Patel’s Not the First: Oklahoma’s Jailbird Abortionists and the Pro Choice Perp Walk

 

Dr Nareshkumar Patel, Oklahoma City abortionist, was arrested yesterday for committing fraud against his patients.

Oklahoma’s Attorney General’s office conducted a sting on Dr Patel in which female law enforcement officers were examined by Dr Patel with an ultrasound, as well as a pregnancy test. Despite the fact that none of these women were pregnant, Dr Patel allegedly told the women they were in the early stages of pregnancy and prescribed abortion pills for them. According to news sources, he charged them $620 for these “services.”

Dr Patel bonded out of jail after he was arrested yesterday. He has had several run-ins with the law already. He was the center of a notorious scandal in 1992 in which he placed the bodies of babies he had aborted in a trash bag and set them on fire in a field. He was charged with raping his patients 1993.

The abortion-inducing drug that Dr Patel is alleged to have prescribed for women who were not pregnant is RU-486. RU-486 was a chemotherapy drug used to treat cancer before it began to be used to cause abortions. The most common side effects include, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, cramping, uterine hemorrhage, fever, chills with shaking, endometritis, fainting and pelvic pain. A number of women, both in the United States and overseas, have died as a result of taking RU-486.

Dr Patel is not alone among his fellow Oklahoma abortionists in being charged with serious crimes.

JoeBillsReynolds

Dr Joe Bills Reynolds, who opened the first abortion clinic in Oklahoma and who performed abortions for decades, was charged with the surgery-related murder of his wife. He was subsequently convicted of manslaughter.

Johnbaxterhamilton mug

Dr John Hamilton, who operated an abortion clinic in northwest Oklahoma City, was convicted of the brutal murder of his wife, Susan Hamilton. Mrs Hamilton, who worked in the abortion clinic with her husband, was bludgeoned to death on Valentine’s Day, 2001. He is currently serving a life sentence for this crime.

Oklahoma is a small state. Our population is just a bit over 3 million. We don’t have a pa-zillion abortion doctors floating around. In fact, so far as I know, every doctor who has run an abortion clinic in Oklahoma City (the largest metropolitan area in the state) has ended up behind bars for the abuse or death of a woman. Dr Patel managed to get out of the earlier charges against him. But his two cohorts were both convicted.

Is Oklahoma unusual in having so many jailbird abortionists? I don’t think so. Aside from Dr Kermit Gosnell, who stands out as the Mengele of abortionists, other jailbird abortionists come to mind. Consider Georgia-based abortionist Tyrone Malloy, who was convicted of Medicaid fraud, or Dr Robert Alexander, whose Muskegon, Michigan abortion clinic was shut down by the Fire Marshall for “filthy conditions.” You might also give a thought to another Georgia abortionist, Charles Rossman, who is serving a ten year sentence for abandoning a patient during a late-term abortion; Arizona abortionist John Biskind, who was convicted of manslaughter when he left LouAnne Herron to bleed to death after puncturing her uterus during an abortion, Florida abortionist Pravin Thakker, who was convicted of performing abortions on his former lovers without their consent.

I could go on, but I think this makes the point. In truth, there are a plethora of scuzzy abortionists out there, plying their grisly trade and literally getting away with all manner of crimes against women in the process. They are protected and abetted in this by the so-called “pro choice” movement that treats any safety standards regarding abortion clinics as an attack on “choice” and thus on “women’s health.”

Oklahoma is just one among the many states with jailbird abortionists. It’s all part of the pro choice perp walk.

Breaking: Oklahoma City Abortionist Dr Nareshkumar Patel Arrested

Dr Nareshkumar Patel was arrested this morning at his abortion clinic in Oklahoma City.

Dr Patel has had previous brushes with the law because he disposed of the bodies of babies he had aborted by putting them in a garbage bag and burning them in an open field. He also has been accused of raping his patients.

He was arrested this morning  as a result of an undercover operation by the office of Oklahoma’s Attorney General Scot Pruitt.

I have participated in a Forty Days for Life vigil outside Dr Patel’s clinic. It’s on a nice street in a quiet neighborhood. The surroundings are pleasant. You would never guess the grisly business that goes on behind clinic doors.

