomo was as a child growing up in Queens. In
those days, a newspaper was in every home and nearly every day. As a poor
black kid with Sicilian ancestry, one whose mother had moved from welfare
to work, I rooted for Mario Cuomo, who seemed to be the rare politician concerned with poverty and social justice. In the 1977 mayoral race, he
lost to Ed Koch, who, to my young eyes, seemed to revile everything I
looked for in a public servant.

But it was in that race that Andrew Cuomo, who was managing his father’s campaign, began to make news, as he was accused by Koch and others, of
using a hateful and homophobic slur against Koch. I never found evidence definitively linking Andrew to the slur, nor to my mind, has any other
reporter or researcher. But Koch never forgave him, and the truth is, over time, Andrew Cuomo seemed to be the kind of man who would have used it if
he thought it would be to his political advantage.

In time, Andrew Cuomo grew during his father’s governorship to become a formidable political figure in his own right. He was tapped by Bill
Clinton to become secretary of Housing and Urban Development in 1996,
giving him national exposure. Yet 10 years later, as he sought to become attorney general of New York, his time at HUD was scrutinized anew,
including a scandal over corrupt lending practices that implicated his leadership, if not him personally. Yet the HUD affair did not prevent
Andrew from becoming New York’s attorney general in 2007.

But the stories of Cuomo’s penchant for playing fast and loose with ethics
did not end, and when he became governor in New York in 2011, they would
only grow. Within three years, he would be accused of interfering with an ethics commission he himself had created to root out corruption in the
state. Yet he was re-elected, and in time, re-elected again, becoming a three-term governor, matching his father’s tenure.

Along the way, New Yorkers, ever practical, if not jaded by politics, came
to see Andrew Cuomo as a heavy-handed, albeit effective governor. He had
passed a gay marriage law and a sweeping gun safety law. He had devoted resources to infrastructure and got big projects done on time. Maybe he
was a scurrilous character — an SOB — but weren’t they all?

The report

On Tuesday, New York’s attorney general, Letitia James, issued a report
that concluded that Andrew Cuomo sexually harassed 11 women, the latest instance in which the governor has been directly implicated in what the
New York State Assembly will undoubtedly soon take up — an abuse of his
power. It was an investigation the governor had supported in concept, at
least before it became increasingly clear it would come to damning
conclusions about his behavior.

Now, Andrew Cuomo is faced with a decision. Will he continue to hold onto
power until it is wrested from him by New York’s legislators, or will he
resign his office? Over the years, Bill Clinton, Donald Trump, Virginia
Gov. Ralph Northam and others have arguably rewritten the scandal playbook
by refusing to resign as scandal swirled. But with state and national
members of his own party calling for his resignation, it is nearly
impossible to imagine a scenario where the governor can remain in office
for long.

What the James investigation has afforded the nation is a third model for handling political cases of allegations of sexual harassment. Essentially,
we have had an Al Franken model, one graced with a semblance of genuine contrition, but also a sense of a premature departure owing to the absence
of an investigation. And we have of course, the model set by the former president — to deny, to obfuscate, to belittle and to cling to power.

But now, New Yorkers have had an investigation and we have findings that
point to clear, consistent and devastating evidence implicating the
governor. It is his right to stand trial in the state’s Senate, to be
heard until there is no more to hear. But we are past that now. We are now
in a place of moral reckoning — and I can only hope Andrew Cuomo resigns,
and attempts to engage in the kind of personal introspection that seems to
be utterly beyond him. It would be a benevolent act in a career that any
honest onlooker would conclude has been short of them.

The crowd

Does Andrew Cuomo prefer power or fame? It was another New Yorker, long
ago who argued that the “love of fame” plays a very real and important
role in executive leadership. It leads people to undergo arduous and
trying tasks, if for no other reason than to enhance their reputation. Alexander Hamilton’s argument may be beyond the governor at this moment.
But if he were to pause and give it thought, perhaps he would recognize
that standing trial for impeachment for violating the rights of women
under his charge as governor would only further damage an already frayed legacy.

What’s more, even if he were to magically “win” and retain power, it would
only place him in the ignominious category of men like Trump, whose love
of power matters more than fame, reputation or character. No, what is
right is that Andrew Cuomo resign. He owes it to the people of New York,
to the women whose claims have now been validated by an investigation he supported; and if it matters to him, it is the right thing to do by his
name, one that has been honored by a legacy of his father who, though imperfect, placed character above personal power.

After Mario Cuomo lost that 1977 race to Ed Koch, he was asked what he
would do next.

“I am where most people thought I ought to have been in the beginning,” he said. “And that is with the people I was born and raised up with, the
people I helped protect against the blunders of politicians, with the neighborhoods, with the little people.” I remember meeting Mario Cuomo
shortly after he was defeated by George Pataki and out of office,
somewhere in Midtown. My cousin and I spotted him, and we made a bee-line
to thank him for his service as governor. He was jovial, he was playful;
he was what you expected him to be. But then, soon, other New Yorkers
spotted him and they made their own bee-lines, and before long, there was
a small crowd around Mario Cuomo, smiling, offering their quick notes of praise. Ever the politician, Cuomo extricated himself from the crowd and
went about his day, leaving us happy and wistful.

If he is to have any chance at redemption, Andrew Cuomo should hearken to
this small memory of his father. For it was in defeat, and in his
recognition that there are more important things in the world other than
power, that the legacy of Mario Cuomo has grown, and indeed, continues to
grow. And in the end, the governor should ask himself if it matters to him
at all, if years hence, he were to walk among his fellow New Yorkers in
the light of day, down some Midtown street:

Who would be there to greet him?

https://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/ny-oped-andrew-cuomo-at-the- crossroads-20210808-fcpgt7u2grcffnbksmgmerfc5y-story.html

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