Part I: City, Disrupted
Fall River was a city on the brink. Jasiel Correia may have pushed it over the edge.

On this, a grey evening just past sundown, the streets are empty. Neon signs glint through wet windows: FRESH BAKED GOODS — GROCERIES — BEER & WINE — CIGARETTES — EBT ACCEPTED — FALAMOS PORTUGUES. New LED streetlights, likely paid for with grant money, shine sterile light on cracked wet sidewalks. A lone house cat slinks under the bumper of an early-model Toyota.
Anyone over the age of 70 speaks of “the Fall River I grew up in” as if it’s a specter. They lament over the city’s glory days, when over 100,000 people called this place home. One can imagine it was a busy place. There was train service to Newport, Providence, and Boston. The “Old Fall River Line”, a fleet of magnificent white steamboats, shuttled vacationers and businessmen to New York City. Great stone facades lined the streets downtown. At the core of it all was a shining granite city hall, built in 1845 and rebuilt after a massive fire scorched a chunk of the city in the 1870s. Mills employed tens of thousands of men and women, many of them immigrants from Portugual.
That Fall River, the one of textiles and Lizzie Borden, died at the hands of the changes of the last half of the 20th century. There was no one death blow, but many. Long before the massive wave of globalization swept across the nation, it hit Fall River. By 1947, the number of large textile companies in the city was down to 17 from a high of 47 in the 1910s.
Next came the construction of a six lane highway through the heart of downtown, effectively splitting it in two, a divide that remains both physically and fiscally. Train service ended in the late 1950s, and the 1990s saw the closing of Fall River’s municipal airport in order to expand the city landfill, which itself has since closed. The city motto was until quite recently a simple, two-word whimper: “we’ll try.”
No one tried very hard. A city once visited by President Clinton and Aerosmith is now perceived as violent; just last month, Fall River was ranked the most dangerous city in the Commonwealth. Before they shattered the nation, opioids tore through the city. In just the first half of last year, some 400 people overdosed. Without the textile industry to prop it up, Fall River’s median income fell to roughly $37,000, just over half the statewide average.
Now, after dark on a cool autumn day, the city is silent, lonely, barren. Three-story flats in the South End, once the pride of many an Azorean family, sit boarded up. Those stricken by addiction and poverty wander Plymouth Avenue, gently nodding under the influence of heroin. Store fonts with broken windows sit empty along Pleasant Street. The monolith that replaced Old City Hall, an outsized six story Brutalist hunk of concrete, stands stone-cold, shrouded in synthetic light.

Government Center looms large over this city; this has been especially true since the early 2010s. The city has now had eight mayors, including two acting mayors and two recalled mayors, in twelve years.
After State Representative Edward “Ed” Lambert took the reins following John Mitchell’s decision not to seek re-election in 1995, there was a period of relative stability “on the sixth floor” — the phrase serves as a metonym for the administration, as the mayor’s office is on the sixth floor of Government Center. Lambert served as mayor for six two-year terms before stepping down to take a state job.
The man he beat in 1995, William “Bill” Whitty, took over as acting mayor in 2007 until the winner of that year’s election was sworn in the following January. To the surprise of the Fall River City Council, Whitty did something that even Lambert, who was well-liked and duly-elected, had done once in twelve years: he vetoed an ordinance. The ordinance, which concerned zoning rules, was passed after the council overrode the veto.
In 2007, 30-year veteran State Representative Robert “Bob” Correia (of no relation to Jasiel Correia) was elected to succeed Lambert. His first order of business was to call for the resignation of every department head within Government Center; he hired back all but one of them. After 9C budget cuts were made by Governor Deval Patrick, the city laid off firefighters, for which Correia took the blame.
While other controversies throughout his career soured voters’ opinion of him as well, the clash with the fire department was a political death sentence; he came in third in the 2009 mayoral primary, behind local attorney William Flanagan and former City Councilor Cathy Ann Viveiros (Note: Viveiros shares a last name with the author; the two are not related).
Flanagan cruised to electoral victory not once, but three times. In 2009, he pulled off an easy win against Viveiros, beating her by almost 4,000 votes in a city that rarely sees more than 40 percent turnout. In a 2011 rematch, Flanagan came out on top again, beating Viveiros 55 percent to 45 percent. He beat Joseph Carvahlo in what would be his last general election in 2013, garnering just over 68 percent of the vote and carrying every precinct.
Flanagan’s hiring of Viveiros as city administrator after his victory in 2013 would change the trajectory of Fall River politics for the greater part of the decade. At the time, Viveiros was serving on the city council. Her departure from that role opened up a vacancy on the nine-seat council, which, per the Fall River City Charter, was to be filled by the tenth place finisher in the previous election.
That’s how a 21-year-old college student named Jasiel F. Correia II’s career in politics began.
Jasiel Correia was a local kid, a true Fall River success story. His parents are of Cape Verdean and Azorean descent, and immigrated to the United States. In a city where almost half the population is of Portuguese descent, they fit right in.
“My parents, my grandparents, my extended family, all raised me to be the man that I am today. But this community also raised me. I’m a product of Fall River,” he would later tell The Herald News, Fall River’s sole daily newspaper.
Correia grew up on William Street in the city’s south end. His mother worked as a retail manager, his father a mortgage broker. He was an activist from a very young age; at thirteen, Correia attended the first meeting of the Building Our Lives Drug Free (BOLD) Coalition, speaking about the scourge of substance abuse. Correia would later serve as BOLD’s vice-chair, managing grant money at the age of fifteen.
“He just blew everybody away. We hadn’t seen someone that age before speak so eloquently … on that topic,” Mike Aguiar, director of Stanley Street Treatment and Resources (SSTAR), an addiction treatment organization in the city, remarked years later.
“You kind of knew just from talking to him at that age that he was going places.”

