Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency -- 2. Bullet Points (B)
Any which way, a less sane gun enthusiasts motorcade it was, that couldn’t quite decide if it was law-abiding or not, scared most citizens silly wherever it passed, and occupied an unbelievable chunk of PD and National Guard resources to manage. To be fair, despite limited taste in cars and lunacy about guns quite a lot of the very predominantly male and older protesters behaved well enough, save for regular brandishing of battlefield weaponry, and the leaders - or at least spokespeople, their organisation not being so clear except that the NRA thought themselves entitled and no-one else much agreed - did realise they ought to avoid bad PR. Doing so was tricky, though, when you didn’t have any kind of alcohol ban and everyone was both armed up the wazoo and, as predicted, often without relevant state licenses. I’d told California and other governors to ignore that illegality pro tem, promising it would be dealt with before I was done, which didn’t mean it couldn’t be regularly pointed out to the media, giving even Fox pause, and in larger cities PDs used it to make the whole cavalcade drive through without stopping, but a dozen overnight stops saw several hundred arrests on public order charges, nine deaths protesters accidentally inflicted on one another, and two more by cop when drunks who had fired shots would not put down weapons. I had the FBI looking hard at all deaths, with very open media access, but the cops (both Anglos, fortunately) had done what they could and acted righteously, as body-cams clearly showed, and the rest were down to booze and stupidity plus having murder-holes handy, as Adam and others pointed out.
There was also friction with a whole bunch of Arizonans, Nevadans, Californians and Oregonians, including lots of the pious and First People, who did not care for the protest or its form, and said so. I had strongly urged tribal chiefs to keep as tight a lid on everything as they could, and Elder Spirits helped, with the side-benefit that those protesting who expected to hunt for their suppers found game of all kinds amazingly scarce anywhere they were, and had to use diners that wouldn’t let them bring in long arms. It was a strong show of public disapproval, reflecting my electoral majority and the strength of the ratification campaign, and there was a potent contrast between mostly silent crowds lining routes with thumbs firmly down and the noisy cavalcade that jeered at them but was becoming increasingly spooked by its evident unpopularity. I also pointed out in more than one interview that whereas all the protestors’ signs and slogans were declarative claims of entitlement, careless of all but ego, most counter-protesters were asking hard questions : Why do you support murder ? What about the dead ? Who needs thirteen shots ? and less easily reported but just as cogent, Just because you’re dicks, why fuck with guns ?
That one sparked a lot of blue and bitter humour on social media, with strong feminist commentary and wide endorsement by vets as well as SAGE supporters who remembered a rude training rhyme about rifles and guns. Having so many independents in Congress had made for less mealy-mouthed and hymn-sheet politicians, and as gun control was a core policy every one of them had signed up to, whatever their personal feelings, they kept up a sharp drumroll at constituency level in state houses that hadn’t yet voted, and (after I’d done some serious but not unethical arm-twisting) it so happened that on the cavalcade’s last day in California another big tranche of states ratified all four amendments, though the ERA and gun bills had smaller majorities than the others. But that wasn’t going to matter legally, or any other way, because I now had ratifications by 36 states, and my connections and credit in both Oregon and Washington, where the motorcade was necessarily headed next, were excellent. On the day it camped north of Eugene, en route for Salem believing the state vote would happen day after next, Oregon brought it forward and made the tally 37, while in the Tri-Cities an enormous police and military operation created a corridor that would let protestors use I82, I395, and, minus vehicles parked on scrubland, into Sacajawea SP but nowhere else.
