The Overton Window

by Glenn Beck

  “This is the Constitution of the United States of America. It’s just about fifteen pages when printed out like this, only four sheets of parchment when it was originally written out by hand. Here it is. That’s all of it, the supreme law of the land, the entire framework of our system of government.

  “And do you know why it’s so small? Because the government itself was meant to be small. Is a federal government vital and important to our country? Yes. Should it exist as the heart and symbol of our unity and a compass to guide our journey as one nation? Yes. But it was meant to be small. And why? Because we, you and I, are the real government in this land of ours. That’s the forgotten truth that calls out to us from these few pages here.

  “What the Founders knew is that governments go bad. That’s why Thomas Jefferson told us that resistance to tyrants is obedience to God. They understood that evil, like gravity, is a force of nature. Corruption always comes. Like weeds in a garden, it infiltrates, gets a foothold, grows, and takes over. Keep watch, we were told, keep the government in check, or this haven of freedom and opportunity could disappear in a single generation. And my friends, we have looked away from our sacred responsibility for too long. We forgot our charge to keep eternal vigilance, and as we slept another framework, corrupt and ever expanding, was being built to replace our founding principles the moment they grew weak enough to fail. And now we look around and find that our future has nearly been stolen away.

  “Our representatives in government swear an oath, when they take office, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. But for many of them these are only empty words. They never even consult the wisdom they’ve sworn to uphold. Once spoken, that oath is forgotten, and the Constitution of the United States never again enters their mind.”

  She laid the document in her hand on a nearby table and picked up a dark blue volume the size of the Brooklyn white pages.

  “The entire Constitution can be folded and carried in your shirt pocket, and may I recommend that you keep a copy with you like that if you don’t already. But this“—she held up the massive book—“is one volume of the federal tax code.” She dropped the book flat from waist-high and it whammed to the stage floor at her feet. “Fourteen hundred pages, and that’s just one volume; there’s a bookcase full of these. Sixty-seven thousand pages of rules and penalties and crimes for which you’re all guilty until you prove yourselves innocent. There’s no due process when the Internal Revenue Service comes to kick in your front door.

  “And do you know why they’ve made it so big, and why it gets bigger every year? It’s the same reason the IRS is involved with health-care legislation and the Treasury was in charge of enforcing Prohibition. Because the power to tax involves the power to destroy. That’s not my opinion, it’s the opinion of the U.S. Supreme Court!

  “But you don’t need a judge to tell you what is obvious to anyone who’s ever tried to fill out a tax form. The tax code is not meant to be read and understood by the people. It’s meant as a shelter for those who’ve taken power from us, and a weapon of selective enforcement to be used against any who would dare to raise an opposing voice. The law is not for them, it’s for you: Right now a hundred thousand federal employees together owe almost a billion dollars in back taxes, and the Treasury secretary himself is one of them.”

  The crowd reacted with loud boos and angry shouting, and it took a while for them to quiet down. When they finally had, she began again, but now her voice was much softer.

  “Those of us gathered in this room tonight aren’t simply fighting taxes, out-of-control spending, or unsustainable debt, we’re fighting for something much larger: equal justice. We’re fighting for the end of special exceptions and perks for those who have the right people on their speed-dials. There’s no reason why the person who runs the IRS, the congressman who writes our tax code, or the CEO who has friends in the White House should get a free pass when you and I must pay the consequences for our decisions.

  “John Adams once said that we are ‘a government of laws, not men.’ Ask yourself: Is that still true today? Your income, your family name, and your connections matter more than ever. They can help you succeed or they can ensure you fail. How can that reality coexist in a society where all men are created equal?

  “The answer is that it can’t. That is why we are here. And it’s also why our message of equal justice is impossible for any honest person to refute. How do I know that? Because it was the message of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.”

  Noah noticed that the atmosphere in the bar seemed to have changed during the few minutes that the woman had been on the stage. It wasn’t just that you could hear a pin drop, it was the whole feel of the place. She had them in the palm of her hand.

  “While others throughout our history have resorted to violence to achieve their agendas, it’s important to remember that they all failed. But Dr. King was different. He told people to get down on their knees, to be peaceful in their words and actions, to stay together and fight relentlessly for their cause.

  “Dr. King understood what all of us gathered here must: that those who fight to correct injustice must be willing to accept suffering, if necessary, but never to inflict it.”

  All of the normal activity you might expect to see in a bar had stopped. Even the waitresses and bartenders seemed to be completely focused on the words flowing from the stage.

  “Dr. King once said that ‘no lie can live forever.’ He knew that once the American people understood the depth of the injustice being perpetrated on them, they would choose the right side. Today we face that very same challenge, and if we are patient, we can expect the very same result.

  “Americans are still a fair and just people. They know the difference between racism and race-baiting, between violence and accusations of violence, between hatred and patriotism. Let them weigh the evidence for as long as they need, because when the verdict comes down, we will once again be on the right side.

