Augusta Confidential: Chapter 10
The People’s Veto: Brought to You by People Who Hate Government—But Love Running It
by Reese Calloway
If you felt a disturbance in the civic force last week or heard the cries of a thousand reasonable souls groaning all at once, it wasn’t your imagination. That was the tremors and shock from Maine Republicans launching a “People’s Veto” campaign against the state budget. Yes, the budget. Remember, that pesky little thing that keeps the lights on, our roads paved and your grandma’s heating assistance check from getting lost in bureaucratic purgatory.
Leading the charge was the usual rogues’ gallery of anti-government government officials. That’s right, the same folks who collect taxpayer-funded paychecks are now trying to veto the very budget that pays for their salaries. Sort of like watching a dog chase its own tail, but the tail has a megaphone and a pending campaign finance report.
Let’s unpack this stupid attempt at obtuse obstruction and obvious obfuscation.
The veto petition targets the supplemental budget passed in March, a bipartisan piece of legislation that managed to do the unthinkable in today’s political climate: Git the job dun. The approved budget funded schools. Allocations helped cities and towns. It was a financial plan to address Medicaid reimbursement rates and community college programs. The budget wasn’t sexy, but solid.
So of course, the extreme far-right flank of the Maine GOP can’t help but want to blow the damn thing to smithereens.
Enter the “citizen leaders” behind the petition. “Citizen,” in this case, means the same serial saboteurs who appear every time you say the word “governance” into a mirror three times.
In the mix are the usual parade of YouTube constitutionalists, religious fundamentalists and chronic conspiracists, plus former candidates who lost but still believe they’re on a mission from God. The financial backing behind this silly stratagem isn’t crystal clear. The timing to collect enough sigs to get on the ballot is nearly impossible. Seems this scheme is an attempt at covert campaigning opportunities for “list-building” during legislative session. But hey. No biggie. Just the entire working state government on the line.
These grumpy malcontents have dubbed the campaign “Maine’s Fed Up,” which is ironic, considering their policies usually represent about 11 percent of Maine’s people or equal to but not greater than 100 percent of the state’s extremist echo chamber.
Of course, every good political sideshow needs a little financial fog. That’s where Rep. Shelley Rudnicki comes in handy, this time as treasurer of the “Maine’s Fed Up” ballot question committee. But don’t be fooled: She’s not the mother of the ballot brainchild nor leading the “People’s Veto.” Rudnicki’s simply hitching her wagon to the spectacle for the attention. Because when you’ve been sidelined by your own party and censured by your colleagues, even a tiny, poorly-attended circus can look like a comeback tour.
It appears the real boss behind the operation is Rep. Gary Drinkwater. And the donor list? A pathetic scattering of contributions under $50, many via GoFundMe and just low enough to avoid Maine’s disclosure requirements. Real grassroots vibes, if you’re into synthetic astroturf.
The stated aim of this veto effort? To give voters a say on the budget.
Yeah. Okay. That makes a lot of sense.
Their real aim? Stir outrage, kneecap Democratic leadership and maybe— it’s a long shot, but just maybe— force a special election that brings out their mouth-frothing base while the rest of Maine is just trying to enjoy summer vacation. You know, swimming, hiking, BBQing with beloved fam and friends instead of time-wasting politicking and pointless pontificating. Basically, this is the Maine GOP lighting a State House dumpster on fire because they don’t like the recycling schedule.
These disruptors are not just opposing policy. They’re opposing process. They’re banking on confusion, hoping enough dummies sign the petition without realizing the veto would defund their kids’ schools, eliminate services and screw small municipalities. Governance by chaos and tantrum. Fiscal policy by Fox News chyron and recycled LePage memos sloppily scrawled on bar napkins.
If this “Peoples’ Veto” effort somehow magically succeeds, the budget gets tossed. That means emergency funding for critical programs would be halted. Aid to towns? Gone. Health services? On-hold. Local tax increases? Virtually 100 percent guaranteed.
Let’s be crystal clear: the first to suffer are the same people these so-called populists claim to champion: Working families, rural hospitals and small towns that rely on every shekel the state can spare.
This veto isn’t fiscal responsibility. Furthest thing from it. This is fiscal arson. Firebombing brought to you by the same complainers who couldn’t pass a coherent education policy, but somehow found the time and energy to weaponize a clipboard and a folding table outside Mardens, Renys and End Times churches
The “People’s Veto” is about power, not people. Power for those who’ve already lost it at the ballot box. This is their last ditch effort to hijack and monkeywrench the system, to use the socials and performative outrage as a way to garner attention, money and clicks. And while these grumblers, grippers and moaners peddle indignation, the rest of us non-crazies are just trying to keep Maine functional and fully-funded.
God, Guns & the Grandstanding Guys
Those wandering the State House last week, might have thought they accidentally stumbled upon a community theater mash-up of 1776, Steel Magnolias and Jesus Christ Superstar – all happening at once and none of them particularly well-cast.
