Over at Lines of Departure, his regular column at EveryJoe.com, Tom Kratman addresses dissatisfied lefties like Rosie O’Donnell, who publicly called for martial law. Tom points out rather graphically that she would not like martial law.
He quickly boils the possible scenarios down to the likely point upon which they all converge, in the end.
So either way, whether Trump takes the oath and the military follows him, or he doesn’t and the military rebels against their senior officers and follows him, the result is ultimately the same: Martial Law but in hands that hate you.
What does that look like, by the way, as it ultimately plays out? Well, I want you to imagine a long ditch, Rosie. You’ve been made to help dig it, except that in the interests of time and efficiency a backhoe was brought it to help on your section and a few others. No, no; it’s not part of the dreaded wall that will keep your side from importing and turning into clients a hundred million illegal Latins. No, this ditch has another purpose.
In this ditch you, and a whole bunch of your political allies and comrades, are kneeling, shoulder to shoulder, with your hands tied behind you and, I am sure, rivers of tears running down most of your filthy faces. There is a captain behind the line, might be Army, might be Marines. Hell, he might even be Air Force or Navy Lieutenant. He is not crying; indeed, he is smiling. He has a pistol in one hand. He walks the length of the ditch, a private following him with a bag full of loaded magazines. The captain walks slowly, stopping about every two feet. Whenever he stops he faces the line of kneeling, sniveling, crying people who once thought martial law was just such a splendid idea. He aims carefully, and then shoots each one of you, once, in the back of the head. He’s at least a competent enough shot that he never misses at this range. Every thirteen shots he removes the magazine, hands it to the private, takes a fresh one, and reloads. Click.
And there you are, Rosie, shivering in terror and wondering if maybe that whole martial law thing was really such a good idea. You’re afraid to look but you can hear the shots getting closer and closer to where you kneel. Suddenly, there is a massive bang and the guy kneeling next to you flops forward. You can’t help it, you look down and can see into his half-pulverized brain. You start to scream and then….bang.
Of course, it isn’t just lefties who sometimes express a wish for martial law, or a coup, or a civil war; although they do seem to be spring-loaded in the revolution position. At least, if someone else takes charge of the gritty revolutionizing, because most of them are all wind. All Foucault and no Pol Pot, you might say.
We tend to dismiss such calls for civil war or martial coups as childish hyperbole. But there’s nothing magical in American soil, no unique American genotype, that prevents such things from happening here. Indeed, in states that were rocked and even destroyed by civil wars and revolutions, there seems to have been a rapt complacency up to the very moment of calamity.
Among the casualties are, almost every time, the initial revolutionaries. Imitate Robespierre if you like, but Robespierre did not die in bed.