The Case of the Hanging Chads
Sitting here in the Rag—well, that’s what we call it, though the official name is The Royal Army and Navy Club—in Pall Mall, London, a club for retired military personnel. I know I’m three sheets to the wind, but I’ve sailed on five before now.
The name is Moore. Roger Moore. No, not that actor who played a secret agent named James Bond. I’m really named Roger Moore, and for crying out loud, I’m a secret agent—even though I shouldn’t tell you that. The ‘official’ job line is import/export. Yeah, I know; it sucks that Ian Fleming, the fellow who wrote the stories about James Bond, agent 007, used so many facts of an actual secret agency that nowadays, no one believes a bit of it.
I could tell you literally hundreds of important missions I’ve undertaken, but… you guessed it, I’d have to kill you. You seem like a good enough person, so I’d hate having to do that. I’ll neither confirm nor deny any involvement with anything happening these days, but there’s something I could tell you that didn’t happen, wink, wink. Yes, the lips may have loosened a bit, but no ships are in danger of sinking at this late juncture.
You’ll remember the infamous ‘hanging chads’ from that presidential election in the United States, Gore and Bush. What you don’t know is that the term had two very separate meanings, one with national importance and a separate, more sinister one. The plan all along was that Florida would be a tie; there had to be a scandal to control the outcome.
Let’s not waste any more time on the election itself. The ballot issue in Florida—the ‘hanging chads’ everyone is aware of—has little to do with the story I’m here to tell you, even if it shares that ‘hanging chads’ term. The ‘hanging chads’ weren’t a problem or a mistake, they were a design feature.
You see, there were many things at stake, that hotly contested election year. For plausible deniability, the Americans enlisted the help of the British MI5—specifically, me. I was called in to assist a delicate matter precisely because of who and what I am. Yes, we’ve already established that I’m a ‘secret agent’ named Roger Moore. The reason I became involved in the case is that I’m also gay.
Allow me to set the scene for you properly. On one side, you had the Democratic party’s nominee, Al Gore, running a tight campaign with lots of support for his stance on climate change and human rights issues. The other side, George W. Bush, son of the former CIA director-turned-vice president and then president. A man many in my profession knew and despised. His time running the CIA, the United States’ version of our MI5, was marked with silent controversy and leaks. Normally I wouldn’t bother with all that backstory hogwash, but it bears on what happened and why I was called upon, so I had to include it for clarity.
Getting to the meat of the issue—yes, luv, there’s meat of many sorts involved here, but I won’t get ahead of myself—the Bush team included an adviser to the campaign named Chad Miller. I see your eyes light up in recognizing the tie-in, but this is only the beginning. I told you this was sinister, and it was that, and more.
Chad Miller, after checking polls and realizing the election would very likely hinge upon the state of Florida, and to a large degree the gay vote there, had a proposal for the campaign. He would infiltrate the Gore campaign, portraying himself as an openly gay man. Of course, he claimed to be totally heterosexual and devoutly evangelical Christian, something that the Republican party of the day was tightly aligned with.
Miller’s plan was truly nefarious; once accepted into the Gore campaign, he would act like a leading gay voice for the campaign, all the while spouting nonsense and made-up babble. This, of course, caused the campaign to spend resources they could use elsewhere on refuting their ‘gay’ spokesman, while simultaneously alienating many gay voters. That would have been evil enough, but Miller—deviant as he was—went far and above ordinary wickedness.
While he was out and about in the gay communities in southern Florida, Miller befriended a younger man who volunteered for the Gore campaign, Charlie Kilwarren, who preferred to be called ‘Chad.’ Yes, you’re beginning to grasp the storyline here, aren’t you?
Kilwarren was as openly gay as Miller pretended to be, and far more perceptive than Miller would have preferred. It seemed as if Kilwarren could smell the stench of Miller’s falseness, and that forced a major misstep by Miller.
A leaflet was circulated among the gay establishments in Fort Lauderdale and Wilton Manors which invited everyone named ‘Chad’ to the first-ever meeting of GCASF, the Gay Chad Association of South Florida. It was, of course, Miller’s brainchild, and his plan was apparently to gather enough men named Chad to create the illusion of an orgy or other deviance, and then tie it to the Gore campaign through Kilwarren’s presence.
Our investigation showed that Miller was in contact with a Chinese Communist named Wu Xien-hu, who apparently gave him the idea to create the entire sex scandal. Did you know there are old British military men who refer to the Chinese as ‘Chads’? Probably just a coincidence.
