Forgive Me, Voter

By JAMES CARNEY/WASHINGTON

When most Americans think of Marion Barry, this is what they see: a grainy FBI videotape showing the mayor of Washington, D.C., in a hotel room smoking a pipeful of crack cocaine. That image, followed by his trial and conviction on a drug charge, turned Barry and the District of Columbia into international symbols for all that was wrong with America's drug-infested cities. It was the kind of scandal that destroys political careers forever.

That was four years ago. On a street corner in northwestern Washington one evening last week, Barry stood on top of a ladder, his arms wrapped around a telephone pole, as a passing car came to a sudden stop. A young woman shouted from the car, "Hey, Marion Barry, you're gonna be mayor again!" Barry turned, a green campaign poster in one hand and a staple gun in the other, and acknowledged the endorsement with a smile. Across the street Kevin Britton, an elementary-school gym teacher, explained that he too wants the former three- term mayor back. To Britton, Barry's six-month stint in jail should not be seen as a disqualification. Far from it. "That makes it all the more a marvel," Britton said. "Marion Barry could have thrown in the towel, but he didn't. It took character to pick himself up, and this city needs that kind of character in a leader."

With enough voters so faithful as these, Barry, 58, may achieve one of the most improbable political comebacks in U.S. history. A Washington Post poll last week showed him in a statistical dead heat -- 34% to 33% -- with city councilman John Ray in a three-way contest to win the Sept. 13 Democratic primary, where elections in Washington are usually decided. Well behind both Barry and Ray was incumbent Mayor Sharon Pratt Kelly, with just 14% support.

In his unorthodox campaign, Barry's message is more about forgiveness and redemption than the usual stuff of municipal politics. Wherever he goes, he talks about the "god force" that helped him recover from his drug and alcohol addictions. He claims to serve as a positive role model to young people caught up in the city's web of violence and despair. The city's children, he says, see him as "an example of somebody who got up off his knees, who was human, who overcame personal demons." Cathy Hughes, a black owner of several radio stations, disagrees. "It's like telling young people it's okay to shoot drugs for a while," she says.

Barry's resurgence also reflects Washington's racial and economic fissures. Even in the aftermath of his arrest, Barry retained many sympathizers, especially among African Americans who believed federal prosecutors had set him up. By 1992 he had moved to Washington's poorest section, cast himself as a voice for the downtrodden and won a seat on the city council. To many of his core constituents, returning him to the mayor's office would amount to vengeance. Mary Cox, a lawyer and Barry ally, says that in much of Washington's African-American community, "you learn early on that if you're a black man and you stand tall, and if you speak up for others, you're going to jail."

Barry rarely taps that polarizing sentiment explicitly, but he has focused his campaign on the people he calls "the least, the last and the lost." In 1978 he won his first mayoral election with substantial backing from the city's white minority (blacks make up two-thirds of Washington's 577,000 residents). That support has vanished: a recent survey shows Barry polling | just 1% of the white vote. Many middle- and upper-income blacks have also abandoned Barry, which means that to win, he will have to rely on heavy turnout among lower-income blacks. To add to that base, Barry has been registering new voters at a record pace.

Aiding Barry's chances is the weakness of the opposition. Kelly won office with a promise to sweep the city clean of the corruption and mismanagement that plagued Barry's last years in power. But critics say she has done little to cure the ills of Washington, where a third of the population is on public assistance. The homicide rate is only modestly lower than in 1989, when Washington earned the title "Murder Capital of the U.S."; fire-code violations may delay the opening of many D.C. public schools; and Congress, which acts as overseer to the D.C. government, is threatening to take action on the city's chronic budget deficit. Having soured on Kelly, those who would vote for anyone but Barry are turning increasingly to Ray, a bland 15-year veteran of the city council and a perennial runner-up in mayoral elections. His campaign has focused largely on the promise to restore the city's tattered image and improve its relations with Congress.

Even if he wins next week, Barry could still face an obstacle in William Lightfoot, a city-council member who has promised, if necessary, to challenge Barry as an independent in November's general election. But Barry is counting on compassion. "Every person in Washington has a bit of redemption and forgiveness in them," he says. Besides, he adds, "I'm the candidate with the most experience. The people know me." Yet the problem for many voters is that they don't know which Marion Barry, the old or the new, is the one on the ballot.