WAITING FOR DRUG LAWS TO CHANGE, AND MARKING OFF THE YEARS

If nothing else, Elaine Bartlett has gotten some nice snapshots of herself
with big-shot New York politicians in recent months. Pataki. Silver.
McCall. Golisano. Not shabby company for a woman just two years out of prison.

She is not a stalker. But she is beginning to feel like a prop.

Ms. Bartlett was granted clemency by Gov. George E. Pataki in late 1999.
Ever since, she has worked to change the Rockefeller-era drug laws, the
nation's toughest, which kept her locked up for 16 years on her first offense.

Politicians at almost every point on the political spectrum agree that the
laws are too stiff and give judges too little discretion. But in the
alchemy of Albany, agreement has turned out to be as good a recipe for
inaction as disagreement is.

This being an election year, talk of changing the laws grew louder. Drug
laws disproportionately affect blacks and Hispanics, and with every voting
bloc in play, politicians courted Ms. Bartlett, 45, and others in Mothers
of the New York Disappeared, a group including relatives of inmates serving
long drug sentences.

In a way, it's been a hoot. One day in June, she and other group members
met with the Assembly speaker, Sheldon Silver, in his office and then went
downstairs in the Capitol to the governor's ornate office and met with him
around a big conference table. "I kept just saying, 'So, this is Pataki,' "
she said. The governor even issued a statement saying, "I appreciate the
opportunity to meet with representatives of Mothers of the Disappeared
today in my office."

Andrew M. Cuomo angled for their support. H. Carl McCall showed up at a
news conference the group held just before the September primary.

But after snapshot upon snapshot, things are more or less the same.

It all seemed within reach that day in June. The Republican governor had
made overhauling the laws his top law enforcement priority, and his aides
pushed until recently for a deal. The Democratic-led Assembly swore it
wanted it done. Sure, there were disagreements. How much to ease sentences?
How would those already in prison be affected? Who would decide whether a
defendant gets treatment or a prison term, judges or prosecutors?

It wouldn't exactly have taken Solomon to split the difference - not that
his likeness has been spotted in Albany recently.

All players are taking principled positions. Just ask them.

"I don't have politics," Mr. Silver said on Friday, "I want to do what's
right."

Sounds a lot like what Governor Pataki told the mothers' group in June: "I
hope there are not those in Albany who are looking for political issues as
opposed to impacting people's lives."

THERE'S little mystery what happened as spring turned to summer and summer
turned into the campaign season. "Nobody wanted to give anybody credit,"
said Doreen LaMarca, whose brother is serving 25 years to life for a
first-time drug offense. "It's the election."

Blame makes a better sound bite than credit. Now, Mr. Pataki blames the
Democrats for not accepting his reform proposals. Mr. McCall and other
Democrats blame the governor for not offering enough reform.

That's why some members of Mothers of the Disappeared appeared last week
with Tom Golisano, the independent candidate for governor. (Another
snapshot for Ms. Bartlett.) Mr. Golisano, who has more money than name
recognition, is broadcasting ads with a member of the group endorsing his
plan to rewrite the Rockefeller laws.

"It could backfire or it could help," said Ms. Bartlett. "But you've got to
take that chance with politics." Not that she is a big political player. In
fact, she is on parole and cannot vote. But, more than the politicians, she
has something at stake.

Her husband, Nathan Brooks, is in his 19th year in prison. The two were
convicted of selling four ounces of cocaine near Albany in 1983. Ms.
Bartlett acknowledges she made a mistake by delivering a package containing
drugs. The judge performed a marriage ceremony for Ms. Bartlett and Mr.
Brooks, then sent them away for long sentences.

The case was hardly a high point of the war on drugs.

George Deets, the key police informer who set up the sale, acknowledged his
own past heroin use and a previous drug conviction during the trial.

After doing his part in the case, Mr. Deets remained free. But years later,
he was convicted of drug possession. In January 1993, facing prison, he
died of a drug overdose.