It should come as no surprise to you that there were only a handful of men who appeared for this gathering, especially as the time was set for a Sunday afternoon, directly competing with the “Tea Dances” at several of the local gay bars. No one could claim Miller was a pushover, though, and he proceeded to organize the few Chads present into a workable lot; first, “membership” photographs were taken, including shirtless shots. The free drinks and food made everything seem legitimate to the majority of the original seven—only two refused and left. Obviously, with fewer than a half-dozen men, an orgy wasn’t going to be believable, so Miller decided there had to be another issue of bizarre behavior. He found pictures of younger guys without shirts and managed to manipulate the pictures in a manner which made it appear that they were involved in ‘moral depravity’ with the older men, especially Kilwarren. Records from the actual event are scant, but apparently Kilwarren never even got close to any of the other men, so that was some seriously fine photo editing there.
Miller had his pictures. In every one, only Kilwarren’s face ever showed, surrounded by other couples whose heads were turned away from the camera or were cut off in the picture. Only Charlie ‘Chad’ Kilwarren was identifiable in any photographs.
Chad Miller was deliriously happy. This should seal the voting for Bush, making it a cakewalk. But then the cracks began forming in the story.
First, a 20-year-old boy not named Chad stepped forward with a picture of him that was clearly the image Miller had used to put the unnamed lad into the picture with Kilwarren. Miller promptly issued a terse disavowal of the offending (altered) photograph, saying it had been provided to him as ‘evidence’ of the moral shortcomings of a close adviser to the Gore campaign.
The second break happened when a reporter asked Kilwarren about his sexuality and apparent taste for multiple partners. Kilwarren stated proudly that he was openly, happily gay, and seriously committed to his long-time partner, who stepped forth to confirm it. Asked about ‘all the pictures’ with multiple other men and some younger guys, Kilwarren told the crowd of reporters about the Gay Chad Association of South Florida. Snickers reigned.
Chad Miller was called to the Bush campaign’s office, relieved of his official campaign credentials, handed a woefully small check, and escorted to the exit—and out of the building entirely—by two burly security agents.
Ah. You want to know how I know all this, and why I was involved. Yes, it’s a sordid tale. You’ll remember I referred to ‘hanging chads’ as having two meanings. One, of course, was to the paper ballots used in Palm Beach County, Florida, where some punches didn’t completely take out the piece of the ballot for the optical scanner to properly record a vote. Those bits of paper became the infamous ‘hanging chads’ which ultimately helped sway the election to Bush.
As for the second, darker meaning, that’s where I came in. After Miller was escorted out of the building, he had no job, no association with the winning team. He was dejected. The Bush campaign hired me to tail him to ensure he didn’t do anything to foul the waters, so to speak.
Miller’s first stop after being dropped by the Bush team was, unsurprisingly, to Kilwarren’s apartment. As he prepared to enter the building, I ‘stumbled’ into him, disguised as a rather-scruffy homeless man. While he and I were disentangling from each other, I pinned a listening device onto his shirt collar unobtrusively.
I watched him enter the building as I activated my miniature recorder and popped in the earpiece so that I could hear everything.
After a few minutes of Miller standing inside, likely in front of Kilwarren’s door, he pounded like he was going to break down the door or wall.
“What the…? You?” Kilwarren says, mild annoyance in his voice.
“Listen, man, I… I’m guessing you don’t know this, but I gotta get this shit off my head.”
“The fuck are you talking about? Why should I care?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I really fucked it up,” Miller admits.
“So, am I supposed to dispense your forgiveness like a Catholic priest or something? I don’t have patience for assholes who stir up shit and create problems for my community.”
“I get it, man. I… I’m only here… ‘cause I don’t know what else to do.”
“If you think I’m going to absolve you of your sins or something stupid like that, you’re so far wrong you’ll never get close to being correct. You’re a waste of a human life, man. I don’t say that too often.”
“It was shitty of me. I’m sorry, man. I let the prize blind me to the truth, I guess.”
“Truth? Do you even know what that is?” Kilwarren is giving Miller grief, deservedly so, but still, the man’s pretty low already.
“I’m sorry. If I’ve hurt you in any way, I’m truly sorry.” It sounds like Miller is getting up and moving, so I turn my back to the doorway of the building and continue listening as Kilwarren says something I can’t quite make out, then there’s the sound of a door opening.
Moments later, Miller emerges from the building. He’s looking down at the walkway as he heads away. I leave the recording running, but remove the earpiece. Listening to the man walking away isn’t required.
Since I’ve already ascertained where Miller is staying, I don’t need to follow him too closely. That look of dejection tells me he’s not looking to make a grand appearance anywhere. I can take my time getting to his hotel without fear of missing anything.
Well, that was my intention until a thought rushes through my mind. Hanging Chads. On that, I turn my steps back toward the building where Charlie Kilwarren shares an apartment with his long-time partner, who emerges from the building with a look of abject horror.
***
My report on this mission is complete. It’s not my finest hour, nor even a satisfactory conclusion, but if Ian Fleming were to turn this into a James Bond tale, ‘The Case of the Hanging Chads’ would make difficult, yet interesting, reading, I’m sure.
The thing about democracy is, it was never designed for the public to win. It’s a spectator’s sport, and we in the stands are the oddsmakers.