Press conference at City Hall? Meet VC Village’s mayor torturer

Posted

Rafael Martínez Alequín is not a vegetable.

He’s been called a lot of things since he started covering City Hall in the late 1980s: gadfly, gnat, mayor torturer, jerk, racial arsonist, heckler. Mayor Rudolph Giuliani once called him “an embarrassment.”

But the names slung at him are almost compliments compared to the names he has for City Hall reporters and politicians. He calls Speaker Christine Quinn, “Bloomquinn.” He refers to Mayor Michael Bloomberg “Bloombito the mother ****ito.” He says the reporters are “sheep” and calls them “factory workers” who are owned by the establishment.

“I’ve got the trifecta. I’m despised by the mayor. I’m despised by the speaker. I’m despised by the press,” he said.

The 79-year-old reporter and Amalgamated resident, who runs the blog www.yourfreepress.blogspot.com, does not believe in being objective. Objectivity, he proclaims in his heavy accent, is “for vegetables.”

Mr. Alequín is a short Puerto Rican man with messy gray hair. Two crucifixes, one that belonged to his mother, the other his wife, (for sentimental value; he’s an agnostic) constantly escape the shirt he never buttons all the way up. 

It’s easy to see what sets him apart from the pack of reporters covering city politics. Aside from being at least twice the age of most of the reporters, he’s emotional. During the Pedro Espada Jr. trial earlier this year, the case seemed destined for a hung jury. After the judge read aloud a note from the jurors saying they were deadlocked, Mr. Alequín stood up from the front row of the press section of the courtroom and scowled. He punched the air in frustration because it seemed Mr. Espada, who he had been following for years with his video camera, might get off. His disdain for the Espadas is not only political, it’s personal. He sued Mr. Espada’s son, Alejandro, and won when Alejandro pleaded guilty to smashing Mr. Alequín’s video camera at a campaign rally in 2008. He was beside himself at the notion that his nemesis might walk. But as deliberations continued, things swung in his favor.

Days later, when Juror No. 1 announced Mr. Espada was guilty, Mr. Alequín looked like he had just won the lottery. He even hugged one of the prosecutors.

“He deserves a long vacation,” Mr. Alequín repeated to everyone in the press corps that day.

Mr. Alequín is a well-known figure in city politics. When he walks into City Hall, everyone, from the security guards to the Councilmembers to the janitorial staff, say hi to “Rafi.” He struts with the confidence of a man who knows the most powerful man in the city is afraid of him. And he is.

At least that’s what Mr. Alequín thinks.

Since he started covering City Hall in the 1980s for a self-published newspaper, the Brooklyn Free Press, (which later became The Free Press and is now only online) he became known for asking unusual questions. His type of question could be described as off-topic, even out of left field, but they’re never boring. And they’re never that nice.

He’s grilled mayors on police brutality, a lack of diversity at city agencies, their marriage problems and their appointments. He said he believes most reporters that cover city politics don’t ask questions about issues that affect poor neighborhoods.

For years, mayors fielded his questions. Even when his inquiries sparked fights during press conferences, he was always allowed to return and ask again.

But Mayor Michael Bloomberg does not take questions from Mr. Alequín. In 2007, he was denied a press pass and barred from entering City Hall press conferences.

“When the mayor of New York City refuses to take my questions, my ego exploded and I died,” he said.

He sued the city and, in 2009, won. He was issued a press card, a major victory for bloggers everywhere, and was again allowed entrance into City Hall press conferences. But the Mayor’s office does not send him the mayor’s daily schedule like it does other reporters, so Mr. Alequín regularly drives down to City Hall in his silver Chevy sedan while listening to his favorite music — sometimes Beethoven, sometimes Tony Bennett — just to see what’s going on.

Despite his boisterous City Hall persona, Mr. Alequín lives a quiet, humble life, in a small two-bedroom apartment in the Amalgamated Housing Cooperative in Van Cortlandt Village. He lives with his cat, Sebastian, whose name he writes in on ballots during elections when he doesn’t care for any of the candidates. He said he plans to vote for Sebastian for state Senate this fall and may even vote for the tabby for mayor in 2013. His wife Margo helped support his newspaper, but after she died in 2000, he moved it online. He lives off social security and his savings, he said.

The purple walls of his apartment are covered with political caricatures, pictures he’s taken on trips to Mexico and dozens of shots of politicians with their arms around him, including Hillary Clinton, Andrew Cuomo and even his arch-rival, Mr. Bloomberg.

His apartment is littered with political books and novels, both in Spanish and English.

“I sleep with books,” he said.

He likes to drink red wine, read newspapers and watch news on television. Though most of the 3,000 posts on his site are links or copies of other news stories, he is known for his videos. At press conferences or while talking with politicians, he doesn’t carry a notebook and pen, he carries a video camera. He’s posted 259 videos to his site in the last five years.

Mr. Bloomberg has lifted the ban and has taken questions from Mr. Alequín a couple of times since the lawsuit, but it’s not like the old days when he used to spar with Mayor David Dinkins. 

Though Mr. Alequín said he has taken Mr. Dinkins to task on issues including police brutality, the men were friends. Mr. Dinkins even performed Mr. Alequín’s wedding ceremony in 1992.

“He’s a good man. I’m very fond of him,” Mr. Dinkins said of Mr. Alequín outside City Hall on Monday.

“He never asks an unfair question, and always a good one.”

Mr. Alequín’s philosophy that silence is the “worst enemy that we have” comes from racism he first encountered on the streets of New York after immigrating to the city from Maricao, Puerto Rico when he was 19 years old and what he says he learned while serving in Germany during the Korean War. 

He said far too many people knew of the Nazis’ intentions before they were realized, but kept quiet.

“When you see injustice, don’t be silent,” he said. “You have to speak up and that’s what I’m doing now.”

To have a voice in New York, he said he felt like he needed to speak English.

He earned $30 per week as a delivery boy and every week sent $10 home to his family in Puerto Rico, gave $10 to his aunt who he lived with and spent the remaining $7 or $8 on food, transportation and books, he said. He would buy two copies of the same book at Barnes and Noble on 5th Avenue, one in English and one in Spanish, so he could read them concurrently to learn the language. He also said he watched Jerry Lewis movies to learn English, which also might explain his childlike facial expressions and why he orchestrates every word with his hands.

He’s been fighting the powers that be ever since then. He was jailed for protesting the Vietnam War in the 60s and ran as an anti-Vietnam War candidate for Congress in the early 70s when he lived in Monroe County. He’s held jobs with politicians around the city, sometimes as a liaison to the Latino community. But he’s spent most of his life trying to bring attention to issues he cares about through newspapers or on his blog. 

He doesn’t even wear the press pass he fought so hard to get. He doesn’t need to. Everyone knows him.

Although unusual for a profile, this article comes with one caveat: The mayor did not return a request for comment.

Adam Wisnieski, Rafael Martínez Alequín, politics, reporter, vegetables

Comments