Canada: Hit and Run that Killed Soldier is Called Terrorist Attack

Canadian authorities are doing something that American authorities appear to be incapable of doing: They are telling the truth.

They have named a recent hit and run in which Martin Rouleou-Couture used his automobile to murder one soldier and injure another at a strip mall as terrorism. The attack ended with the police shooting and killing Mr Rouleau.

Mr. Rouleau, who was Muslim, had been monitored by Canadian anti-terrorism forces since June.

According to police, he sat in his car outside a building housing military offices for around two hours before running over the soldiers. Mr Rouleau’s Facebook page evidently made statements supporting ISIS, and bashing Jews and Christians.

What is different about this and the beheading here in Oklahoma, as well as the murders at Fort Hood by Major Nidal Malik Hasan is that the Canadian government has not aggressively labeled it “workplace violence” or a “random nut” or some other mis-applied designation to avoid telling the truth.

I don’t know if Canadian talk show hosts have gone on air mocking and degrading everyone who dares to depart from the party lie that this is workplace violence, as they did after the beheading here in Oklahoma. I do know that if this was America, the national media would ignore the story if possible, and then, if forced to report it, would label it the action of a “lone nut.”

They would then follow up with “round-table discussions” engaging in sophomoric attacks calling anyone who raises any other possibility than the party lie a racist, bigot, lying fool.

After the tawdry display over the beheading which happened here in Oklahoma, I no longer look to my government or most of the media for anything resembling truth about these things. They are engaged in propaganda. Nothing more.

Will the Canadian Prime Minister ignore the victims of this terrorism while sending high-placed government officials thousands of miles to read a greeting at the mosque where this terrorist worshipped?

Will both the government and the press diss the victims in this tragedy the way that the American president and much of the American media dissed both the victims and the people of Oklahoma when the beheading occurred here? I hope not.

Given that Canadian authorities are actually being honest with their people instead of attempting to propagandize and control them, maybe things will play out differently there. It would be way past good if it did.

America’s elected officials and media could both use a few lessons in honesty from somebody.

From The New York Times:

OTTAWA — A hit-and-run car crash that killed one soldier and injured another this week was a terrorist attack, Canadian politicians, police and military commanders all suggested Tuesday, saying it had resulted from another Canadian’s turn to radical Islam.

But little had emerged about why the man driving the car, Martin Rouleau-Couture, became radicalized last year or ran over the two soldiers at a strip mall in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, on Monday.

The attack, which ended with the police fatally shooting Mr. Rouleau, as he was known, came at a time when Prime Minister Stephen Harper, like most of his Western counterparts, has been vigorously denouncing the Islamic State movement and warning of possible domestic terrorist attacks. Mr. Harper’s government has indicated that it is about to introduce new antiterrorism legislation, a move that troubles some civil liberties lawyers.

But the death of Patrice Vincent, 53, a warrant officer, and the wounding of an unidentified soldier underscored the difficulty the police and intelligence agencies face when dealing with radicalized citizens.

Superintendent Martine Fontaine of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police said at a televised news conference that a special antiterrorism force had begun monitoring Mr. Rouleau in June and arrested him a month later when he was about to fly to Turkey. He was released for lack of evidence that he intended to join a terrorist group. Meetings between the Mounted Police and Mr. Rouleau, 25, continued until Oct. 9.

Freedom from Religion Foundation Hits Oklahoma City School

 

 

Kathy Schiffer brought this to my attention.

Then I discovered that the Blaze had also covered it.

It seems that the Freedom from Religion Foundation is not only opposed to praying in schools, it also opposes pictures of praying.

In one of their usual trivial harrassments of ordinary people going about their lives, the Freedom from Religion Foundation sent one of their lawyer letters to an Oklahoma City school, demanding they remove a poster of two toddlers with hands clasped in what appears to be prayer. According to the Blaze, no one filed a complaint with the school district. However the FFRF claims that a parent contacted them.

The FFRF is just doing its regular thing of harassing, intimidating and badgering people in the name of atheism. The local ACLU, headed by my former colleague, Ryan Kiesel, is joining the party. Former Representative Kiesel says he’s doing this to “protect” the students of “other faiths and no faith.” Since no particular faith is specified in the poster, I would assume that the students are being protected from the sight of toddlers with what appear to be praying hands.

