Arrest Mark Rudd For Felony Murder. Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn Too.

Un-prosecuted Weather Underground terrorist Mark Rudd has an op-ed confessing to felony murder in the leftist-terrorist paper of record, The New York Times today.

Rudd must be excited: his stock is going up. The last time the Times gave over their editorial page to a Weather terrorist, it was to his rival-in-love-tenure-and-attention, Billy Ayers. It was also the morning of 9/11, and Ayers’ wispy-bearded mug smirking from the pages of the Times as he bragged about how much fun he had bombing the Pentagon was likely the last thing many people saw before they suffocated and burned to death in the Twin Towers. And, the Pentagon.

Few people know that while Ayers was talking to the Times for that fateful 9/11 article, future-president Barack Obama and his wife Michelle were dining with Ayers and his cop-killing wife Bernardine Dohrn several times weekly as they had already been doing for six years, as was reported in 2017 in David Garrow’s biography of the president, Rising Star.

Many people have debated whether Ayers helped Obama write the memoir that catapulted him to the national political stage, Dreams From My Father. What they should really be asking now is why Obama and his wife Michelle — who was closer to the terrorist couple — continued living cheek-to-jowl Ayers and Dohrn for at least another two years after Ayers’ 9/11 terrorist victory dance spectacularly blew up in his face thanks to a crew of Islamic ideological compatriots who actually knew how to blow up their targets, instead of just blowing up themselves, as the Weathermen were wont to do.

The 9/11 bombers were ideological compatriots not only to the America-hating “former” Weathermen but also to the Palestinians, two of whose former spokespeople, Mona and Rashid Khalidi, also just happened to be dining nearly nightly with Michelle and Barack and Bernardine and Bill. In fact, Michelle and Barack didn’t symbolically get up from the table (making their six-some one-third less actually terroristic) until Obama ascended to the Senate two years later and belatedly discovered that his former Chicago peeps might constitute a tailwind on his presidential prospects.

So Obama left Ayers in the ditch, or as Robert Herrick would put it, “they flee from me that sometimes did me seek.” In Ayers’ second memoir, Public Enemy (2013), he whined about Obama’s ingratitude, albeit codedly, alongside more extensive whining about the cosmic unfairness of being persecuted merely for advocating terrorism in a national newspaper on the day when nearly 3,000 Americans lost their lives in a terrorist attack, which left him feeling like he was in a Kafka novel while Obama was a character in an Ibsen novel, and so on and so on and so on. As Ayers recounted the story of “his” 9/11, he and Bernardine were so worried about being un-admired in the wake of his completely harmless nostalgia for detonating bombs that he jumped in the car with Mona and Rashid Khalidi, drove out of town, and ate lots of Mona’s delicious Middle Eastern food to comfort his bruised and misunderstood soul.

What he didn’t mention was Barack and Michelle. At least not by name, not in the 9/11 part of the book, which is otherwise a long striptease threatening to expose Obama. Elsewhere in the book, Ayers does complain, a lot, about fellow dining companions who pressured him to keep quiet about Barack in 2008, including one weird reference on page 10 to a “longtime Communist Party organizer” who now described him as a person “who had committed detestable acts forty years ago,” the phrase that popped up in Obama’s speeches for the next six months.

Oh, now I’ve gone and done to Mark Rudd precisely what the media has been doing to him for forty years: I have ignored his moment in the sun in order to obsess over Weather dominatrix and gimp Bernardine and Bill again. Poor Mark. While Bill and Bern got prestigious academic posts, and Academy-Award nominated PBS specials, and judges and New York Times columnists and Stanley Fishes and a future president bellying up to their table to sample Mona’s absolutely delicious hummus, Mark Rudd got an adjunct job teaching math at some obscure community college and a bellyful of resentment for not being one of the chic attempted mass murderers — when he had done every bit as much attempted murdering of innocent cops and judges and soldiers and soldier’s wives and judge’s children and other living things.

Rudd’s plight, notoriety-wise, has always been that he occasionally says he was sorry for what he did, while Bill Ayers gleefully denies that he did what he did, while simultaneously admitting to doing it, while teasing that he may or may not be lying but only imagining doing those things, which are in the past anyway (or maybe not).

Ayers has always been Gypsy Rose Lee to Rudd’s Beryl Mercer, and Gypsy Rose Lee is just more fun. Unless, of course, you’re one of those murdered cops, or Brinks security guards, or their survivors, or traumatized nine-year olds, or secretaries wounded when Ayers and Dohrn and Rudd blew up a police station or research lab or army recruiting center.

Rudd’s editorial in the Times today is an object lesson in why he remains strictly B-list.  After claiming to feel remorse for having a “warped sense of morality,” he lies about the degree of his involvement in a planned mass murder that took the lives of three of his criminal associates, then claims that the really guilty people are all the imaginary Klansmen and white supremacists who are allegedly AND imaginarily supporting Trump.  

Nice try, Ayers-wise, but it’s amateur work.  And propaganda-wise, it’s small potatoes. Everyone blames leftist terrorism on Trump supporters these days.

With Rudd’s usual hangdog luck, instead of delivering a Wham-O double-bubble gut punch to human sensibility as Ayers did with his 9/11 morning Times article, the only coincidence that makes Rudd’s current lies about conservatives even slightly interesting is the appearance of his editorial denouncing fake conservative violence the morning after New York Senator Schumer threatened real leftist violence against the Supreme Court, which is still ironic, but nowhere in Ayers and Dohrn’s league.

