They Tried to Ambush Ryan Walters—Here’s How They Almost Got Away With It

While most House Republicans likely had no idea what was happening, leadership tried to sneak through a bombshell amendment—but three sharp lawmakers saw it coming, and a leak saved the day.

Once adopted, the amendment would stack Walters’ board with non-elected political appointees—to be selected by Hilbert and Paxton. One can only imagine who Hilbert and Paxton had in mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, even the patient zero of Walters Derangement Syndrome—former legislator Mark McBride—could make his triumphant return to pointlessly and needlessly harass Walters, just for the fun of it, this time as a board member, where he would once again become the go-to source of choice for reaffirming the bias of the corporate media and their unending assault on the traditional-values-touting superintendent.

They may hold office as elected members of the Oklahoma House of Representatives—but most probably had no clue what was really unfolding beneath their feet. Only three sharp Republican legislators caught on. But to any serious student of the legislative process, something didn’t add up. The signs were there. The setup was in motion. And by the time most lawmakers realized what hit them, the machinery was already turning.

Want to know what really happened? Want to be savvier than most Republican legislators were as of 10:00 a.m. last Thursday? Want to see behind the curtain—to understand the skulduggery, the maneuvering, and the insider tricks that even many lawmakers may never fully grasp?

Then, read on.

Here’s how it happened.

Last Thursday marked a critical deadline in the legislative calendar—a day when the House was required to finish voting on Senate-originated bills. Any Senate bill not approved by day’s end was, by all accounts, supposed to be dead for the year. That was the rule. Or so they thought.

At around 10:15 a.m., Deputy Majority Floor Leader John Pfeiffer—a loyal apparatchik of House leadership—took to the microphone, put on an “aww shucks, we just need a little help” routine, and asked the House to suspend a critical rule. That rule? House Rule 8.8, which requires a 48-hour waiting period before any amendment can be added to a bill—a basic safeguard that gives the public at least some time to see what’s coming so they can have their voice heard before their lawmaker casts a vote.

For those with a memory that stretches back more than a few weeks—an eternity in legislative time—it’s important to recall how, back in January, it was Pfeiffer himself who championed the new Kyle Hilbert administration’s controversial rules package. That package was sold to members of the House, in part, by pointing to the tendency of the House in past years to suspend this rule. That's likely because legislators and/or the lobbyists who sponsor the bills clearly waited—for reasons ranging from laziness to something more nefarious—to file untimely amendments. Pfeiffer indicated that Hilbert's new rules, by loosening the filing deadlines and creating a new committee infrastructure, would fix that—that under the Hilbert package, constant suspensions would no longer be necessary.

The Oklahoma State Capital took umbrage with that explanation and described those rules as the lowest of the lows since House Republicans began walking back transparency reforms in 2014. Loosening the filing requirements was not unlike solving crime by getting rid of laws. But that's an article for another day.

So at the very least, Pfeiffer’s request was—to those with a memory long enough to recall January, the integrity to care about the inconsistency, and a heart for restoring the deliberative nature of the institution that is the People’s House of Oklahoma—an admission of failure. Here, on one of the most important legislative days of the year, he was essentially admitting that the “safeguards” he had touted in January had failed and that, even though the amendment filing rules had been loosened, it was still necessary to suspend the rule in its entirety—not just a suspension on a bill-by-bill basis, but a blanket suspension of the rule for the remainder of the day.

This admission notwithstanding, Pfeiffer presented his motion as a simple matter. He told House members that the day's agenda wasn’t packed, but that some bills had “untimely” amendments. He framed his motion as a way to make things a little more efficient—get bills over to the Senate, get the work done quicker, and go home earlier than the Senate.

It sure did sound harmless and suggested nothing nefarious. It implied circumstances such as, perhaps, an “untimely” amendment had been filed at 6:00 p.m. Tuesday—would the House really wait until 6:00 p.m. Thursday to meet the 48-hour requirement? Would three or four hours of cheating the deadline really matter in terms of transparency? Surely the public would understand. After all, legislators were no doubt ready for their weekend—which, in legislative terms, starts on Thursday, unlike those commoners in the real world, working five-day workweeks like suckers, who observe Friday as the commencement of the weekend.