The poster has hung in Riverwind School for about 18 years. The FFRF sent their lawyer letter a year ago. The school, which is in Putnam City School District, has no plans to remove the poster.

For my part, I’m bored with the boorishness of these Freedom from Relgion Foundation theatrics. It must be terrible to be them, roaming around the country, looking for something to be outraged about so that they can threaten and bully other people.

Their claims of how they are defending the Constitution stink with self-righteous hypocrisy. If they want to defend the Constitution, they should be working against the HHS Mandate and its intrusion into First Amendment rights. If they’re concerned about education, they might take a look at our two-tier public education system with good schools for the rich and lousy schools for the inner city. That seems like a possible Constitutional issue to me.

Frankly, I’m bored with the Freedom From Religion Foundation. They’re wasting their lives on hate. I don’t feel like letting them waste part of my life by being angry with them.

Annual Black Mass at Oklahoma City Civic Center. Last Year had Zero Attendance.

 

I’m only writing about this because my Archbishop has made a statement about it.

Every autumn here in Oklahoma, right along with the nuts that fall down from the trees, a guy who calls himself a “high priest of a satanic group” or one of his cohorts holds a black mass at the Oklahoma City Civic Center.

According to the aforesaid “high priest,” this black mass is “similar to a Catholic Mass, but done in such a way that you are offering a sacrifice to Satan to receive his blessing.”

He does this every year, and every year, the turnout is a wee bit less than stellar. Last year, nobody showed up at all.

This “high priest” says that “the goal of the event is to continue the satanic movement — to keep fighting for our rights for religious freedom.”

It looks to me like his “rights for religious freedom” are chugging along just fine. He’s managed to get the coin to rent a small auditorium at the Civic Center, which doesn’t come cheap, and he’s free to do his di-dos — albeit “toned down to meet the laws of Oklahoma and the rules of a government building” —to a fare-thee-well.

In their 2010 Civic Center extravaganza, the satanists’ “Lord High Master” (they’re pretty good at dreaming up spiffy titles for themselves) announced “We don’t kill animals, we don’t kill children,” which, I assume was a great comfort to one and all. However, it might be a little bit less comforting if people knew that Adam Daniels, the “high priest” is a registered sex offender who has been convicted of sexual battery. Mr Daniels has a history of involvement with these satanic events going back several years.

The “Lord High Master” explained that the black “mass” was “just a blasphemy ritual.”

That’s nice, of course, but it does point out one tiny little thing. To have blasphemy, you’ve got to have God. In fact, asking “Satan to receive his blessing” kinda implies that you have a belief in the whole Bible deal, since that is where and how we know about the devil.

Given what we know about him, why do you suppose a person would want Satan’s blessing? For that matter, why would they want Satan’s attention?

Worshipping Satan is, among other things, stupid. Atheism, I kinda get. You don’t think God exists. Fair enough. You’re wrong, but fair enough.

But … worshipping Satan? That’s, as we say in these parts, not too swift.

For reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, I don’t get as worked up about these things as most of my faith-filled friends. I guess it’s because I think that anyone stupid enough to worship Satan would probably also be stupid enough to inject themselves with the ebola virus. On a spiritual level, the two actions seem roughly equivalent.

I do think that Satan is coming out from behind his many masks more and more as our society deteriorates. For generations, his ploy has been to convince people that he doesn’t exist while he operated through his unaware, but willing, human disciples.

He’s still operating through his unaware but willing human disciples, and he’s using them for bold and bolder attacks on Christians and the Church. But now, he’s also beginning to show his own face. He’s still disguised by a bit of grease paint and a clown mask, but Satan is slowly coming out.

Be that as it may, his pathetic little worshippers and their pathetic little black mass are a waste of good angst. I go to the real mass on a regular basis, and I can tell you, the Presence I encounter there gives the blessing I crave and is the One I trust. I choose Christ. Always.

On a lighter note, how exactly do you clean a place after a black mass? It’s a kind of dirty that Clorox and Lysol won’t fix.