  “You’re angry, I know you are, and you should be,” the speaker continued. “but now I need to urge you, to demand of you, that you renounce anyone who suggests violence. Just like Dr. King, we aim to eliminate evil, not those who perpetrate it. To speak of violence in any form is to play right into the hands of those who oppose us. They’ve already invested countless hours into portraying us as violent, hateful racists, and they are just waiting for the chance to further that story line. Don’t give it to them. Instead of Bill Ayers, give them Benjamin Franklin. Instead of Malcolm X, give them Rosa Parks. Instead of bin Laden, give them Gandhi. They are well prepared on how to use violence to their advantage, but they have absolutely no idea how to use peace.

  “Besides, everything we need to prevail,” the woman on stage held up her printout of the Constitution again, “every shield and weapon against tyranny and oppression, even at the late stages of the cancer of corruption that’s sickened us, everything we need is given to us right here. All we must do is find the strength and the wisdom to awaken our friends and neighbors, take back our power under the law, and restore what’s been forgotten. Restore. Not adapt, not transform … restore.

  “Let me ask you all a question. Many of us in this room are painted as ‘anti-government’—but who loves America more, those who want to restore it, or those who want to transform it?”

  The hushed silence that had overtaken the room for a while evaporated in an instant. Enthusiastic shouts and chants came from all corners. The misfits at the bar even put their cameras down and turned their backs as if by its nature this material would be of no use to them.

  “Don’t be fooled, ‘transformation’ is simply a nice way of saying that you don’t like something! If you live in an old house that you adore, do you talk about ‘restoring’ that home or ‘transforming’ it into a modern-day McMansion? Same goes for an old car or an old painting—things that have real value aren’t changed or transformed, they’re preserved.”

  She paused and looked slowly around the room as thoug
h she were talking to each person individually. “I don’t know about you, but I happen to believe that the America our Founders created is still worth preserving. Thank you, all, God bless you, and may God bless the U.S.A.”

  The woman left the stage on the other side as a Toby Keith song began to play over the sound system, and Molly looked over at Noah as she applauded the end of the speech. Then she leaned toward him, raising her voice over the bar noise.

  “So what do you think?”

  Noah took a thoughtful sip from his glass, then shrugged as the room quieted down. “Can I get you a club soda, or some juice?”

  “No thanks. What did you think of what she said?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it sounds like she believes what she’s saying.”

  “Wow,” Molly said. “That could be the most noncommittal string of words I’ve ever heard a man put together. You really are a PR executive.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like to talk about politics. I’ve always thought it was kind of a waste of time.”

  “So if I’m hearing this correctly, you’re willing to grant that the person who was up there speaking—my mother, by the way—probably believed what she was saying, and yet it’s not worth a second of your time to even think about?”

  “That was your mother?” Noah asked.

  “Just answer the question.”

  “No, I didn’t say that. It’s complicated.”

  “No,” she said flatly, “it really isn’t.”

  “Could we change the subject, just for a few minutes? I don’t want to argue with you—”

  “That horse is already out of the barn, Mr. Gardner.”

  “Okay, then, listen. I see how people of a certain mind-set could start to hate the government—”

  “We don’t hate government. We’re against an out-of-control government that’s lost sight of its principles and has been overrun by corruption.”

  “All right, point well taken. I understand that you’re upset about what’s being done to the country—”

  “I’m so glad you understand that.”

  “I do. Things are bad, and they’re going to get a lot worse before this crash is over, but all this“—he gestured around at the bar full of people—“what do you all think you’re accomplishing here?”

  “We’re getting together and taking a stand.”

  “Taking a stand? Against what? Against the way things have always been? Because that’s not going to change.”

  Molly shifted in her seat to square off with him, then looked into his eyes. “Why did you really come here tonight?”

  He sighed, and sat back. “I guess I just wanted to get to know you.”

  “Well,” she said. “This pointless meeting, that deluded woman onstage, and all these other misguided people? That’s me. Now you know me.”

  With that she gathered her things and left him sitting there alone with his beer.

  CHAPTER 11

  Noah had lost count of the refills after his first pint, but by then he was averaging around thirty-two ounces of suds per special guest speaker. He’d briefly considered playing a drinking game with himself, wherein he would pound one back each time he heard one of the dirty words progressive, socialist, or globalism, but by those rules he’d have drunk himself under the table within a few minutes. Their spiels were all different but the highlights were mostly the same, with only minor deviations in two areas: where to place the blame for their country’s troubles, and what to do about it.

  He was still in his lonely seat by the stage. After he’d struck out with Molly there was no real reason to hang around but he felt too beat to get up and leave. Besides, the angry beer buzz he was stoking seemed like the best medicine for putting this malignant night into remission.

  The nearby crowd parted at the end of another onstage musical interlude. He’d been hoping to see the waitress bringing him another tall one, but instead it was a familiar, enormous bearded man who walked up to the table.