In fact, Pfeiffer’s framing suggested that anyone who voted against the motion might be the one supporting bad process—trying to force members to stay late into the night.

And it probably didn’t matter anyway. The overwhelming majority of Republican legislators nearly always hit their green button on procedural motions like this. They’d have voted for it no matter what Pfeiffer said—even if he told them what was actually going to happen later that day.

And Pfeiffer’s motion was reinforced by the presiding officer, who, for some reason, decided to help push the motion forward by telling House members to listen to Pfeiffer because “I’m trying to get you out of here at a decent time today.”

But a small group of three very wise Republicans—perhaps sensing what was afoot—didn’t play the game. They voted no, and they were right to do so.

That’s because the blanket suspension of that rule creates a “Purge” scenario, lasting for the remainder to that day—where, like in the movie The Purge, the normal rules are turned off and chaos is allowed to reign. It’s a Mad Max world where anything goes—any proposal can appear, get a vote, and be done within just minutes—without much of the public even knowing it existed. This wasn’t about an amendment that had been filed a couple of hours late two days earlier; this was about an amendment that hadn’t even been filed yet—and most, if not just about all, legislators had no idea it would be speeding their way soon after they gave Pfeiffer what he wanted.

House members should always vote against blanket rule suspensions. If an untimely filed amendment truly warrants a few hours of lost transparency for efficiency’s sake—and if it’s clear there’s no bad intent—then, at the very least, the House should consider a rules suspension on a bill-by-bill basis. How many untimely amendments were there? Three? Four? This bill-by-bill vote on suspension safeguard would have required about 10 minutes of extra voting time. Is that too much to ask to prevent an entire afternoon of "Purge" insanity where anything goes?

Of course, something was about to happen—and it wasn’t good.

So what was it?

Roughly three hours later, the grassroots found out what was planned: an all-out assault on State Education Superintendent Ryan Walters.

A draft amendment, not yet publicly filed, leaked out and began circulating. It was to be sponsored by one of Kyle Hilbert’s henchmen, one of the leadership’s mindless enforcers/curbstompers—Dale Kerbs. The amendment would attach itself to a bill authored by Hilbert and Senate President Pro Tempore Lonnie Paxton—a signal to anyone paying attention that this was likely a coordinated operation involving the highest levels of leadership in both the House and the Senate.

Once adopted, the amendment would stack Walters’ board with non-elected political appointees—to be selected by Hilbert and Paxton. One can only imagine who Hilbert and Paxton had in mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, even the patient zero of Walters Derangement Syndrome—former legislator Mark McBride—could make his triumphant return to pointlessly and needlessly harass Walters, just for the fun of it, this time as a board member, where he would once again become the go-to source of choice for reaffirming the bias of the corporate media and their unending assault on the traditional-values-touting superintendent.

Kerbs officially filed his amendment at about 2:30 p.m. And because the "untimely" amendment rule had been suspended, the bill was expected to arrive on the House floor for a final vote, at any time and it wasn’t even germane to the bill it claimed to amend. It completely gutted the original—a doxxing bill—and cannibalized its text.

Those with a sense for irony will, at this point, observe that it’s the introduction and consideration of controversial new legislation—under the guise of an untimely filed, non-germane, bill-shucking amendment, enabled by the blanket suspension of the rule—that would have delayed the House and kept it working later into the night. So even in its stated goal, Pfeiffer’s motion was of nonsensical effect. The whole thing is just one big deception. And there could not be a better case-in-point illustration of the sick, corrupt legislative environment.

In terms of impact on Oklahoma education, this was a major proposal—far more significant than many education bills that had undergone the full legislative process, including several weeks of hearings. But this one? It was set to go from introduction to passage in a matter of hours—or even minutes

And yet, for as black-pilled as all this sounds, here’s the white pill:

Someone—likely a conscientious staffer or legislator—appeared to have leaked that amendment before Kerbs filed it. In doing so, they gave the grassroots and independent media network just enough time to respond.