He went to Bishop Connolly High School, where he served as the student body president and played on the tennis team before graduating fifth in his class in 2009. While at Connolly, Correia and others drafted a Youth Bill of Rights, which the city adopted in August of 2009, becoming the first community in the Commonwealth to do so. He was named Fall River’s Youth of the Year soon after.
While Correia left the city to attend college, he didn’t venture very far from home. From 2009 to 2013, he attended Providence College in nearby Providence, Rhode Island. While a student, he served as a resident assistant and president of his class. He also interned for Senator John Kerry in Washington, D.C.. He graduated in 2013 with a bachelor’s degree in political science and marketing.
During his later years at Providence College, Correia and a friend started what would become SnoOwl, a search aggregator designed to connect local businesses to clients. He attracted investors and business partners with a strong resume: his leadership skills, as well as his claim that he sold another app, FindIt, for a substantial sum of money while a student, according to his indictment.
Wasting no time, Correia returned to Fall River in 2013 to run for city Council. He finished tenth in that race, but not by much; he was bested by incumbent Dan Rego by 259 votes. Before the council could convene, Flanagan tapped Viveiros for a position as city administrator, leaving the seat wide open for Correia’s taking.
Once on the City Council, Correia rose to prominence quickly. City Council President Joseph Camara appointed the freshman councilor, then just twenty one years old, as the chairman of the Committee on Ordinances, described at the time as one of the most sought-after positions — and most powerful — on the Fall River City Council.
Meanwhile, Flanagan was facing increasing scrutiny. In 2011, his appointment of friend and political supporter Lieutenant Michael Coogan as interim fire chief caused controversy. According to The Herald, Flanagan had “passed over two deputy fire chiefs, nine district fire chiefs and 14 captains” for the position. At the time, there were attempts to initiate a recall, but they were unsuccessful.
Flanagan would hold on for a third term until another controversy, dubbed “Windowgate” by the local media, came to light. In May 2013, Mason “Mo” Rapoza of Global Glass installed 22 new windows on the sixth floor of Government Center. Rapoza owed the city over half a million dollars in back taxes at the time.
In her capacity as city administrator, Viveiros investigated the installation, finding no paper trail indicating a proper bidding process in compliance with state law. There was also no evidence that Rapoza was ever paid for the work.
The punches kept coming. In early 2014, Flanagan, like his predecessor, was engaged in a controversy with the Fall River Fire Department (FRFD) over potential staffing cuts. In February of that year, he said that up to 60 firefighters would need to be let go, saying that the budget “[would not allow] 200 firefighters.” At the time, 213 firefighters worked in the FRFD. The city council publicly admonished him.
But the issue that would eventually lead to Flanagan’s downfall was trash — literal trash. After the closure of the city landfill, known locally as “Mount Trashmore,” in mid October 2014, the city had to find a way to pay for its trash disposal. In mid-2014, Flanagan rolled out a program dubbed “pay-as-you-throw.” It was a straightforward concept: require city residents who wish to have city sanitation workers remove their trash to use special bags sold by the city through local retailers.
The backlash was immense. Originally, Flanagan had assured constituents pay-as-you-throw was off the table; he changed his mind in February 2014. The same group that tried to recall him in 2011 showed up outside Government Center, waving banners and holding signs. “OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE,” one read. “NO MORE FLANAGAN’S SHENANIGANS,” read another. Residents were outraged.
“It’s another money grab in a city that can hardly afford it,” Joseph Carvalho told The Herald.
Then came the meeting. After Correia signed a petition to remove Flanagan from office on August 12, 2014, Flanagan, according to Correia, summoned him to a meeting in his vehicle on the Fall River waterfront on August 14. It was past 11 p.m., Correia said. He agreed to meet the mayor at a local bar, Boondocks, on Water Street.
When Correia arrived, Flanagan flashed the lights of his SUV. Correia entered the vehicle, turning behind him to see local business owner Tommy Gosselin of Highland Fence. Also present was City Councilor Paul DaSilva. The three drove around the city as Flanagan admonished Correia for signing the recall petition.
Correia alleged that Flanagan pressed him to accuse one of the so-called “recallers” of intimidating him into signing the petition. When Correia refused, he claims, Flanagan brandished a firearm.
In a city where everyone knows — or is related to — each other, things become personal. Vicious social media campaigns became commonplace; Councilor Dan Rego got into a Facebook altercation with Flanagan. Voters wrote in to The Herald. Flanagan was called every name in the book, including “Flanagun.” There was an investigation by the office of District Attorney Sam Sutter.
Over the next few months, things moved quickly. Twelve so-called “recallers” signed a petition to recall the mayor. Recalls are a part of the job for politicians, but weren’t taken seriously by many because most don’t succeed.

