The Oklahoma State Capital

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." — C.S. Lewis

My experience of this past Monday night, took me back to a time nearly three-quarters of a decade past.

I was, for just a few minutes, back to that point in time when my position as a state representative too frequently necessitated politely standing by while politicians did their thing: promoting themselves for the purpose of pandering to whatever their audience happened to be at that moment. Sometimes, as it was on Monday, the target audience was the grassroots, prompting the politician to go full-on trad-values, Reagan-policy-embracing, blue-collar, God-and-country populist; or, at other times, the target was the institutions of power: the government-reliant and monied special interests, where the exact same politicians pandered to the powerful and/or the government-dependent — sometimes in a manner worthy of Marx. The latter venue, by the way, strikingly, often seemed a much more comfortable fit for many “Republican” politicians.

To the red-pilled, thoughtful observer who can see what’s really going on, there’s a risk: being pushed straight into the co-opting arms of cynicism.

I always sought to avoid that particular co-option: cynicism. It’s dangerous. But being forced to quietly sit or stand by while the politicians play the politician game — and especially when a grassroots audience, hopeful that for once, just this one time, this will be the one politician, who unlike the many others of the past, won't betray them, buys in hook, line, and sinker — that’s tough to watch.

So, though the magic of spending twelve years representing the people of perhaps the most conservative district in the state of Oklahoma — a state that arguably hosts the population most consistently adhering to and valuing the principles of the American republic, the greatest republic in the history of the world — will never be lost on me, one of the distinct benefits of not now being in that role is no longer having to regularly sit through the political theater, biting my tongue, watching good people being deceived whilst I am fighting to keep the cynicism demon at bay.

It’s not unlike going to the car lot and trying to warn prospective buyers about the dangers of that extended warranty. Tough business.

What made the whole thing so difficult was that, due to my experience and firsthand insight, I often knew the truth — the inside story. In the era of big, massive government, public policy has become so complex that any politician can shape-shift himself to appeal to any audience. He simply cherry picks his actions and highlights those that resonate with that day’s specific listener.

So when a slimy politician speaks to these groups and attempts to secure their support — name almost any ex or sitting legislator, for example — I can probably point to a hundred betrayals of our values for each year that legislator held office. But that same legislator will cover those hundred betrayals by pointing to a handful of times when they — along with just about every other legislator with an R by their name — were forced, by the nature of circumstance, rather willingly or not, to uphold our values.

Longtime readers of this publication know that, in my view, former Speaker of the Oklahoma House of Representatives Charles McCall wasn’t simply a prolific betrayer of those values — he and his lieutenants were both wittingly and unwittingly the chief architects of the collapse of a culture of reform, transparency, and conservative principle that I, along with other grassroots Republicans and first-generation majority-Republican legislators, spent decades building.

And I’ve created this publication to educate the public on the specifics of these betrayals, in the hope that we can inform and elect a new, third generation of Republican majority leaders who will lead a return to those values.

So, it was with a great deal of irony that I found myself, last Monday night, invited to speak to the Logan County GOP. It’s one of the most — if not the most — dynamic GOP organizations in the state, having recently hosted one of the state’s largest county conventions. Monday night’s meeting reportedly featured more than 100 attendees. So for the McCall for Governor campaign, this was clearly a must-speak-to organization. And as irony and circumstance would have it, McCall was scheduled to take the podium soon after I stepped away from it.

It’s entirely possible that some of that night’s strong attendance was fueled by a touch of morbid curiosity at the absurd spectacle of me serving as the warm-up act for McCall knowing that I have attributed to McCall and his lieutenants the crime of destroying the culture, mission, and purpose of small-government conservatism in the House of Representatives — values that had defined much of that institution’s work for the majority of the pre-McCall years.

And so, by twist of circumstance, after sharing my presentation with the group, and needing to remain in the building to answer question from attendees, I was thrown back in time to another era — a time and place when I was forced to helplessly stand by as a politician did what politicians do: pander to an audience by telling them what they wanted to hear, through the lens of a very narrowly tailored context — a context that, if put under any substantive scrutiny, would quickly collapse, leaving the scrutinizer horrified and appalled to realize the reality of the situation.

Only this time, thanks to the interest and generous support of the subscribers of this publication, I’m no longer forced to simply stand by and let the game go on unopposed. Instead, I now have a unique forum to help others find their red pill — beginning with at least one clear, easy-to-understand case-in-point: a red pill prescription tailored specifically to what appears to be the standard McCall for Governor stump speech.

As you might expect, it was a straightforward, Trump-loving, small-government conservative stump speech — with just a little bite of substance. McCall outlined what a McCall governorship would aim to accomplish, notwithstanding the reality that he was arguably in a better position to achieve those same goals in his past role as Speaker — which, in some respects and unfortunately, can be an even more powerful position than Governor.