It took them most of another day to come crossly and untidily through the Columbia Gorge, a very heavy army presence preventing any firing at or into the Sacred Space, and as Sacajawea SP began to fill in mid-afternoon I was watching at home with Skuffles, Leslie, as local SAC, Westfield, an understandably nervy Chief Munday of Pasco PD, the two-star general commanding the military units, and Frank and Rachel, as well as too many of the staffers Presidents find it hard to shake off, and almost all were despite my many reassurances very unhappy indeed. I was more interested in pointing out the seriously sloppy preparations the organisers had made, or hadn’t - the NRA contingent had only belatedly realised they needed to book the park to access the excellent AV systems, and no-one had done anything about extra johns except me, via Munday, as I’d pointed out at that morning’s press conference. They also seemed to have expected free enterprise to provide them with the kind of food stalls my events there always had, but, oddly, no vending applications had been approved. Nor was any water available. All the PDs were with army support keeping counter-protests well away, with promises in my name that they’d have a much better time watching at home, and although no-one saying anything on air had noticed the nearer port facilities on the Columbia and Snake were remarkably free of vessels, save two empty barges, and had made other preparations, as had some selkies of my acquaintance. But the official nerves around me didn’t diminish, nor those of TV commentators, and even Skuffles was on the receiving end of some exasperation as she saw no more reason than me to telegraph anything, even at this late stage. I said so again to a very antsy Chief Munday, and Leslie gave me a fish-eye.
“Can’t blame the Chief, Ms President, or any of us. You have been … determinedly vague about what exactly you intend, magically or otherwise.”
“Oh pish, SAC. I intend to pass four constitutional amendments and ban private ownership of automatic weapons.”
The fish-eye deepened. “Un huh. And when you say things like ‘pish’ I start sweating.”
“I’m a coyote girl, SAC. And really, however it happened, picking Sacajawea SP is truly dim.”
“Is it, Ms President ?” Munday gestured at the screen where an ageing actor who fronted for the NRA was pulling an old routine with hysterical vigour. “He knows he’s standing where you did to launch your campaign last year, and it resonates.”
“Yup. But one temporary pro does not compensate for several zillion permanent cons, Chief, no matter how you cut it, and I’m a lot better at lining up sitting ducks than any of that lot have shown themselves. Ask ex-Senator Snake Oil. I’m just waiting on stragglers still entering, while the rest get increasingly tired, thirsty, and hungry.” I waggled a hand. “That’s just playing the odds, but should increase compliance later.”
I got more looks, but briskly dealt with a phone call or three, with some paperwork, while the actor hammed on and was followed by a preacher who equated gun control of any kind with communist satanism, a concept that had me blinking, then a survivalist who said without a hint of humour that you needed thirteen bullets for aliens. You also seemed to need bazookas, RPGs, and anti-personnel mines, so I went back to the paperwork until Leslie, Westfield, and the general agreed that everyone who’d arrived with the cavalcade was now in the crowd - at which point I made two calls, acquired my accessories while waiting on feedback, got it, called in techs and a camera crew, and forestalled whoever was supposed to follow the survivalist by putting on their big screens live footage of a joint session of the state legislature in Olympia ratifying, at Senator Warren Smith’s formal request, all four amendments a week ahead of their announced schedule. Westfield gave me a different look.
“How is doing that legal, Ms President ? Or possible ? Did you issue an Executive Order ?”
“No need, ED. Adam and I paid to have the AV system at Sacajawea SP upgraded, during my campaign, and the President using the backdoor at will is in the small print of the contract the NRA signed when they booked the park. I’ll admit it’s really small small print, but it’s there.”
His blink was followed by a grin. “For real ? Good one, Ma’am. And Olympia ?”
“House speakers do the scheduling, ED. I simply asked them to be the 38thratifying state rather than the first, Warren passed a ‘now, please’ message earlier, and not much caring for armed invasions they saw the point.”
“I would imagine. Here we go.”
On screen final votes were tallied, and the senior speaker announced the fourfold ratification of Constitutional Amendments 28-31, solemnly noting that as Washington was the 38th state to do so all thereby came into immediate effect, and the Constitution was duly amended. The cheering in Olympia and my heart was not matched in the shocked and protesting crowd, but with law now on my side I was done with their noise. The camera crew took station, everyone else got out of shot, and when the legislature vanished from the big screens to be replaced by me and Skuffles two were damaged and a third knocked out by gunfire, cut short within a few seconds by four daywalking vamps with a Special Forces team who translocated in and out again with unconscious gunmen under their arms while Skuffles stilled the now jumpy as well as furious crowd with a ringing and very dominant howl.