All I know is that I’m going to ignore this bozo and all his fellow bozos. I don’t plan to be anywhere near the Civic Center when this hoedown comes down. If I do anything at all, I’ll attend mass at my parish at the same time and partake of the Living Sacrifice that leads to eternal life.

Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.

There is no substitute.

The Civic Center listing, via Fox25:

A Religious Black Mass will be conducted as a public event to help educate the public about Religious Satanism. The ritual has been toned down to meet the laws of Oklahoma and the rules of the government building. Enjoy the delights of the Devil.

Cost: Tickets should be $10 to $15.

For more details, check out Dawn Eden‘s excellent commentary.

The Precious

I did do one thing during my week off.

It revolved around The Precious.

Copyright: Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright: Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

I’ve written before about my new-found love of playing the piano. A friend from my church gave me her old piano, a 1984 Wurlitzer, last August. That piano opened a whole new world for me. I started taking lessons, and found that I have a surprising facility for music. More important, I discovered that I love making music.

The minute I sit down at the piano, the world drops away and it’s just me and the sounds I can draw out of those keys. I didn’t even know where middle C was when I began. But I’ve moved on rather quickly since then. I’m not sure why, but it’s like I’m learning a language that in some odd way I already know.

I don’t practice. I just play it. Learning a new piece of music is fascinating to me, like working a puzzle.

As grateful as I was to have the Wurlitzer — and I was very grateful indeed — I was dissatisfied with it almost from the first day. I don’t know the technical language to describe it, but there was no there, there in the tone. I could change the way I touched the keys and change what it did, but nothing I could do could pull real music out of it.

I don’t know how to explain it except to say that it was limited in what it would do and the limitations wouldn’t allow me to make the sounds I could hear. I heard music in my mind that I knew I could not ever get out of this piano.

I spent hours, trolling on-line web-sites, mooning like a lovestruck teenager over the pianos I saw there. I even went so far as to contact one of them and see if he’d take my Wurlitzer in trade. Shipping costs made that a bad deal for him, which I understood.

In fact, shipping costs made buying from him a bad deal for me, as well. It costs almost $1000 to ship a piano from the East coast to Oklahoma. That’s a lot of coin to stack on top of the cost of the piano itself.

During a lunch break at work a few weeks ago, I decided to check out a local piano dealer called Larsen Music. I wanted to check the prices on a new piano to get an idea of how much a used one should cost. I did not have any plans to buy a piano when I went into that store.

But the very nice salesmen told me I could play any piano that I wanted. That’s a little bit like a car salesman offering a test drive. There is nothing like the smooth specialness of a new car with that intoxicating new car smell. If they can get you in that baby, you’re halfway to sold by the car itself.

It was the same with these pianos. I tried three of them that were in my general price range. They all cost more than I planned to spend. A lot more. But each and every one of them put my Wurlitzer in the dirt. They were all wonderful, but as soon as I touched the keys on The Precious, it was swoon time. If buttered honey was a sound, it would be the sound of this piano. If the colors of a sunset were music, they would sound this way.

It had the voice that speaks the language of the kind of music I want to play.

However, it cost a lot of money.

And I don’t have a lot of money.

Fortunately, there was wiggle room in the price. It turns out that buying a piano really is a lot like buying a car. The piano, like the car, sells itself. Then, the process of working out the deal on the piano involves — like buying a car — a bit of bargaining.

I traded in the Wurlitzer and got quite a lot taken off the asking price in addition to that. The bottom line was that I could afford it. I went home with prices and photos for three pianos. But, the one I wanted was the Kawai. I called back the next day and asked for a couple of more discounts, then agreed to buy over the phone.

The reason? I found the piano I wanted at a price I could afford. I had also learned the answer to the question I had when I walked into the store: New pianos are a better deal than used ones, especially when you factor in the expense of shipping. I had been looking at thirty-year-old pianos that, with shipping, would have cost me about a thousand dollars less than I paid for this new one. That’s not a good deal.

My new piano has a 10-year warranty, a complimentary first tuning and Larsen’s offers a 100% trade-in if someday in the future I decide to buy a grand piano.

I paid for it when I bought it, but asked the store to keep it for me until session was over because I knew I wouldn’t have time to touch it, and that if it was sitting in my house and I couldn’t play it, I might stroke out. It rained here last week, which delayed delivery a day.