For example, McCall noted the state’s dismal education scores — a refreshing observation, considering most Oklahoma politicians don’t dare mention them due to their complicity in the failure. For years, McCall and the politicians have thrown unimaginable amounts of new money at the system without acknowledging the uncomfortable possibility that the more money gets poured in, the further outcomes appear to drop — a reverse correlation between spending and performance. It's something that can likely be observed throughout almost all of Oklahoma history and it's a fascinating subject matter for future analysis by this publication.

McCall said he wants to implement a plan to improve these outcomes, but seems to expect the listener to overlook the fact that, as Speaker, he was in a far stronger position to win approval for such a plan than he ever will be as Governor. In fact, his perhaps his most notable foray into the public education arena as Speaker was leading a House of Representatives — seemingly afflicted with Ryan Walters Derangement Syndrome — that attempted to tie the Republican Walters to the continuation of a federal education funding plan first established by his Democratic predecessor and the Biden administration.

As Speaker — for an unprecedented eight long years — McCall failed, in epic fashion, in the policy arena of public education. And now, he’s using that same failure as the baseline for what was, practically speaking, in my view, the only substantive policy proposal in his stump speech: a common education plan.

In short, it’s a campaign devoid of any real ideas. McCall simply isn’t a policy person — and most certainly isn’t capable of the kind of innovation needed to fix a government that, from DHS to public education to mental health, is a dumpster fire. And that dumpster fire was most heavily gas-fed during his watch, as arguably the most powerful politician in Oklahoma politics.

But that wasn’t my main takeaway from my forced-listening experience on Monday night.

A substantial element of the presentation sought to convince the listener of McCall’s anti-woke credentials. One couldn’t fault the casual listener from walking away with the impression that McCall was a proven anti-woke warrior.

But as I took note of McCall’s specific references to anti-woke policies, I couldn’t help but recall that day in April of 2017 — just a few months into his speakership — when one of his betrayals of our values left a mark that has stuck with me ever since. Not just because of how egregious it was at the time, but because it attacked one of the foremost positive tenets of the institution — the House of Representatives, the People’s House — and I think it was the very moment I realized that, by electing McCall, the House had made a grave error. His speakership was not something I could continue to support. In retrospect, it certainly served as an ominous foreshadowing of what was to come.

It’s a betrayal that only a handful of people in the room on Monday night will remember — but for me, it’s not something I can shake. As a representative who, up until that point, had maintained a cautious optimism about McCall’s speakership — with all the incredible potential it held for the values of reform for which we had worked so hard — it was a betrayal I couldn’t unsee.

First, you are going to need some important context.

It was the first week of the 2007 session, and I was attending a long-standing House tradition: the page breakfast.

House members at that time were authorized to sponsor four House pages during each legislative session. The sponsored page, most usually a high-school-aged student, would participate in the program for a week, during which time they were monitored and overseen by two House employees who were, themselves, institutions of the House of Representatives, both having served for years.

In my view, this was perhaps one of the most stressful jobs in the institution.

One can only imagine the challenge of keeping approximately thirty or so high-school-aged boys and girls — spending a week away from home — safe and well-behaved. There were many pitfalls in this high-profile, politically charged environment, where the slightest mistake could easily be sensationalized in the media. Not that the media — had they known about every lurking danger — would need to sensationalize anything, because there were very real dangers in this dark world of power, pride, money, and corruption. Introducing a flock of teenagers into a world where certain legislators behaved like teenagers themselves — many of whom, due to the fact that most meaningful responsibility resides with just a few, didn’t have much to do — was playing with fire, and don't think certain house officials didn't realize the dangers, well before they later exploded into public view — yet another story, for another day.

One of my very first interactions with the page team took place during the first full week of my first session. Each week, usually mid-week, the two house employees who oversaw the program hosted a breakfast. Legislators who had a sponsored page during that week were invited to attend alongside their page. Also attending were two other, senior legislators who had been appointed to assist — in conjunction with the two House employees — in overseeing the program.

As I recall, my predecessor had agreed to sponsor a page that week, and I honored his commitment, meaning, though it was my first full week, I was invited to attend.

That day, the breakfast was hosted on the House floor. Not knowing the specifics of the program, I took a seat alongside the pages in the audience and looked on, observing as the two legislators overseeing the breakfast — old-school Democrats, only two years removed from losing their long-held majority status — appeared to be fulfilling what remained of their political purpose by attempting to indoctrinate the next generation with their views. At least, that was the conclusion I came to when, much to my shock, one of them, an arrogant fellow, began extolling the virtues of lobbyists to the young minds in attendance. The Democrat duo then used the occasion to launch a heavy swipe at the actions of the Republicans from the previous day — a point of view that, from what I could tell, most of the young audience seemed to agree.