But there’s still hay to be made with Rudd’s confession, if there is a federal prosecutor anywhere who is willing to finally grab the pitchfork, as Ayers would doubtlessly describe it in his lurid persecution fantasies. You see, for years, Rudd and Ayers have claimed that they had nothing to do with the Greenwich Village Townhouse explosion or the plot to murder soldiers and their wives and girlfriends at the dance at Fort Dix, where the dynamite that went off in the townhouse was destined to be planted and detonated. In Fugitive Days, the memoir Ayers wrote with Obama and Michelle sitting at his dinner table nightly, he used his usual cheesy sleight-of-hand to suggest that he didn’t know what his girlfriend Diana Oughton and closest conspirator Terry Robbins were doing with all that dynamite in Cathy Wilkerson’s parents’ basement.  He then repeated the Weather ur-text that the townhouse bombing had taught the rest of the terrorists that terrorism was bad or something, and so they stopped before they themselves went down the road that only their conveniently dead allies had travelled.  None of this is true, but it is repeated regularly in the Times and other papers as chapter and verse. 

A closer reading of Fugitive shows that Ayers did know about the plot.  While he has claimed for years, both in the book and elsewhere, that he didn’t know anything about anything until he heard that Oughton was dead, in the book he describes a message delivered via a pre-arranged strategy call with Bernardine Dohrn.  The call that was supposed to deliver news of mutilated soldier’s bodies instead delivered news of Oughton’s rightfully shredded corpse being pieced together fingertip by fingertip, which left Bill and “the woman on the other end of the phone…plung[ed] together into a subterranean river, the strong, swift brown god of life pulling us forward for decades to come” — in other words, hanging out on a conveniently unnamed, possibly rich Hollywood figure’s houseboat in Sausalito while the two actually continued conspiring and actively participating in terrorist acts including the Brinks robbery in 1981 that left two police and a security guard dead.  The killers fled in trucks rented using fake I.D.s Dohrn procured for them at a baby boutique where she worked, something we just don’t talk about enough.

Because, she can still be indicted for felony murder for doing that. And so can Bill, who lived with her at the time, and so can Bill, Bernardine, and Mark Rudd for their involvement in the townhouse explosion that Rudd conveniently confessed to conspiring in, on the editorial page of the New York Times just this morning.

In 2001, Ayer’s confession to both his and Bernardine Dohrn’s guilt for conspiring in the terrorist plot to kill soldiers that instead killed three of their co-conspirators lay buried in plain sight on page two of Fugitive Days.

Maybe in the aftermath of 9/11, federal prosecutors were just too busy to haul Ayers and Dohrn in for questioning about Ayers’ presence in the townhouse as the bombs were being built, and Dohrn’s role in communicating about the terrorist plot to the small circle of Weather leaders that included herself, Ayers, Rudd, Jeff Jones (another Obama confrere), and Howie Matchingter.

Or maybe Ayers was being protected in 2001 by the powerful cabal of law professors, Chicago officials, and elite academicians and journalists who graced his table. Sheesh, you would think that with all the constitutional law professors hanging around the hummus, one of them might have cued Ayers in to how problematic it was to confess to conspiracy to commit a terrorist bombing. In print. And then to brag about it in the pages of the Times.

But nothing happened to the terrorist couple then, and nothing even happened to them when Ayers reprinted Fugitive Days in 2009 with a new forward about Obama, and nothing happened to them in 2013 when he went into even more damning detail in Public Enemy. By then, of course, there was a whole lot more for the Democratic party to protect — both the Clinton and Obama wings of it — with Bill springing some of the Brinks killers from prison and Barack and the media laboring to keep his connections to the very same terrorists strictly sub rosa.

It would be nothing but fitting — finally, a respectable level of irony — if Rudd’s lifelong desire for attention was the straw that detonated the proverbial camel’s back and took down Ayers and Dohrn and himself and all the other Weather terrorists who got away with felony murder in the townhouse explosion and again in the Brinks massacre — along with the murder of another armored car guard in another robbery for which Dohrn provided the I.D.s. “I knew what was being planned, and I did nothing to stop it,” Rudd said, honestly, of the townhouse explosion.

Idiot.

Rudd is lying, however (where are those NYT fact-checkers?), when he claims that the townhouse explosion in 1970 marked the end of Weather violence. A whole decade later, Dohrn and Ayers, having left a string of dead and maimed cops in San Francisco (where their adopted son Chesa Boudin is now the D.A., sorta complicating prosecution there), were still living under assumed names in New York City and providing those fake I.D.s to the Black Liberation Army killing crew, while Weathermen Jeff Jones and his wife Eleanor Raskin (now a New York State judge) were stockpiling explosives for them in their apartment nearby, and Weathermen Kathy Boudin and David Gilbert (mère et père de Chesa) were driving the BLA getaway cars and shooting police.

And that’s not all they did. With potential candidate Michelle Obama trailing her marriage-and-mothering memoir behind her like a Macy’s Indigenous People’s Day parade float, oblivious to the non-questions not being asked by reporters about her and her husband hunkering down with terrorists for the better part of a decade, and the dolts at the Times still spilling breadcrumbs while running cover for their favorite radical chic Bonnies and Clydes, it’s time for somebody in the Department of Justice to finally get serious about solving the Mystery of the Rotary Spider’s Palace, as Ayers called his personal call-box where he communicated with Dohrn about killing soldiers in 1970.

And also that Murder in the Baby Boutique thing.

It’s all in the books, just waiting to be discovered.