I had a ringside seat to election events from November 3, 2020 to January 6, 2021, and feel a duty to explain to the world what really happened. I will not be regurgitating the headline events anyone can read, but will aim to explain what was going on behind the scenes, and give my best account of why things played out as they did.
Out of an interest in not letting the public suffer any longer from my procrastination and weakness (I tested negative today after a 13-day bout with Covid) , I will be writing and publishing this story in installments, reserving the right to re-edit as I go. Once complete and final, I will let the public know that it is final. Thus, you might think of this exercise as an odd one, where I am drafting a long magazine article for the world but doing so publicly, that the public need not wait to begin having its understandable curiosity addressed.
It will be natural for the reader to question my motives, my background, to wonder if I have some ax to grind or might wish to accomplish something in writing this other than what I claim (that I simply feel a duty to my country and to history to give an honest account of what I saw over those nine weeks). So I will close this preface with four statements that clarify my philosophical orientation here.
- My own family’s history is one of the Horatio Alger dream. My folks were of working class Irish roots from New Jersey (Bridgeport, Paterson, Atlantic City, Wildwood, and Cape May). My Pop was Rutgers ’52 (Air Force ROTC), and my folks were living poor as church-mice on the GI Bill at University of Michigan, my Pop studying actuarial math, when their three sons began popping into existence. I was the youngest, born in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, in 1962. We grew up bouncing around New England as my father changed life insurance jobs nearly every year. Passed over in 1976 in Hartford for a promotion at Travelers Insurance that he thought he deserved, my Pop took a job at a broken and nearly insolvent auto insurer in the South: a month later an odd fellow from Omaha showed up on our doorstep, met my dad, and began investing heavily in his new employer. That same day, my Pop cancelled his order for our family’s first new car (a station wagon) and sunk it into stock in his new friend’s firm. My dad’s new employer, GEICO, went on to big things, and my dad’s investment in the stock of his new Omaha friend, Warren Buffett, also worked out immensely well for our family. Most importantly, Buffett became my great tutor in life. As the years went by my family grew wealthy (by the time I was 16 my parents were millionaires, and by the time I finished college they were millionaires many times over), and Buffett grew into a billionaire and then into the mythical figure he has since become. All along the way, a continual topic of conversation among Buffett, myself, and my parents, the most continual conversation, was the role of the rich in society, their proper behavior, their duties to other citizens and to the country (unlike lots of other rich guys, both Buffett and my Pop were always intensely patriotic men). Stylistically, Donald J. Trump is the living embodiment of everything I was raised to understand was wrong about rich people in America. After JFK, my parents never voted anything but Republican, but my mother did not vote for Trump in 2016, and by January 6 of this year was adamant that Trump leave the White House. My father died in 2013, but I don’t know if he would have voted for Trump in 2016, and I doubt he would have in 2020. So if you wish an honest account of the intellectual milieu from which I hail, that would be it.
- I have always voted Libertarian for President. So voting for Trump was never really a consideration for me, one way or the other.
- On the other hand, I agree with about 75% of Trump’s policy positions. Our nation is supposed to embody “consent of the governed,” and I do not remember “the governed” ever agreeing to disbanding our borders, or outsourcing our middle class to China, or signing up for forever-wars. I remember our elites doing that, but not the governed. So I agree with a lot of Trump’s policy direction, but still fault him for one big thing: he should have made ethnic relations more central to his presidency. And I am not sure that he did not, on occasion, tickle sentiments that should not be tickled (e.g., discussing how “Mexico is sending us their rapists” is bringing up an issue worthy of discussion, but can be brought up in a less disrespectful way).
- While I have tried to maintain a position of being Left-friendly in life, and was even at times Left-curious, I confess that at this point I find the overwhelming majority of activist Democrats to be intellectually dishonest phonies, lacking in the most fundamental understanding of what made our republic work and how to fix it, and I am disgusted by the Goonism they have embraced as a political creed. In my eyes, most Left Democrats are one step above loathsome, and not a big step.
- Having been inside this election fraud issue for months, having gotten to know the best brains in it, professors and technologists and computer scientists, the best estimate that I have heard comes from one of them, an esteemed government scientist (think “rocket science” but I may be being metaphorical to some degree). This scientist and some of his buddies from an esteemed government laboratory have been making a hobby of th study of election fraud for a couple decades. The final estimate of this scientist is that Donald Trump probably got around 79 million votes and Joe Biden got 53-68 million votes. Through chicanery, Trump ended up with 74 million, Biden with 80 million. The professor in question may not be exactly right, but his numbers convey my rough sense of the magnitude of the theft of this rigged election.
- This election steal should have been child’s play to reveal and reverse. On December 23, President Trump and I spent 4.5 hours together, and I let him know I believed that defeating it was a 3-foot putt (I’ve never golfed a hole in my life, but I guessed the metaphor might speak to him). His team was pursuing a 40-foot shot from the sand trap that they needed to sink, but if he would just listen to Flynn, Sidney, and me, there was an easy 3-foot putt he was not seeing. Somehow over the course of that 4+ hour meeting there came a moment that I felt something much different for Donald J. Trump than I had expected I would feel, something that made me want to go put an arm around the man and give him a long squeeze of reassurance. What was it I felt? I’m still not sure: Commiseration for a broken man? A kind of love? Or just deep sadness, that I could see he understood he was failing on the most colossal of scales, he was losing, but he could not put the pieces together. Yet it was child’s play to defeat. I wanted to scold him and weep for him at the same time. And I did not even vote for the guy.
So that is where I am coming from. Enjoy the story. I won’t enjoy writing it, but I think I owe it to you.
Your humble servant,
Patrick M. Byrne
CHAPTERS TO COME