Let’s begin with the performance art formerly known as legislative debate. Rep. Katrina Smith grabbed the mic to speak against the Equal Rights Amendment and delivered a floor speech that would’ve made Susan B. Anthony’s eyes pop out of her skull. Somewhere between proclaiming her love for women and her disdain for their rights, Smith, a Christian-Nationalist with a fondness for q-anon-conspiracies and gender subservience, managed to contradict herself so thoroughly that even our official legislative robotic stenographer looked confused.
Then Rep. Jim Thorne, Maine’s self-declared “Girl Dad,” got up and cried. Actual tears. Not crocodile ones. Because nothing says respect for women like getting emotional while voting against their bodily autonomy. Bravo, sir. We’ll pencil you in as Torvald Helmer in next year’s Maine GOP production of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House.
Theater-goers attending the Senate the next day would’ve enjoyed a stellar performance by northern Kennebec County’s favorite sobbing senator, Crybaby Scott Cyrway speaking against the ERA because, well, he knows best. In fact his words were “I think women are doing just fine.” Pro tip: Just because a thought enters the brain, it doesn’t mean the thought should be spoken aloud. And sure as shit not on mic during official business. Still unclear if Cyrway was more tearful during his tenure in the House or Senate but good gawd, man, pull yourself together. His lack of composure, focus and intelligence makes you wonder how bad he must have been running Maine’s DARE school programs for 22 years while serving as sheriff’s deputy.
Let’s not forget LD 143, the family planning bill. According to Rep. Michael Lemelin, women’s health is basically code for abortion and fraud. Yes, fraud. Because clearly, if you get a pap smear in Maine, you’re part of an elaborate Ponzi scheme. (Lemelin, as regular Legislature-watchers will remember, was censured last year for blaming the Lewiston Massacre on Maine’s abortion law.)
Naturally, fellow censuree, Rep. Laurel Libby tried to re-enter the legislative chat by asking how much Planned Parenthood spent on the last general election, ie. buying Democrat candidates votes.
LD 70 hit the floor next. Rep. Shelley Rudnicki gave an impassioned and very confusing defense of rural healthcare. Apparently, she’s all for it – provided it’s not the kind that helps women, LGBTQ+ or immigrants.
Meanwhile, newbie Rep. Quintin Chapman suggested funding MaineCare with a coffee can. Yes, a literal coffee can. Just put an empty one out, collecting nickels, dimes and dollars, like an Old Port busker on a hot summer day when the cruise ships are in town. Chapman’s performance so far this session is ample proof that elections have consequences. Also, this is what happens when policy expertise is replaced by YouTube prepper tutorials.
Meanwhile, over in his corner, Billy Bob Faulkingham, the still-boatless faux-lobsterman, marked “Holy Week” by speaking about the resurrection of his Lord and Personal Savior from the floor of the Maine Legislature. In what’s become an annual tradition for the House GOP leader, Faukingham made sure that the Legislative Record noted the existence of Easter. (The LR is the tome usually used to recognize constituents, winning sports teams and the oldest living Maine clam.) Perhaps motivated by his Armageddon-preaching pastor, Faulkingham went on to remind his fellow lawmakers that God and his son Jesus did some things…
Time to confess my sins. I tuned out several times during Faulkingham’s oratory. Not snoozing, though. Distracted by thinking about the serious work to be done and how there’s no time for evangelism. Secondly, Faulkingham is a lousy preacher. Boring, no panache and zero scriptural depth. My notes from his spiel are cryptic. Something about guns going hand-in-hand but not women and healthcare? We see “God” in many things in government (again, he’s a tough speaker to follow) but not Jesus. Huh? Still not sure if his utterances were an actual sermon or, more likely, if his train of thought derailed halfway to Canaan, Hebron and Bethel.
Speaking of lost, BB also dropped a bill about hunting rights on Mount Desert Island, despite not living or hunting there. And considering his poor navigational skills, he’s not likely to be able to find Bar Harbor without Google Maps, GPS, LORAN and a dash of divine intervention.
Overall, we’re now in the part of the session where the days blur together in a cascade of dodging, weaving and avoidance of loitering lobbyists. Brain struggles to match names with faces. Numbers and bill titles look like hieroglyphs. And you get overwhelmed by the amount of form emails from constituents that need replies. As we go into these late spring days, it gets easier and easier to see who matters, here, under the Dome, merely based upon who’s buried in papers versus who’s buried in self-importance.
Finally, we had the “Health Care Gap Year Program” debate, aka LD 703, which provides one-time funds to recent college graduates to work in critical health care positions, particularly in underserved and rural communities. To be blunt, in response, Rep. Mike Soboleski delivered a speech so devoid of meaning he should’ve handed out pillows before opening his jowls. Dude was supposedly an actor but can’t get through a floor speech without mumbles, misspeaking, grunts, ramble and prattle. Was he auditioning for a gubernatorial run? It was a performance. (Not.) And leaves you wondering who, if anyone, is writing the script being broadcast from his Broca's area, live from the left hemisphere, frontal lobe, of his birdbrain?