But last Wednesday, the delivery guys brought The Precious.

That may be part of why I didn’t get much done last week. All I know is that they weren’t out of the drive when I started playing it, and I didn’t stop until my hands got sore.

I love this piano. It is (in case you’re interested) a new Kawai K3. I recommend Larsen’s Music to any Okie who’s looking for a piano of their own. They are good people to do business with. I think the salesman enjoyed my pleasure in the piano almost as much as he enjoyed the sale. He told me, “I saw your face when you played the Kawai. I knew that was the one.”

I stopped my lessons for the past couple of months because there was no time. I’m starting again this Thursday and I’ve got so many things I want my teacher to go over with me, I don’t know if we can fit it into an hour.

I’ll never be a great musician. But I am already a fulfilled and happy one. I am going to ask around my church and see if I can find enough interested musicians of any level of competence to put together some sort of funky Southside Papist band. That would be great fun.

The moral of this story is simple: If there’s something you want to do, do it. Don’t let wiser heads tell you that you’re too old or that it’s impractical or wasteful silliness. Above all, don’t listen when they tell you to grow up. “Grow up,” used that way, is just a synonym for “stop living.”

That advice isn’t wise. It’s an exhortation to waste life. The greatest wisdom about life is to know it and live it as the gift that it is.

I Had 1001 Things I Was Going To Do. I Sorta Did One.

I had 1001 things planned for my first week after session closed down.

I was going to storm the gates of heaven and get flaming arrows of direction in reply.

I was going to clean my house from top to bottom.

I was going to move the garden statue of Our Lady that’s been languishing in my “music room” (Don’t laugh. There is a piano in there.) outside and buy an arbor thingy and plant flowers and create a prayer garden in my back yard.

I was going to get up every single morning and work out like Bette Midler in Ruthless People with the same, awe-inspiring results.

I had 1001 things I was going to do.

What I did instead was collapse into a heap. We went out after sine die and had a wonderful dinner, just me and my family. Then, after almost no sleep, I got up Saturday and putzed around, too tired to make sense of myself. I began a Novena to Our Lady. I did do that. Prayer is the one thing on my list that I sorta did.

My husband and I went to vigil mass and back out to eat again. Then, we came home and I watched tv like a zombie.

It’s always like that after session shuts down. I don’t know what I was thinking when I made all these plans. The closing days of session are intense. And I mean INTENSE.

After it’s over, I’m still jazzed for days, and at the same time, I’m all rubbery and shot through and through. It takes a while to get my mind right and my body rested. Add to that the fact that this was my last sine die, and you’ve got a recipe for crash down time.

My youngest son and one of his friends moved my office home for me on Monday. I spent last week opening boxes and rather listlessly trying to figure out where to put everything. I need more bookshelves. And I am going to give a couple of the paintings away. I have no idea where I’m going to hang the rest of them or where everything will go. I still have a couple of boxes that are partially unpacked and two drawers that are full of things I haven’t found a place for. I also have a couple of boxes of books and posters/awards that are still at the capitol that I need to go get.

As for cleaning the house, nope.

Still needs doing.

Storming heaven? I prayed, but there were no messages wrapped around the shafts of flaming arrows coming my way. The only answer I got was when I rather lazily prayed and asked if it would be alright to skip Sunday mass yesterday (That’s how low my laziness had sunk me.) I definitely got the feeling that I should get up and go to church. So I did.

I dreamed about my constituents several times during the week. They were anxiety dreams, worrying about who is going to take care of them. That’s the hardest part, leaving my people to someone else’s care.

My friends gave me a lovely party yesterday. It was a complete surprise. I had thought they were going to do something when the session closed down, then, when it didn’t happen, I was ok with it. The date of the shut-down had been uncertain right up until the end. So I assumed it was too uncertain to plan anything.

I was totally surprised — astonished — when my husband drug me into a restaurant yesterday. I mean, I don’t do restaurants on the Sabbath. In fact, I thought he’d gone daft. He insisted I go with him back to where the restrooms were, which I thought was plenty strange. As long as I’ve known him, he’s gone to the restroom by himself. Then, he walked past the restrooms and into the kitchen. I wouldn’t follow at first, and he had to insist.