District Attorney Sam Sutter beat those long odds. Sutter’s defeat of Flanagan in a special recall election in December 2014 was seen by many as a chance to right the ship. Sutter promised to revive the reputation of the city and bring stability to local government.
That is, until Jasiel Correia announced a mayoral bid midyear, throwing a wrench in Sutter’s plans. The odds in any other city would have been insurmountable for him. He was young and only two years out of college. He also had very little experience compared to Sutter; while Sutter had been a practicing attorney years before Correia was even conceived, Correia had less than two years on the City Council under his belt, a position he was not elected to by popular vote.
He didn’t let that stop him. Correia campaigned hard across the city, leveraging his business acumen and activism to argue that he was the best candidate to move the city forward. He had a confidence, a bravado, a way with words that drew in support. He knew it, too.
“If I’m mayor, I’m going to be mayor for 10 years,” Correia remarked.
In the general election that November, Correia ousted Sutter in an upset and won a term as mayor at 23 years old, making him one of the youngest mayors in the United States.
Soon, cracks began to appear. He started appointing friends and political donors to positions in city government. There were allegations of political retaliation. At an April 2017 meeting of the Fall River Office of Economic Development (FROED), a powerful non-governmental organization, FROED Vice President Frank Marchione alleged that the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) was looking into Correia’s company, SnoOwl. Correia denied the allegation until that September.
“I know that at the end of the day I’m not going to get into any trouble because I didn’t do anything wrong,” Correia told The Herald.
No one really paid too much attention. If they did, it didn’t show in the next election. Correia cruised past former City Council President Linda Pereira to re-elction, beating her 61 to 38 percent.
The writing on the walls began to appear in 2018, when Correia set up a legal defense fund, a type of segregated fund which, unlike campaign accounts, can receive unlimited funds so long as they are reported.
Then, on October 11, 2018, Jasiel Correia was taken into custody by federal agents on charges of wire fraud and tax evasion. Five days later, resident Dawn Saurette dropped off a list of ten signatures at Government Center, starting the recall process.
In any other city, one with better sidewalks, higher property values and political stability, that would’ve been the end of it. Correia likely would’ve resigned in disgrace. That’s how it was supposed to go.

But here, in this luckless city, very little ever goes according to plan. Correia’s arrests were just the beginning of what would turn out to be a long, drawn-out, made-for-television political drama that turned neighbors, friends, family and political allies against each other. As night falls on Fall River, the drama is still playing out.
In early 2019, Correia was recalled and re-elected in the same election on the same night, again beating insurmountable odds.
Correia would be arrested again almost a year after his first for allegedly extorting potential marijuana vendors and taking kickbacks from Chief of Staff Genoveva “Gen” Andrade. The city council voted 8–1 to remove the mayor; Correia refused to step down, successfully challenging the move in court.
Correia came in a distant second in the primary election behind former B.M.C. Durfee High School Principal Paul Coogan. Shortly after his defeat, he held a closed-door meeting with supporters at Lepage’s Seafood, a local restaurant.
“One on one, we don’t win,” Correia said in a leaked recording obtained by The Herald. “And everything that we’ve done, all the things we’ve done at city hall, will all be for nothing. So I need your help still to win, but in an untraditional way.” He went on to imply that “there [would] be possibly one, possibly two, maybe three, who knows, write-in candidates that [would] emerge,” and that “those people should be considered.”
In mid-October, Correia decided to take a leave of absence. City Council President Cliff Ponte, who had publicly squared off with Correia for the better part of two years, took over as acting mayor. Not a day later, City Administrator Cathy Ann Viveiros announced that she was launching a write-in campaign. Jasiel signs came down; in many cases, Viveiros signs replaced them.
Tonight, under a light rain, yard signs roll in the breeze. LINDA PEREIRA FOR CITY COUNCIL — MIMI LARRIVEE FOR SCHOOL COMMITTEE — JASIEL CORREIA FOR MAYOR. One sign has been vandalized so that “Jasiel Correia” spelled “Jail Correia.”
What happened in Fall River that brought the city to this, a public spectacle of shameless political infighting that brought national scorn? To understand the politics of a city, one must understand its people. In Fall River, understanding the “city of 10,000 within a city of 90,000,” as one source put it, is key to getting a full picture of what happened here. Especially what happened to Jasiel Correia.
This is the first part of a multi-part story on the political life of Fall River, Massachusetts and Jasiel Correia, its embattled mayor.
Nick Viveiros is a writer based in Boston and Fall River.

