Cowboy Confessional

Watching a loved one sink into the abyss of madness rends the strongest of hearts.  They descend a twin spiral of dementia and self-destructive behavior, each reinforcing the other.  Their judgments become perpetually suspect, and we wait, wondering if and when we should intervene for their own safety.

Such is the reaction across the country as we watch our brothers and sisters in Massachusetts elect themselves into the self-destructive madness known as Deval Patrick. 

Frankly, America had long debated Massachusetts’ collective sanity as the Bay State perpetually reelected public drunks to the Senate, and voluntarily donned legislative straightjackets that ranged from the merely expensive forms of juvenile socialism to inordinately dangerous and equally unworkable gun control schemes.  Yet not until this election was intervention considered necessary.

Those of us who hold dear the quaint notion that freedom is paramount are transfixed by the coming demise of Massachusetts.  Boston graveyards are littered with the bones of  people who ordained the principles that government was at best a substandard servant to The People, and if unleashed would always be a dangerous foe.  Our forefathers learned from preceding generations that anointing ruthless men to seats of power was a collective psychosis and the early signs of a civilization in peril.

Electing Deval Patrick is such a sign.

We libertarian types can recite two Patrick sins rivaled only by the likes of Judas, or his incarnate half brother Chuck Schumer.  Patrick has with forethought and malice to the general public sought to deny free speech, and to promote the government as a lethal master bound by no law.  Precious few are the steps that follow subjugation of the freedom to speak one’s mind coupled with jurisdictional slayings, and before a people are enslaved.  Patrick’s appointment to the highest of state offices has drawn the good people of Massachusetts closer to whipping post.

Patrick is perhaps most infamous for using the unmatchable power of government to suppress peaceful dissent.  Acting on behalf of the Department of Housing and Urban Development, Patrick equated the exercise of public protest via political leaflets to wielding a baseball bat, remarking that bats “are perfectly legal too. But if you wield one to keep people out of the neighborhood, we are going to use the bat as evidence of your intent to violate the civil rights laws.”  Lost somewhere in what substitutes for Patrick’s soul was the concept that peaceful political speech is not only a civil right and a natural right, but the very foundation of our republic.  Without the ability to address grievance against the government, there is no recourse save violent overthrow of the same, a task we all hope to avoid repeating.

More obscure in Patrick’s malevolent resume is the episode of Ruby Ridge, where one of our own federales shot and killed an unarmed woman holding her infant daughter.  Despite obvious inequities in the marshal’s testimony, Deval Patrick declined to charge the badged assassin, despite common sense or 542 pages of post-apocalypse analysis by the Justice Department that recommended criminal prosecutions.  Ironic and erratic behaviors indeed from someone then holding the title of “assistant attorney general for civil rights.”

A head of government who strives to prevent the exercise of civil rights and who equally defends field executions of its citizens presents a danger that has not darkened Bunker Hill for 230 years.  In election night gloating, Patrick said “This was a victory for hope.”

Let us pray that this “hope” is based in the temporal nature of holding office.

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