Now, being new and not knowing better, I don’t think it occurred to me that, as a fellow legislator, I had standing to offer a counterpoint. Even more unknown to me at the time was the fact that those two Democrats apparently had no idea I was a legislator. Since I had been seated on the far-right wall of the House during the previous day's session — a wall that, for some ironic reason, I would never move more than one seat length from over the course of twelve years — and given that these fellows were quite aptly positioned at the far left of the chamber, they hadn't realized I was a House member and assumed I was one of the pages. And as such, I think they were trying to indoctrinate me as well.

But that was not a mistake made by the House employees overseeing the program — one of whom, in the most professional manner, found a way to politely insert the fact that I was in the audience. That revelation gave me the opportunity — much to the likely annoyance of the old-guard Democrats — to offer a counterbalance.

Now, had that moment of professionalism not occurred and had the event ended under the assumption that I was a page rather than a legislator, I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. Those who strive to stay grounded in the real world would have easily laughed the situation off as a humorous misunderstanding. But I’ll tell you, many politicians are not grounded in reality. By the time they’ve earned the coveted title “Representative,” even a small slight like this could result in real consequences. It can be a real pressure cooker in that place, if you are a house employee.

This is just one example, of the many pitfalls, that could easily beset these house employees and they no doubt occurred on a regular basis.

So, reflecting on that professionalism — and knowing what those two had to deal with, year after year — the reader can only imagine the level of skill it takes to keep all those egos and personalities in check.

Just keeping the page program from becoming politicized at those breakfast events was a herculean task. I think I made it to just about every one of those breakfasts over the course of twelve years whenever I had a sponsored page in the program. And I observed that they were almost always at risk of slipping into politics. They were frequently attended by Democrat representatives suffering from a severe minority complex — still emoting over their losses in the votes from the previous days — and itching to make the doom-and-gloom case for how conservatives in Oklahoma were destroying the state.

So, as you can see, those two professional employees had been doing that job for many years before the arrival of Charles McCall. In many ways, they were both a product of the institution and a testament to its best characteristics: the innocence of the page program, where, through the skillful professionalism of House staff, politics took a back seat to civics. It was a place where, hopefully, the innocence of those participating was preserved — and where they returned home newly inspired by the republican process, carrying memories that would last a lifetime.

Charles McCall’s speakership would be temporary, although, due to the fact that his team erased the caucus’s term limits rule, it became — unfortunately — the longest-lasting speakership in the institution’s history. But that aside, it was the page program that transcended politics and embodied the best characteristics of the institution, one that had long preceded McCall’s tenure and would long outlast it. The page program was bigger than even the self-declared “Speaker Maximus”, Charles McCall.

So it was with deep disappointment that I — once an early optimist and supporter of McCall’s speakership — watched him completely fail one of his earliest, and perhaps greatest, tests. Far from living up to the mantle of anti-woke warrior to which he lies claim on the campaign trail, McCall — during the actual height of the woke era, when courage was costly — figuratively knelt before the mob. And in doing so, he sacrificed one of the most wholesome and time-honored aspects of the institution: the page program, along with one of the dedicated employees who made it what it was. Not because she did anything wrong, but precisely because she did something right — one of the most heroic things that could be expected of her. And for that she paid a steep and lasting price.

To grasp the scale of the betrayal, one must first understand that the Capitol building itself, for obvious reasons, is frequently targeted by those pushing the latest barbaric woke attacks on societal norms.

That’s entirely predictable. It’s where the power is and, just as importantly, it’s a magnet for the corporate media — desperate for new content to fuel the social justice dialogue, all in the hope that their reporting will go national and showcase how brave woke warriors are dragging the backwoods state of Oklahoma into modernity and the brave new era of transhumanism in which mankind has personal license over God-created biology.

That was the case that day, when a group — potentially featuring biological males dressed as women — entered the building in an attempt to promote that era’s latest and greatest transhumanist insanity: teenage transgenderism.

According to a reported quote from the event organizer, the attendees included “several transgender and gender non-conforming” kids who were “using the bathroom they felt most comfortable with.”

That’s when the House’s mama bear — the female partner of the House page sponsorship team whose professionalism I described earlier — informed House staffers that she was providing the pages with direct access to a women’s restroom, normally off-limits to House pages (an elitist entitlement reserved for legislators and staff — but that’s yet another story for another day).

This was her job: to protect the pages from the latest wave of woke barbarism — biological males in the women’s restrooms alongside high-school-aged girls.

And, frankly, her action protected the legislators as well: the last thing they needed was for their pages to return home and tell their communities about men in the women’s room at the People’s House where their local lawmaker was holding court.