By this time, I was convinced he had lost it. We went through the kitchen and into another room and I walked into a party.

They completely surprised me. I was thrilled. And touched.

So that’s my week off. I need to pray more. In fact, I’m going to start a 54 day Novena, consecrating the rest of my life. I did the St Louis de Montfort thing of consecrating my life to Jesus through Mary a while back. This is just a sort of renewal of that.

I realized yesterday that I already know what I should do. I also realized that God has given me everything I need to do it. I was wanting direction when I already have the road map. As for my constituents, I am going to pray for them and their future as part of the 54 day Novena. I have to let go of taking care of them, and that, as I said, is the hardest part.

So, this letter to my friends, telling you what I did on my little vacation is my first post after my week off. To be honest, I’d like to take another week. I’m just now getting my head above water a bit.

But writing this disjointed post is a good palate cleanser. Telling you all about it wipes a bit of the dust off my mind.

It’s time to get this deal on the road. I think I’ll begin by doing a bit of that working out I more or less skipped last week. You see, I don’t have to get into my car and drive to work. My office is just on the other side of the living room. And my recumbent bike/elliptical/Total Gym (yes, I’ve have all that; not that it’s done me any good) is in the spare bedroom down the hall.

Wish me luck, boys and girls. I’m re-inventing myself.

Wagons, ho!

Last Vote

Copyright: Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

It’s a done deal.

I’ve finished my last day of my last legislative session.

I had a lovely evening after we adjourned with the people I love. When I came home, it felt so good. I just looked around and thought how much I love being here.

Then, when I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I got up, got dressed, got in my car and drove around. I even drove back to the capitol building and did a loop around it.

In the course of that drive, I went over the personal things about this job. I said good-bye, one by one, to the few things I will miss. I said good riddance to the many other things I am glad to be rid of. I said a lot of thank-yous to Jesus.

After all that, I came back home, went back to bed and slept the sleep of peace.

Today, I’m going to take my mother out for the ice cream and the drive that she’s been missing (and complaining about missing) for the past few weeks. I’m also going to go get paint samples to paint a room in my house.

I plan to take a week away from blogging to rededicate my life and to seek God’s guidance for what’s ahead.  I also need rest and healing time. I plan to be back here and at it on June 2.

Several readers have expressed concern that I will stop blogging. That is not going to happen. I know that this blog and writing are a big part of my future. If the way things have worked in the past are a predictor of the future, I’ll come back from this prayer time ready to roll.

In the meantime, thank you for all the wonderful things you’ve said to me the past few days. It’s been a gift, walking this path with you.

Here are a few iPhone snap shots from my last day:

2014 05 23 17 49 36

Legislator’s eye view of the House floor in session.


2014 05 23 18 14 06

Looking across the chamber from my desk. 


2014 05 23 16 15 59

Saying good-bye to the staff. 


2014 05 23 17 47 13

My seat mate, office mate, best bud, Representative Anastasia Pittman.

2014 05 23 18 15 02

Last vote. I don’t remember what the bill was. I do remember that this was a vote on the emergency clause of the bill. 

2014 05 23 18 19 15

View from the podium just before we made the Sine Die motion. The top glassed in gallery is the press booth. 



Last Day

 

Unless we manage to tie ourselves in knots, this is the last day of session.

I will still be the representative for House District 89 until November 16 of this year. People will be able to call me “Representative” all the rest of my days. Unless I sign up as a lobbyist (don’t hold your breath) I have privileges of the floor of the Oklahoma House of Representative so long as I live.

We’re a small club, and parts of that clubbiness never go away.

But, barring breakdowns and special sessions, today is the last day that I will drive to the capitol, park my car and walk into the building to go to the House floor to vote on the people’s business. Today is the last day that I will walk on that floor as an active voting member of the House with the privilege and the weight of speaking for tens of thousands of people resting on my shoulders.

At some point today, I will push the button to make my last vote.

I may have already made my last speech. Probably so. But then again, I may find something today that I want to debate. I don’t plan these things, so I don’t know for sure.

