Kwame Kilpatrick exits, with Barack Obama holding the door

With the presidential race in Michigan too close for comfort, it can only help Obama that Detroit's racially divisive and felonious mayor has finally lost his job.

By Edward McClelland

Read more: Ronald Reagan, Politics, African-Americans, News, Michigan, Barack Obama

Sept. 4, 2008 | Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick pleaded guilty to two felony counts of obstruction of justice on Thursday morning. Kilpatrick will forfeit his office and serve 120 days in jail, ending a scandal that began when the Detroit Free Press published raunchy text messages between Kilpatrick and his ex-chief of staff. Messages proving that, in spite of Kilpatrick's testimony during a civil lawsuit, the pair had, in fact, been knocking boots.

As much as Detroiters are relieved to be rid of their lubricious, dissembling mayor, Barack Obama has to be even more relieved.

Last year, before addressing the Detroit Economic Club, Obama praised Kilpatrick as "a great mayor." This year, he told the mayor to stay away from the Democratic National Convention. On Wednesday, as Kilpatrick apparently balked at accepting a plea deal, Obama issued a public statement asking him to resign. The longer Kilpatrick stayed in office, the more the Detroit-phobic white voters of Michigan were liable to ask, "If a black Democrat can't run the city, how can one run the country?"

In 2008, with the economy in recession -- in free fall in Michigan -- this bluish-purple state, which hasn't gone for a Republican presidential candidate since 1988, should be Obama's for the taking. With Kilpatrick's misbehavior dominating the local news on every TV station in a metro area that holds nearly half Michigan's population, he's barely leading: A recent Detroit News poll has him beating McCain 43-41.

Ever since the 1967 riot sent hundreds of thousands of whites in a great migration across 8 Mile Road -- the city limit, and the symbolic border between black and white Detroit -- the city and its suburbs have coexisted as uncomfortably as Soweto and Johannesburg.

It was pollster Stanley Greenberg who discovered Detroit's white exiles resettled, but still seething, in Macomb County, and gave them the Linnaean name "Reagan Democrats." The original Reagan Democrat, circa 1980, was a blue-collar voter who abandoned his native party over antiwar protests, busing, affirmative action and welfare queens. Some Reagan Democrats were from an Appalachian background, their forebears having moved north for auto factory jobs. Many were ethnics, white Catholics whose ancestors had come to America long after slavery was abolished. Neither strain had much patience with white guilt, many were stung by Michigan's industrial implosion, as those factory jobs disappeared, and all were outraged by a court decision ordering cross-district busing to integrate their children's schools. (It was overturned by the Supreme Court.) They were also horrified at Detroit's transformation into the original New Jack City. Thanks to drug outfits like the Chambers Brothers and Young Boys Inc., the city had the highest murder rate in the nation.

During Greenberg's first trip to Macomb County, at the height of the Reagan years, he found that whites "expressed a profound distaste for black America, a sentiment that pervaded almost everything they thought about government and politics. Blacks constituted the explanation for their vulnerability and for almost everything that had gone wrong in their lives."

And now, for the last eight months, the local news emanating every day from this black city to its white suburbs has featured the legal, sexual and administrative misadventures of a black mayor who doesn't just play the race card, he is the race card.

Kilpatrick's legal and political problems stemmed from his testimony in a lawsuit by former Deputy Police Chief Gary Brown. Brown claimed he was fired in 2003 for testifying in an investigation into a wild party with strippers at the mayoral mansion, in which Kilpatrick's wife allegedly physically attacked one of the strippers. During the trial, Kilpatrick swore he never had a romantic relationship with his chief of staff, Christine Beatty. But in January, the Detroit Free Press published these booty text-messages:

Kilpatrick: "And, did you miss me, sexually?"

Beatty: "Hell yeah! You couldn't tell. I want some more." Kilpatrick had already settled the suit for $8.4 million and cut a side deal with the ex-cop's lawyer to keep the texts secret, so he really had to feel burned by the press.

Last month, Kilpatrick spent a night in jail after violating his bond by crossing the Canadian border to Windsor, Ontario, on city business. The mayor has also been charged with assault for allegedly shoving a sheriff's deputy who tried to serve a warrant at his sister's house. For a time, he wore an electronic tether, confining him to metro Detroit.

Kilpatrick is an odious politician, but he's only a symptom of Detroit's problems -- a monster created by the racial estrangement between urban blacks and suburban whites. Kilpatrick kept himself in office by exploiting Detroit's tensions, cleverly maneuvering on a political landscape that was in place before he was born.

After the scandal broke, Kilpatrick used his State of the City address to drop the N-bomb. "In the past thirty days, I've been called a nigger more than any time in my entire life," he claimed. It didn't work. The City Council asked him to resign.

Kilpatrick refused to go, so the council asked Gov. Jennifer Granholm to step in. As governor, Granholm has the power to remove shady officials from their posts. As a white Democrat, Granholm was reluctant to yank the black mayor of a city whose voters provide her party's margin of victory. But she was even more reluctant to allow Kilpatrick's shenanigans to inflict more bruises on downtrodden Detroit -- and possibly scuttle Obama's campaign in Michigan. On Wednesday, she convened the removal hearing that finally forced Kilpatrick's hand.

Kilpatrick became mayor in January 2002 at age 31, winning his office the old-fashioned way -- through nepotism. The son of U.S. Rep. Carolyn Cheeks Kilpatrick -- who nearly lost this year's primary because of her son's scandals -- he defeated elderly city councilman Gil Hill, a former police detective who gained fame for playing Eddie Murphy's boss in the "Beverly Hills Cop" movies.

By his reelection campaign in 2005, Kilpatrick already had his head on the chopping block. His 300-pound ex-footballer's frame, his chalk-striped suits and his diamond earrings had earned him the nickname "The Hip-Hop Mayor." Kilpatrick had alienated voters by leasing a $25,000 Lincoln Navigator on the city's dime and traveling with a Caesarian security detail. He allegedly used a city card to charge champagne and spa massages.

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