And it worked.

Walters, clearly alerted to the scheme, took to X and got the word out. The grassroots began mobilizing rapidly—and House members started waking up.

On another, separate bill, what appeared to be a test vote for the Walters amendment took place as House members refused to support a tabling motion by Chris Kannady, the Gene Stipe–like figure who purged conservatives from the House in 2018 and who has bankrolled many current members. That rebellion raised eyebrows. If members could stand up to Kannady—the intellectual firepower behind the speaker—what would they do when the speaker’s mindless curb stomper Kerbs brought his amendment?

Leadership didn’t try to find out. They pulled the bill.

And that’s when the mask came off.

As she dealt with the fallout of the effort, as reported by The Oklahoman, the speaker’s spokesperson made a revealing statement:

"The language could obviously be put into a different bill and conference." and, "There are always ways to suspend the rules and bring a bill back to life if an agreement is made. As the speaker frequently says, there are resurrections all the time at the Capitol in May."

Seeing that statement hit hard. Years ago, I had bought into and believed in the Republicans’ stated goal of creating a deliberative, open, transparent government in Oklahoma—so much so that I ran for office, joined them, and worked for that cause. In later years, I’ve been sad to see those in power reversing the gains we made—especially when they cloak their regression in false claims of transparency, much like what happened earlier this year, when Pfeiffer and Floor Leader Josh West sold the House their rules package using the pretense of deliberation. But as bad as that was, at least they felt they needed to promote, to try to wrap their proposal within the concept of transparency and openness, even as they undid it.

Now, with this latest statement from the speaker’s spokesperson, the mask has completely come off. Not only is the scheming clear, but they are openly telegraphing more to come—more rule suspensions and more surprise policy bombs. There’s not a hint of chagrin at being caught and defeated in this power grab. Rather, there is a stubborn insistence that they will get their way, no matter what it takes or how much damage they do to both the House of Representatives and the Republican brand.

It’s not unlike what they did just days earlier—when they ignored House precedent and gave a bad bill an unprecedented third vote, even after it had already failed twice. Then, when challenged, they appeared to coordinate with Democrats to stage a point of order, giving the presiding officer cover to issue a ruling that reversed the long-standing precedent that prevented third votes. Never mind that the precedent simply upheld the clear, plain reading of the rule: no third chances for failed bills. This wasn’t strategy—it was stubbornness, gaslighting, and a reckless doubling down on mistakes, no matter the cost. In this case, it suggests that the entire legislative principle of "reconsideration" has become superfluous, and that House bills, through a magical motion known as "rescind," can be voted on time and time again until leadership gets its way. For what may be the first time in the entire history of the House of Representatives, there’s simply no finality.

At this point, one has to ask: what’s the point of House rules?

What’s the point of paying 101 legislators to show up and play a role that’s almost purely theatrical? If this is going to be a dictatorship, couldn’t we at least save the taxpayers the cost of the performance?

Of course, it doesn’t have to be this way. The members could assert themselves. They could adopt House Resolution 1001—known as the Gann Plan—and take the power back from the speaker.

Or, if they’re not ready for that, they could at the very least refuse to vote for another blanket rule suspension. They were caught off guard last Thursday. Now that the leadership has tipped its hand, and has taken off the mask, the next time Pfeiffer asks to “suspend the rules,” members will know what’s coming—and have no excuse.

It’s also vital for grassroots members to realize that the vote to suspend the rules is just as important as the vote on the policy itself. Many legislators who would’ve voted against the attack on Walters still voted for the rule suspension that made it possible.

Many House members—especially new ones—may not have realized the impact of their vote. That’s forgivable, the first time. But if they do it again, it means they didn’t learn. As the saying goes: fool me once . . .

From this point forward, if House members vote to suspend the rules—and that suspension clears the way for dangerous or underhanded policy to advance outside the constraints of the normal legislative process—then their vote to suspend should be judged with just as much gravity as their vote on the policy itself.

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