There is an energy on the House floor when it is in session that is hard to describe. You walk through those doors and there’s a hum of people working, talking. It has an urgency, even when they’re joking around, that you don’t find anywhere else. Their nerved up emotions hit you almost like a charge of electricity.

I’m so accustomed to this that I don’t feel it anymore. I remember it from when I was new.

On busy days, the rotunda outside the House is so full of lobbyists that it’s difficult to get out of the House to the rest of the building. It’s like weaving through a crowd at Wal Mart on Black Friday. If you’re a House member, lobbyists will interrupt your progress repeatedly to say “Hello Representative,” or some such. People who want to talk to you about this bill or that will stop you as you walk out.

Sitting on the House floor is a bit like being a fish in the proverbial barrel. We’re at the bottom of a huge room, with galleries surrounding us on all four sides. The press is in their own gallery at the top of all the others where they can look down onto us and peer into our laps. They can see what we’re reading and what we’re doing.

That’s why I sit at the back of the room. With my seniority, I can sit where I want. I chose the last seat, the one right next to the door, because the press has to turn their cameras downward in a deliberate fashion to get me. I don’t like being on camera for hours at a time.

I’m extremely tired today. It’s been a long week. I am also unsettled and sad about a vote that I had to cast last night. I wanted to end my time in the House on an up note with the people I work with. Instead, this divisive vote has created acrimony and angst. I am, as so often happens, the odd one out. Now, after sleeping on it, I’m thinking that I should have gone in-your-face with them and helped kill this evil bill. That is the hell of this job in a few sentences.

I’m going to write about the issues surrounding that particular vote in much greater detail later because it goes to the core responsibilities of representative government. It is a case study in how government which is dominated and run by special interests — in this case corporatist interests — fails its citizens, even in the most obvious areas of public safety. It is also a case study in how weak legislators who won’t fight their own party for what’s right end up failing the people and endangering their constituents’ lives.

Now that I think about it, this is a good way to end my 18-year legislative career. It is a highly appropriate way.

I have rules about what I do in office. Two of the most important are: I don’t kill people, and if I can do something that will save lives, I will do it. The cost to me doesn’t count in this equation.

Those little rules of mine got me into what people here in Oklahoma call “a Wewoka switch” last night. They forced me to vote for a horrifically evil piece of legislation that came about because of the dominance of money interests in our state government, money interests who will kill kids to squeeze the last dime out of government for themselves.

In the process, I ended up at odds with people I care about on this last day of my time on that floor as a voting member. And now, I’m thinking I was wrong, that my vote will be used to empower the corporatism that is bankrupting our state and impoverishing its people and leaving our children’s lives forfeit.

How could anything be more appropriate than that? If there is a better way to describe the hell of this job, I don’t know of it.

It’s been my meat and bread for years. Why shouldn’t it be my last legislative supper as well?

I am feeling nostalgic as I write this. But I do not have one shred of desire to come back to that House floor next year and do it again. There is not one atom in my body, not one thought in my head, not one lingering bit of longing to be on the hot seat and make any more of these gut wrenching, wrong and wronger/who-do-we-hurt/rob-from-the-poor-to-give-to-the-rich decisions.

There’s a hum when you walk onto the House floor. The charge of emotions hits you like electricity. Nothing I’ve ever encountered anywhere else comes close to the experience of legislating.

I am feeling nostalgic. This is a big passage for me. A huge change in my life. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I end up crying at some point, simply from the weight of emotions and weakness that comes from being so tired.

I am not looking forward to walking out of those doors for the last time as a legislator. That will be a wrench.

But I am looking forward to the life beyond those doors. I need to pray this through, but the broad strokes of what I’m going to do are already in front of me.

I am so ready for this change.

Go Day. Come Day. Lord Bring Friday.

 

I gave my farewell speech. I’ve been feted and roasted.

But the legislative session is still droning on. We are working long hours, trying to drag this baby across the finish line.

I won’t be a free woman until we make the motion to “sine die.”

We were in legislative session until … I’m not sure, but I think it was around 10:30 pm last night.

When I got home, I couldn’t sleep.

My husband had followed the session for most of the day, texting me a hilarious running commentary. We’ve done that for years. He listens to us and our squabbles and texts me comments about what’s going on that keep me both entertained and sane.

