In the September 2024 RIOC board meeting, a coordinated bloc blocked bylaw reforms through procedural maneuvers, sidelining idealism with delay. A year later, the ambush still holds.

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	Forwarded this email? Subscribe here for more The Bylaw Ambush In the September 2024 RIOC board meeting, a coordinated bloc blocked bylaw reforms through procedural maneuvers, sidelining idealism with delay. A year later, the ambush still holds. Eleanor Rivers Jun 13   READ IN APP   The chairs had barely resettled. The murmur in the room softened, like breath drawn before a plunge. The choreography that had just played out—an orchestrated exit by Howard Polivy that looked incidental but felt rehearsed—was complete. He would return to his seat shortly, but the message had already been sent. It was time, as they say, to get down to business. On paper, the meeting resumed with grace. The board moved smoothly into the first real agenda item: the adoption of a new Whistleblower Policy. Professor Tang presented it with the confident calm of someone who had done the work. Ben had added an unusual but clarifying line about external reporting agencies, and though Ms. Anderson, Representing RuthAnne Visnauskas, RIOC Chair and Commissioner, New York State Homes and Community Renewal, found it irregular, she did not object. There was praise, acknowledgment, consensus. A unanimous vote followed. But anyone paying attention could tell: this harmony was a setup. The policy passed not just because it was sound, but because it made what was about to happen next look like a break from consensus, rather than a plan coming into action. By this point in the evening, the board had dispatched its early business. The room had thinned slightly from the earlier public comment period. The tone, though polite, had taken on a different shape—a kind of quiet readiness. It was around this time that the bylaws came to the table. The room was entering its longest and most contested stretch. This was the September 19, 2024 RIOC full board meeting, held inside the Good Shepherd Community Center, 543 Main Street, Roosevelt Island, NY 10044. It was a warm night, but inside the room the air had cooled with tension. The conversation was shifting. And so was the control. The Orchestration The moment the bylaws arrived, the performance changed. Ms. Anderson attempted to shift the item further down the agenda—proposing it be discussed only after all actionable items were complete. But Professor Tang held firm. No, she insisted—it would remain in place. Then, as if nothing had happened, Tang gestured toward Ms. Anderson to move the conversation forward. Anderson demurred. No, she said—this wasn’t ready for a vote. Ben asked if Lada V. Stasko, RIOC’s Associate General Counsel, could come forward to walk through the Authority Budget Office (ABO)’s comments. She had done so just minutes earlier for the Whistleblower Policy. But now Meghan interjected sharply: had Lada known in advance Ben Fhala would call on her? Morris Peters, Representing Blake G. Washington, Director, State of New York Division of Budget, added that he'd rather hear from the chair of the Governance Committee than from legal. It wasn’t a debate. It was a reshuffling of authority. And it looked coordinated. Ben, soft-spoken but pointed, tried to keep the conversation grounded in facts. Professor Tang was crystal clear: every member of the Governance Committee, including Meghan, had agreed to present the bylaws for a vote if minor ABO changes were incorporated. She quoted the words “minor changes” with her fingers. She thanked advisors, acknowledged Ben’s contributions, and laid out the timeline plainly. But by then, the room had shifted. Peters spoke in polished abstractions. Anderson scratched her eye. Conway texted. Lada, seated until now, began to stand. It was clear. This wasn’t about whether the bylaws were ready. It was about ensuring they wouldn’t be. That night, I dreamed of David* We were walking the promenade again, like we used to when he was still a fixture in the room. The river moved east, just as it always does, and a pink light slid along the Manhattan skyline. A woman stood by a crate near Southpoint Park, speaking to a tired-looking assistant about an art installation that had just arrived. “They never budget for it properly,” she said, exasperated. “Always cutting corners when it comes to beauty.” David watched her for a moment and shook his head. “She always knew how to charm a room. Said the right things, made the right gestures. But she never really followed through. Let Howard trample her every time. That’s why they liked her.” We kept walking. David’s pace was slower than I remembered. I asked him about Peters. “He was brought down for one reason,” David said. “To squash the rebels. And Conway? He came back to make sure the job got done.” He paused. “They’re scared of the new board members. That’s what no one wants to say out loud. It’s not what they’re doing now—it’s what they might do if given real footing.” He was quieter after that. More withdrawn. Then, with no lead-in, he muttered, “I’m tired, Eleanor. Not as sharp as I used to be. They know it. I think they want me gone too.” I tried to speak, but he cut me off gently. “His ship has sailed,” he said, eyes on the water. “He means well—Ben. Same kind of idealism that drives Lydia. But he’s easier to isolate. Less polished. And the game now isn’t about ideas. It’s about process. Delay. Obstruct. Run out the clock until they have the numbers and a new strategy.” He didn’t say more about Lydia. He didn’t have to. We both knew she wouldn’t back down. He sighed. “All I care about now is what’s left of my legacy. Once they quiet the noise—get rid of the loudest voice—I’ll step down. Just waiting for the quiet.” I turned to say something more, but he was gone. Back in the room, the ambush continued. Lada eventually stood at the podium. Conway Ekpo, Peters, and Anderson worked in harmony, like a legal quartet with a single purpose: redirect everything back to process. Ben tried to return the focus to content. He read from the ABO response. He clarified. He pushed. They ignored. Even David Kraut, who had once demanded the bylaws be updated, cracked a joke that veiled retreat: “Ben, your ship has sailed.” The bylaws never came to a vote. Not because of their content—but because getting to a real debate was never the goal. Procedure became the weapon, wielded with enough coordination to stall conversation about reform in its tracks. Nearly a year has passed. External counsel was brought in. Advisors like Margie and Audrey are no longer at the table. The entrenched bloc—Peters, Conway, Anderson, and Lada—have mastered the art of delay. No vote came in the last meeting either. Professor Tang is still fighting, but on the surface, she looks alone. Dr. Melamed is her only steady ally. The others—silent, procedural, coordinated—keep winning. It wasn’t the bylaws that were ambushed that night. It was the future they represented. And we are still waiting for the next move. And now David is gone too. Officially. Two new resident board members have taken their seats: Marc Block and Melisa Wade. I wish them well, truly. Though lately I find myself sitting on a rusted bench at Eleanor’s Pier, squinting eastward at every boat like it might be David’s, the one he said had sailed. Maybe it has. Or maybe it’s just stuck somewhere in Albany waiting for clearance. Either way, I hope Marc and Melisa packed life vests and patience. If I’m being honest, I might be imagining this bench altogether. At a certain age, reality and memory start doing a little two-step. But the river’s still moving. And I’m still watching. Wry, dry, and deeply concerned. Subscribed *This is a work of narrative storytelling inspired by real events. Some characters, dialogue, and scenes are imagined to convey broader truths and do not depict actual conversations or individuals. Subscribe for free to receive updates on new posts and support our work. Subscribed   Like Comment Restack   © 2025 Theo Gobblevelt 591 Main Street,, Roosevelt Island, NY 10044 Unsubscribe