“Tsk, tsk.” I wagged a finger. “Firing at civic property has always been illegal, and those who just did so have been arrested by federal agents they didn’t see coming and couldn’t stop despite their now unconstitutional weapons. The argument about gun control is over, people, and the Constitution amended by due and proper process in both Houses of Congress and 38 state legislatures, with the other 12 due to join them shortly. That means the weapons most of you are holding are now unlawfully in private hands, and I expect you’ve heard me say, more than once, that if the gun-control amendment passed ownership of newly illegal weapons would not be a priority, but those owners who came to negative police or federal attention would lose them. And as you have all spent the last few weeks doing exactly that, tromping across state lines without proper licenses, shooting one another, brawling, and now firing on civic property within a few miles of my home, yours are all forfeit. Are you going to surrender them nicely ?”
There was also friction with a whole bunch of Arizonans, Nevadans, Californians and Oregonians, including lots of the pious and First People, who did not care for the protest or its form, and said so. I had strongly urged tribal chiefs to keep as tight a lid on everything as they could, and Elder Spirits helped, with the side-benefit that those protesting who expected to hunt for their suppers found game of all kinds amazingly scarce anywhere they were, and had to use diners that wouldn’t let them bring in long arms. It was a strong show of public disapproval, reflecting my electoral majority and the strength of the ratification campaign, and there was a potent contrast between mostly silent crowds lining routes with thumbs firmly down and the noisy cavalcade that jeered at them but was becoming increasingly spooked by its evident unpopularity. I also pointed out in more than one interview that whereas all the protestors’ signs and slogans were declarative claims of entitlement, careless of all but ego, most counter-protesters were asking hard questions : Why do you support murder ? What about the dead ? Who needs thirteen shots ? and less easily reported but just as cogent, Just because you’re dicks, why fuck with guns ?
That one sparked a lot of blue and bitter humour on social media, with strong feminist commentary and wide endorsement by vets as well as SAGE supporters who remembered a rude training rhyme about rifles and guns. Having so many independents in Congress had made for less mealy-mouthed and hymn-sheet politicians, and as gun control was a core policy every one of them had signed up to, whatever their personal feelings, they kept up a sharp drumroll at constituency level in state houses that hadn’t yet voted, and (after I’d done some serious but not unethical arm-twisting) it so happened that on the cavalcade’s last day in California another big tranche of states ratified all four amendments, though the ERA and gun bills had smaller majorities than the others. But that wasn’t going to matter legally, or any other way, because I now had ratifications by 36 states, and my connections and credit in both Oregon and Washington, where the motorcade was necessarily headed next, were excellent. On the day it camped north of Eugene, en route for Salem believing the state vote would happen day after next, Oregon brought it forward and made the tally 37, while in the Tri-Cities an enormous police and military operation created a corridor that would let protestors use I82, I395, and, minus vehicles parked on scrubland, into Sacajawea SP but nowhere else.
It took them most of another day to come crossly and untidily through the Columbia Gorge, a very heavy army presence preventing any firing at or into the Sacred Space, and as Sacajawea SP began to fill in mid-afternoon I was watching at home with Skuffles, Leslie, as local SAC, Westfield, an understandably nervy Chief Munday of Pasco PD, the two-star general commanding the military units, and Frank and Rachel, as well as too many of the staffers Presidents find it hard to shake off, and almost all were despite my many reassurances very unhappy indeed. I was more interested in pointing out the seriously sloppy preparations the organisers had made, or hadn’t - the NRA contingent had only belatedly realised they needed to book the park to access the excellent AV systems, and no-one had done anything about extra johns except me, via Munday, as I’d pointed out at that morning’s press conference. They also seemed to have expected free enterprise to provide them with the kind of food stalls my events there always had, but, oddly, no vending applications had been approved. Nor was any water available. All the PDs were with army support keeping counter-protests well away, with promises in my name that they’d have a much better time watching at home, and although no-one saying anything on air had noticed the nearer port facilities on the Columbia and Snake were remarkably free of vessels, save two empty barges, and had made other preparations, as had some selkies of my acquaintance. But the official nerves around me didn’t diminish, nor those of TV commentators, and even Skuffles was on the receiving end of some exasperation as she saw no more reason than me to telegraph anything, even at this late stage. I said so again to a very antsy Chief Munday, and Leslie gave me a fish-eye.
