“How many bubbles are in a bar of soap?”
African-Americans in a bygone era recalled being denied the right to vote because they couldn’t answer questions like that at polling places. Written tests administered in Louisiana required certain voters to figure out brain teasers like “Print the word vote upside down, but in the correct order.”
The South has an unpleasant history of conjuring up clever tricks that have discouraged people of color from voting. White clerks conveniently disappeared when black citizens turned up to register. Black voters were verbally abused at polling places. And yes, African-American voters were sometimes beaten, sometimes lynched.
Of course, that sort of thing doesn’t happen in the 21st century. Today, they do things differently in Fort Worth.
In Tarrant County, the criminal justice system sends this message: If you’re a black or Hispanic woman, you’d better make damn sure your vote is legal. If not, your children might have to grow up without their mother, because you might go to prison for a long, long time.
What’s happened to three people accused of violating election laws in the Fort Worth area during the past three months represents a shocking throwback to a shameful era. A black woman and a Hispanic woman have been sentenced to lengthy prison terms for violating election laws they say they didn’t understand, while a white man who deliberately committed an act of fraud to win himself an elected office will go free without spending a day in jail. This injustice calls for action not only from Tarrant County voters but also state lawmakers.
First came the case of Rosa Maria Ortega, a 37-year-old mother with a sixth-grade education and four children, a Mexican citizen with learning disabilities who’s lived in this country legally since she was a baby. She said she mistakenly thought her green card status gave her the right — indeed, the civic duty — to vote, so she cast ballots five times over the course of a decade. (For what it’s worth, she considers herself a Republican, and she says she voted for Mitt Romney.) Attorney General Ken Paxton’s office reportedly tried to work out a plea bargain, but her lawyer says Tarrant County District Attorney Sharen Wilson quashed the negotiations and took the case to trial. A jury convicted Ortega in February and slapped her with a stunning sentence: Eight years in prison.
Next came the case of Crystal Mason, a 43-year-old woman who was on supervised release stemming from a tax fraud conviction when her mother told her she should vote in the 2016 presidential election. A poll worker who couldn’t find her name on the voting rolls reportedly handed her a provisional ballot and gave her instructions on filling it out. Neither Mason nor the poll worker apparently realized she was ineligible to vote because she technically hadn’t completed her term from that tax fraud case. Last month, a state district judge convicted Mason and meted out yet another severe sentence: Five years in prison.
Mason is African-American. Ortega is Hispanic. We would like to think these harsh sentences for two minority voters are a coincidence, but it’s hard to ignore what just happened in the same county to a white man who deliberately violated election laws.
Russ Casey turned in petitions bearing forged signatures to secure himself a place on the primary ballot in a fraudulent effort to win re-election as a Tarrant County justice of the peace. Casey dropped out of the race and pleaded guilty after the scandal came to light. Last week, he was sentenced to five years of probation. No jail time for the white judge.
The draconian sentences dealt to Ortega and Mason make it clear that state lawmakers need to reduce the range of penalties for casting illegal votes in Texas. An eight-year prison sentence for this offense is such a severe punishment it borders on medieval. It’s also clear that Tarrant County voters need to hold accountable Sharen Wilson, the district attorney whose office prosecuted these cases, and Ruben Gonzalez, the judge who decided to throw a woman in prison for five years for casting an illegal vote.
If Tarrant County’s message to nonwhite voters isn’t clear enough, Mason certainly understood it, and she articulated it perfectly: “I don’t think I’ll ever vote again. That’s being honest. I’ll never vote again.”
That’s the way it works today in Fort Worth. If threats of harsh prison sentences scare enough minority voters away from the polls, nobody has to bother asking how many bubbles are in a bar of soap.