As I’m attempting to pen this madness into cohesion, the Labor Committee takes up over a dozen bills on paid family leave. Doesn’t anybody compare notes anymore before drafting legislation? Obviously not. This debate promised to last all night. And after Soboleski regurgitated his regular denouncement of the use of pronouns, along with the shock of seeing the censured Rep Libby’s presence, this committee was pushing me to the tipping point, so when Sen Jeff Timberlake’s phone loudly rang, and he answered it– I knew it was time for a curtain call. At least for me. Tired of the dysfunctional dysfunction, I headed to the parking lot and let my Tesla drive me home before someone forcibly cast me in the dual role of Monsieur Thénardier and Madame Thénardier in the Augusta revival of Les Misérables where everyone sings about freedom while actively voting against responsibility, liberty and the common good.
Editor’s note: Publication of Reese Calloway’s Chapter 10 was delayed due to my out-of-state reporting trip this weekend. Here’s an addendum, submitted by Reese, for me to read/edit/publish upon my return to the Pine Tree State. Apologies to the Maine lawmakers who were heard complaining, under the Dome, about the continued delay in the publication of Reese’s latest missive, but I also had to pick up 50 broiler chicks over to Somerset County… WHICH HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE PROPOSED BACKYARD CHICKEN ORDINANCE MENTIONED BELOW.
Addendum: Paid Leave Panic and Chicken Coup: A Tragicomedy
Because last week’s circus wasn’t quite enough, after relaxing for the weekend, it now seems fitting to explain the rest of the show. This second course features spreadsheets, chickens and a cameo from the least likely labor policy expert in Maine.
First up: the Paid Family and Medical Leave hearings.
These proceedings were like watching a live-action remake of Dazed and Confused, but with more spreadsheets and less self-awareness. Republican “thought leaders” (and I’m using that terminology the same way you might refer to a housecat as a nuclear physicist) spent hours trying to explain why offering people time off to care for dying relatives was somehow a Communist plot.
Leading the panic parade were the usual suspects: Rep. Josh Morris (R-Turner) and Rep. Shelley Rudnicki (R-Fairfield), each performing increasingly desperate renditions of the brand new showtune “I’m Very Concerned About Costs I Just Made Up.”
This dynamic duo didn’t offer a single practical solution. Instead, they encouraged hand-wringing about the hypothetical downfall of civilization if Maine workers get to take their mom to chemo without being fired.
But the real headline out of the Labor Committee wasn’t the performative testimony or the manufactured outrage.
It was that Rep. Laurel Libby showed up. And stayed for the whole darn thing.
Yes, the same Laurel Libby who’s been basically MIA from her own committee since getting censured for doxxing a teenage athlete. And the same bigot currently begging the U.S. Supreme Court to reinstate her status as a functioning legislator.
Like a solar eclipse, Libby’s presence was rare and unsettling. And, also like an eclipse, if you stared directly at the burning orb, your retina might be singed.
Naturally, Libby didn’t bring any useful contributions — just the same breathless, dramatic grandstanding we’ve come to expect from the solipsistic Stepford shrew. But still, props to her for finally finding the committee room again after spending months treating her official duties like an optional yoga class.
And speaking of performance art…
Enter Rep. Jennifer Poirier (R-Skowhegan), who decided that what Maine really needs right now is a state-mandated Chicken Manifest Destiny.
Her bill, LD 1655, An Act to Allow the Keeping of Chickens on Private Residential Property, went viral among legislators faster than norovirus on a cruise ship full of swingers.
The premise? Towns shouldn’t be allowed to regulate backyard chickens.
Because apparently, local control is sacred… until Poirier wants to turn your cul-de-sac into Foghorn Leghorn’s Wild Kingdom or a newer version of DeCoster Egg Farm.
To really drive the point home, Rep. Laurel Libby solemnly declared that chicken ownership was practically a constitutional right. Meanwhile Billy Bob Faulkingham live-streamed from a neighbor’s chicken coop to reiterate his support for food sovereignty while sharing his personal recipe for a 12-yolk omelette.
Meanwhile, the Senate Republicans weren’t about to be left out of this race to smear egg on their faces. This week, GOPers decided that instead of, say, governing, they’d focus their energy on Facebook rants about “tyranny,” “out-of-control spending” and other Mad Libtard buzzwords. Nothing says “serious leadership” like amplifying every conspiracy theory regarding 2026 budget projections while ignoring the actual needs of the people you’re allegedly elected to serve.
Instead of dealing with Maine’s crumbling infrastructure, our on-going housing crisis or having straight-talk about healthcare access for rural communities, we spent valuable legislative hours fielding serious arguments about henhouse setbacks and rooster noise ordinances.
Meanwhile, these same freedom-fighting patriots are still working overtime to regulate uteri, voting rights and library books — but God help us if citizens can’t have free-range fowl wherever they damn well please.
This debacle is almost impressive, if you can get past the existential despair.
Welcome to Augusta. Bring earplugs. And maybe a predator-proof fence.
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