Carl Hiaasen - Kick Ass - Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Q: And you feel that, as a nonliving person, you're still entitled to vote.

A: Absolutely. Just because we don't pay taxes anymore doesn't mean we don't have an interest in good government. I mean, look around this place—would it kill 'em to cut the grass? Maybe spritz a little 409 on these grungy old tombstones?

Q: Just out of curiosity, do you know of any other dead persons who voted in Miami?

A: Boy, could I make a joke right now.

Q: Oh, we've heard them all, Mr. Yip. Please answer the question—were there other dead voters or not?

A: Let's just say the election results speak for themselves.

Q: And it's your intention to vote again in the future?

A: Every chance I get. Hey, what can they do to me? I'm already—

Q: Dead. Yes, we know.

The good news is: A judge has ordered a new election to decide who will be mayor of Miami.

The bad news is: The election will again be held in Miami.

So how do you prevent it from being stolen like the last one? That's the predicament facing local officials.

Convicted felons, out-of-towners and even a corpse voted last November. Other citizens cheerfully sold their ballots for $10 apiece. Sleazy history could repeat itself in May unless the voting is more closely supervised.

Believe it or not, there is a "supervisor of elections" office in Miami-Dade—and the staff was hard on the job last fall. The problem was, the law saying who gets to vote was so easily subverted, and the fraud so widespread, that authorities were caught unprepared.

This time ought to be different. One intriguing idea, suggested by my son, is to have Jimmy Carter come down and monitor the new Miami elections, as he did in Nicaragua, Haiti and Panama (where he debunked Gen. Manuel Noriega's farcical victory).

True, the Miami of today is more politically backward than all those places, so Carter would face a steeper challenge. For security the former president would need several crack divisions of U.N. troops encircling the polls just to keep out all the bogus voters.

Carter's past willingness to serve as an elections watchdog stems from his own dismaying experience with voter fraud. In his book Turning Point, Carter describes how his first run for the Georgia Senate was nearly upended by flagrant ballot-stuffing and—you guessed it—a mysterious turnout of dead voters.

Surely the former president would sympathize with all those honest Miamians victimized by last fall's electoral larceny.

Yet when I phoned his office in Atlanta, Carter's assistants seemed doubtful he'd be able to fit the Miami crisis into his busy schedule. In their voices one could also detect wariness about sending him into such a messy quagmire.

That's understandable. Carter is well familiar with South Florida's reputation for tolerating skulduggery and graft. After Hurricane Andrew struck, I told him that while entire subdivisions of expensive homes in South Dade blew to pieces, most of his low-cost Habitat for Humanity houses didn't lose so much as a shingle in the storm.

"Well," Carter said with a wry smile, "we use nails in ours."

He was on an airplane Wednesday when I tried to reach him to ask if he'd fly to Miami for the elections. His spokeswoman, Carrie Harmon, was diplomatic but cautious.

"To date, the Carter Center has only monitored elections outside the United States—Africa, Latin America. We've never monitored a U.S. election," she said.

I asked what it usually takes to get the former president involved.

"Normally when we're dealing with developing countries, we have to be invited by all parties—the current government and the major opposition parties," she explained. "That's the only way it works, if everybody agrees to it."

But what about developing cities? Suppose Xavier Suarez and Joe Carollo, the front-runners for Miami mayor, extended a joint invitation—then would Carter consider monitoring a U.S. election?

There was a good-natured pause on the line, and perhaps the trace of a chuckle. "Well, we've never done it before," Harmon said, "but we wouldn't absolutely rule it out. Definitely not."

Now it's up to the candidates: Pick up the phone, guys. Call Jimmy now. If Noriega could do it, you can, too.

Tips for tourists and visiting journalists who are having trouble keeping track of Miami's mayors:

The current mayor and former ex-mayor, Joe Carollo, is fondly known as Crazy Joe. He occupies City Hall. The former mayor and current ex-mayor, Xavier Suarez, is fondly known as Mayor Loco. He occupies a mystic parallel universe.

The current mayor was restored to office after courts agreed that widespread ballot fraud had corrupted the November elections. The current ex-mayor has vowed to regain the post with a multipronged legal assault.

The battle promises to drag on, bitterly dividing Miami. That's why a parallel universe is useful.

While Carollo returns to the lugubrious chore of trying to balance the city's threadbare budget, Suarez's supporters can go on pretending he was wrongly deposed by a sinister cabal that includes the governor, law enforcement, the English-speaking media and the entire judicial system.

Having two different Miamis and two different mayors isn't so weird, when viewed in a psycho therapeutic context.

Experts say fantasizing can be a healthy escape from extreme stress. And these days few places are more extreme or stressed out than Miami—hobbled by debt, humiliated by Wall Street, shamed by graft and scandalized by flagrant thievery at the polls.

Denial is an understandable reaction to such grim reality, though the breadth of Suarez's denial is notable. Imagine a frothy make-believe world in which the city's image glistens, the budget is in rock-solid shape, the elections are honorably conducted and normal behavior includes driving around and surprising people at their homes after dark.

That's the whimsical parallel universe in which the current ex-mayor dwells.

Almost two weeks ago he showed up unexpectedly on the doorstep of the former ex-mayor. Carollo said Suarez came to confront him about charges that furniture had disappeared from City Hall after Suarez's exit. Carollo said Suarez was jabbering away, upsetting the children.

"He made no sense," the former ex-mayor said. "We just wanted to get this man, the best way we could, out of our front door and out of our property."

However, in Suarez's parallel universe the trip to the Carollo homestead went very smoothly. "Cordial," is the way the current ex-mayor recalled it. "A nice, nice discussion." He saw nothing rude or inappropriate about his unannounced visit, which is one of the fringe benefits of living in a fantasy world—there's no such thing as bad manners.

Sometimes the two universes do converge in potentially dangerous ways. A few months before becoming ex-mayor, Suarez made that infamous late-night sojourn to the home of a feisty Little Havana constituent who'd criticized him in a letter.

Alarmed at the knocking on her door, the woman (who obviously did not live in the same world as Suarez) picked up a handgun and peeped outside. Luckily for the future ex-mayor, the woman recognized him and held her fire.

Since then Suarez has made other surprise nocturnal jaunts, not all of them publicized. He is becoming Miami's own midnight rambler, in both the itinerant sense and the verbal sense.

This week an appellate panel declined to reconsider his plea for reinstatement. In a parallel universe, that could mean the judges are part of the secret anti-Suarez conspiracy.

It also could mean that, one of these nights, the judges might hear a stranger at the back door; a stranger who quickly engages them in "cordial" discussion. The only thing to do is nod politely, and pretend it all makes sense.