  Hollis—no last name had been offered for him—gently touched the barstool across from Noah with a finger. The expression on the part of his face not covered with bristly hair asked politely if that seat was taken.

  “Please,” Noah said, “be my guest.” The barstool looked like doll-house furniture next to this soft-spoken behemoth, but somehow it held up as he sat down. “Though I’ll tell you the truth, when you’ve got your choice of a few hundred people here who I guarantee are better company than me, I wonder why you’d decide to sit here.”

  The waitress came and put a beer down for Noah and a bottle of Coca-Cola for his new tablemate. Hollis waited until she was gone to answer.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You looked kinda sad, I guess.”

  As if to drip gasoline on Noah’s already smoldering mood, tonight’s headliner, the illustrious Danny Bailey, now took to the stage in a swell of heavy-metal music and an ovation that rattled every shelf of glassware behind the bar.

  “Hello, New York!” Bailey shouted, like an aging rock star kicking off his annual farewell tour. He held out the microphone to pump up the roar of the answering crowd and made no move to settle them down. On the contrary, the clamor continued until he produced a piece of paper and took back the mike almost a full deafening minute later.

  “Thank you, really. I could listen to that all night long. Let me see if this is my crowd, though. How can we tell if a politician is lying?” He turned the mike briefly to the crowd again for their answer.

  “Their lips are moving!” the people shouted.

  “That’s right,” Bailey said. “And watch what they name things, especially those bills they’re all voting on without even reading them. If they call something the Patriot Act, you can bet it won’t be long before they’re using it to hunt down us patriots. If it’s called Net Neutrality, it’s going to be used to neutralize their enemies. If it’s called the Fairness Doctrine, it’s meant to un fairly put free speech under government control and create a chilling effect on your First Amendment rights. Immigration reform, health-care reform—do me a favor, when you hear them say the word ‘reform,’ I want you to hear the word ’transform! And the next question you’ve got to ask is, What are they trying to transform us into? A better, stronger, freer country? Or a place filled with more and more people who are easier to control, easier to exploit, easier to keep under their thumb?”

  This drew a loud and positive reaction from the crowd, which continued until Bailey produced a piece of paper and made a motion to quiet them down.

  “Hey, is anybody out there looking for a job? Unemployment just shot up past twenty percent, real unemployment that is, not the bogus numbers we get spoon-fed on the nightly news. And that’s nothing; it’s almost forty percent if you’re a young black man in this free country of ours. Since I thought maybe some of you might be looking for a new career, I brought this job opportunity for you.”

  He held the printout in his hands at an angle so he could read from it under the lights. “I found this last week on a government website. It’s a really good job for what they call an Internment and Resettlement Specialist.”

  The crowd’s reaction was immediate, loud, and angry.

  “Now, calm down, give it a chance. Of all the world’s prisoners, we’ve got twenty-five percent of them right here in this country. And hell, the U.S. has only five percent of the planet’s population, so there must be a disproportionate number of undesirables in America, don’t you think?”

  A man just outside the circle of the spotlight handed up a stack of stapled papers.

  “Oh, wait,” Bailey continued, hamming up an incredulous reaction to the new document on top. “What’s this? I don’t believe we’re supposed to see this. This is Army Regulation 210-35, dated almost five years ago. And will you look at that? The title is ‘Civilian Inmate Labor Program.’ Maybe this is what they need all those new internment and resettlement specialists for.”

  Another burst of outrage from the crowd.
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  “Now hold your horses. These are dangerous criminals. After all, somebody’s got to keep them in line, right? Why not put ‘em in a military work camp, where we can get some free labor out of them? As long as we’re not the criminals we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  He flipped to another one of the documents in his hands. “But what do we have here? A memo from 1970, written by a man who later became the director of FEMA, advocating the rounding-up and internment of twenty-one million quote—American Negroes—unquote, in the event of civil disorder. Now, I left my exact figures at home, but I believe at that time twenty-one million would have been roughly all of the black people in America.

  “And here”—he squinted as he read briefly from the document on top of his stack—“United States Air Force Civil Disturbance Plan 55-2 will authorize and direct the secretary of defense to use the U.S. armed forces to restore law and order in the event of a crisis. Under this umbrella plan they ran an exercise in 1984—so you see they do have a sense of humor—and that exercise was called Rex-84. The purpose was to see how efficiently they could pick up and corral all those disobedient Americans on their lists.”

  Bailey held up document after document as he continued. “What lists, you ask? All kinds of them. The FBI’s ADEX list from the late 1960s—ADEX, that stands for Agitator Index—it was full of dangerous intellectuals, union organizers, and people who spoke out against the Vietnam War. Now there’s almost a million and a half people on the DHS Terrorist Watch List, and it’s growing by twenty thousand names every month.

  “Have you registered a firearm? You’re on a list! Have you made a political contribution to a third-party candidate? You’re on a list! Have you visited my website? You’re on a list! Have you given a speech about government lists to a rowdy group of patriots? You’re on a list!