And apparently, someone in the Speaker’s office agreed. The employee — in what was no doubt an effort to forewarn the entitled legislators that they might encounter a lowly page seeking the safety of their restroom — sent out an email stating that she had received permission from the Speaker’s office to authorize the pages to use the facility.

Her email was simple, to the point and direct: "As per the Speaker's office, Pages are being allowed to access the ladies restroom across from 401, for today. Again, there are cross-dressers in the building."

But of course, the reader likely suspects what happened next: those simple three sentences were all the woke word police needed to inspire the woke mob. An anonymous House staffer clearly betrayed the employee — the real malfeasance in this situation, and the one that should have been investigated. That individual likely leaked the internal email, which somehow ended up in the hands of the woke mob. With the virtue-signaling corporate media in tow, the pitchforks came out, the mob descended on the Speaker’s office, and McCall had a decision to make: who would take the fall?

McCall could either man up and admit to the trans wokesters and the corporate media sensationalists that he — or his office — had authorized the policy, and that biological men have no place in women’s restrooms alongside high-school-aged girls;

Or he could do what slimy politicians do, he could throw the employee under the bus.

To the lasting discredit of our institution, he chose the latter.

He figuratively knelt before the mob, and offered them the human sacrifice of the mama bear who had been protecting the innocence of the high-school-aged girls in her charge.

McCall's public response reads as follows:

"The email was not authorized by me, my staff or my office. It was sent unilaterally by a House staff member without any input or permission. I was unaware that such an email was being sent, and the remarks contained in the email are not condoned by me or the Office of the Speaker. As Speaker, all Oklahomans should feel welcome in the Oklahoma Capitol building. We are looking into this matter, and it will be taken seriously."

And it worked, to the approval of even the ACLU which noted that McCall's, "sentiment behind his letter was welcome," while also using the occasion to lecture McCall on that "anti-LGBTQ" legislation which was moving forward during that session.

Seeing a Republican Speaker figuratively bend the knee to the mob — while offering up a human sacrifice — must have been mighty gratifying for the woke left and they mostly let him off the hook.

But for that employee, she was to be the sacrificial lamb — and it was time for the public humiliation. She was publicly sent to “counseling” from Human Resources, and, of course, the ubiquitous apology letter soon followed.

A still-standing X.com post from the “OK House GOP” remains as an indictment — a rusty relic from the dawn of the super-woke era and Speaker Charles McCall’s cowardly acquiescence to the mob.

I don’t know the full circumstances behind the apology letter, but I have little doubt it was either forced or heavily suggested.

The woke crowd — along with a frenzied corporate media — accepted McCall’s human sacrifice. They brazenly and pointlessly doxxed her name to the world. And of course, as to be expected her social media was repeatedly vandalized by the woke horde. One poster even went so far as to share the name of her street — a clear insinuation that they knew where she lived, and a chilling hint at potential physical danger.

Throughout the ensuing storm, I observed as she continued to carry out her duties with professionalism, keeping the pages safe and the program running. But for anyone who knew her, it was impossible not to see the toll it was taking.

And as I watched all of this — as I saw the pain on the face of a good person who had done the right and noble thing — I developed an intense contempt for McCall’s cowardly response. I felt betrayed, for having supported him and it quickly became clear that my days of being leadership-adjacent were numbered. I attempted to speak to him about it, but got nowhere. He clearly believed he had done the right thing. I can not recall detecting any remorse, no awareness of the consequences his actions had on that employee or on the institution we both served.

Though perhaps internal pressure from employees or legislators had some impact, as later McCall told the media that the employee in question had been exemplary — a 30-year veteran employee. But notwithstanding that acknowledgement, the public humiliation had already been completed: she had been doxxed, clearly shamed into a public apology, and sent to “counseling.”

Today, the barbarism of the woke era is fading. But the memory of those cowardly actions hasn’t — at least not in my mind. And maybe, just maybe, not in others either.

This year, as the new House constituted itself and the imperial speakership of Charles McCall and his lieutenants finally — mercifully — came to an end, a remarkably brave freshman representative pulled off what might have been one of the greatest first-day feats ever accomplished by a new member: she successfully amended the House rules. This highly guarded document is the tool by which house leadership wields their power and they do not let house members simply amend it from the floor. They normally table unauthorized amendments. But, they clearly balked at tabling this: Her amendment formally required that any restroom facilities under the authority of the House designated for females must be reserved for biological females.

It's a small but first meaningful vindication — a quiet nod of recognition to the House employee who, in her role as mama bear, had protected those in her care. And it remains a standing indictment of the cowardly Speaker, now gone, who sacrificed her to the mob — and by proxy, refused to defend the innocence of youth.