Case: 1:20-cr-00042-SJD Doc #: 35-1 Filed: 10/15/20 Page: 1 of 5 PAGEID #: 155

The Honorable Judge J. Dlott

Potter Stewart U.S. Courthouse
100 East Fifth Street, Room 227
Cincinnati, OH 45202

Dear Honorable Judge Dlott,

I never aspired to a career in politics. I remember being five years old and my grandmother
explained what it meant to be a leader. It was after I received an award at my elementary school
called “Caught Being Good”. The goal was to reward students for doing the right thing when
they thought no one was looking. I was given the award because I stood up for one of my
kindergarten classmates. She was getting teased because her sweater had a hole in it. All I
knew was that she was nice and a mean boy made her cry. I told that boy he was wrong for
making her feel bad for something that doesn’t mean anything. Ever since then, leadership was
ingrained in me.

The reason I decided to run for public office is that the downtrodden in Cincinnati needed a
champion. Whether you were marginalized because of your income, race, age, neighborhood,
background, sexual orientation or gender identity, you needed someone and something to
believe in. More importantly, you need someone to believe in you. That person is me. Enough
knew that I was that person; more people than I could’ve ever imagined.

It was important that they saw a person who looked like them, talked like them, raised in similar
circumstances and came from the same schools and neighborhoods and succeeded without
losing a sense of who they were.

I tried to put all of those people on my back and make Cincinnati a place where everyone had
an opportunity to succeed. That wasn't a campaign mantra. It was my life's work. When I got to
City Hall, I did that every day. Despite personal attacks, the fights against the status quo, in the
hate speech and homophobic insults, I went to work for people who were ignored.

Every day I have to look in the mirror, I have to come to terms with how I let all of those people
down. A lot of people have commented about the loss of a great political career. But my career
is the least of my thoughts.

It’s the support of my mother who has to walk with a cane and stands on her feet for 8-10 hours
a shift at work. She worked hard to raise an upstanding person despite her misfortunes and
bouts with the law and I let her down. She has shown unyielding support for me during this
difficult time and I love her for it. But I know deep down inside, she is disappointed in me. She
wanted more for me. I think about how proud she was during the campaign in 2017 and how
excited she was on Election night after the final results came in. Our last name sounded
different that night.
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It’s about hundreds of girls and young women who packed City Hall for our Girls in Government
Days and Gals In Government Days who saw themselves in me and ultimately a role as an
elected official. The young Black members of the LGBTQ+ who saw my visibility as their
invitation to come out of the closet.

The hundreds of donors and volunteers who willfully gave to someone who exemplified their
values. The supporters who made phone calls and knocked on thousands of doors to tell perfect
strangers about a woman they believed was going to put people over politics.

It’s about my campaign and office teammates who dedicated their time to a mentor, friend and
an elected official they genuinely loved. Their energy, creativity and thoughtfulness provided
daily inspiration for me. I’m sorry that I don’t have the opportunity to learn from them anymore.

Through poor decision-making and even worse circumstances, my family never had financial
legs on which to stand. There were times we didn’t have enough money to keep the power on.
There were times when my mother couldn’t get the water on. There were times when we
couldn’t do either. When I became a teenager, I got a job and that helped a great deal. I
received a full-ride Honors scholarship to the University of Cincinnati College of Business. I lived
on campus but I still worked two jobs so that I could help out my mother financially. While my
roommates’ parents were sending them money, it was different for me. I was sending money
home.

My goal was to help my mother to get stable. Once she was stable, I could focus more on my
work. As a first-generation college student, I was left to my own devices to understand the
hidden curriculum of matriculation. Trying to work and be a good student became mutually
exclusive and I lost my scholarship due to poor academic performance. I was devastated but I
knew it wouldn’t be the end for me. In the coming years, it was a challenge to tap into the
careers that I wanted without a degree. So, almost 11 years later, I returned to UC to finish my
degree as a 30-year-old, non-traditional student.

This time, my experience as a student was much different. First, I had to take out student loans.
But second, I wanted to make the most of school and what it meant to be a student. I studied
abroad in France, Spain and Guatemala. I became a tutor, a mentor and a teaching assistant
for two professors. In 2012, I graduated as the College of Business’ Most Outstanding
Non-Traditional student. The school published a story in its magazine about my comeback.
Walking across that stage was one of the proudest days of my life.

It was still challenging to find a job that paid enough money for me to stop scraping by and to
make an actual living. I became engaged in politics to fight for people like me, my mother and
the people who worked hard but didn’t have the money to meet basic living demands. At the
same time, I’m seeing Cincinnati become a city that was slowly pricing people out and moving
towards a future that was anything but inclusive.
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At first, I worked as a strategist for other people. However, I knew the politicians I worked for
didn’t embody the same passion I had for elevating others. Even though I struggled financially, I
still understood my privilege and the options that many people are void of. That goal was to
leverage that privilege and fight. Ultimately, that precipitated my entry into politics as a
candidate. It was hard being a serious candidate for office and holding a full-time job. That’s part
of the privilege of politics; most everyday people can’t do both. Doing both was an
accomplishment in and of itself.

