While the charred remains of three multi-family homes on East 9th Avenue still smoldered and nearly 40 of their constituents—including 11 children—faced the grim reality of homelessness, Roselle’s top borough officials were toasting with lobbyists and enjoying the perks of power at the notorious New Jersey League of Municipalities convention in Atlantic City.
The shocking contrast between a community in mourning and its absent leadership has ignited a firestorm of anger and betrayal among residents, who are questioning the priorities of the very people elected to serve them.
A Community’s Agony, A Leader’s Instagram Feed
The five-alarm inferno that tore through Roselle on Monday night was a scene of pure devastation. According to Red Cross officials, the organization assisted 38 people from eight families who were routed from their homes.
Families, like that of Nicole Florence, fled with only the clothes on their backs, hearing the roar of the flames consume everything they owned.
“Me and my family, we’re still alive. That’s all that matters,” Florence said, her voice heavy with the trauma of loss.
But as these victims said tearful goodbyes to their homes on Tuesday, Councilwoman Rosie Mendoza McCamery offered a grotesque counter-narrative on her Instagram.
There she was, all smiles, posing with Mayor Donald Shaw, 4th Ward Councilwoman Cindy Thomas, and ousted Councilwoman-at-Large Denise Wilkerson.
The backdrop wasn’t a fire-ravaged street, but a glitzy party, one of many sponsored by corporate lobbyists offering free booze, food, and other perks.
“Today was a very emotionally draining day. It was tough for the fire victims,” said former Councilwoman Sylvia Turnage, who stayed behind to lead relief efforts.
Turnage described “teary-eyed and grief-filled” families and a particularly heartbreaking impact on the children.
The “Finest” Leadership Abandons Its Post
The officials’ decision to proceed with their Atlantic City junket has been met with blistering condemnation.
“Must be nice having a great time at the NJ League of Municipalities while 40 of your residents are burnt out and homeless!!” one resident fumed online. “Roselle leadership at its finest.”
The sentiment was echoed by many who watched the dedicated efforts of those who did answer the call. While the mayor and councilmembers were absent, a coalition of heroes emerged.
The Roselle Fire Department was hailed for its phenomenal work. The local OEM, police, and even mutual aid crews from other towns stood firm. Roselle Public Schools officials, including Principal Mrs. Andreea Harry and School Board President Dr. Courtney Washington, immediately set up at City Hall to comfort children, assess needs, and coordinate with the Red Cross.
Generous community members like Darryl Barnes and Brandis A. Puryear opened their wallets to buy coats and shoes for families who had escaped with nothing. Meanwhile, their elected leaders were cavorting in a city known for its toxic political culture.
A Convention Steeped in Scandal and Misconduct
The convention the officials chose over their crisis-stricken community is the same one that a 2019 investigative report exposed as a breeding ground for sexual assault, groping, and propositioning. The report detailed a “toxic culture” where alcohol-fueled after-parties served as hunting grounds for predators, and victims feared career-ending retaliation if they spoke out.
While a committee was formed to address the issues, critics say the only real change has been to drive the debauchery further underground. This is the environment Roselle’s leaders prioritized over providing comfort and decisive leadership to their traumatized residents.
A Stark Choice: Service or Selfishness
In Roselle, the real work of governance was carried out by volunteers, educators, first responders, and neighbors. They are the ones sorting donations of men’s and children’s clothing, desperately seeking housing, and trying to find missing family pets.
“This is a process, and it doesn’t end tomorrow,” said Turnage, outlining the long road ahead for the displaced families.
“The question burning in the minds of Roselle residents is a simple one: Where were their leaders when it mattered most?,” said publisher Lisa McCormick, a longtime critic whose newspapers revealed that Shaw was once convicted for selling heroin. “The answer, plastered across social media and set against the backdrop of Atlantic City’ Ocean Casino Resort, paints a damning picture of a political class utterly divorced from the people it swore to serve.”
The Instagram posts from the convention floor served as a real-time indictment, a digital monument to tone-deafness.
As volunteers in Roselle distributed socks and toothbrushes to shell-shocked families, the borough’s leadership was photographed clinking glasses in a carpeted ballroom, their grins a stark contrast to the soot-streaked faces of the firefighters they left behind.
The free-flowing liquor and catered hors d’oeuvres, bankrolled by the very lobbyists who seek influence over municipal contracts, highlighted a culture of entitlement that appears to be insulated from the plights of the people they represent.
This is not merely a case of poor timing, but a profound failure of moral leadership. The decision to remain at the convention—an event notorious for its “toxic culture” of sexual misconduct and alcohol-fueled excess—signals a clear priority: the pursuit of power and pleasure over the basic duties of public service.
While former council members and school principals coordinated housing for displaced children, Shaw and his cohort were networking in an environment where, according to a 2019 report, women fear reporting assault for fear of career retaliation. The message to residents is clear: your tragedy is an interruption to our party.
Back in Roselle, the absence of these elected leaders was felt not as a minor inconvenience but as a gut-wrenching betrayal.
“Where is our mayor?” asked one volunteer who requested anonymity for fear of political retribution. “This is when a community needs to see its leaders, rolling up their sleeves and sharing in the grief, not posting party pictures from a casino.”
The physical void where leadership should have been deepened the community’s sense of abandonment, transforming grief into raw, justified anger.
The fallout now poses a critical test of accountability. Can officials who so blatantly prioritized their own recreation over the welfare of their constituents ever truly regain the public’s trust?
Their Atlantic City excursion has cemented a narrative of a ruling class utterly divorced from the realities of those they govern. As the long, arduous work of rebuilding begins in Roselle, the scar left by this political abandonment will likely endure long after the last embers on East 9th Avenue have grown cold.