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Amid messages of optimism and unity, the 119th City Council in Cleveland’s history was sworn in this week, months after a decisive election in November — one that has shaken up Council Chamber with tones of progressivism and potential.
Newcomers Nikki Hudson, Austin Davis and Tanmay Shah were three non-incumbents initiated on Monday night, a shift that effectively tilts the now 15-person body an inch or so to the left. (That is, without ex-councilpersons Kerry McCormack, Jenny Spencer, Danny Kelly and Anthony Hairston.)
That ushering in, witnessed by a who’s who of Northeast Ohio politicos—from Dennis Kucinich to former mayor Frank Jackson—came with a round of speeches from the members new and old. Members who stressed that if Cleveland is to move forward, Council as a whole must get along.
A message Council President Blaine Griffin projected, as did many incumbents that night, onto the body’s three new members.
“Make no doubt about it: Cleveland City Council is the most scrutinized government body in Cleveland,” Griffin, who was re-elected Council chief, said from his podium.
“To my incoming colleagues and returning members,” he added. “This is a tough job. You will most definitely get critics and haters from those who are great lawyers for their own mistakes, but poor judges of yours and others’.”
He took to quoting Teddy Roosevelt: “Leaders don’t give hell,” Griffin said, “we catch it.”
Council isn’t a stranger to catching heat over the past four years.
For most of 2024, Councilman Joe Jones was in the spotlight for alleged misconduct around his female staffers and, in August, a death threat to at least one. Former Ward 12 Councilwoman Rebecca Maurer reprimanded Jones and his backers—Richard Starr and Hairston—in a text thread made public. Jones was censured by Council in September, but not removed.
And there were months of criticism from leftist groups scrutinizing Council’s long refusal, in the winter of 2023, to formally call for a ceasefire amid the Israel-Hamas War. (Council budged that March.) And Stephen Rys, a policy analyst to Griffin, made a rift with the city when he was accused in September of secretly downloading sensitive city data.
But none of that was brought up Monday night, amid the pomp and circumstance, the thank-you speeches and frequent nods to family and fellow politicians who packed the hall.
Instead, several council members, both old and new, stuck to Cleveland’s current reality—a time when its schools are shrinking and merging; when its SNAP beneficiaries are lining up for food handouts; when its transit agency is dealing with back-to-back homicides and a dwindling budget (and routes).
Which culminated in a message for Council’s freshmen: focus on the issues, not the personalities.
“People care about safety, housing, jobs, daycare, social work, right?” Councilwoman Jasmin Santana, who was elected for her third term, said. “Things that maybe explain why we’re all here [at Council] in the first place.”
Councilwoman Stephanie Howse-Jones doubled down on the anti-performance.
“Schools too often issue diplomas without skills. We must address public safety with tangible deliverables—not daily TV appearances,” she told the room. “Nor any performative press conference or social media activism.”
As for Davis, Shah and Hudson, all three in their first political gig, the words of advice were accepted with open ears. (Shah spent most of the time scribbling notes on a notepad.) Many leaned on their belief systems as the main reason they were sitting on this side of Council Chamber. (Not a paycheck.) All three nodded to their families.
Hudson, a mother of two known for putting pressure on former Councilman Kelly’s decision to back a gas station at a former CVS her ward, framed her ascension to Council with a kind of shoulder shrug. It seemed natural, she said, after owning the activist label.
“I embraced that title because it felt right, it felt empowering,” she said. “Along with my fellow activists, many of whom are here, we’ve made our impact on Cleveland’s west side.”
As for Shah, who garnered the loudest hurrah from his supporters in the visitor gallery, the 29-year-old housing lawyer-turned-councilman stuck to the three points he repeated on the campaign trail: affordable homes, cheaper groceries and more reliable city services.
Even if that means facing the music in the years ahead.
“I stand before you and ask you to hold me accountable,” he said. “I will make mistakes and I hope we can learn together.”
Shah looked back at his supporters, who stood to cheer. “I hope to earn your trust through my actions,” he said. “For those who know me, I have a reminder: Our enemies are not in this room.”
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Mark Oprea
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