But we did it. I got to City Hall and I knew what the goal was: systemic change. Changing the
system had to start with changing conversations. I knew I was saying things no politician ever
had. I knew I was examining legislation in a way no one ever did in that space. I watched and
listened enough to know there was only care given to the financial implications of policy; not the
environmental, health, educational, racial and social implications. I knew we were on to
something because my email and social media inboxes were full of comments about my
appearance (e.g. gap in my teeth, my weight), my sexuality (dike, butch, lesbo) or my
background (i.e. go back to ghetto where you belong, etc). I have thick skin but I’m still a human
being.

However, people who paid attention know how much respect I paid to my colleagues and
people who didn’t share my views. They would see that I never attacked people. Regardless of
what was said about me, I also kept it about the issues. It was never personal. I also had a way
of working with anyone regardless of their ideology. My goal was always bridge building.

Whether it was politics or basketball, I had a reputation for being mentally tough. My teammates
would always call me Ice because I was never easily rattled. But what they never understood
was that mental toughness was a gift and a curse. Throughout my entire life, all I knew was
hard work. At times, I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No matter how hard I worked, I could never
get anywhere. I needed a break. For the first time in my life, I took an actual vacation. The
scrutiny, the fatigue I felt and the mental depletion was starting to take its toll. C.O.A.S.T., a
racist organization actually said that “I should be hunted.” I needed desperately to be recharged.

As a kid, we never could afford family vacations. The closest thing we did was to go from our
neighborhood of College Hill to the Holiday Inn Holidome in Sharonville for a Saturday and
Sunday twice. I know the government will try to make a needed vacation a huge point of
contention but there were points in my time at City Hall where I needed a police detail outside of
my home simply because I was Black and outspoken about fairness.

My grandmother raised me to be a leader, but more importantly, she raised me to be kind. She
would always tell me that it was nice to be important but it’s important to be nice. People have
stopped me in the strangest places and times of inconvenience to ask me for help on an issue. I
never shied away or told them to come back at a more appropriate time. It was vital that the
people whom I served always saw me as their approachable representative who knew it was
the honor of my life to serve them. I never forgot who worked for who. That meant long days
and weekends at City Hall. I found myself coming in on Sundays to write and research policy
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because I wasn’t willing to sacrifice meeting time with my constituents during the week. I
maintained almost the same schedule as I had on the campaign trail. It was important that the
people I served saw me as a relational leader and not a transactional one. I was there for them
and they needed to see it.

Financially, I was getting in an even bigger hole. I had to take out loans to help me with housing
expenses during the campaign. I was having to pay $900/month garnished for student loans. I
couldn’t sustain. I was working to find another job temporarily to accompany my job as a Council
Member. No one would hire me because they said the demands of City Hall would leave no
time for me to assist their organization. I applied for ten jobs only to get the same reply. I applied
for several bank loans and loans from accredited lenders. However, my credit was in terrible
shape and my debt-to-income ratio was way out of sorts.

I accept full responsibility for my actions. But the story of a politician looking to turn her seat into
a cash cow isn’t mine. It’s not even remotely close. I was trying to gain stability so that I could
focus more on my job. I made a terrible mistake that I will pay for for the rest of my life. For the
courage, character and promise I’ve always shown, I wouldn’t have risked my reputation, my
good name and freedom for $15,000. I asked for an amount that I could pay back without
adding more stress to my life. I understand how and why that was wrong. I asked for and
accepted something of value that my council seat gave me access to.

Even though the platform has changed, I’m no less committed to issues of racial and social
justice. My energy for this work hasn’t been destroyed, it’s just changing forms. I started a new
career as a freelance journalist with an organization called ​The Activated People​. It’s an online
newspaper committed to justice and equity. My next move is to start a consultancy to help
grassroots and community organizations understand government processes better to create the
change so desperately needed. The government intentionally operates in a way that is
convoluted, impenetrable and complicated for people to navigate. I’ve worked on local, state
and federal legislation and I would like to leverage my experience to shed light on the process
for the people who need it most. Because the authors of policy have been overwhelmingly
privileged white men, it is rooted in systemic racism, classism and sexism. It will always be that
way until the people closest to the problem get closest to the solution.

I’m asking for you to see beyond my horrible mistake and know that I’ve lost more than prison
will ever take from me. In a city, where I was born, raised and walked the streets proudly, I’m
relieved that wearing a mask hides me from a public who once admired me. I grew up being
teased and called Honest Abe during my teenage years because I would never take anything
that didn’t belong to me. Even if I found money on the street, I would try to find its rightful owner.
If I couldn’t, I would give it away.

I appreciate your time and consideration of my letter. This is, by far, the hardest thing I’ve ever
written. The letter is the beginning of my space of restorative justice and I would love to be able
to continue.
 Case: 1:20-cr-00042-SJD Doc #: 35-1 Filed: 10/15/20 Page: 5 of 5 PAGEID #: 159

Sincerely Yours,

tamaya