“Can’t blame the Chief, Ms President, or any of us. You have been … determinedly vague about what exactly you intend, magically or otherwise.”
“Oh pish, SAC. I intend to pass four constitutional amendments and ban private ownership of automatic weapons.”
The fish-eye deepened. “Un huh. And when you say things like ‘pish’ I start sweating.”
“I’m a coyote girl, SAC. And really, however it happened, picking Sacajawea SP is truly dim.”
“Is it, Ms President ?” Munday gestured at the screen where an ageing actor who fronted for the NRA was pulling an old routine with hysterical vigour. “He knows he’s standing where you did to launch your campaign last year, and it resonates.”
“Yup. But one temporary pro does not compensate for several zillion permanent cons, Chief, no matter how you cut it, and I’m a lot better at lining up sitting ducks than any of that lot have shown themselves. Ask ex-Senator Snake Oil. I’m just waiting on stragglers still entering, while the rest get increasingly tired, thirsty, and hungry.” I waggled a hand. “That’s just playing the odds, but should increase compliance later.”
I got more looks, but briskly dealt with a phone call or three, with some paperwork, while the actor hammed on and was followed by a preacher who equated gun control of any kind with communist satanism, a concept that had me blinking, then a survivalist who said without a hint of humour that you needed thirteen bullets for aliens. You also seemed to need bazookas, RPGs, and anti-personnel mines, so I went back to the paperwork until Leslie, Westfield, and the general agreed that everyone who’d arrived with the cavalcade was now in the crowd - at which point I made two calls, acquired my accessories while waiting on feedback, got it, called in techs and a camera crew, and forestalled whoever was supposed to follow the survivalist by putting on their big screens live footage of a joint session of the state legislature in Olympia ratifying, at Senator Warren Smith’s formal request, all four amendments a week ahead of their announced schedule. Westfield gave me a different look.
“How is doing that legal, Ms President ? Or possible ? Did you issue an Executive Order ?”
“No need, ED. Adam and I paid to have the AV system at Sacajawea SP upgraded, during my campaign, and the President using the backdoor at will is in the small print of the contract the NRA signed when they booked the park. I’ll admit it’s really small small print, but it’s there.”
His blink was followed by a grin. “For real ? Good one, Ma’am. And Olympia ?”
“House speakers do the scheduling, ED. I simply asked them to be the 38thratifying state rather than the first, Warren passed a ‘now, please’ message earlier, and not much caring for armed invasions they saw the point.”
“I would imagine. Here we go.”
On screen final votes were tallied, and the senior speaker announced the fourfold ratification of Constitutional Amendments 28-31, solemnly noting that as Washington was the 38th state to do so all thereby came into immediate effect, and the Constitution was duly amended. The cheering in Olympia and my heart was not matched in the shocked and protesting crowd, but with law now on my side I was done with their noise. The camera crew took station, everyone else got out of shot, and when the legislature vanished from the big screens to be replaced by me and Skuffles two were damaged and a third knocked out by gunfire, cut short within a few seconds by four daywalking vamps with a Special Forces team who translocated in and out again with unconscious gunmen under their arms while Skuffles stilled the now jumpy as well as furious crowd with a ringing and very dominant howl.
“Tsk, tsk.” I wagged a finger. “Firing at civic property has always been illegal, and those who just did so have been arrested by federal agents they didn’t see coming and couldn’t stop despite their now unconstitutional weapons. The argument about gun control is over, people, and the Constitution amended by due and proper process in both Houses of Congress and 38 state legislatures, with the other 12 due to join them shortly. That means the weapons most of you are holding are now unlawfully in private hands, and I expect you’ve heard me say, more than once, that if the gun-control amendment passed ownership of newly illegal weapons would not be a priority, but those owners who came to negative police or federal attention would lose them. And as you have all spent the last few weeks doing exactly that, tromping across state lines without proper licenses, shooting one another, brawling, and now firing on civic property within a few miles of my home, yours are all forfeit. Are you going to surrender them nicely ?”