We spent quite a while re-hashing the day’s events after I got home. Then, I stayed up alone, saying my prayers and unwinding. I was so tired that I kept falling asleep while I was praying.

Mama got me up several times during the night because she was afraid that she’d be late for her “job” at the adult day care center. She usually starts this around 4 am. I gave up about 4:30 and got up.

We had several hard votes yesterday. We passed legislation that will harm the people of Oklahoma for generations to come.

There will be more of the same today. And tomorrow. And the day after.

With any luck, we will adjourn this wagon train on Friday. That is not certain. Not by a long shot. I have seen legislative sessions go right down to the day we planned to adjourn, right down to the last piece of legislation, and then get hung up and have to go on for another couple of weeks.

Nothing in legislating is certain until it’s done, and sometimes not even then.

Yesterday was a hard day, and the next three days will be hard, as well. One upcoming vote in particular has me questioning what is the least wrong thing to do.

If things go reasonably close to predictions, it will be a matter of getting through today, then tomorrow and then Friday. We may be in session until quite late Friday, but there is hope that we’ll adjourn.

I got a ripping headache yesterday during the discussion on one bill. My left temple is still tender to the touch because of that headache, so I guess it was a migraine.

I disagree with the legislation in question. But the thing that triggered the headache — and it was one of those ka-pow! type headaches that hit like a hammer falling — was the bald-faced lying by one legislator. Back in the day, if a legislator deliberately lied to the body on the floor of the House, that legislator would never pass another bill.

In today’s world, this legislator has lied repeatedly about big issues on the floor of the House and no one cares. The legislator in question isn’t even embarrassed that everyone listening knows that they are lying. I’m talking about lies as obvious as someone standing in a tub of water and looking you right in the eye and saying, “So far as I know, my feet aren’t wet.”

These weren’t lies about catching a really big fish or how popular you were in high school. They weren’t braggadocio or a weak moment of trying to hide a private humiliation from public view.

They were lies based on other lies that were broken promises given to the entire House as well as the people of Oklahoma that have to do with legislation that will impact many people for generations to come. They were arrogant, on-the-mike, in-public, I-don’t-care-if-everybody-knows-I’m-lying-lies that were told to a trusting public as well as legislative colleagues.

This same legislator had already broken their word on this very piece of legislation with a so-what? attitude. The whole point to them seemed to be that anyone stupid enough to believe them was a fool and deserved what they got. In the course of the discussion, this same person gave other assurances as to what would happen in the future.

And the security and hopes of many thousands of people hang on this. On these lies. On the word of this legislator who evidently just says things so that people will believe them so that they can do something else.

I’m old-school about this sort of thing. I believe that a person’s word is their bond. In my book (to use a phrase from my Daddy) if a person’s word doesn’t mean anything, then the person isn’t worth listening to. I grew up in a world where cattlemen at the Oklahoma National Stockyards would close million-dollar deals on a handshake and that deal was done.

It’s difficult for me to accept that people entrusted with the governance of millions of their fellow Oklahomans would take their word so lightly. That is dishonorable. Reprehensible.

So, I got a headache. And I had to leave the floor for a while to keep from picking up a mike and saying things that I would regret. And the headache stayed with me all day and left me with an achy head that could fire off into another Ka-pow! at any time.

And now I have to go to confession, just like I always have to go to confession after one of these shut-down weeks.

Because of my temper.

Because of my bad language.

Because of my lack of charity.

Because of the unkind things I’ve said and because of my grudges over the unkind things that were said to me.

Because of the votes that I have no idea if I did the mostly right thing or the mostly wrong thing, but I’m pretty sure that no matter what I did, it was the mostly wrong thing because there wasn’t a mostly right thing I could have done.

Because I feel like I’ve been slimed from head to foot.

I got up this morning and had a talk with myself. I am the shortest of short timers in this outfit. My story as a legislator is all but told. All I need to do — all I should do at this point — is what I always do. I should vote my conscience. The only other thing — and this is different — is put my foot down and slide.

Adjournment is coming.

And serious work in a new arena awaits me on the other side of it.

Go day. Come day. Lord bring Friday.

 

 

 


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